Engaged in Sin (20 page)

Goodness. His words both broke her heart and set it soaring. With it pounding madly, she hitched up her skirts and climbed onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Never had she wanted him more. “You must tell me what to do,” Anne said.

“This, love,” Devon growled. “Take me inside, bounce on top of me, make yourself come.”

She was the only thing that could make him forget grief—grief for Rosalind, for the men who’d died in battle, for Captain Tanner, who had been lost to his family. He knew so much grief. He felt it even for the French soldiers he’d killed, their faces ingrained forever in his memory. For his father, who had died during the first year he’d been at war.

The carriage began to climb a hill, rattling slowly, and Cerise tightened her lithe arms around his neck. With just a sensual twitch of her hips, she took his erection inside. He shut his eyes, groaning at the sweet pressure and the weight of her bottom settling on his thighs. He was becoming addicted to her. More than he had ever needed brandy, he needed Cerise.

This time, he would make her come for him. On the grass, in the field, he’d thought … he’d imagined he was close. She had felt so relaxed, so creamy and hot around him. But she had been so quiet, he was afraid he’d hurt her and she was trying to hold in sounds of displeasure. This time he would be gentle. And make it good for her.

Balancing against the motion of the carriage, he held her slim waist and thrust inside her. He ground his molars to hang on to his control and arched his hips with deliberate slowness, in a gentle, teasing rhythm, until she whispered throatily, “Harder. Please. I want it … hard. And fast.”

Focused so intently on her, he could hear her over the rattle of the wheels. And her wish was his command. He made love to her so vigorously that he lifted them off the seat and set the carriage bouncing on its axles.

Her lips found his and she kissed him hungrily. Greedily. Did it mean she liked it, or was she playing mistress? He didn’t know, but he answered with a hot, open-mouthed kiss of his own. He couldn’t see her breasts, but he felt them brush his chest as she bounced. She panted into his mouth, but she didn’t make a sound. The carriage grew hotter, though, hot as wildfire. He wanted to make her explode, hungered to give her a climax that would make her howl her pleasure.

He slid his hand between their tight bodies, working by feel, and pressed his thumb to the apex of her slick, steamy cunny. She gave a shocked gasp, then a soft, melting moan.

“Yes.” He panted through each wild, hard thrust. “I want to bring you to your peak. Tell me what it takes for you to get there, love. I’m yours to command.”

“I—I don’t know,” she moaned. “This … this is so good. You are. You made me come when I never thought I could …”

Her words touched him like no other caress had. He
drove deeply into her, trying to do the exact thing she apparently liked. Then she gripped his shoulders and took him at his word. She bounced, wriggled, and found a rhythm that pleased her. The carriage echoed with her moans. A lovely feminine “Oh, oh, oh!” rang by his ear, then she jerked on top of him and gave a wonderful, earsplitting scream.

It set him off like a fuse to a cannon. He braced—for they were going downhill—and arched up, burying his cock to the very hilt, and his muscles seemed to melt like wax as he came.

“Oooh.” She slumped against him. “Mmmm.” She drank in fierce breaths.

He was holding his. She sounded content, honestly so, and he wanted to know her sweet sounds were real, not faked. “Did you come?” He sounded like an uncertain lad.

“Yes.”

“For the first time?”

“Not quite. I—oh, I’m so sorry, but you were right. I didn’t come before. But I did this time. And I did in the field, when I was so quiet and you became angry. That was my very first climax. It wasn’t your fault before. It truly wasn’t. I thought I would never have an orgasm.”

“You aren’t flattering me?”

“No! This is the
truth
. I never knew my muscles would flutter inside when I came. Or that my heart would pound so much. I never knew my nipples would grow so plump and hard at the peak of pleasure. Does that make you believe me?”

Their carriage stopped and familiar voices, those of his grooms, shouted up to his coachman. Devon stayed seated, wrapping his arms around her. “Yes. I’m glad I gave you pleasure.”

