Sylvia Day - [Georgian 03] (10 page)

Simon was in a foul mood by the time Maria’s coach pulled off the main road and into the courtyard of an inn just shy of Reading. Two of St. John’s outriders traveled on ahead, freed of the burden of the slow-moving carriages. If they were fortunate, they would return with a more solid direction or perhaps even a sighting.

The entire day had been a study in frustration. The hackney carrying Amelia had discharged her and her guard shortly after collecting them, unwilling to travel beyond the city. They had then secured another carriage and continued on. That progression of events was to be expected. What most concerned Simon were the reports of an inordinate number of French-speaking riders moving in the same direction ahead of them.

It could be nothing, or it could be Cartland.

Simon had longed to disclose the whole of the matter to Maria over dinner, but he felt a similar level of loyalty to Colin, who had risked his life for Simon on more than a few occasions. So he said nothing, holding his tongue when they parted ways to retire for the night.

In the meantime, neither he nor Lysette had any of the items required for comfortable travel. They had no change of clothes and no servants. They did not even have the proper equipage, which led him to having an aching arse and a sore back.

At least Colin had mentioned traveling to Bristol, which gave Simon an advantage. He subtly urged Maria in that general direction, while quietly sending a lone footman back to his lodgings to inform his valet of their change of plans. The servant would manage the settling of the accounts, the packing of their things, and the rounding up of Lysette’s maid and belongings.

Thinking of the Frenchwoman, his gaze moved to where she sat before the fire. By necessity, they shared a bedchamber, the size of their party enough to take up the last remaining rooms. Maria had complained mightily about the poor quality of the inn, arguing that St. John had various lackeys scattered around the area who would take them in and provide them comfortable lodging. Simon’s insistence that they remain near the road was unreasonable to her, and he appreciated the validity of the argument. However, he had no desire for Maria to realize that he had lied about the planned holiday, a ruse that would be revealed if he donned the same garments.

A soft sigh drew his attention back to Lysette. She was curled up in a wing chair, stripped to her chemise with her legs tucked up close and a blanket across her lap. Pale blonde curls were loosened from a previously stylish arrangement and left to lie carelessly against pale, creamy skin. She was reading, as she often did, devouring historical volumes of text with a voracity he found intriguing. Why such interest in the past? They had merely intended to make discreet inquiries, and she had brought a book along with her anyway.

Frowning, Simon moved to the bed and stripped down to his smalls. Then he crawled between the sheets. With lowered lids, he studied her, admiring her delicate golden beauty while considering why it was that he found her so unappealing. It was, to his knowledge, the only time in his life that he had found external attractiveness incapable of distracting from the internal flaws. Considering that Lysette rivaled Maria in loveliness, it was a startling realization to come to.

The women were similar in many ways, and that only emphasized their differences. Maria had a solid core within her, a spine of steel that was created by her unwavering determination. Lysette seemed sometimes as if she was uncertain of her life’s path. He could not understand why she appeared to relish her role one moment, and then despise it the next.

His instincts were clamoring, and he had come to rely on them implicitly. Something told him that all was not right in Lysette’s world. She was a hired killer, and her icy disposition supported her chosen profession. Yet her apathy for others was sometimes belied by brief flashes of confusion and remorse. He suspected she was a bit touched, and it was difficult to feel both sympathy and dislike toward the same woman.

“How did you come to work for Talleyrand?” he asked.

She jumped and glared at him. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Obviously not.”

“I do not work for Talleyrand.”

“Who then?”

“That is none of your business,” she said smartly.

“Oh, I think it is,” he drawled.

Her gaze narrowed as she looked at him. “Whom do you work for?” she countered.

“I work for no one. I am a mercenary.”

“Hmm . . .”

“Are you?” he prodded, when she said no more than that.

Lysette shook her head, once again looking a bit lost. Her clothes were finely crafted and expensive, her manners and deportment faultless. She had begun life in far better circumstances than these. He knew why Maria had turned to a life of crime, but why had Lysette?

