Forbidden Pleasures (22 page)

“I heard you come in,” Savannah said softly. “You’re a very naughty boy, Reg, spying on Emily and Mick.” She stood up and smoothed her dress down.

“He covered her like one of my stallions with a mare,” Lord Palmer replied admiringly. “No hesitation at all. And damned if she didn’t seem to quite enjoy it, Sava. Didn’t know Emily fucked. Do you think she would enjoy a threesome with us?”

“Already asked, darling, but she said no. Thought it would make a nice birthday surprise for you. Unfortunately you’re married to me, and that makes her uncomfortable. Sorry about that. Now I’ve told Roberts to give us ten minutes and then serve tea. We’re fortunate he didn’t come upon us, but, of course, it wouldn’t be the first time.” She took his arm. “I think they’re finished now,” she said, peeking through the door to the lounge, which hadn’t been quite shut. “Let’s go in. Emily, Mick, look who’s just come in from the stables.” She led her husband into the room.

Emily was flushed rosy, but she managed to stand up from the couch, where she had just been sitting. “Reg, how nice,” she said as they kissed each other’s cheeks.

“You are radiant, Emily, my dear,” Lord Palmer replied. There was just the faintest scent of sex about her, and it was very erotic, he thought. He turned to Michael Devlin. “Mick, how are you?” Dumb question. The man had the look of a well-fed tabby, and why not? He was fresh from a boisterous fuck with a lovely woman.

They were barely seated again when Roberts appeared, accompanied by a little maid and carrying a large silver tea tray. He set it down on the butler’s tray. “Shall I pour, m’lady?” he asked Savannah.

“Yes, but just first cups, Roberts. Then you and Agnes may go,” she answered. She glanced at the tray. Watercress, cucumber, and beef-and-cheddar finger sandwiches. Scones, clotted Devon cream, and strawberry jam. A plate of Mrs. Munson’s miniature lemon curd, and mince meat tartlets. Another plate of thin-sliced dark fruitcake. A bit skimpy, but it would do. Tea was a bit late, after all, and there was dinner to consider.

“Didn’t they feed you on the flight?” Lord Palmer asked Emily innocently.

“Your English air makes me extra hungry,” Emily replied, snatching the last beef-and-cheddar sandwich from the plate. “Sava, this mustard is delicious. Where do you get it? Is it French?”

Master William and Miss Selena were brought into the lounge by their nanny, a starchy-looking older woman, to greet the guests and then bid their parents a good night. They were fresh from their baths, and in pajamas and nightgown. Selena, her mother’s miniature, was shy, for she hardly knew Emily, but she did recall Michael Devlin, and was soon curled up in his lap.

“Her mother’s daughter,” Emily said with a smile.

William, however, remembered his godmother. He put his arms about her neck and kissed her cheek. “Did you bring me a gift?” he asked her.

“It’s at the inn, and I will have it for you tomorrow,” Emily told him.

“What is it?” he wanted to know.

“It’s a surprise, William,” she replied.

After fifteen minutes Nanny announced it was time for Master William and Miss Selena to depart. Their supper would be waiting for them in the nursery. The children bade their parents and their guests good night, and left the lounge without protest.

“They have beautiful manners,” Emily remarked. Then she glanced at her watch. “I think we have to be going, Sava. I’m exhausted with the time change.”

“I thought you would remain for dinner,” Savannah protested.

“Not tonight,” Emily replied. “I need my rest. It’s after eleven at home.” She stood up.

“I rented a car,” Michael Devlin said, and he stood too. “We know our way back to the inn.”

“We’ll ride tomorrow about ten,” Savannah said. “Join us?”

“I brought my breeches,” Emily answered her. “Do you still have that lovely gray gelding I like? He’s such a sweetie, and has a nice gait.”

“I think we keep him just for your visits, my dear,” Lord Palmer said. “I’ll see he’s saddled and waiting for you. How about you, Mick? That mean black fellow you always seem to favor?”

Michael Devlin nodded. “Perfect. Savannah, my love, thank you for a delicious tea. Reg, we’ll see you in the morning.” He took Emily’s hand, and together they left their hosts. “I’ve rented a Jag,” he said as they came out of the house and helped her into the car. “Shall I order supper in the room?”

