Hot Silk (15 page)

She turned away, her face pressing into her pillow. “I suppose.”

It had been the wrong topic to tease her on. It had made her think about Wesley, about going from Wesley to him, and he knew she had never made peace with that. It didn’t bother him—he was still deeply touched that she had chosen him to give her good memories of lovemaking.

He skimmed his palm along Grace’s smooth, lightly freckled shoulder. “I’m not leaving you alone with those three rakes in the house.”

She rolled back, touched her hand to his; and the gesture gave him a warm sensation.

He should leave her bed and go and sleep alone in his. But he could not force himself to leave.

Devlin rolled to his side, pressed against her curvaceous backside, and dangled his wrinkled cravat before her eyes. “No rest for the wicked, love. My turn now.”

“Y
ou look too damned tempting this way.”

As Devlin’s raw growl made her instantly wet, Grace tugged on her wrists. Her stocking held her securely and she could barely move a few inches from the bedposts.

“You trust me?” His gaze was shuttered.

“Yes,” she answered simply. She was bound hand and foot, yet she did trust this man completely.

Grace wriggled her wrists again—he’d tied them loosely so she did not feel pain, but the feeling of capture was thoroughly exhilarating.

Two of his cravats bound her ankles. Watching him as he tested the bonds was so arousing. His eyes burned as though blue flame was trapped within them. Sharp lines bracketed his mouth as his face reflected the sensual agony she felt. And silvery strands of fluid stretched from the tip of his cock to the bed linens.

“I intend to play. Sensual play.” He mounted on the bed, his knees on either side of her hips. She caught her breath as his fluid dripped from the blushing head of his cock to her bare stomach. “Tickling. Teasing. Play.”

The muscular planes of his chest rose with his ragged breathing. Soft light from the low fire graced his beautiful form.

“Which do you prefer?” she asked, curious. “To be tied or do the tying?” She wasn’t entirely certain what she was asking. What would it tell her about him?

“I can ask you the same question. Tell me what you like best.”

Mmm, he was being evasive. “I don’t know. Both. Either.”

His confident smile appeared, treating her to his breathtaking dimples. “Which would you ask for when you are half-mad with lust?”

Was that the way to get at the truth? Did being lusty make one instinctively express the truth? “I would want to be tied.”

He winked. “Men just generally do the tying. To be tied—that is a special privilege, one men generally seek in secret, in silence, and they pay highly for discretion.”

“And you asked me to do it. You wish me never to speak of it?”

“Who were you going to tell, Grace?”

“No one. There’s no one I can share this with but you.”

His smile faded for a moment, and a harshness claimed his features. “Thank you. I like knowing that I share something special with you. Now for play—”

“No. I want you now. To be filled by you.” Was she mad to turn down his promise of play? But she wasn’t certain her courage would last that long.

She couldn’t read his darkened blue eyes as he put on a sheath. “Now. Please now.”

Abruptly, roughly, he pushed his rigid cock down. His long, lean body stretched to the limit as he reached to lick her bound wrist and stirred her molten quim with his prick, making long strokes over her clit until she pulled hard at the ties and moaned for mercy. His tongue teased the sensitive skin of her wrist.

Heat and fire flooded from both ends, exploding in the middle. “Please!”

His hips tipped and he slid his cock inside: one strong thrust to the hilt, to fill her completely. Then, as though to join them absolutely, he linked his legs with hers, entwining his powerful arms with hers. Slowly, he pumped into her.

She hadn’t expected him to make love so tenderly. She’d thought his game was dominance. Yet it didn’t seem to be. She longed to touch him, but all she could do was lift her hips to show Devlin how much she loved making love with him. She moved desperately, hoping to bump her swollen, aching clit against him.

It was driving her mad! She wanted to wrap her arms around his broad back. Or touch his rough cheek. Or grab handfuls of his hair.

His hands skimmed down her arms and explored her everywhere—cupped her breasts, tweaked her hard nipples. Then his fingers slid between their bodies, stroking her quim until she gasped.

“Found the target,” he murmured. Then he nuzzled her neck, rubbed her clit, and slammed his cock into her.

She curled her fingers around her straining stockings. Panted. Moaned. Worked to him, wriggling, pressing, needing—

“I’m coming! Coming!” she gasped. It happened so quickly. Warm and luscious and liquid, her release took her. Her thoughts melted. She cried out, desperately. She knew her cunny was clutching at his cock; then he surged forward and kissed her hungrily.