“Why don’t you find a rich husband and enjoy yourself draining his coffers?” he asked.

Her nose wrinkled. “How boring.”

“Well, that would depend on the husband, would it not?”

“Regardless, that does not sound appealing to me.”

“Perhaps life as a mistress would suit you better?”

“I do not like men very much,” she pronounced, startling him. “Why are you asking me such questions?”

Simon shrugged. “Why not? There is nothing else for me to do.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Do you prefer the company of women?”

She stared at him a moment. Then her eyes widened. “No!
Mon Dieu.
I prefer the company of books, but in lieu of that, men are my second choice. Most especially in the manner to which you are referring.”

He smiled at her horror.

“Why don’t you think about Cartland?” she suggested, “And leave me in peace.”

His humor fled. “You think he will find Mitchell?”

“I think it would be impossible for him not to with this large a number of pursuers. He was given a sizeable contingent of men. I would be surprised if he was not watching all the major roads in and out of London.” Her beautiful features lost all traces of humanity. “I would not have come with you if I thought of this as merely a family affair.”

“Of course not,” he murmured, the tiny flare of warmth he’d felt for her fading as rapidly as it had come. Such was the way of their relations—one minute he found her marginally attractive, the next he could not abide her. “And what of this man who rides with Cartland? Depardue? Do you think about him?”

“As little as possible.”

There was something more there; he could tell by the edge that had entered her voice. “He is your rival, is he not?”

Her lips whitened, then, “No. He is not. If he succeeds, it does not reflect negatively on me.”

“So why not allow him to proceed and spare yourself the blight on your soul?”

“I do what I must,” she said with a trace of defensiveness. “You do not like that I can set aside my emotions to accomplish the tasks set before me, but the ability keeps me alive.”

Heaving out his breath, Simon slid down to lie on his back. “Surviving in the manner that you and I do does not mean we have to be heartless. What would be the point of living if we have no heart?”

He heard the book slam shut. “Do not seek to lecture me!” she snapped. “You have no notion of what my life has been like.”

“So tell me,” he said easily.

“Why do you care?”

“I told you, there is nothing else to do.”

“Do you want to have sex?”

His head shot up in surprise. She stared back with both brows raised.

“With you?” he asked, incredulous.

“Who else is here?” she retorted.

To his chagrin, Simon realized that as much as he enjoyed a quick, meaningless tumble, he had no real desire to tumble Lysette. However, damned if he wouldn’t rise to the occasion. “I suppose we could . . .”

Her eyes widened at his obvious reluctance. Then she laughed, a sweet, lilting sound that he found enchanting. Who knew such a cold creature could have such a warm laugh? “You don’t want to sleep with me?” she asked, grinning.

Simon scowled. “I can manage the task,” he bit out.

Lysette looked pointedly at the general area of his cock. “It does not look that way to me.”

“Never cast aspersions on a man’s virility. You force him to prove it by fucking you raw.”

A shadow passed over her features. She swallowed hard and looked away.

His irritation fled. Sitting up, he said, “I was jesting.”

“Of course.”

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, Simon cursed inwardly. He did not understand the woman at all. She was too mutable. “Perhaps we should restrain our conversations to safer subjects?”

She looked at him. “Yes, I think you are right.”

He waited for her to say something; then finally he took the lead. “I intend to capture Cartland and bring him together with Mitchell. Then you can see for yourself the differences between the two. If I know Cartland at all, he hopes to eliminate Mitchell before his secret is revealed.”

“If there is such a secret to tell.”

“Why do you not believe us?”

“Do not take offense,” she said easily. “I do not believe Cartland either.”

“Who do you believe, then?” he snapped.

“No one.” Her chin lifted. “Tell me you would do differently in my place.”

“You met Mitchell. He is an earnest young man with a good heart.”

Her gaze hardened. “I am certain there are those who would laud Monsieur Cartland as well.”

“Cartland is a lying murderer!”

“So you say. But did he not once work for you? Do you not have a grievance against him for revealing your traitorous activities in France? You have motive to want him dead, which leaves anything you say against him suspect.”