“I—I am too.”

Yes, hell, he was completely addicted to her.

From outside, there came a cacophony of sound. A man’s shouts, loud pounding, and a rumble like the clatter of fast wheels on gravel. Devon jerked up from the seat, shifting Cerise on his lap. He turned for the window, then remembered. “Angel, you’ll have to look. From the sound of hooves and the crunch of wheels, I’d guess it’s a carriage. One barreling up my drive. You’ll have to tell me who it is.”

Anne’s heart thundered in her throat as she slipped off the duke’s lap and pressed her face to the window. They were indeed on the drive in front of the duke’s house. Pulled by four galloping grays, an elegant white coach rattled up the drive. It stopped beside them. There was something on the door—a gilt-trimmed crest, partly obscured by dust.

Anne swallowed hard. It was a member of the aristocracy, not someone from Bow Street.

The carriage door opened and a woman stepped out—a woman wearing a blue silk pelisse and a deep-brimmed bonnet that shielded her face. The lady slowly turned to their carriage. Anne saw an oval face, very pale, and lovely features. She saw the woman hesitate and chew her lip.

“Who is it?” the duke asked.

Anne started. In her shock, she’d forgotten he was dependent on her eyes. “It’s a lady with dark curls and a very beautiful face. I think she must be your sister.”

ROM THE CARRIAGE
window, Anne watched the duke jump down from the steps and turn toward his sister as the tall, dark-haired beauty let out a squeal of delight. His face softened, and his arms extended toward the happy sound. Anne’s heart gave a tremendous lurch in her chest. She had never seen him look so surprised or so deeply touched. In that moment, he was more darkly handsome than ever.

This was a disaster. She was a fallen woman—she should not be anywhere near his sister, who would probably be mortified to know she stood not six feet from her brother’s ladybird. Shame and embarrassment rolled over her. Anne desperately tried to smooth her skirts and straighten her crumpled bodice. She had told the duke she must stay inside the carriage. It would be highly inappropriate for her to come out, even if she only lurked in the background and was not introduced to his sister. She would sit in the carriage until it drove around the house, then she’d slip in the back door.

She would gather her things. And she would have to go.

“Devon, thank heaven! Thank heaven you are alive and you are home safe!”

His sister’s cry made Anne twist her head toward the window again. She saw dark-blue silk flap as the duke’s sister launched herself fiercely into him. Quite a bit shorter than he, the young woman collided hard against his chest. The duke’s arms shot around her and he cradled her close. His sister embraced him tightly, then gave a squeak and moved back, placing her gloved hand on her stomach.

Anne felt her eyes grow huge. His sister’s hand cupped the pronounced curve, almost completely hidden by the voluminous folds of her pelisse. She was enceinte.
Very
enceinte.

Even from where she sat, Anne could see the sparkle of tears on his sister’s blushing ivory cheek. Then a delicate hand in a white satin glove lifted, and the duke’s sister smacked him playfully on his chest. “Why did you stay away, you awful brother?”

Guilt nipped at Anne’s heart. If she had tried harder to heal him, perhaps he would have accepted the truth—he was not mad, he had no need to hide, and he should go home to his family.

Or was he hiding for a reason other than war and nightmares? Could he have refused to go because he hadn’t recovered from Lady Rosalind’s death and he didn’t want to court a bride?

She knew she must turn away and give them privacy when his sister cried, “You appear to be exactly the same and just as healthy and hale as your mysterious friend promised us you were.”

Mysterious friend?
Anne’s stomach dipped. Had her letter been the thing that lured his sister to come here? Surely it wouldn’t have done that. She’d written it to
reassure
his family.

“Mysterious friend?” the duke asked slowly. “Who are you talking about?”

“The author of that letter, of course.” His sister smiled up at him. Then she wiped tears with the back of her glove. “Goodness, you haven’t even asked how I am, Devon!”