From his jerking hips and the way he moaned into her mouth, she knew he was coming too. Had he pressed his mouth to hers to hide the sounds?

She let her tongue play with his, wishing, wishing so much she could hold him. As he backed away, she drank in his lazy lidded eyes, his full mouth, his tangled hair.

Being bound was exciting, rather naughty, but not her fantasy.

As he turned to the stockings, the light playing along his muscles and the fine golden hairs that dusted his arms and chest, she knew exactly what her fantasy was.

A lifetime of this. A lifetime of fun and pleasure and intimacy and love with Devlin Sharpe.

With a pirate. A highwayman. A man who possessed his own harem.

Once she had thrown her heart at a wild, unsuitable man, only to have him do his darndest to destroy it.

She couldn’t do it now.

What had she been thinking? Grace blinked at the soft summer light creeping in around the curtains. She took a deep breath, inhaling Devlin’s warm scent. He almost filled the narrow bed, and she had snuggled tight to sleep.

She had been so caught up in carnal delights, she’d fallen asleep—and taken the risk of letting Devlin spend the night.

The bed shifted under her so abruptly she almost fell over the side.

Devlin’s feet landed on the opposite floor with a loud thud. Grace winced.

“Hell, I’d intended to be gone before morning light,” he muttered. And without even glancing her way, he charged over to his pile of clothes. Then he turned and asked softly, “Are you awake, love?”

“Yes. What have I done?” she answered, pointing toward the cheery yellow curtains with the sunshine pouring around them. How late was it? She vainly searched the room for a clock. “I’m going to bring scandal onto my family.”

“You won’t, love. I’ll make sure of that.”

Grace’s stomach knotted. She felt nerves, fear, but also despair as he hurriedly pulled his trousers up his legs. Sheets held over her breasts, she watched the speed with which he yanked on his shirt and flung his waistcoat on without bothering to fasten sleeves and collar.

Of course he had to rush. The sun was up!

But why did people enjoy these clandestine things, when one felt only guilty and afraid afterward?

“If my grandmother learns what I’ve done, she will never see me.”

Devlin brushed his hair back, swinging on his coat. “There’s no harm in taking a few risks, love. Can you really tell me that you’ll be happy dressing in pink ruffles and pretending to be innocent?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. I’ve learned that.”

“It does,” he insisted, but then she was staring at his broad back and his blue superfine coat as he gently opened the door. It moved smoothly, only an inch, and he bent close—an obvious expert in moving silently and watching unobserved.

A babble of voices drifted in from the corridor. The pad of footsteps up and down the hallway. The house was awake now and people were moving about.

Devlin moved back from the door and closed it so it was only open a sliver. Then, on a softly muttered curse, he silently shut it. “The hallway’s full. Too many maids and guests.”

Grace’s heart pattered. “What
are
you going to do?”

Devlin held his finger to his lips. “You know, sweetheart, you have to stop punishing yourself for what you did.”

She ignored that. “What
are
you going to do?”

“Go out the window.”

She could not have heard him properly. “Out the window? This room overlooks the cliff.”

He crossed to the window, then eased up the sash. “No different than scaling the rigging.”

“You’re a madman,” she gasped as he slid out one long leg and straddled the sill. “You cannot do this.” He was risking his life because she was afraid of scandal. “You cannot climb down.”

“I don’t plan to. I intend to climb up.”

Grace dragged her nightgown over her head, her shaking fingers fumbling to fasten the collar. Until she made herself at least partially decent, she didn’t dare look out the window.

What would she find? Devlin’s…body lying at the bottom of the cliff? Or had he really climbed up from her window to the slate roof? The curtains, still closed because Devlin had slid out the window between them, billowed with the sea breezes. Innocent sunlight flooded into her room.

Hand shaking, throat a knot, Grace jerked open the curtains. Her eyes were shut. She leaned out and tasted so much salt in the air her lips immediately dried. She was too scared to open her eyes.

She had to.

She had to know.

Far below her window, the sea smashed against black rocks. The house sat perilously close to the cliff edge, and the rock face fell away in a sheer, gray wall. There was no sign of Devlin, thank heaven. She held the upper sash and leaned out, but not too far, not with the roar of the sea filling her head and the wind whipping her hair. The eaves above, dark and shadowy, hung over her window. It was possible that he’d climbed the stone face above her window, but had he been able to catch hold of the eaves and clamber over them?

