Engaged in Sin (39 page)

Her shoulders quaked. In fear? Or fury? “But you must take me to the magistrate. Anything else will get you in trouble. Dear God, it enrages and sickens and terrifies me to think I might hang for something I didn’t do. But I couldn’t face watching you be charged for helping me. I would admit to the crime before I’d let that happen.”

She was willing to sacrifice herself for him. When he’d been in battle, he was known as the Mad Lord Major, for the wild ways he’d fought to save others. To be willing to admit to a crime she hadn’t committed, to save him—that was true madness. He got to his feet, hauling her with him.

“You might have signed a contract with me,” she said fiercely, “but you didn’t buy my soul.”

“Indeed I didn’t,” he retorted, but the fear in her eyes twisted his gut. It brought other nerve-racking thoughts to mind.

“What were you going to do in Bombay?” He tried to sound cool and calm, when his molars wanted to grind until he was left with stumps in the back of his jaw. “Were you planning to be a courtesan to some British officer? Or to a rich nabob involved in the East India Company?” He scruffed his hand over his jaw. “What did you have to do to get the money for the stage?”

All around them, the business of the port carried on—loud, raucous, industrious. But even though he could see it all, he felt locked in a void, waiting for her answer.

Why did the thought of her being a courtesan to another man make him so angry? Why did he feel so possessive of her? She wanted to leave, he was supposed to marry, and she had just reminded him she was not his
possession. He’d vowed he wouldn’t keep a mistress after he wed.…

“I got my ticket for the stage by assisting an elderly woman—she had no maid and I acted as one for her. In exchange, she paid my way to London,” she finally said. “As for Bombay, I have enough money to begin a new life. An independent life. That’s what I want. What I
dream
of having.”

Which meant he was dashing her dreams. Damnation, how did she do this? How did she manage to make him feel the villain in this? “My carriage is waiting. You are not sailing away from me today, Anne. I have no intention of letting you go.”

He was furious with her.

Anne knew it. Devon’s expression was cold and hard, and he had looked away, out his windows, as though he might be driven to violence if he looked at her. His coach, a plain black one, rattled down Wapping High Street, making slow progress amid the crush of carts and teams, giving Anne far too long to be trapped with an angry man. Then she realized he was carefully checking behind them.

“You’re afraid someone is following us?”

“I went to Bow Street’s magistrate yesterday. To tell him I believed you innocent, to find out what evidence he has against you, find out if he has other suspects. He was a friend of my father.”

Oh, goodness. “You are betraying a family friend for me?”

Coolly, he said, “I assume he would have assigned Runners to watch me. I took care to ensure I wasn’t followed. I brought the plain carriage. We left before dawn and took a circuitous route to the docks. But I know not to be overconfident.”

She had forced him to be disloyal to a family friend who was also a magistrate. She’d abandoned him in the woods after he had been hurt. She hated thinking of what she’d done to him. And she hated the icy frost in the carriage.

What would an angry duke do to her? He had told her he would not hand her over to Bow Street. Years in the stews had taught her to expect the very worst. What if he had another punishment in mind? No, this was
Devon
. He would not hurt her. All the time she’d lived in his house, he had been afraid he would hurt her by mistake. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Help you,” he muttered. “Apparently, even if it kills me.”

She had to break through this stubborn determination to help her. She had to make him see that the only thing she could do was run. The irony was laughable. She had to seduce him into letting her go. And, to start, she had to chip through the ice.

She let her shaky fingers brush along the edge of his thigh. Her fingers grazed rock-hard muscle. What would he do? Flinch? Pull away?

He didn’t move his leg, but he turned and watched her, his lids half lowered. His long lashes seemed to stand out for inches, sumptuously curved at the ends. She stroked him more deliberately. She skimmed her hand up his inner thigh, coasting over his snug trousers, her throat so tight she could hardly breathe.

Lightly, she tickled the juncture of his legs. He wasn’t stopping her, but he didn’t look aroused either. His face was impassive.

She wasn’t going to seduce him by barely grazing him with her fingers. She had to take the risk. She had been willing to sail to Bombay and leave him forever. But here, now, she was afraid she would do something
wrong, she would make him angrier, she would lose him forever.