Cursing under his breath, Simon plopped back onto the pillow and yanked up the counterpane.

“Are you going to sleep now?” she asked.

“Yes!”

His response was a frustrated growl.

A
melia shivered as her bare back touched the cool counterpane and Montoya’s warmth left her. If she kept her gaze trained downward, she could see a tiny sliver of the room and the glow of the fire in the grate. But she did not want to see, so she squeezed her lids shut.

In her mind’s eye, she pictured Montoya as a rather exotic-looking man. Strong, handsome, and rather severe. The desire she felt to lighten his burdens and bring him some comfort was a goading force. She wanted to hear him laugh and press kisses to the dimples she saw far too rarely.

Suddenly, an image of Colin burst forth in all its glory, vivid and powerful. She stiffened in surprise.

“What is it?” Montoya murmured, the cessation of sound telling her that he had stopped undressing.

Inhaling sharply, Amelia brought her thoughts back to the present. Perhaps it was to be expected that she would think fondly of her first love at this moment, the one where she embarked on a similar journey with another. She lacked the experience to know.

“I am cold without you,” she lied, holding her arms out to him.

“In a moment, you will be hot and damp,” he purred, the bed dipping as he joined her atop it.

She felt the warmth of him along her side and then the gentle press of his firm lips to her shoulder. His hand drifted along the length of her, following the slight curves and valleys of her figure.

“I fear I am dreaming,” he said softly. “I am afraid to blink in case I open my eyes and find you gone.”

Amelia’s hand came to rest on the flat plane of her belly just below her navel. “I feel flutters here,” she confessed.

His hand covered hers and squeezed gently. “I will be there soon. Deep inside you.” His fingertips tiptoed across her skin and touched the curls between her legs.

It tickled, making her laugh. When he pressed his lips to hers, she felt his returning smile. “I love you,” he breathed before taking her mouth.

Her heart stopped, delaying her reaction to the deepening intrusion of his fingers. A callused fingertip parted her and her thighs squeezed together instinctively.

Gasping, Amelia turned her head away, the reaction to those whispered words hitting her with stunning force. She had never thought to hear those words again, not from the lips of a lover. Tears welled, burning her eyes.

“Open your legs,” he urged, kissing her throat. “Allow me to pleasure you.”

She began to quiver, the assault to both her senses and her heart rattling her to the core. “Reynaldo . . .”

“No.” He came over her then, kissing her hard. “Call me anything but that. Lover or darling—”

“. . . sweetheart . . .”

“Yes . . .” His tongue thrust deep, caressing hers, making her moan into his mouth. “Open,” he said ardently. “Let me see you . . . touch you . . .”

Unable to deny him when he spoke with such passion, Amelia spread her legs and then arched upward as he stroked against the tender, throbbing point that begged for his attention.

“Oh!”

Montoya’s kisses became more luxurious as he continued to fondle her with devastating skill. His callused fingertips rubbed her slick, aching sex in time to the rhythmic plunges of his tongue.

Awash in pleasure, yet struggling against the building tension that strained her body, she writhed and clutched at him. Beneath her grip his forearm muscles flexed with his movements, increasing her erotic awareness of how intimately he touched her.

Then one finger dipped lower, circling the clenching opening to her sex.

“How slick you are,” he breathed reverently. “How greedily you suck at my fingertip.” To prove his point, he pushed in the tiniest bit. Amelia cried out as her body spasmed around the gentle invasion.

“Dear God, you are so tight and hot,” he praised gruffly. “You will kill me when I push inside you.”

Amelia reached for his cock, wondering how she would accommodate him. He was so thick and hard. Her untried body was burning from the press of one finger.

Montoya groaned when she wrapped her hand around him. He was slick, too. With need and desire for her.

“You are ready to come,” he said. “Feel how hard your clitoris is?” The pad of his thumb pressed lightly against the swollen protrusion and circled. In response, her body tightened around the single finger slowly easing into it.

