Deeply In You (14 page)

His shirt clung to him, following the wide planes of his back down to the narrowness of his waist. He was . . . simply beautiful.

He jerked his shirt out of his trousers.

Her eyes bulged. “Are you going to take off all your clothes?”

Fire burned in the green depths of his eyes. “That was the idea. Just you and me together naked. Sweetly so. As you wanted.”

He winked. Next thing she knew, he disappeared behind a screen in the corner of the room. His boots landed on the floor with two thuds. His trousers were tossed to rest over the top of the screen. A garment of white linen followed. Goodness, his
drawers
.

He stepped out, and dark blue silk filled her vision. He had put on a robe, but the silk moved, slid open, and she glimpsed the bronzed skin of his chest.

“You took everything off.” She spoke on instinct, stunned by what she saw. Dark hair. Dark nipples. Tanned skin that looked solid as rock.

He was so handsome she was almost speared by his beauty, unable to breathe. A melting smile lit up his face. “You know, I’ve never taken off my clothes to make love. You are the first woman who will see me naked. If you want to see me that way.”

He stepped closer until all she could see was rich indigo silk and tanned skin. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt, if she shut her eyes, her lashes would brush against his chest.

She glanced down. The stream of bronzed flesh seemed to go on forever. At least, it went on until she saw the defined ridge of his hip, and the dark curls of his—

She jerked her gaze upward. “I don’t think I’m ready to have you . . . naked.”

From above her, his voice flowed over her, smooth and deep. “Another kiss?”

“Yes, that is what I want.” Something relatively safe.

He caught her hand, lifted her fingers to his mouth. Gently he pressed his mouth to her fingertips. It was heavenly, but what stole her breath was his gaze. Brilliantly green, his eyes glowed as if he were on fire inside.

His lips brushed kisses to her temple. He was supposed to be a rogue and a scoundrel, yet it was the sweetest thing.

He kissed at the corner of her eye, making her giggle. Then his lips trailed down the bridge of her nose, so affectionately it had her heart fluttering. Her mouth ached, waiting for the hot magic of his kiss.

Instead he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed. Next thing she knew she was lying on it. Greybrooke’s strong body was leaning over her, and he murmured, “Can I kiss you a little lower?”

“Lower?” Then daringly, she said, “I think so.”

Holding her hand, he nestled his head in the crook of her neck and kissed her jaw. She quivered on the bed. It was gloriously sensitive, his stubble tickling her. Intoxicating and rich, his musky scent swirled around her.

He lifted his head for a moment. “You are a unique woman, Miss Winsome. I respect you, I would not dream of hurting you or doing anything of which you did not approve. It must be the governess in you. Taming me already.”

Taming him? She didn’t believe it.

He took something out of a pocket in his robe. Brilliant colored light played over her dress—firelight reflected by the bejeweled shackles. Before she could say a word, he snapped one bracelet around her right wrist. It was cool. He captured her other wrist in his hand. Waited.

“You can say no,” he said.

Her heart was in her throat. But she was wet and aching between her legs. She whispered, “I won’t say no. You can do it.”

Just as in Hyde Park, he closed the shackles, binding her wrists together. Helena had to admit—there was something rather thrilling about this.

“Now, I’m going to make you come.”

“Oh! Um . . . what will it feel like?”

“I don’t know.”

Surprise made her frown. “How could you not know?”

“I know what it feels like when I come, but I have no idea what it would feel like for a woman. I’ve often wondered if women have stronger, better climaxes, because it’s such a rare treasure for them.”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Like running a mile, followed by having my heart squeezed tight, feeling as if my cock will burst, having a blinding light explode in my head, then blessed, agonizing pleasure.”

“It sounds frightening.”

“I suspect you think it sounds wonderful, Miss Winsome, and you want to have one.”

“But I cannot have one. Not without ruin.”

“I promise I can show you ecstasy without taking your innocence. It doesn’t take intercourse to make you come, love. I want to be the one to make you scream in ecstasy for your very first time. Or have you made yourself come?”

