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Authors: Sylvia Day

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BOOK: Seven Years to Sin
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“I thought,” he murmured against her parted lips, “that I might have to convince you to wed me. That it might take some time. Weeks. Months. Maybe years. I built this place to make it hard for you to run while I presented my arguments.”
She smiled. “A captive audience. How would you have stopped me from leaving?”
“Perhaps hiding your clothes and keeping you pinned with my cock. I also brought a few bottles of your favorite claret with me. I remember your being much more agreeable after a glass or two.”
“Wicked man.” Her gaze lowered to his throat and the strong pulse beating there. “Do your worst. I rescind my acceptance.”
“Ah, but you didn’t accept. You asked;
I
accepted.” He nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. “And I cannot tell you what it means to me that you did.”
“You can show me.” Her fingers stroked his nape in just the way he loved.
Alistair slid to the side of her. “Roll over.”
She did as he bade, her spine tingling as she faced away from him. He released the tie at the small of her back, then deftly unfastened the buttons that secured her pale lavender gown. As the pressure of his fingers worked downward, her anticipation grew. For all her teasing about his sexual appetite, hers for him was equally fierce. After a week without him while her courses ran, her hunger for his touch and attention was ravenous.
“I want you to buy a trousseau,” he said. “Spare no expense. I do not begrudge your mourning for Tarley—I know he was good to you—but I don’t want to see you dressed in tribute to your grief whilst wed to me.”
Looking over her shoulder, she nodded, loving him all the more.
He stroked his tongue between her shoulder blades. “I should like to see you in red. And gold. Also a vivid blue.”
“To match your eyes. I would like that. Perhaps you should come with me to the modiste’s.”
“Yes.” His strong hands reached into the parted halves of her gown and gripped her waist. “You’ll be half-dressed while they measure you. I would enjoy the view.”
“At the moment, I would enjoy being
un
dressed.”
He squeezed her gently, then rolled to his back. “As you desire.”
Jess slid off the end of the dais and stood.
Tucking a pillow behind his head, Alistair settled more comfortably. He bent one knee and set one wrist atop it, presenting a relaxed and somewhat insolent pose. The multitude of colorful pillows and the netting between the posts reminded Jess of the story she’d told about a desert adventure and a lusty sheik.
She lowered her head deliberately, affecting a meek and submissive posture. Lifting her hand, she caught the neckline of her gown and tugged it over her shoulder. First one side, then the other. The bodice caught on her breasts and she stilled.
“You could ransom me, Your Highness,” she whispered. “The price you could fetch for me, in addition to the spoils from the caravan, would certainly outweigh whatever pleasure you might have from me in your bed.”
The surprise Alistair felt was tangible. For a moment, he held his silence, his chest lifting and falling with studiously steady breaths. Then, “But
you
are the reason I raided that caravan, my lady. Why expend the effort if I only intended to give you back?”
“For the fortune you will gain upon my return.”
“The only treasure that interests me is between your thighs.”
A rush of heat swept over her skin.
He jerked his chin imperiously. “Take it off. Let me see you.”
Jess licked her dry lips and took a heartbeat longer to obey. Catching her skirts in her hands, she tugged downward gently, as if she was shy about revealing the body he knew better than she did. The dress slipped from her arms and torso, and pooled on the planked floor.
“Now,” he said gruffly, “the rest.”
“Please …”
“Don’t be frightened. In a few moments, I will give you pleasure such as you’ve never known.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Nor will you again after me.”
Jess shifted from foot to foot, glancing at him furtively. He reached between his legs, brazenly stroking the thick length of his erection. A voluptuary to his bones. Skilled … far more experienced than she would ever be. Unless he remedied that lack of knowledge, which she doubted he would unless she pushed him. She suspected he feared corrupting her any more than he believed he already had, while she feared his boredom in her bed.
“I cannot say the same,” she said softly.
Alistair rose gracefully to his feet, moving with a sleek and predatory fluidity. “Yes, you can.”
He rounded her, as if examining her charms. Then he drew to a halt at her back, sliding his arms under hers and embracing her from behind. In a swift possessive grasp, he filled his hands with her breasts, startling a gasp from her.