Gathering courage, she caressed his left thigh. She wriggled her hand beneath his hard derrière and the velvet seat and squeezed. Audaciously, she found the soft ridge of his cock and stroked it through the fine wool of his trousers. His breath hitched. His lids lowered again, and he didn’t push her away.

She should feel victorious. Instead, she felt empty.

The last time they had made love, it was wonderful. Precious. Spectacular. She had come for him, really and truly. Now she felt as she had when she’d first gone to seduce him—as if there was a void inside her, as if she was incapable of feeling anything.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft. Relief hit her as it pulsed, then hardened under her touch. Despite his carved-from-marble expression, his body revealed how much he did like this.

She wished she could go back in time and they were still at his hunting box, when lovemaking had become more exhilarating, more sweet and wild each time they did it.

She unfastened his trousers. His erection lifted his silky drawers. He was aroused, but he still exuded frost. She had to do something. Something that he couldn’t resist. Slowly, she licked her lips and leaned toward his lap.

“Stop.”

He stood, looming over her. He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders. His erection stuck out from the open placket of his trousers, thick, rigid, pointing at her. “Do you want this?” he asked hoarsely. “Or are you doing this to manipulate and distract me?”

“I’m sorry …” She couldn’t bear the raw confusion on his face. “Even though we are in the same carriage, it feels like there is a wall of ice between us. I’m a whore.
I don’t know how else to make you stop being angry with me.”

“Angel, you were never afraid of my anger before. You provoked it many times, when you were battering away at my stubborn idiocy.” He lifted her hand. He leaned down and kissed her index finger. “You aren’t a whore, love. Don’t call yourself that. You are so much more. You are the woman who tried to stop my nightmares.”

He sucked on her middle finger. “The woman who taught me to listen to the rain.”

He used the tip of her ring finger to trace his lips. “The woman who helped my sister. The woman who tried to heal me, no matter how damned stupidly I behaved.”

His touch made her tremble. The softness of his tone gave her hope. Perhaps her seduction was working. Daringly, she leaned forward and planted a kiss to his swaying cock. He tasted earthy, slightly sour, delectable. Parting her lips wider, she took him inside. Her eyes shut, and she focused only on pleasing him.

His moans were hard, filled with desire. “It’s been only five days since you ran away from my bed, angel, but it feels like a lifetime. Erotic thoughts about you, along with unbearable worry, haunted me as I rode to London. Do you know how difficult it is to ride with an erection?”

Still using her mouth to embrace his shaft, which kept swelling larger, she shook her head.

His cock pulsed with every harsh breath he took. “Anne, I was so afraid something had happened to you. That Mick Taylor or your cousin had caught you. Or someone had clapped you in jail. I felt like a blackguard, thinking about all the ways I was going to make love to you when I had you safe, while you could be in danger. I’ve realized there is only one way to keep you under
control. I have to keep you with me and make love to you as much as humanly possible.”

A jerk of his hips drew him out of her mouth. “I don’t want this to be a job, a duty for you. I want to drive my cock into you until you forget everything but me. Until you are weak with delight, wild with lust. Just as I feel right now. You’re making me lose my mind, Anne Beddington, and I want to return the favor. But first I want to take you to your house.”

“My house?” she echoed.

“I rented a house for you. You will need somewhere to stay. It’s on the fringes of Mayfair.” He smiled gently. “A short carriage ride from my home.”

He had rented a house. This is the life she
could
have had, as his mistress. “I cannot stay in a house near Mayfair. Not when there are stories about me in the news sheets.”

“The house has been rented for a Mrs. Osbourne. A widow. I believe we can easily change your appearance again.”

The moment Anne saw the town house Devon had acquired for her, she almost cried. Symmetrical white fronts marched down the street; windows glittered like diamonds. Black railings neatly framed each little property, and steps led up to glossy doors.

It was a lovely street. However, it screamed of respectability. “What if my neighbors find out I’m a courtesan? They will be
scandalized
.”

“You are worried about shocking neighbors?” He shook his head, as if in disbelief. “After we’ve cleared your name, the house is yours. Whether you choose to remain with me or not.”