She must be scarlet. “No, of course I haven’t. That’s wrong.” Or was it? Compared to what happened at that club, it hardly seemed scandalous. Her hips twitched on the bed. She felt even hotter and achier than before. Then she asked, “Why do you want to?”

“That way, my dear, you’d never forget me.”

Reaching behind her, he undid the fastenings at the back of her gown. He slid the arms down past her shoulders, and the snugness of the gown helped to imprison her arms.

She stiffened as he pushed up her skirts and his hand cupped her calf.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.” With each word, his hand went higher. His fingers grazed her hip. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, then squeaked as his hand reached the vee between her thighs. His fingers stroked her nether curls.

She’d never been touched there—she only touched herself there with a washcloth when necessary. Yet it was the most remarkable thing. The ache in her belly became a pounding need. If he stopped right now, she’d grasp his wrist and pull him back.

“Look at me, love.”

Helena opened her eyes. Her skirts were in a crumple at her stomach. She could see her thighs, her belly, her hips, and the vee of golden curls. Against skin that had never seen the sun, his long fingers were a copper color. As she watched, his fingers slid between her golden curls.

The Duke of Greybrooke was stroking her cunny.

She couldn’t quite believe it.

He touched a place that sent pleasure streaking through her.

She squealed.

That made him smile brilliantly. His finger rubbed softly against that place, and she almost curled into a ball, it was so intense. She batted his arm with her shackled hands. “Oh goodness,” she begged.

“You like that, little one?”

“Yes. No. I think—I think you should stop.”

“I don’t think you really want me to stop. I never would have expected the formidable Miss Winsome would shirk from a new experience. You have courage. Let yourself enjoy this. What harm can it do?”

He pressed harder, in that secret mystifying place, and she screamed. She hadn’t meant to. It just flew out. He grinned as though deeply pleased.

“All right,” she gasped. “Do more.”

His finger made delicious spirals, and she arched up on the bed. Her body began rocking against his hand. She wasn’t doing it. Her body seemed to have taken control, and her wits no longer worked.

Laughing gently, the duke lowered the bodice of her shift, baring her breast. Lightly he blew, and the swift caress of air made her nipple grow hard.

His dark head bent, he captured her naked nipple in his mouth. And sucked.

She pushed against his shoulders, but he didn’t stop. He sucked and sucked until pleasure was rushing down from her nipple and slamming into the delight shooting up from his stroking fingers. She panted. She moaned. Her hips arched, pressing her delicate, aching cunny harder against his hand. He obliged, rubbing faster. She clung to his shoulder with her bound hands, not caring that her fingers dug into his shoulder blades. Not caring that both her breasts were bared to him now—they’d popped out as he tugged on her neckline with his teeth.

He sucked from one nipple to the other. All the while his hand stroked and played. She lifted against him, racing to pleasure. At last she was going to know what this was like. For once she was a pupil, she was being taught.

His mouth drew on her right nipple, his fingers ruthlessly pinched the left, and his finger stroked so fast she feared she might burst into—

Aah!

Her muscles went mad, twitching and pulsing. Her wits shattered. She wailed. Oh God, it was—

Wonderful. Pleasure wrapped around her like sunlight, like warm sheets, like sin. Pleasure exploded inside her like streaking fireworks. She gasped “Oh God” over and over until her tongue tangled and all she could do was sob with sheer ecstasy.

Finally the pleasure ebbed away, leaving her limp and boneless.

“God, you are beautiful,” he murmured huskily. “You look like an angel when you come.”

“I couldn’t. I must look a mess.”

“You look like a well-pleasured lady.”

She
was
a well-pleasured lady. She wanted to forget she must lie to him and search his journal, read his private thoughts. Forget she was supposed to capture this man. This was sexual pleasure and intimacy, and it was so intense and sweet she knew she needed more. Another few minutes of hot, damp bliss. Or an hour. Or a night.

He bent and put his lips to her nipple. For just one kiss, then he looked up, lifting his lips, leaving her on the verge of sobbing with desire. “Enough for tonight, Miss Winsome,” he growled. “If you stay any longer, I
will
ruin you.

The duke got off the bed and his robe slid off his right shoulder. While he’d been pleasuring her, the belt of his robe had fallen open. He caught the robe before it slithered down his arm and pulled it up.