Her head fell back onto his shoulder. “But you’ve had so many concubines who are more adventurous than I know how to be. What will become of me once the novelty wears thin?”
“You underestimate my desire for you.” His lips moved against the shell of her ear. He pulled her against him, making her feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal. “Feel how hard I am for you? I’ve wanted you too badly, for too long. I’ll never have enough of you.”
“Before the raid, did you imagine having me? Did you dream of
how
you would have me?”
“Every night,” he growled, his fingers clasping around her taut nipples.
Turning her head, she pressed her cheek to his. “Show me how you dreamed of me. Teach me all the ways I can please you. I want to learn.”
One hand slid down her stomach, then between her legs. “You no longer wish to be ransomed?”
Jess gasped as his fingers slipped into the slit of her pantalettes and parted her. With fingertips roughened by the woodworking required to build her this place of seduction, he stroked over her clitoris, knowing just how to touch her to make her writhe. “If you do, who will quench this fire in my blood?”
“No one else.” Alistair’s teeth nipped at her earlobe. “I’d castrate any man who tried.”
Maddened by the rolling of her nipple and the sudden slide of a long finger into her grasping sex, Jess rolled her hips and whimpered. A second finger joined the first, thrusting slow and easy. She sucked in a deep breath, intoxicated by his sun-warmed scent. “Please …”
“Bend over.” He punctuated the order by pushing her down.
Jess tumbled forward, stemming her fall by extending her arms. Alistair straightened, allowing the breeze to blow over her back. He pushed down the stockinette of her pantalettes. Perspiration misted her skin.
“So pretty,” he praised, running his hands over her derriere. Cupping her sex, he massaged her with his palm. “So swollen and slick. Do you need a cock to fill you, my lovely captive? Do you ache with emptiness?”
She was so vulnerable like this, unable to watch his face or movements. “Always.”
There was a faint rustle of displaced clothing, then the wide head of his cock notched against her. It was the only warning she had. Gripping her hips, he yanked her back as he thrust, piercing deep with a single lunge of his hips.
Crying out, she fought to keep her arms steady and extended.
“Christ.”
He rolled his hips, nudging against the end of her. “I’m so deep in you, Jess. Do you feel how deep I am?”
Her eyes closed on a shaky exhalation. She felt the doeskin of his breeches against the backs of her thighs and the cuffs of his shirtsleeves against her hips. When she looked down, she saw his muddy boots. He was fully dressed, shielded from exposure, whereas she was mostly nude and mounted. The lascivious image in her mind of how they would look to a bystander spurred her desire. Aroused beyond bearing, she rippled along his length. Alistair’s answering groan carried on the breeze, but she didn’t care if anyone heard them. Her focus had narrowed to the point where they joined and the tender flesh that quivered around his thick penetration.
He began to move. Not with the rough, pounding tempo she’d expected in such a primitive position, but at a leisurely pace. Deliberate. Taking her with long, sinuous glides of his thick penis into her clenching depths. He devastated her when he took her like this. He was unhurried. Rhythmic and graceful. Wickedly practiced. He worked her hips in time to his thrusting, circling, rubbing, and stroking over every tender spot.
Her legs gave out. She fell to her knees on the dais, and he slipped out to the tip, then rammed deep as he followed her down. She cried out … conquered. He kneed her legs wider, quickening his rhythm. His heavy sac smacked against her wet flesh again and again, the cadenced erotic slapping against her clitoris adding an entirely new level of sensation. Her arms lost their strength and her shoulders sank into the pillows, angling her hips even higher. Nothing impeded Alistair’s possession of her now, but still he kept that controlled and steady pace that had her clawing at the silk around her.
“God, you’re tight like this,” he said hoarsely. “And so wet. I want to come in you now …”
“Yes!”
“Not yet. I’m going to fuck you until I can no longer stand.”
His crudity surged through her in a violent shiver. She climaxed in a heated rush, her body vibrating with the force of it. He cursed as she milked him with ecstatic pulses. He held still and ground against her, staving off his own pleasure. His fingers dug into her thighs with bruising force. And she loved it. Loved that she could break his steely control just by taking whatever he needed her to take.