“Wait—Ashton. It must have been Ashton.” He kissed the top of his sister’s rose-festooned bonnet. He tipped his head back, and pain and regret flashed over his handsome features. “Of course I want to know how you are. But the truth is … I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to guess exactly which of my sisters you are. I was certain I could do it by the sound of your voice. I thought I wouldn’t need sight to recognize you. But I do.”

“You daft thing, you should have asked! It’s Caroline, of course. The enormous bulge of my belly should have given it away.” His sister took his hand. Smiling, she placed it over her stomach. Anne’s eyes watered as she saw the duke’s expression change to one of amazement, then undeniable pride and admiration. But his next words to his sister truly broke her heart.

“You are enormous, Caro. Which means you should not have been traveling to see me.”

Enormous
. It was the sort of teasing word a brother would bestow on a sister. Anne never had brothers and sisters, although she had learned about how dastardly a brother’s teasing could be from girls in the village near Longsworth. But the sharp lines bracketing the duke’s mouth revealed how worried he was.

“Well, I am tired of ‘lying in.’ I’ve had enough of lying on a chaise longue, waiting for a baby who seems determined never to arrive.”

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “You should sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting for
hours
. Though that carriage jiggled all over on the road, and I had to stop at every
coaching inn to use the necessary. You have no idea what a baby does to you—”

“I don’t think I want to find out, Caro.”

“Well, you can’t find out. Not personally, I mean. Stop looking so terrified. You’ve been through war—you can’t be afraid of me simply because I’m enceinte.”

His brow quirked. “I’m not afraid. Let’s get you to a seat that isn’t moving. Are you hungry?”

Anne couldn’t help but smile as the duke hurried through a list of questions. Did she want tea? Or biscuits? Sherry? Or perhaps some pheasant and potatoes and pie? He looked so worried for his sister, Anne thought her heart would swell to bursting just watching the two of them.

Then Caroline frowned. She touched his disheveled cravat. “I’ve never seen you look quite so … rumpled, Devon.”

Heat flared again in Anne’s cheeks, but the duke answered softly, “I can’t see what I look like anymore, so I don’t seem to care.”

“You need a woman’s touch,” his sister declared.

“True,” he replied. “There is nothing like a woman’s touch to set a man to rights.” At that moment, the coachman called down to ask if he should take the carriage away, and the duke shouted in answer, “Take it to the stables.”

Anne knew what this meant. It was time for her to leave.

The carriage lurched into motion. She allowed herself one last look at the duke. At the clop of hooves and jingle of the traces, he jerked up his head. He followed the sound and his eyes met hers as she gazed through the window. He couldn’t see her, but he didn’t turn away.

Anne sank back so his sister would not see her. But faintly, obscured by the rattle of the wheels, his sister’s lovely, rich voice tumbled in through the open window.
“That letter I spoke to you about. It wasn’t written by the Earl of Ashton, you know.”

Oh, no. The carriage slowed. The horses were turning so the duke’s large black carriage could move past his sister’s jauntier white one. With the softer rumble of the wheels, Anne could hear every word. And she
had
to.

“Apparently it was written to Mama by a lady friend of yours. Unsigned, but we were certain it was a woman’s handwriting. Anyway, Ashton’s letters are usually a scrawl. I was terribly curious to find out who this lady is. Devon, have you fallen in love?”

Anne peeped out the window in time to see the duke put his hand to his temple, as though he had just felt a sharp pain. Her head throbbed, too, as she waited for the disaster to crash down upon her.

“Oh!” His sister clapped her hand to her mouth. Her violet eyes widened, her dark lashes reaching so high that they brushed her eyebrows. “She is your
mistress
, isn’t she? How utterly shocking. But if she had not written, we would have had no idea what was happening to you. We would not know how much you are suffering from the memories of war and how cleverly you are conquering your affliction.”

“She wrote a letter to our mother.” The duke cocked his head and said the words with infinite care, as though he was coaxing his sister to give him a denial. But of course she wouldn’t—for this was exactly what Anne had done.