Simply Sinful (4 page)

3

H
ow would an idle, titled man like Lord Beecham spend his day? Peter rushed through his work as he contemplated his next move. The weather had taken a turn for the better, and thin streaks of sunshine patterned his paper-strewn desk. With Valentin away, it seemed all the everyday problems ended up piled around him. He rang the bell and Taggart appeared.

“Could you send Mr. Sokorvsky in, please?”

Taggart polished his glasses on the dangling edge of his limp cravat. “Are you going to take him out with you, sir?”

Peter grinned. “Do you want me to?”

“He’s been flitting around the main office all morning like a demented bumblebee looking for something to do. I’d be grateful if you could keep him occupied for a few hours.”

Peter signed the last page of his weekly letter to Valentin and blotted it. “Is he becoming a nuisance?”

Taggart looked affronted. To Peter’s amusement all the office staff seemed to dote on Anthony. “Not at all, sir. He’s just so eager to learn that we can’t keep up with him.”

Peter folded the letter and wrote Valentin’s direction on it before sealing it with red wax and the company stamp. “I’ll take him out of your way, never fear.”

He placed the letter on the top of the stack of finished work. “Can you deal with these for me? I might not be back today.”

Of course, if Lord Beecham proved difficult and demanded satisfaction, Peter might not ever come back. He pushed that unpleasant thought away along with the pile of documents.

Anthony proved the perfect person to show Peter how a bored aristocrat might pass his day. Unlike Valentin, who would have instantly sensed Peter’s perturbation, he was also indifferent to the reasons why Peter wanted to find Lord Beecham. He seemed to assume it was related to their business discussion on the day before.

The hackney cab dropped them off in front of Anthony’s third choice of venue, the first two having been unsuccessful. Anthony studied the stream of fashionable gentleman entering Gentleman Jackson’s boxing academy in Bond Street.

“I know Val is a member here, and from the look of Lord Beecham I would imagine he is too.”

A sensual image of Lord Beecham’s taut, flat stomach and muscled biceps taunted Peter’s brain. His cock stirred as he remembered thrusting against the strength of Lord Beecham’s bowed body.

“I should imagine he is.”

Inside, the smell of male sweat, smoke and ego made Peter dizzy. The connecting rooms were crowded with men of all ages, although few of them were actually training. Sporting discussions and arguments abounded with the occasional shouted comment directed to one of the aspiring pugilists in the boxing ring. Anthony walked ahead of Peter, moving easily through his peers, accepting their greetings with aplomb.

Peter stayed back and leaned against the wall. He recognized Lord Beecham stripped to the waist in the center of the sawdust-covered boxing ring.

He found it hard to breathe as he watched his nemesis being put through his paces by a tall well-built man Peter could only assume was Gentleman Jackson himself. Lord Beecham moved well, blocking blows, using his muscular body and speed to outwit his opponent.

Peter licked his lips as a sheen of sweat coated Lord Beecham’s toned skin. He wanted to fuck him again. He wanted that magnificent body beneath his crying out and coming for him.

After another rapid exchange of punches that made Peter shudder, Lord Beecham shook hands with Gentleman Jackson and walked to the edge of the ring. His gaze fixed on Peter and he bowed. Peter found himself walking down through the throng of people until he stood in front of Lord Beecham.

“Mr. Howard, what a pleasure. Hand me a towel, would you?”

Peter gave him one and waited while he mopped his face. “I wanted to speak to you in private.”

Lord Beecham raised an eyebrow. “Then this is hardly the right place. Come and wait for me while I change and then we can go to my club.”

After ascertaining that Anthony was busy with his friends, Peter followed Lord Beecham toward the back of the building. The changing room was deserted. As he stepped through the door, Lord Beecham turned and shoved him against the wall. Peter breathed in the scent of sweat and aroused male.

He held up his hands. “If you want an apology for my appalling treatment of you, I am more than willing to offer you one.”