Jess surrendered, letting the orgasm flow through her unchallenged. Alistair’s grip lightened as she relaxed, his hands soothing her with gentle caresses and soft murmurs. She was so lost in the languid afterglow of her climax, it took her long moments before she realized he was too still. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and found him looking down at her with a clenched jaw having nothing to do with desire.
“What is it?” Her pleasured haze receded in the face of the darkness sweeping over his features.
His voice came clipped and furious. “What are these marks on your skin?”
Jess winced, hating that he’d seen the thin silvery scars marring her derriere and upper thighs. If they hadn’t been outside in the unforgiving sunlight, he might never have seen them. Although she detested the truth, she gave it to him. “Surely you recognize the marks of a switch?”
“Bloody hell.” He curled over her, mantling her body with his own, his grip around her torso like iron bands. Fiercely protective and obstinately comforting. “Do you bear other scars?”
“Not on the outside. But, regardless, they no longer signify.”
“The hell they don’t. Where else?”
She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to leave their painful pasts behind them.
“
Where,
Jessica?”
“I cannot hear in my left ear,” she said softly, “as you know.”
“Hadley is responsible for that?” He pressed his hot face into her back. “Jesus …”
“I don’t want to think about it now,” she complained. “Not here. Not while you’re inside me.”
Alistair’s open mouth rubbed against her spine, his breathing rough. “I’ll make you forget.”
She moaned her relief as he cupped her breasts, her thoughts scattering with the ocean breeze.
“But I won’t,” he growled. “I’ll never forget.”
Chapter 20
 
A
listair assisted Jessica down from his town carriage and took comfort in the sight of the lump beneath her white glove that betrayed the presence of his ring on her finger. Behind him, the Regmont town house waited. The redbrick home was innocuous to passersby, but it contained something undeniably hazardous to him.
He had no notion of what Jessica would do if her sister protested their nuptials. He had no notion of what
he
would do, since letting her go would kill him.
“She only wants my happiness,” Jessica murmured, offering him a reassuring smile from beneath the brim of her straw bonnet. “It may surprise her to learn how wicked my inclinations are, but she won’t object.”
He snorted. Clearly he’d lost all ability to keep his emotions hidden when they related to Jessica.
Offering his arm, he escorted her up the short steps. He offered his card to the butler when the door opened and swiftly found himself in a cheery yellow parlor. He remained standing while Jessica sat. He was too restless to settle in any one spot and had no intention of lingering once Lady Regmont presented herself. They’d been in port only a few hours, and he had much to attend to. His London staff had been given no warning of his return, and so his home was not yet prepared for his residency. He had a note to pen to his mother, requesting a visit so he could tell her about Jessica. And another to send to Baybury.
Impatience spurred him. There was too much to be done between now and when he and Jessica could officially announce their engagement.
“Jess!”
He looked toward the door as Hester rushed in and found himself speechless. It had been years since he’d seen her, and even then she’d inevitably been with Jessica, who always stole his attention. Still, he was certain Lady Regmont had never been so delicate. He calculated the weeks. She should be five months along by now, or thereabouts, yet her condition wasn’t apparent. She was far too thin and pale, making the rouge staining her cheeks seem unnaturally bright.
A chill moved through him. Had she lost the baby?
The sisters embraced. The differences between the two were made more apparent by their similarities. Jessica glowed with vitality—her eyes were bright, her lips plumped and reddened by his kisses, her skin flushed a healthy pink by the frequency and vigorousness of his ardor. Hester looked almost ghostly in comparison.
“My God,” Hester said breathlessly. “You look so well! I’ve never seen you so fit and happy.”
Jessica smiled. “I have Mr. Caulfield to thank for that.”
Hester’s verdant gaze moved to Alistair and remained warm. She approached with her hands outstretched. He caught them and lifted the backs to his lips, noting the prominence of blue veins beneath her parchment-like skin. The visible capillaries around her eyes and temples were also concerning.
“I owe you a huge debt of gratitude,” she said. “As busy as you must be, it was exceedingly generous of you to look after my sister.”
