The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (23 page)

"My heart's desire is to attend college. I had set my sights on Radcliffe College in America." Daring to look up, she saw understanding cross his face.

"Ah, that is why you were running away. Your father wouldn't send you to school."

Bitter laughter rose in her throat. "He sent me to finishing school to learn how to pour tea. He chided me for expressing my opinions and theories. He said I'm a weak woman who prattles about things she doesn't understand. School in America offered the only option."

His warm hand rested atop hers. She stared at the elegant, long fingers pressed against her skin.

"You don't prattle. I find you immensely engaging and fascinating. Why can't you believe me?" he asked quietly.

"Men of rank do not expect intellectual discussions with their wives. They expect them to share their bodies, not their minds." Jillian couldn't help the cynicism inflecting her voice.

"I think men and women can share both," he countered.

"You do?" Her heart thudded wildly at the intent look he gave her, the sultry want in those midnight eyes.

"Take your discussion of gold, for example," he murmured. "Gold, like the color of your hair when the sun lights it. You predict gold will be the backer for currency in America." He plucked free the pins holding her locks captive. They spilled free in soft waves, tumbling down past her breasts, one of which the duke palmed, heat flaring in his gaze.

"The purchasing power of gold continues to rise," she stammered, her gaze riveted to the equally fascinating rise in his silk trousers.

"I doubt it will deflate in the near future."

Desire darkened his gaze to black. Graham very gently pulled her down to the polished floorboards with him. He clasped the back of her neck, drawing her to him.

"Gold, er, gold is much more stable and reliable, and such a..." She whimpered as he lightly bit her neck, then chased it with a soothing sweep of his tongue. He pushed her back against the hard floorboards. His hands—oh goodness, his hands were beneath her sensible skirts.... Here she was, in a schoolroom, babbling about gold standards while her husband was pushing her skirts up. His hand slid along her inner thigh, teasing and skimming the stocking's edge. His heavy-lidded gaze captured hers as he unbuttoned her white blouse, opening it to reveal the upper halves of her breasts lifted by her corset.

"Do you know how much I adore it when you talk like this?" he asked.

"L-like what?" Oh God, he was running his finger along the edge of her breast. She tensed with sweet anticipation.

"Like the intelligent woman you are. It excites me." He breathed against her ear, nibbling at the lobe.

"I didn't realize you found economics so... stimulating."

Graham paused and cupped her cheek. She dissolved at his tender look. "It's you, Jilly, that I find stimulating. Your brilliant mind, your clever wit... your passion."

He reached down and loosened her corset, then popped a breast free. Jillian drew in a breath, feeling her skin flush.

With a slow, deliberate lick, his rough velvet tongue crested her nipple. Graham swirled it round the hard peak, which his mouth then closed over. He suckled deeply.

Jillian arched, gasping, tremendous heat engulfing her with each insistent tug of his mouth. Graham released her nipple and leaned back, a slow, knowing smile teasing his mouth. His wet mouth, reddened and warm. Oh, she needed that mouth, needed it on hers, now. Jillian reached up and wrapped her hands about his neck, dragging him down to meet her.

He kissed her lips, stroked the inside of her mouth, tasting and coaxing her response. Then Graham pulled away, his dark eyes intense.

"Tell me more about Marshall's theory," he demanded.

Talk? Amid this mindless pleasure?

"Ah, um, well... Mr. Marshall expresses the logic that man evolving into a more sophisticated being means that even his animal passions need association with mental stimulation...."

"Animal passions," Graham breathed. He made a rough, growling noise deep in his throat as he showered tiny kisses over her collarbone, along the edge of her throat.

"Um, oh... ob... even when he has the means to acquire more expensive food and drink, he still has a restricted appetite, for nature restricts him—oh God," she moaned as his mouth encased her nipple. With long, slow strokes, he flicked his tongue over the hardened peak.

Graham raised his head, his gaze burning into her. "And?" he demanded.

"Graham, please, sod the bloody economics," she begged. She needed him inside her, now.

Deep laughter rumbled from his chest. Graham unfastened his trousers. He leaned over her, his gaze midnight black, as he settled between her thighs and mounted her. She felt the thick hardness pushing at her wet entrance, and with a mighty thrust, he entered her. Her bottom skidded along the polished oak floor; he caught her hips and held her tight as he rocked back and forth, penetrating deep.

Jillian bit back a tiny cry as she clutched his lapels, feeling as if she drowned in pleasure. Giving in, she arched and muffled her cry of release against the black silk of his coat. Her body tensed and convulsed, infused with molten fire. Graham stiffened above her and his jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth, biting back a harsh cry as he violently shuddered.

Releasing a ragged breath, he stared down at her. "Did you enjoy your lesson?" he asked.

Jillian managed to find her wobbly voice. "And... and what lesson was that?"

"That,
habiba
, was a lesson in supply and demand. Since I intend to be a very demanding husband, I will supply you with as much pleasure as you can possibly stand, a beneficial trade agreement for both involved parties."

"But at what price?" She held his gaze, feeling him still hard within her.

Graham dropped a light kiss on her perspiring forehead. "Whatever price you desire. How does attending college here in England sound? Would you like that?"

Jillian's heart skipped a beat. "Truly? But the money—"

"Blast the money. We'll find a way. If attending school is your heart's desire, Jilly, then I want to deliver it." He caressed her cheek "On a gold platter, if I could."

She managed a smile. "Silver. We can't afford gold."