“Yes,” she agreed, knowing she could look forward to a night of bliss in his arms. “And champagne, Devlin.”

“What are we celebrating?” he asked her.

“Being in England,” she replied lightly.
Having your cock in my pussy again. Being in love with you,
she thought to herself.

Savannah had arranged for them to have a charming little suite consisting of a small lounge and bedroom, both with fireplaces. The bed was large and hung with flowered curtains. The bathroom was small, but serviceable. Their bags had been unpacked for them by the maid. Emily smiled, wondering what the poor country girl must have thought of all her naughty lingerie. They ate a simple supper and drank their champagne before the fire in the lounge. Then they slept for a while in the big bed, awoke, made tender love, and slept again. When morning came they lay together for a time, watching as the sun crept into the garden outside of their bedroom windows.

“I really did miss you,” Michael Devlin said to her. He was holding her hand. It had been lousy without Emily, and he had realized with shock that he didn’t like being without her at all. He needed her, which was difficult for him to admit, for Michael Devlin had never needed anyone—especially a woman. But he needed this woman. Still, while she seemed to enjoy the passion they shared, and was an enthusiastic bed partner, she had never indicated that she cared for him. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was just all about the sex, and hanging on to her career. Well, he could live with that if he had to, couldn’t he?

“I missed you too,” Emily admitted. “It was so wonderful in August when we could be together all the time. I’m glad you asked me to meet you in England, Devlin.” She snuggled against his shoulder. “Rina’s afraid you’re going to ruin my reputation.”

“I certainly hope I am,” he teased her. “Ruining you is a most enjoyable pastime, angel face.” Then he leaned over and kissed her slowly and sweetly.

Emily sighed with her happiness as their lips touched. But then, as the kiss began to grow more serious in its intent, she pulled away. “We promised milord and milady that we would ride with them at ten,” Emily said. “We have to get up. I need my breakfast, Devlin. Knowing Sava and Reg we’ll be gone for several hours, and won’t see food again until teatime.” She slipped from his arms and from the bed.

They showered together, dressed, and went downstairs to the inn’s little dining room for breakfast. They were just in time, the hostess told them as she announced that there was only scrambled eggs and sausage left, plopped a rack of toast on their table, and asked if they would have coffee or tea. When they had eaten they drove through Barrow village and several miles on to Tilbury Manor, where Lord and Lady Palmer were waiting for them at their stables with the horses.

As they mounted their animals Devlin noticed Lord Palmer admiring Emily’s ass, which looked particularly fetching in her taupe riding breeches. He felt a sharp prick of anger. He knew the Palmers’ predilection for threesomes. He’d been invited once to join them himself, but he’d refused. The bastard had no right looking at Emily like that—like a damned fox contemplating a particularly delicious chicken dinner. And then Michael Devlin realized with surprise that he was jealous. He was jealous! Jealous because he loved her. And she was going to damned well love him or he’d know the reason why.

It was a beautiful day, and they rode for several hours. Savannah had arranged for Roberts to bring a picnic luncheon to a designated spot beneath some willow trees in a meadow by a winding stream. When they finally returned to the stables, Reg’s cell phone rang, the ring tone playing “Rule Britannia.” After a few terse words he went into the house, followed by his wife, who called to her guests to come in for tea.

Emily caught Devlin’s arm and drew him back into the darkened stables. The horses had been unsaddled and rubbed down, their feed bins filled. There were no stablemen in sight. “My clit’s been rubbed back and forth all day,” she whispered in Devlin’s ear. “I have always wanted to be fucked in a stable. Would you like to screw me here in a darkened stall on the hay?” She licked at his ear, and then nipped the lobe. Then she unzipped his riding pants and drew his penis out. Kneeling before him she pulled his pants down and began to play with him, nuzzling and licking his balls, twisting her head to take them into her mouth. Her tongue rolled them about slowly within the wet warmth.

Michael Devlin drew a sharp breath. Where had she learned to do that? Her sexual manuals, of course. But dear God, she did what she was doing very, very well. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” he ground out, “but you’ll have to get out of your pants, and getting back into them if someone comes in won’t be easy.”

Emily released his balls. “No, I won’t,” she said. “I made a little alteration to my breeches, Devlin. I told you, I’ve always wanted to be fucked in a stable à la Lady Chatterly. Trust me.” Then she licked up and down his penis a few times before taking him into her mouth and suckling him.