“It was my pleasure,” he murmured, managing a smile. What the devil was wrong with Regmont that he allowed his wife to waste away in such a manner? Especially while carrying his child? If Jessica ever looked so thin and ill, he’d keep her abed and hand-feed her relentlessly, never leaving her side until he was certain she would recover.
“How are you faring?” Jessica asked, her gaze meeting Alistair’s over her sister’s shoulder. She looked as worried as he felt.
“Famously.” Hester pivoted carefully and moved to the settee. “You must have turned about directly after you arrived.”
“What did you expect me to do after I received your letter?”
“Wish me happy and enjoy yourself.”
Jessica began to tug off her gloves. “I’ve done both, and now I am here.”
“I am absolutely fine,” Hester said. “The dratted morning sickness has passed, thank God. I am exhausted much of the time, but the doctor says that is to be expected. Come have a seat, Mr. Caulfield. It’s been ages.”
“Thank you, but I cannot stay. I’ve been out of the country for some time and there is much to be done.”
“Of course there is.” Her smile faded. “Shame on me for detaining you. I’m grateful you brought my sister to me. Will you be seeing Lord Tarley soon?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Good. Please send him my best wishes, and know that you already have them.”
Jessica set her gloves on the floral-covered seat beside her. “I should like to stay with you a while. I’ve missed you.”
“You’re worried about me,” Hester argued. “And you needn’t be.”
“My reasons are entirely selfish,” Jessica said smoothly. “Who will help me plan my wedding if not for you?”
Hester blinked. “Beg your pardon? Did you say ‘wedding’?”
“I did.” Jessica’s mouth curved and she turned to him.
Alistair couldn’t look away, not when she regarded him in that manner. Her face was so expressive, her love given so fully and freely. His throat clenched tight.
“To
Alistair Caulfield!?
” Hester cried.
He winced inwardly at the pervasive shock in her tone. Then she stood in a rush and hugged him.
I told you,
Jessica mouthed from across the room, her eyes glinting with moisture.
His tension deflated by relief, he hugged Hester back. And felt nothing but bones.
 
After departing the Regmont town house, Alistair headed directly to Remington’s Gentlemen’s Club. He needed a drink, maybe a few.
Leaving Jessica behind was damned difficult. Everything would work against them here in London, with multiple forces attempting to drive a wedge between them. When they were together, he felt as if they could manage anything. When they were apart, his driving need made him fear the worst.
Striding through the double-door entrance, he crossed the gaming area and entered the great room beyond it, his gaze skimming over faces before spotting an empty seating area in a distant corner. His brother Albert was, unfortunately, not in attendance. The sooner Alistair apprised his family of his betrothal, the sooner he could take the steps required to shut the rest of the world out of his romantic concerns. Once Jessica was his wife, Society and its meddlesome mores and opinions could go to hell. Some institutions were still sacred; what a man did with his wife was no one’s business but his own.
As he crossed the room, he became aware of the numerous gazes following him. He gave curt nods to those he did business with and ignored the rest. When he reached the bar, he ordered scotch and asked for quill, ink, and parchment. His membership credentials were verified first, reminding him how long it had been since he last socialized in London. He moved to the quiet seat he’d found earlier and settled into the leather wingback.
“Damnation,” he muttered, lifting the tumbler to his lips. He felt the multitude of eyes on him, but couldn’t fathom the interest. He even checked his attire, looking for anything out of place that might attract undue attention.
Finding no discernible reason for the curiosity he’d roused, Alistair raked the room with a challenging glance, daring someone to approach him instead of furtively assessing him. To his surprise, some of the gentlemen smiled and waved, as if they were old friends. His sharp-edged wariness fled, replaced by mounting confusion. When a familiar tall, dark figure entered the room, Alistair stood with relief.
Michael’s gaze found him. With eyes widened by surprise, he crossed the distance between them with long strides and caught Alistair in a fierce embrace.
“Has the world gone mad?” Alistair barked, holding his arm out to prevent spilling scotch down his friend’s back.
“How are you?” Michael searched Alistair’s face, then shot a telling glance at the fellow tending the bar.
“Alive and kicking.”
“Yes, well, there is something to be said for that, is there not?”
“Absolutely.”
They sat. A moment later a tumbler was set before Michael. “I wasn’t expecting you for another few months, at the earliest,” he said.