A sickening thought curdled her stomach. What if he’d fallen and the sea had already dragged him out?

No, the tide was coming in, she thought. And he would have yelled, wouldn’t he, if he’d fallen?

She shrank back into her room, heart pounding. Her fingers paused on the sash, but she didn’t want to push it down and close it. What if Devlin needed to return this way? Crazy. Foolish. He wouldn’t but she could not close the window.

Instead she pulled on her silk wrapper, a soft shade of pink, and tied it at her waist. She’d loved this robe when she’d first bought it, when she’d wanted to forget Wesley and her bad behavior—but now the pink color felt frivolous and unflattering.

Can you really tell me that you’ll be happy dressing in pink ruffles and pretending to be innocent?

For the first time she realized she wanted to be the mature and sensual woman that Devlin saw her as. She didn’t want to hide in frilly pink and flouncy hems.

Perhaps she should give up pink, but she could never be the woman she really was. He was wrong—she wasn’t punishing herself. It was her goal to ensure that her mistake did not hurt her sisters and their families. She had no other choice.

A soft knock on the door surprised her.

Devlin?

Hardly. He wouldn’t climb the roof and then come and knock on her door. Though she felt nauseous, worrying about Devlin, wondering if he was safe, she went to the door and turned the brass knob.

A maid bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Hamilton, Lady Warren has asked you to come to her parlor.”

Grace stared at the brunette girl. “She wishes me to come now?”

The maid looked harried and nervous. “Her ladyship wants you to come right away, Miss. I have been sent to help, if you need me.”

Grace swallowed hard. She did but she smelled of Devlin—of the masculine aroma of his skin and the rich smell of his come. “Please have washing water sent to me, then I will ring for you to help me dress.” She shut the door and shuddered. It was time to slip in her role of proper young woman, but it was going to be so difficult to play innocent while thinking of what she’d done with Devlin.

She looked down. Her wrists were marked, for heaven’s sakes.

And his words kept ringing in her head.
You have to stop punishing yourself for what you did.

To live in her grandmother’s world, she would have to live blamelessly. She would have to be alone. Yet she hadn’t been able to resist Devlin for one night! And what future did she have in Devlin’s world? She would end up alone, anyway, perhaps with illegitimate children.

What did she plan to do? She didn’t want to rely on the kindness of her family, on their pity and sense of obligation. But unlike her sisters, she could not think of a way to make an independent living.

Perhaps she should take up highway robbery.

Why didn’t more destitute and ruined women consider that? What, after all, did they have to lose?

“Miss Hamilton.”

Grace almost leapt out of her slippers as the male voice came out of the shadows beside her. A cultured voice. A voice with a tone she now recognized—full of lust.

She spun toward the niche, certain Lord Wesley was going to step out and grab her.

The arched space led to closed double doors, and her eyes were still blinded by the sunlight pouring in windows that opened into the corridor.

The gentleman swept an elegant bow over her hand before she recognized him. Dark hair marked with a silver streak tumbled forward as his lips touched her glove. He looked up, revealing a beautiful face, with black slashes of brows framing heavy-lidded green eyes. A different green than the color of her eyes—a dark, mossy green with mysterious glints of gold.

The rake, Lord Sinclair.

At dinner he had been showering attention on Mrs. Montgomery. Had she succumbed? Had the rake bored of the lovely widow already and was now seeking new prey?

He was beautiful, aristocratically so, yet her heart did not flutter and all she felt was a rising wave of irritation.

“You are an enchantress, my dear—” he began.

The words soured the instant they left his tongue. She did not want flattery. She realized how she loved speaking with Devlin—debating his honest and challenging statements. Now she recognized the murmured compliments of predatory men for the meaningless tripe they were.

She pulled back her hand from Lord Sinclair. “Thank you so much for your lovely sentiments, my lord, but I really must go.”

She’d taken a step back, but he followed, prowling forward like a sinuous cat.

Oh, bother.

He was attempting to back her against the corridor wall. Her legs tensed and she felt a flood of debilitating weakness. Fear. Fear of making a scene. Of being forced to hurt him, of enduring his retaliation.

Good heavens, she was shaking with terror at the thought of listening to biting, insulting words when she refused him.