Grey's Lady (2 page)

The smell of their sweat and sex filled the closed, humid carriage. This was what a fuck should be. Always.

Her wet heat convulsed around his hardness, the waves of her pleasure long-lasting and violent. He must withdraw. Now. He tore his mouth away from hers as something between a groan and a sob forced its way past his lips. His whole body shuddered as he withdrew, releasing his seed on her thigh in furious jets.

He touched his forehead to hers. “Dear God.”

* * * *

Beth sat in the farthest corner of the carriage and cast a sideways glance at her dark-haired stranger. The angular cut of his cheekbones and strong, imperious jaw gave him an air of granite-hewn arrogance.

His pale grey eyes cut into her. Hidden behind her worldly-woman smile, her heart fluttered. As if she’d just experienced her first true kiss. As if she’d been truly touched for the first time.

The horses’ hooves. The rain beating on the roof. The distant thunder. The rustle of her skirts as she drew her legs up underneath her. All of them sounded unnaturally loud.

She felt raw, exposed, bleeding.

And she had no one else to blame but herself.

She’d gone to the lecture to meet him. He was an excellent conquest. Blue-blooded, obscenely wealthy, the owner of Sexton Shipping, politically connected and powerful. Once, when she’d been too young to know better, she’d allowed herself to be seduced by a wealthy gentleman. He had promised eternal love, then abandoned her. A bitter lesson but one she’d learnt well. Now she was the seducer. She was very particular, choosing the handsomest and wealthiest of men. To know she could tempt any man of her choosing, even dressed in her shabby clothes, added a perverse thrill, made her dizzy with power. Conquest and control often proved a headier thrill than love.

Then, too, there was the erotic pleasure. She’d always been weak to her sensual drives. Her mother’s wild blood, some would say.

But today it had not been only Sexton’s wealth or handsomeness that had drawn her. It had been the way his frosty eyes had cut into her, stripping her bare of all her secrets. And how they had warmed to silver, shining with such empathy. It was as if he
knew
her, as if he could see all her faults, all her weak longings and petty spites. Even the tears she shed at midnight, silently into her pillow. And he didn’t judge her for any of it. After that moment of rare soul-to-soul connection, she had to know him. And that had been the problem.

Of course, he had succumbed. Men always did. But today had been different. Her
need
to experience him gave him a power over her that made her throat go dry and her palms slick. It was time to part ways. She always cut the strings after one encounter. Always left them wanting. It made the conquest all the sweeter.

She flicked the curtain open and gazed out, trying to determine their location. There was nothing to see but the water and grey, rainy sky. She turned back to the gentleman. “Asahel—”

“Grey.” His voice, deep and strong, reverberated in her stomach.

“Grey, I am desperately late getting home.”

He reached back and tapped the carriage wall. “You are not so very late. This normally takes longer.” He paused and grinned. “A lot longer.”

“I think it was more than adequate.”

His touch was gentle on her face. “I want to see you again.”

Her eyes caressed his broad-shouldered, powerful yet elegant form. Longing tingled through her, so ardent that fear followed close on its heels. Her heart began to pound. She should never have started this.

“You want to
see
me?” She laughed with affected lightness. “In the parlour, with my sister in attendance? Shall we have tea and biscuits, or do you prefer wine and cakes?”

His eyes darkened and the tanned skin tightened over his cheekbones. “You want bluntness? All right. I want to fuck you again.”

“It is very hard for me to get away.”

“You must.” He moved closer, a lock of coal-black hair falling over his brow as he took her hand and pulled it to his lap. His erection felt huge and throbbing beneath the nankeen cloth. Again. Already. She closed her eyes and gripped him as tightly as the fabric would allow, her cunt clenching at the recollection of the mind-drugging effect of his lovemaking. A woman could become a slave to this sort of passion.

“I shall be staying at City Tavern. All month.”

His eyes sparkled, making her stomach bottom out.

He described small circles on her palm. “You must come and see me, and soon, too. You must promise—cross your heart.” He traced an
X
across her left breast.