“You insulted me by leaving money, not by fucking me.” Lord Beecham held his gaze, a slow anger smoldered deep in his dark eyes. “But perhaps I am also guilty. I was too eager for you. I intended to explain my situation to you first. Perhaps my actions took both of us by surprise.”

He stepped back. Peter instantly missed the hot, hard pressure of his body.

“Let me apologize for the coins, then. That was uncalled for.” A bead of sweat trickled down Lord Beecham’s cheek. Peter stopped it with his index finger. “My past experience sometimes interferes with my judgment.”

Lord Beecham turned his head, drew Peter’s finger into the warm cavern of his mouth and gently sucked. Peter’s cock hardened in a single rush. Lord Beecham released him with a sigh.

“Mr. Howard—Peter, if I may. I really would like to talk to you. Perhaps my club would be an unsuitable place to meet after all. Shall we go to Madame Helene’s?”

Peter nodded, his gaze fixed on the swell of Lord Beecham’s cock. “I’ll be in room twelve.”

Peter paced the red-and-black carpet in front of the empty fireplace as he waited for Lord Beecham to appear. He’d sent Anthony back to the office with a message saying he would not be returning. His afternoon was clear.

He paused and stared at the door. Where had this frightening eagerness and surge of desire come from? It was not in his nature to pursue another person. Especially a man such as Lord Beecham. Was he so desperate for excitement that he was prepared to risk his reputation and his life on a man whom he had no idea if he could even trust?

The door opened and Lord Beecham stepped inside. He wore a blue coat and matching waistcoat; his face was still flushed from his exertions. Peter held his breath as a rush of emotion flooded him. He wanted this man in a way he had never wanted anyone or anything before.

With a muttered oath, he strode toward Lord Beecham. He reached out and brushed his thumb over Lord Beecham’s full lower lip. The scent of sandalwood soap and recently washed skin tantalized his senses.

“Humor me; I don’t want to talk yet.”

Within seconds they were struggling to remove each other’s clothing. Strength fought strength, muscle worked on muscle until they were both naked and entwined on the bed.

Much later, he turned to study the man sprawled beside him. James lay on his back, one long leg bent at the knee, one arm curved up to support his head. Peter smiled at him.

“Do you still wish to talk to me?”

James blinked slowly. “Actually I do. The matter I wish to discuss with you is extremely personal. If you decide not to help me, you must promise never to reveal this information to anyone.”

Peter sat up. “You sound very formal.”

James rubbed a hand over his bare chest. “I’m hardly that.” He sat up, too, the sheet tangled around his hips. “I’m not sure where to start.”

Peter leaned back against the headboard. “At the beginning?”

“Ah yes, the beginning. When I was eighteen, my father discovered me in bed with a friend of mine from school. He beat me half to death and decided that the best way to make me mend my ways was to marry me off to a distant cousin who had grown up in our house.”

“I assume your lover was male?”

James shrugged. “Yes. I was less discreet then. The wedding was performed the next day by special license. Neither of us was in a position to argue. Abigail was barely sixteen and dependent on my family for her support, and I was barely conscious after the beating I suffered.”

Peter frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met your wife.”

“Abby chooses not to come up to Town. I believe she still feels socially inadequate, and to my shame I have made no effort to encourage her to join me.”

“Let me guess. She doesn’t understand you.”

James raised his chin, a challenge in his stare. “She understands me perfectly. She knows what I’m like and she has allowed me to find happiness where I can.”

“And you allow her the same freedom?”

“I have offered it to her, but to my knowledge she has never taken a lover.”

Peter began to feel sorry for the unknown Lady Beecham. “If she is never in Town, who do you expect her to fuck? The footman or the local farmer?”

“She can fuck anyone she wants if it makes her happy.”

For some reason, Peter believed him. “May I ask where this story is leading? What’s happened to upset such an interesting and amicable arrangement? Has the saintly Lady Beecham asked for a divorce?”

James let out a sigh, his expression grim. “No, she wants a child.”