Whether she chose … What would she do if she was safe? She’d thought only about escape.

He jumped down from the carriage, then helped her negotiate the steps to the sidewalk. Devon had hastily purchased some veiling and they’d wrapped it around her hat. She could barely see through the lacy shield. He had pulled his hat low to hide his face. At the front door he stood behind her, so his broad back blocked her from the view of anyone on the street, and handed her the key.

She unlocked the door and hurried inside. His true generosity struck her as she stood frozen in the foyer. She could barely take everything in. Gleaming marble tile. A massive chandelier pirouetting in a breeze. Dainty Queen Anne benches. Heart wedged in her throat, Anne went from room to room, discovering that each one was more sumptuous and lovely than the last. In a parlor she spied an enormous pianoforte. She ran to it, giddy with excitement. “This is for me?”

He smiled. “Do you play?”

“I did. It’s been so long.”

“Do you like the house?”

Like
the house? “I’m … I’m thunderstruck. Overwhelmed. It is beautiful. I wish …” She wished she could have brought her mother here. Wished desperately they could have fled from Longsworth to a home like this. Mama would still be alive, and she …

How could she have had such a house without being a courtesan with a protector? She wished, perhaps, she hadn’t clung to her decency for so long. But her mother had insisted Anne must never become a light-skirts, even for their survival. It was a vow she couldn’t keep.

“It is what you deserve, Anne. Soon, I hope, you will be able to live here without fear. I went to Mrs. Meadows’s brothel last night—”

“You went
there
?”

“Looking for clues.”

It also meant he had seen the life she once lived. A
blush of embarrassment swept across her face. She didn’t know why this seemed so terrible. Devon had been to brothels. As soon as she’d told him she was once trapped in one, he must have been able to guess everything she’d done. Then his words sank in. “What kind of clues?”

“To the identity of the real killer of your madam.”

Hope soared, then crashed. “You didn’t find out anything. You would have told me.”

“I was rather busy chasing you across the London docks. I did find a witness—one of the girls—who saw a man arrive, apparently a client who wanted you.” He told her everything the girl had seen: a lord disguised with a Venetian mask. This man had murdered Madame in anger because he had paid for Anne, and Madame had lost her.

“Do you know who he is, Anne?”

“No. Who would want me so—”

“Your cousin?”

“No! I can’t believe he would kill someone over me … would he? How could he do such terrible things to have me?” She shivered in fear.

“I don’t know, love. It may not be Norbrook, but I will talk with Bow Street. We will find out the truth. The best way to keep you safe is to find out who the man is.”

“What of the girl who spoke to you? She will be in danger!”

“Her name is Sukey. I took her and her mother away from the brothel. They are well hidden and protected.”

Sukey. That sweet, simple girl. Thank heaven, Sukey was now safe. It was so good of Devon. “Without proof of who that man was, the magistrate won’t believe in my innocence,” Anne said grimly. “He will probably think you bribed Sukey to lie for me—”

“I’ll deal with those problems if they arise. For now
you should explore your house. And before I go, I’d like to see the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” she echoed. “Oh, yes, of course.” Not an hour ago, she’d wanted to seduce Devon to coax him to leave her alone. Now she was quivering in shock over the possibility that Sebastian had been willing to kill for her, and she wanted to embrace Devon and never let him go.

She should please him well to thank him for this generous gift, but for her this was so much more than payment, more than the business of being a mistress. She needed him.

This time, this precious time, he would see her come. The thought had Devon’s desire surging even more. It would be like their very first time, all over again. No—not like the first time. He had been unwilling and angry when she’d first come to him. This time, nothing was going to stop him from enjoying every inch of her. Certainly not her clothes: He dispatched her gown and corset quickly, loving the way her round breasts jiggled as he freed the laces.

He shouldn’t be doing this. She was a viscount’s daughter. She was born to be a lady. But he couldn’t stop. “I am going to protect you, too, Anne,” he murmured. “I will dress you in luxurious silks. Wrap diamonds around you. Here—” He lifted her thick hair and kissed her damp neck. “And here.” Her wrists next. He laved his tongue over them, and she moaned.