But Helena had seen his naked, muscular right shoulder. And the network of healed scars that crisscrossed his upper back.

G
rey threw himself on his bed. His throbbing erection tented his robe, and he shoved the silk aside. A thread of silvery moisture dropped to his abdomen. Hard and aching, his poor cock couldn’t understand why he’d let Miss Winsome go. He glared at it. “She wouldn’t play with you even if she was here.”

He had to be losing his mind, trying to carry on a conversation with his prick. God knew it never listened to him.

Watching Miss Winsome come while knowing he couldn’t do more with her—not yet—had been definitely a knife’s edge. This one closer to pain.

He could go to the House of Exotic Desires. Ruby would be more than willing to pleasure him, he was sure. This was London, he was a duke, and there were several thousand bizarre and intriguing ways he could get his satisfaction. He could go to his club and indulge in ropes, spankings, manacles, orgies. He needed the erotic anticipation of thinking up the scene, of slowly, deliberately, carefully taking his partner—and him—to that edge of pleasure.

He closed his eyes, picturing an erotic scene to entice him while he jerked on his cock. But all he could think about was Miss Winsome, her eyes wide with shock as she came for the very first time. How sweet she’d been when she’d surrendered to pleasure.

When had he ever liked it sweet?

Not until now, damn it.

She was getting under his skin. She
was
changing him. But it was for nothing. He could never have “sweet.” How could he deal with a sweet woman when he was filled with darkness? His darkness had nothing to do with his interest in bondage. His darkness was something else. He had fought for years to display it as cold indifference. It was really a hot, boiling pit of anger and distrust and pain.

He wrapped his hand around his shaft. Felt his cock swell beneath his grip. It wasn’t accustomed to this. An encounter with his hand was the province of young boys, not of a grown man who shouldn’t have any need for solitary sex.

But he needed a damned orgasm to blank out his brain. To make him forget.

Grey gave a hard, ruthless stroke. Fluid bubbled out the tip, soaking the taut head. He rubbed his palm over the crown, lubricating his hand. It didn’t take long before the moisture disappeared and his strokes were rough, tugging the skin. More silvery juices came, making his cock slick.

He gripped his balls with his left hand, slid his right hand up and down his shaft. While his one hand pumped, he massaged his balls so they spilled over his hand. With lust driving him, he couldn’t think.

He lifted his hips, thrusting his cock into his fist. Pumped faster. Gripped his balls more aggressively.

Then, he couldn’t help it: He thought of Miss Winsome’s pretty, flushed face as she surrendered to her first orgasm. She had been so deliciously adorable—

His muscles exploded, his orgasm burst like cannon fire. A brilliant white light shot through his head, blinding him to everything but raw, harsh pleasure, and a jet of white shot from his cock, spattering onto his hand.

Grey sank back, his breathing ragged. It hadn’t meant anything that thinking of her sweet innocence in orgasm had made him explode. He had to have her on his terms. That way he would protect her from his darkness, by ensuring there was nothing between them but sex and pleasure.

Helena left the children playing on the grass in Berkeley Square and hurried over to Mr. Whitehall, who stood half-hidden by a laurel bush and motioned her to come to him.

“Well, have you read through the duke’s journal yet?” Whitehall demanded. He was dressed as elegantly as a gentleman, his hands resting on his silver-tipped stick.

“No, I haven’t had the chance.” She glanced back at the children, afraid they would notice her absence. And, after Michael’s near miss, she was determined to keep her eyes on them.

She wished she had not told Whitehall about the journal. All she could think of was the horrible scars on Greybrooke’s back. How awful were his secrets?

“If I am to continue to protect your brother, I need something now.” Whitehall snarled, his lips curling back from his teeth. He looked . . . sinister. “What of the girl, Lady Maryanne? You intimated that she knew something. She trusts you. It should be easy for you to coax her to confide. The girl is blind and half-witted—”

“That is not true,” she broke in. Her voice shook with anger. “Lady Maryanne is blind, but she is normal and intelligent. But I will not take advantage of her trust.”