His fingers dug into her scalp. “I’m perfectly willing to be the gardener to your Lady Chatterly,” he groaned, “but I don’t want to come in your mouth, angel face.”

She nodded and continued her glorious torture of his cock, which swelled and lengthened until Emily began to gag slightly.

“That’s enough,” he said low, pulling her up. “Now, madam, show me how I am going to fuck you with your damned pants on.” And she took his hand and drew it down to her crotch, pulling the fabric there apart. “Where the hell did you find these breeches?” he asked, both surprised and delighted as they slid to the hay.

“I sew,” she murmured, guiding his penis to her very wet cunt. “God, I am so hot for you, Devlin! I don’t think I can wait too long.”

“Let’s get your legs up over my shoulders,” he said. “I want to go deep.”

And he did, thrusting harder and faster into her until she screamed softly with her orgasm, and he came so hard that they both shook with the force of their pleasure.

“Ohh, that was incredible.” Emily gasped as she began to come down again. “It was even better than I thought it would be.”

“Glad to be of service, madam,” he replied weakly. “You are becoming insatiable, angel face. And I love it.”

He adored her. He loved sex with her. Was it possible he had real feelings for her? Of course he did. He loved her. “We’d better pull it together,” she said finally. “Sava is no fool, and she’ll have figured it out already. But I don’t want Reg leering at us when we come in for tea.”

“Agreed.” Devlin stood up, pulling Emily with him. “Don’t forget to close your breeches. How did you make that alteration, by the way?”

“Velcro,” she told him with a grin.

He was still laughing when they entered the manor house lounge for their tea.

Savannah was alone, and appeared extremely annoyed. “Reg has to go back up to London tomorrow,” she said. “That damned woman,” she added, looking as if she might cry. And Savannah Banning never cried.

“What woman?” Emily was at once sympathetic.

“Gillian Brecknock, that so-called actress,” Savannah said.

“I thought he gave her up when you were married,” Emily said.

“So did I, but it’s obviously been going on all along,” Savannah said bitterly.

“Oh, Sava, I’m so sorry.” Emily put her arms about her friend.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m no Lady Di. I’ll never divorce him. And the truth is that he does love me. But he’s like all these damned Brit toffs: He’s got to have his little bit on the side and think he’s keeping it a big secret from the wife because it adds excitement to the relationship for him. I could ruin it by causing a scene, but I won’t. At least I know who he’s with when he’s with Gillian. I know what she is. And I know he had the opportunity to marry her before he even met me, but he wouldn’t. I may be an American, but I’m Southern aristocracy, I’m famous for writing racy novels, and I’m rich. It gives me more points than an actress who began her life in Liverpool and still lapses into the dialect when she gets angry. Reg is a snob at heart, you know, and I’ve done my duty as a nobleman’s wife. He’s got an heir and a daughter, and the little stick went pink the other day when I peed on it, so there’ll be another next June. That’s why I’m so weepy. Hormones running rampant,” she concluded with a weak grin.

Emily hugged Savannah. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! Even if he is a pig!”

“You should have kids,” Savannah said softly.

“You have to have a husband to have kids,” Emily replied. “At least I do.”

“Then you’re ready to get married,” Savannah persisted, looking past Emily to Michael Devlin and fixing him with a hard stare.

“If the right man asked, yes,” Emily said.

At that moment Lord Palmer came into the lounge. “Did Sava tell you?” he asked them. “I have to go back to London tomorrow. One of my clients is in need of my services,” he told them smoothly. “Let’s skip tea, Sava, and take Emily and Mick out to dinner. That charming little French restaurant that opened up a few months ago on the other side of Barrow would be lovely, don’t you think? It’s called La Belle Auberge.”

“What a brilliant idea, darling,” Savannah said, smiling at her husband.

“Then we’ll go back to the inn to dress, and we’ll meet you at the restaurant,” Michael Devlin said. “The concierge will tell us how to get there.”

“Perfect!” Savannah agreed. “I’ll make the reservations. Eight o’clock all right?” She reached up, and pulled a piece of straw from Emily’s hair. “Don’t be late,” she told them with a wicked grin.