He laughed. "If I find you a school to attend, Jilly, you'll stay with me?"

Haunted loneliness flickered in his eyes. She thought of all he must have lost as a child, and her heart turned. But she needed more from him. She vowed never to have her parents' marriage: two people merely sharing space and not each other.

"If I stay, Graham, things must change," she said slowly.

He loomed over her. The duke's powerful body kept her helplessly pinned to the floor. Her slight, feminine body was invaded, kept at a distinct disadvantage. But she pressed on, knowing she had to speak now, while she had his full attention.

"I can't have a marriage where my husband closes himself off to me. You disappear for hours and don't tell me where you've gone. You build a stone wall around yourself and no one is allowed in. You said men and women can share their bodies and their minds. Share yourself with me, Graham. Everything."

His gaze went cold. She felt him abruptly withdraw from her, both physically and emotionally. He stood, adjusting himself, brushing off his silk trousers as if their tumble had meant nothing. As if her words had meant nothing.

At the doorway he paused, his back to her, his voice emotionless. "I'll instruct my secretary to begin the search for a university that will admit you. Think about it, Jillian. I can give you your heart's desire—if you don't leave me."

But will you give me your heart, Graham
, she silently asked. How can I remain if you insist on shutting me out?

He left her lying on the floor, her skirts up to her waist, his seed pooling between her damp, trembling thighs.

* * *

With meticulous precision, Graham was setting his plan into action. He'd kept everything concealed from Jillian. To tide his family over, he'd sold one of the four Arabian mares he'd purchased from the Khamsin. He offered half the money to the Khamsin sheikh as a partial payment on the mares purchased from them, but Jabari had written back, refusing payment. Instead, he'd requested a small percentage of money earned from stud fees.

"Your stallion's stud fees, my friend, not yours," Jabari had written. "Speaking of breeding, congratulations on your marriage. Consider the mares a wedding gift."

Graham sighed as he read over the sheikh's smooth, flowing English script. His financial problems were temporarily solved.

Under less pressure now, he'd spent afternoons with Jillian's father at his club—building trust, allowing himself, despite his dire financial circumstances, to lose at cards. Convincing the earl he had taken up his cause.

Only one quest diverted him from his zealous drive to ruin Stranton. Graham sent his secretary to inquire about colleges Jillian could attend. He did it with a guilty pang, knowing Jillian wanted from him what he could not offer. Himself. Share the terrible darkness inside? He couldn't do it. Never again would he permit himself to be vulnerable.

Causing Stranton's ruin took precedence. Graham sent his trusted groom, Charles, to one of London's worst rookeries. The servant finally returned to grimly inform him he had found the type of boy Graham required.

The next afternoon, Graham dressed in clean but modest clothing. He studied his reflection as he slapped on a working man's cap. He must blend in to the surroundings like the panther he was, camouflaged for the hunt.

The rookery of St. Giles nestled in the heart of London like a festering sore. The duke and his groom walked the narrow streets with caution, eyes open and searching. Tucked into the duke's bulging coat pocket was a purse sure to attract his prey. Graham's nose wrinkled at the stench of old gin, sour vomit and urine permeating the streets.

This teeming river of human misery, awash with crime and poverty, chilled his blood. The squirming mass of people reminded him of a nest of black scorpions he'd stumbled upon in a cave in Egypt. Just as ugly, and lethal in their sting.

Trained to scent danger, he scanned the streets as they walked. It didn't take long. Graham felt the slightest tug on his pocket. Catlike he whirled, capturing his prey by the wrist—a tall lad with rags for shoes, clad in a reasonably good coat that was most likely stolen.

"Let go," the boy protested, squirming to free himself.

Older. Perhaps thirteen. None of the childlike innocence he needed. Graham squeezed his wrist in warning and tossed him a coin. "Here, go buy yourself a pair of shoes," he said gruffly.

The boy tore off, disappearing into the crowd.

They continued walking. Graham scanned the terrain, ignoring the dilapidated houses with their windows broken and patched with yellowed paper, the barefoot girls with hardened faces. They passed a man in a tattered brown greatcoat pressing a woman against the wall. The woman's legs were wrapped about his hips as he grunted and shoved into her. She stared into the air with the listless look of an opium user.

Graham forced himself to keep walking. Soon enough, another tug on his coat. He whirled, caught the thief's wrist.

"Hey!" the urchin protested.

The boy in filthy rags had the face of a hungry angel.

His grimy cheeks were hollowed, his eyes defiant but scared. The duke studied him. About eight years old, he had an unearthly beauty with that tousled and dirty black hair and large, dark eyes. Clean him up and he'd present a tempting package.

Self-loathing twisted his guts, but Graham heaved a breath. Nothing would happen, he promised himself. He'd catch the earl before any real physical damage was done.

And the psychological damage?

The boy had lived on the streets. Despite his look of innocence, Graham knew he had seen much—done much, too, most likely. At the age of eight, he was already a weary veteran in the war to claim food and a warm place for the night.

In turn, Graham would arrange to have him brought up by one of his tenant families in the countryside. If one could contain such a wild, untamed boy. If he would not run. But perhaps the promise of warmth, security and food would leash him—as it had finally leashed Graham when he was the boy's age.

The duke took a ragged breath and nodded at Charles. Preliminaries, names—Jeremy—and then Charles made the offer. Jeremy's large dark eyes widened with suspicion and then wonder at the two coins Graham held out.