She whimpered as he stepped up the pace, his finger thrusting in and out, deeper and deeper. His expert manipulation of her clitoris caused her skin to dampen with sweat and her breasts to ache. Desperate mewling poured from her throat, and she clung to him, trying to bring him closer.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, his lips to her ear. “Tell me how to please you.”

“My nipples . . .”

“They are beautiful. Puckered so wantonly. Eager to be sucked.”

“Yes!” Amelia arched upward in blatant invitation.

“Say it, my love.” His finger pushed deeper and touched her maidenhead. “Say what you want.”

“I want . . .”

“Yes?” He continued to rub inside her.

“I want your mouth on my breasts.”

“Umm . . . with pleasure,” he purred.

She gasped when he obliged, the burning heat searing her tender flesh. Tension gripped her limbs, tightening with every tug of his lips, every thrust of his finger, every circle of his thumb.

The climax stole her breath when it hit. Her body went rigid, her heart slammed against her ribs, her blood rushed through her ears.

And deep inside her, at the extremity of her orgasm, Montoya broke through the barrier between them. Amidst the onslaught of sensation, the loss of her virginity was barely noticed, and the tear that leaked from the corner of her eye was not from pain, but pleasure so intense she could hardly bear it.

As awareness returned after the rush, she heard his hoarsely voiced endearments and praise. Her first thought was of how grateful she was to share the sexual act with a man who felt such passion for her and inspired a returning desire for him. What might have been an act of duty was instead a joy.

There were a hundred emotions warring for dominance within her, all struggling to be freed through words. But her throat was too tight to release them.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her breast.

Colin listened to the sound of Amelia’s heart slowing and knew he had never loved her more. She was a goddess in her passion, a creature of lust and longing, her beautiful body flushed and glistening. Earthy. Wild and hot, as she had longed to be. Built for sex.

With him.

No other man could unlock her. She said she felt nothing when he was gone. She felt alive when he was near. Warm and soft, wet and willing. Eager to be touched.

“That was”—she gave a soft, breathy sigh—“wonderful.”

He rubbed his face against her breast and laughed, his heart filled with joy. He, too, felt reawakened after being dormant too long. She had pursued him, needing his desire to set free her own.

“Your whiskers burn,” she complained, pushing at his head.

The image in his mind of such an obvious sexual mark on her made his cock throb in frustrated protest at its deprivation.

But the fantasy he had nurtured over the years was not of his own gratification. He wanted
hers
, needed it. Before the night was over he would bind her to him with pleasure, enslave her with desire, teach her all the many facets of sexual culmination. Her love was the ultimate prize, but her lust was vital, too.

“Can I burn you in other places?” he asked, lifting his head.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. Colin took over the task, licking across the plump curve with the very tip of his tongue. It was an enticement, an intimation, a hint.

From the way her breath caught, she comprehended his intent. “You jest.”

“Never. I want to taste you, Amelia. On the outside and on the inside.”

He could almost hear her brain working. Considering.

“I find it easier to conceive of my tasting you in that fashion,” she said slowly, “more so than I can the reverse.”

His arms shook at the thought, and he rolled to his back to avoid collapsing atop her.

“You would like that,” she mused aloud, noting his reaction. “Does a woman’s mouth feel so different from her quim?”

“I love that you are inquisitive. I pray you will always be.”

“One day I should like to teach you something.”

“Siren. You already have me bewitched. Must you reduce me further?”

Her hand brushed lightly across the ridges of his abdomen and circled his upthrust cock. He exhaled harshly as she sat up and turned to face him. Reaching out, he caught her shoulder and stayed her. Despite her inability to see, she turned her head toward him. Her free hand reached for the fichu.

“Not yet,” he said.

“I am ready now.”

“I am not.”

She seemed prepared to protest, then changed her mind. Instead, she stroked gently up the length of his shaft. He grit his teeth and fisted the counterpane.

“I want to do to you,” she murmured, “what you did to me.”

“You know men are less fastidious than women when we reach orgasm.”

“But the sensation is the same, is it not?”