“You are a damned fool,” he snapped.

She turned, ready to stalk away, when Whitehall lurched forward and grabbed her wrist.

Helena stared at his clutching hand, horrified. She tried to wrench free, but he wouldn’t let her go. “If you are going to grab me and force me to use a defenseless girl, this is finished—”

“It’s finished when I say it is,” he snarled. “I hold your family’s futures in my hands. We believe Greybrooke was blackmailed into committing treason. It is your job to find out if that is true, and discover the secrets that the French agents held over him. My superiors require details. You will return to the duke and you will find out what secrets he has. This, might I remind you, is for your country and your king. And if rumors travel that your brother is on the verge of bankruptcy, those gaming hell owners will not take kindly to losing their money. You would not want your brother badly beaten, perhaps killed, if they use him to make an example to other debtors.”

“Are you threatening Will?”

“You are an intelligent woman, Miss Winsome.” Whitehall glared at her—with his pronounced cheekbones and deeply set eyes, he looked like a death’s head. “I should think you know the answer to your question is yes.”

She struggled to stay calm. “I will do what you want, Mr. Whitehall, but I will not hurt Lady Maryanne. I will get at the duke’s journal tonight—no matter what I must do. But I warn you—do not ever approach me again when I am with the children.”

With that, she took advantage of his surprise and wrenched her hand free. And stalked away.

It was her afternoon out. With the children safely with Nurse, Helena left Winterhaven House and hurried as fast as she could to her family’s print shop on Fleet Street. She was out of breath as she opened the door and stepped inside. She had always loved the clatter of the press, the sharp smell of the ink, the bustle of activity as the men made the printing plates and assembled the pages.

It was so familiar. But she had irrevocably changed.

Last night, she’d discovered what pleasure truly was. She could never go back.

Now she knew—she was going to end up ruined.

Helena stopped and examined her cheeks in the window of the print shop to ensure they weren’t bright red. She was about to talk to her brother after all.

She had been young when her mother married Arthur Rains, and she looked on him as a true father. William now used Father’s office, a small room to the side of the entry. In there, Father had always been available to take in items of news, deal with his suppliers, trade cheerful witticisms with his competitors. Father had never been a cutthroat man of business. He’d been a happy man, and had spread happiness around him. He’d brought joy to Mother, he’d given them all wonderful childhoods; he had been surrounded by loyal and content workers. It was only after his death that they’d discovered Father had been kind but not careful, and he’d been losing money for years.

Helena pushed down her hood and hastened inside the office. Will sat at his desk. Like Father, he worked alongside his men in the print shop. Today his sleeves were rolled up, and his coat hung on a hook.

“Helena!” Will’s eyes showed raw hope when he saw her. “Have you got the journal?”

She hated dashing his hope but had no choice. “It’s not so simple,” she admitted. “I have to find a way to get away from him long enough to read through it. I don’t dare take it. If he discovered it’s gone, he’s going to know at once it was me.”

Will groaned. “I see the problem.”

“You aren’t still going to gaming hells, are you?” She was sure he was not, because of what Greybrooke had done, but it would look suspicious if she didn’t ask.

“None of them will let me through the doors.”

She fought not to look triumphant. “That’s for the best, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. However, before you act too bossy, sister, might I remind you that you are late with Lady X’s column.”

Heavens. She’d forgotten about it entirely.

Will just laughed. “For once I’ve caught you out.”

Seeing the old joy on his face made her smile in return. “I could try to write one.”

“There’s no need. Whitehall has a plan. He has decided to release information he has about the duke in Lady X’s columns. He wants to corner Greybrooke.”

“But we don’t even know if the duke is guilty.”

“Whitehall insists his information is correct. He believes it will force Greybrooke to make mistakes.”

“We can’t print things that might not be true.”

“We have no choice,” Will said, and she knew Whitehall must have threatened him. Will rubbed his hand over his chin, looking grave.

Heart in her throat, she asked, “Is there something else, Will?”

“Yes.” He looked at the corner of the office, not at her. “It’s something I must tell you, but I’ve been avoiding it.”

The floor quaked under her feet. She winced. “Tell me, Will.”