“That would have been ideal. However, once Lady Tarley learned her sister was in the family way, she desired to come home at once.”
Michael inhaled sharply, but said nothing.
Alistair took another drink, knowing how it felt to covet another man’s wife. “Lady Regmont sends her regards. In fact, she seemed most concerned that I find you in order to do so.”
“Most likely she was thinking that you and I have a great deal in common at this point.”
“Because we both love Sheffield women? What are we to do, exchange notes?”
Michael stilled. “What did you say?”
“Come now. I’ve known how you feel about Jessica’s sibling for many years. Like Jess, your face reveals everything.”
“ ‘Jess’ you say? What in bloody hell?” Michael’s glass hit the wood tabletop with a decisive thud. “I pray you haven’t been wool headed enough to play your games with my brother’s widow.”
“Never.”
Michael exhaled his relief.
“However,” Alistair went on, “the games I play with my betrothed are no one’s concern but my own.”
“By God, Alistair …” Michael stared for a long moment, then tossed back the contents of his glass in one swallow. He signaled for another. “What do you think you’re doing? Jessica is not the type of woman a man takes lightly. Your station and means, even with marriage, won’t be enough to keep her happy. You will have to be cautious and discreet—”
“Or simply steadfast.”
“Don’t jest!”
“This is no joke to me, Tarley.” Twisting his tumbler back and forth, Alistair surveyed the room again, aware that others would think as Michael did—that Jessica would be better served by another man. “I have loved her since you and I were boys. At the time, I thought she was flawless; the one finely wrought thing in this world that might have a hope of saving my blackened soul.”
“Spare me the poetry. Byron, you’re not.”
Alistair smiled, his mood softened by thoughts of Jessica. He was about to marry a diamond of the first water, a woman so heartbreakingly perfect for him that he ached just thinking about her. There wasn’t a man in this room who didn’t know her worth, and she was his. “But I’ve since learned it is our defects that make us perfect for one another. I expect to live in monogamous marital bliss for the rest of my days.”
“And what does Masterson say about this?”
“As if I care what he thinks.”
“What of your mother, then?” Michael challenged. “She might view this as an opportunity for you and His Grace to find common ground. Jessica is barren, Alistair. For a certainty.”
“I know. I care not.”
“You cannot be so vindictive. I know you and your father have never gotten along well, but this is a matter far greater than either of you.”
A fresh beverage was set before Michael. Alistair grabbed it for his own and drained it. “Your brain has been addled by overwork,” he said, wiping his mouth.
“You must be accountable now for decisions that will impact generations—”
“Bloody hell. Let us be clear … Your objection to my marrying Jessica comes not from unsuitability or incompatibility, but from your belief that I have an obligation to spawn?”
“Responsibility is a nuisance, is it not?” Michael said with surprising bitterness.
“Obviously the stress of your brother’s passing has driven you mad. Damned if I’ll give up the one thing in this world I cannot live without simply to whelp offspring in a pitiful attempt to gain acceptance.”
“Whether or not you mend the rift with your father is secondary to honoring your duty to the title.”
Alistair was of the mind that walking away might be wise. Otherwise, he was certain he was only seconds away from strangling his oldest friend. While Michael had no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Alistair’s parentage, he was spouting nonsense nonetheless. “Ensuring the longevity of Masterson’s lineage has never been, nor will it ever be, my duty.”
Michael’s head tilted, his gaze narrowing. Suddenly, something akin to horror swept over his features. “My God … You don’t know, do you?”
 
“Alistair Caulfield,” Hester repeated, shaking her head. “I would never have guessed. You two were always so cool and reserved toward one another. I always believed you didn’t much care for him.”
Jessica lifted one shoulder in an offhand, slightly sheepish shrug. “He’s changed, but more than that, there are depths to him one cannot see unless he reveals them. And I confess, I always found him physically attractive.”
“What woman doesn’t?” Hester leaned forward, as if imparting a great secret. “There is something deliciously wicked about him. Something sinful and decadent. And dear God, he is a man now, so large and strong. More handsome than ever, and he was stunning in his youth! It is difficult not to stare at him.”
BOOK: Seven Years to Sin
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