She arched up and put her lips upon his. As she kissed him in a long, leisurely fashion, her hand slid up to his chest to feel his heart racing beneath. And why shouldn’t it? She was very good at goodbyes.

Chapter Two

Climbing the stairs to the second floor of City Tavern, Beth wondered at herself. Over the past two weeks, she’d found sleep to be a scarce commodity. And when it did come, she wished it hadn’t. For her dreams carried her up into the black velvet darkness of the night sky, where temptation burnt like shimmering, silver starlight.

The New York gentleman’s hard, angular face, his lean, solid-muscled body, even his scent of refined cologne and clean masculinity, were engraved on her consciousness as if he were haunting her. There with her always but just out of reach or sight.

More than once, when she’d awoken twisted in sweat-soaked sheets, she’d wondered if she was being too cautious in meeting with a gentleman only once. A curious kind of logic took hold of her mind. It argued that her conquest should be all the sweeter for the repetition. She wasn’t a girl now. She could trust herself now. She wouldn’t lose her head or her heart.

What could just one more time with her dark-haired gentleman really hurt? Surely not much more than a pinprick. What grown woman feared risking a pinprick?

Afterwards, she would be able to sleep undisturbed again.

Now she paused at the entrance to the dining hall. This was her last chance to back out. But why back out? She could certainly remain in control of the situation with Mr Grey Sexton. Wasn’t she in control of herself? Of course she was. Taking a deep breath, she entered, expecting to be tossed out at any moment. Rumbling male voices and the clatter of cutlery echoed in the large room. One side was divided into partitions, a rabbits’ warren of refined, tobacco-scented male privacy. As she passed their boxes, men craned their heads, doubtless curious what business a woman could have here.

She heard his laugh and turned towards the windows. In the farthest corner, Grey sat with two other gentlemen, newspapers spread over their table.

He glanced up and, for a moment, she had a sense of disbelief. He couldn’t be the same gentleman who had made such heated, passionate love to her in his carriage. Oh, he possessed the same midnight-black hair and hard-boned handsomeness but this man was a stranger.

A laughing stranger with a ruthless set to his jaw and eyes as cold as agates.

Her heart leapt into her throat. What was she doing here?

He focused on her with hawk-like intensity and she sucked in her breath. Apprehension tingled in her belly and the sensation radiated through her body out to her fingers and toes.

His companions stopped talking and their gazes followed his. The one to his right was a short, dark-haired man with an overripe red mouth and obsidian eyes. To his left was an older man, tall and spare with thin lips and a beak-like nose.

The two other men couldn’t possibly see her face through the widow’s veil she wore but, even so, their cold, hard stares bored into her. Nothing like the tame, pampered gentlemen she knew from working at Mrs Bickle’s Inn, their power seemed to pulsate on the air. A cold power, used to having its wants immediately assuaged. A power jaded with itself, empty and hungry for anything novel to fill it up.

Sensation crawled over her. A sensation like a blizzard of frozen mosquitoes descending upon her, their icy legs skittering over her scalp, prickling and biting their way down her back. Her heart pounded in her ribcage and she turned and fled.

In the corridor, she leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, then hugged herself and shuddered all over. She’d read those two other men’s thoughts in their eyes. They had the means to buy and sell human lives. The capacity to suck one’s soul dry and take pleasure in it.

Was Grey like them? Had she made a terrible mistake? What was she doing here? Cold sweat and nausea threatened to overtake her and she forced herself to take deep, slow breaths.

You are being silly. They are as mortal as you.

But no one had ever looked at her like that. As if she were a slave on the block.

Run, just run and forget this insanity.

With her eyes on the stairs, she picked up her skirts. However, it was too late—the sound of boots on the hardwood floor reached her straining ears. Once again, her heartbeat galloped away from her. Oh, she was a damned fool. Tricked by lust into thinking this was safe. Snared in her passions like a senseless hare. Yet pride demanded she stand to face him, not flee like some silly girl.

Anyhow, it was her decision to be here. She was in control and she’d stay in control, of both herself and the situation. That was what mattered most.