He smiled. “I would imagine so.”

Amelia sat up and tucked her legs beneath her. With two hands, she fondled him, squeezing and caressing. The sensation originated at his cock, burned up his spine, and seared his heart. There was reverence in her touch. Awe.

The edge of a nail traced the line of a vein, and he groaned, a low, pained sound.

“Tell me what you like,” she breathed. “Tell me how to please you best.”

“You already please me best.” Colin caressed the elegant curve of her spine.

“Then tell me how to please you better.”

“If you did that, I would spend in your hands.”

“Or my mouth?” Her head tilted to one side in question.

“Not tonight,” he choked out. His bollocks drew up, and he pulled them down with a quick tug.

She felt blindly until she comprehended what he had done. “Why did you do that?” Her cool fingers touched his balls, rolling them gently, then tugging them.

Unlike when he had performed the task himself, Amelia’s ministrations had the opposite result. Colin felt as if his testicles were attempting to crawl up inside his body. He pushed her hand away. “Bloody hell, do not do that!”

“That was amazing,” she said, with that awed tone that drove him to madness.

Pushed to the edge of reason, Colin rolled over her and settled between her thighs. The makeshift blindfold twisted with his movements, but he caught it quickly and pulled it into place.

“You feel so good.” Amelia’s small hands moved across his shoulders. “You are so big and hard . . . everywhere.”

He heard anxiety in her voice and sought to alleviate it. “I will please you,” he promised, supporting his weight on one forearm and reaching low to massage the tender flesh of her cunt with the heel of his other palm. She moaned and rolled her hips into the pressure. “What you felt before is nothing to how it will feel when I am inside you.”

Her slender arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him near. “I want that. I want that with you.”

“Yes.” He licked along the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “You are a sensual woman. It’s there in the way you move, the way you look at me, the way you are built.”

“I am too slender,” she said in a quiet voice.

“You are perfect. Some women are fashioned to suit all men. You were crafted for me alone. My blood runs hot, my passions high; therefore you were made for endurance. Your limbs graceful, but lithe. Your curves lush, but not limiting.”

He pushed a finger inside her, testing her soreness. Her answering moan of welcome was all the encouragement he needed. Fisting his straining cock, he positioned the thick head at the tiny slitted entrance to her body. Cum was dribbling from the tip, the shaft too eager and determined to lubricate his way. It wasn’t necessary. Amelia was so wet and hot. With the veriest roll of his hips, the fat crown slipped inside her.

“Oh, God . . . !” she breathed, her mouth opening on gasping breaths.

Colin’s entire body strained with the pleasure of her grip. The scalding heat inside her swept upward from his cock and over his skin. Sweat misted, then pooled in the small of his back as his back bowed with the effort he maintained to keep his entry slow. She would need time to adjust to his size and the novel intrusion of a man’s body into hers.

Amelia’s hands caught his hips, and her hips began a tiny rolling motion that nearly unmanned him.

“Bloody hell!” he gasped, jolting as his seed spurted out in a desperate bid to relieve the torturous pressure in his bollocks.

“I need you deeper,” she begged, and he was so grateful for her that he took her mouth in a lush, frantic kiss. Her lips closed around his tongue, sucking it with such fervor his cock swelled in jealousy.

Using his weight, Colin pinned her to the bed, sinking another inch inside her, his hands cupping her face and gentling her ardor.

“Amelia . . .” He groaned and nuzzled his sweat-slick cheek against hers. “You are making it impossible for me to initiate you as you deserve.”

“I ache inside,” she cried, holding him so tightly. “And you are not there yet.”

“You are tiny and untried, and I am thick and hard. If I go too quickly, it will bring you pain now and soreness later.”

“You are too big . . .”

“No, damn it all!” He did not want to be surly, but her hungry cunt was tugging on the head of his cock, goading his primitive instincts to take over and leave the gentlemanly ones behind.

“Then let me watch. Perhaps if I can see, I would be less anxious. This moment is too intense without my sight. Every noise, every touch is magnified.”