“Elise has received an offer of marriage.”

Her sister had received a proposal and she did not even know? “Heavens, why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve had to stall for time. There’s the issue of a dowry. We don’t have any money. I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want to worry you. Or make you do something mad.”

Will stood and hit the desk with his fist. “I will break into Greybrooke’s house. You can help me—get in there and leave a window unlatched. I’ll get the journal. That will give us what we need. We’ll satisfy Whitehall, and then I’ll be free of debt, and Elise can marry. Greybrooke would never suspect you then. You don’t have to become his mistress. It’s the perfect plan, and it means our troubles will be over.”

But she didn’t want to be spared from being his mistress. Heavens, did she really just want an
excuse
to go to his bed? That was the madness. But it wasn’t just that....

“Will, you can’t break into Greybrooke’s house. You could be arrested. I can find a way to look at that journal. Tonight.”

Will grimaced, but she said, “It’s all right. I know what I am doing.” Then she hugged him, and left, hurrying back toward Winterhaven House.

It was only when she was halfway home that she realized she hadn’t even asked the name of her sister’s suitor.

All she could think about was Greybrooke.

And she knew the only way she was going to be able to look at the journal was to spend the night. Greybrooke hadn’t invited her to come to him. She was going to have to go—whether she had an invitation or not. No matter what the duke wanted to do with her. . . .

She must do it.

“Don’t be a damned fool, Orley. You saw your daughter and her child yesterday. They are in a house I’ve rented and are perfectly safe. I’ve assigned several of my footmen to act as guards. I’ve stationed one in this hospital. You have nothing to fear, so tell me who this damned blackmailer is.” Grey had refused to be beaten. He’d come back, despite Cary’s conviction he would learn nothing.

Orley looked up at him, sorrow in his eyes. “What will ’appen after I’ve told you and after I get out of this ’ospital?”

“I will provide an income for you and your family.” He outlined his plan.

“Why, Yer Grace? What is my daughter to you?”

“Some men spend their lives atoning for a wrong. There was a young woman I didn’t protect. My penitence is to help others in need. You have my word as a gentleman that your daughter and grandchild will be protected until this blackmailer is arrested,” Grey said. “I will extend that protection to you. Now, the name.”

The frail old man clutched the blanket that covered him. “That’s the trouble, Your Grace. I don’t know who ’e is. It’s no lie. He was masked when he met with me. Never gave me a name. You won’t ’elp us now, will ye? Now that I can’t ’elp you.”

Sighing, Grey paced by the bed. “This does not change my promise, Orley. But there must be something you can tell me. Did he say anything that would give a clue? With me he spoke like a Cockney, but his accent sounded false.”

“Aye, he sounded like a gent with me. A toff.”

“Any idea where he came from?”

Orley frowned, and his lips worked as he thought. Finally, he gave a smile that showed a lack of teeth. “When he left me, he took a ’ackney. I was listening and I ’eard the address ’e gave. Twere on the Strand. Number fifteen.”

Grey knew the address. “A brothel.” It wasn’t promising, but it was something.

His carriage hurtled out of the gates. Brooding by the window, Grey caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure in a hooded cloak hurrying down the sidewalk toward his house. The disguise was good, but he glimpsed a golden curl, and he knew from the determined way she moved exactly who it was.

He rapped hard on the ceiling, a summons for his coachman to stop at once. His footman opened the door, panting. Grey jumped down. He met Miss Winsome, who rushed toward him.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t summon you tonight because I have business.”

Enormous blue eyes gazed at him. Bewitching eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She was breathless, and her tone was throaty, husky, and damned erotic. “I will return to the Winterhavens’. I came because I am ready. Ready to try your games. And once I’d made the decision, I wanted to carry it through.”

He shook his head. Her timing was damned inconvenient, but he could imagine Miss Winsome doing exactly that.

If he had her wait for him in his house until he returned, she could change her mind and bolt. Now that she’d come to him on his terms, he had no intention of letting her go. “Come with me.” He offered the crook of his arm.

She slid her hand there. “Where are you going?”

“A brothel,” he said carelessly.