The sound of boots stopped and her mouth dried. A tingling rush swept through her stomach, but whether from anxiety or anticipation, she didn’t know. She turned and saw the tall, dark shadow looming over her. Cool air rushed over her sweat-damp face as her black widow’s veil was lifted away, leaving a delicious sort of weakness in its wake. Grey’s eyes were luminous silver, reflecting the starlight of her dreams and taking her breath away.

The scent of his shaving soap, a nuanced blend of citrus and spice with an underlying note of musk, mingled with that of crisp, fresh linen. The scent evoked a sense of solace, as if she’d been living for nothing else since they’d parted. As if there were some kind of magical security to be found with him alone.

Yet she knew so little about him, except that he was leagues above her. She let her gaze roam over his tall, hard-muscled body. His cravat glowed blindingly white against the dark blue of his jacket, so stiffly starched, so perfectly tied it appeared carved from marble. The thrust of his clean-shaven jaw seemed almost ruthlessly arrogant. Heavens, he exuded wealth and power and privilege from every pore. And he consorted with those hollow souls in the dining hall. Was his just as hollow?

She felt as though she were Pandora with her hand on the lid of the box. Once again, her hands twitched to pick up her skirts and her feet burnt to run.

“Thank God it’s you, else I expect I’d have had my face soundly slapped by now.” His deep voice resonated in her belly.

Neither of them laughed. The tension, sharp like a knife’s tip held at her throat, rendered her speechless.

“I am sorry they directed you to the dining hall. Most indelicate. Someone should have come and fetched me instead.”

Inwardly, she shuddered at the memory of so many curious male eyes upon her veiled person. “It’s no matter now.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his tone front-parlour-polite.

“No.” She couldn’t possibly eat. She’d been pent up with desire like a caged cat for two weeks. Now, so close to being beneath him again, she could barely keep herself from swooning from the excitement.

“You know, for a moment there, I thought you were about to bolt.”

“No, never.”

“That’s a relief.” He laughed without smiling and pressed something into her hand—a key. He whispered his room number. “Go up. I’ll follow shortly.”

“I haven’t much time.”

“Very shortly.” The edgy promise in his voice sent a bolt of desire twisting through her belly. Her knees melted to jelly and she wobbled.

“Careful.” His strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her, his face showing none of the emotion pounding through her own body. How could he remain so unaffected?

Impulse seized her and she caught hold of his lapels. “Kiss me.”

He leaned closer. Heavens, anyone could come along and catch them.
Oh the risk
… But her breath quickened and her nipples stiffened, straining against her stays. She closed her eyes, tilted her head up. Waited.

And waited.

“How many men since me?” He laid his large hand at the base of her throat and a thrill went chasing through her. “Look me in the eye.”

Her lids fluttered open and his gaze pierced into her with such intensity she gasped. “It has only been two weeks.”

“Answer me, Beth.”

Another thrill trembled through her. Fear or anticipation? She couldn’t say. “None.”

Still holding her throat, he studied her for several long moments. She set her jaw, refusing to waver under his scrutiny.

He bent and his mouth pressed hers, hard and hasty. Passion spiralled, took her soaring to the stars. Lassitude weakened her and wetness seeped between her legs. He lifted his head. She tightened her hands on his lapels, trying to pull him back. He resisted, his eyes trained on her like a stag with a doe.

Kiss me. Just kiss me, you arrogant jackanapes.

“Now, go.” He released her, set her veil back in place and left her there.

She gaped at his departing back, watching how he moved, so tall and proud. Over-proud. Did he have any idea what a rarefied class he found himself in? She didn’t go around asking just
any
man to kiss her. She had very high standards and she shared herself with only a select few. She was bestowing quite an honour on him and yet he reacted as if she were the one who ought to be grateful. And to add insult to injury, he hadn’t even kissed her. Not truly.

Yet, despite the seething vexation he inspired in her, wetness slid down along the insides of her thighs. She could hardly wait to get upstairs and be alone with him again. To lie in his bed and have his weight press her down and his huge, hard cock thrust into her. Filling her, stretching her to her limits, just as he had that day in the carriage.