“With you?”

“Aye.”

“Have you ever shared her bed?”

James pulled at the sheet and pleated it between his fingers. “For the first few years, my father kept us apart. I was sent overseas and Abigail remained at home with my mother. When I returned, we did share a bed but it was…difficult for both of us. In the last few years we have restricted our couplings to the absolute minimum.”

“Can you not perform with a woman?”

“Of course I can, can’t you?”

Peter smiled at James’s arrogant tone. “I can make love to anyone. I simply enjoy sex; I have no particular preference.”

“I suspect I prefer men, but I can satisfy most women.” James cleared his throat. “Abby is different. At first I thought of her almost as a sister. We grew up together. We were best friends. When I had to bed her, I had little experience with women and I suspect I blundered badly. She’s found it hard to relax with me ever since.”

Peter folded his arms across his chest. “And what does this have to do with me?”

James held his gaze. “Because I think you can help us both.”

“Do you imagine I am the kind of man who comes between a husband and a wife?”

“On the contrary. I’m hoping you will teach us how to come together and deal better with each other.” James squeezed Peter’s knee. “I care for Abby. She has given me everything I want. It seems only right that I give her something in return.”

“Why me, James?”

“Because early last year I saw you here with Valentin Sokorvsky and his wife.”

“What exactly did you see?”

James swallowed hard and ran his hand over his rapidly rising cock. “Before Madame Helene appeared, I happened to be using one of the more exclusive peepholes on the top floor. You were in bed with Valentin and his wife pleasuring each other. In the short time before Madame Helene sent me away I came just watching you.”

He drew a ragged breath as if the memory still aroused him. Peter frowned. Was that why Helene had introduced him to James? Had she realized where his true sexual tastes lay?

“If Valentin Sokorvsky lets you in his bed, I reckoned I might be able to persuade you into mine.”

Peter stared at James. The thought of sexually educating both a man and a woman appealed to his jaded senses. In truth, it was the most interesting sexual proposition ever made to him. He always enjoyed his visits to Valentin and Sara’s bed, but that dynamic was different. There, he was the one who took. In this instance, perhaps he would be the one who gave.

“Has your wife agreed to this?”

James looked embarrassed. “I haven’t asked her yet. I’ve been too busy gathering the nerve to speak to you.”

“Perhaps you should speak to her. She might not be as desperate to conceive a child as you think.”

James leaned forward and bit Peter’s nipple. “Abby is no shy shrinking mouse. She will surprise you. If she has set her heart on something, I suspect she will do whatever it takes to achieve her aim.”

Peter tried to imagine Abigail Beecham and failed. Did James really know his wife as well as he thought? Was she likely to go along with his outrageous plan or shout her objections to the heavens? He sighed as James’s warm mouth slid down over his hardening cock. His last thought as he succumbed to James’s touch was that he couldn’t wait to meet her.

4

A
bigail Beecham smiled warmly as John, the new footman, appeared with the tea tray. When he bent to place the tray in front of her, she found herself admiring the stretch of his breeches over his buttocks. To her secret delight, he was at least twenty years younger than any other member of the male staff at Beecham Hall

Member of the male staff…She picked up the teapot and almost dropped it as she considered all the interesting dictionary definitions of those simple words. Steaming brown liquid dripped down the side of the blue-and-white patterned porcelain cup as the teapot rattled in her hand.

This was all James’s fault. The letter she had been forced to write to him about making a child together had turned her thoughts increasingly toward the subject of sex.

“Are you all right, my lady?” John paused at the door and regarded her anxiously. “Should I get you some more tea?”

“No, this is perfectly fine.” She managed to put the pot down without scalding herself and waved him away.

She added several chips of sugar to her cup and lots of milk before she finally poured in more tea. It was time to get over her shyness. If James didn’t answer her letter soon she would have to start looking for a potential bedmate. Her gaze lifted to the wall of family portraits her mother-in-law had insisted on hanging in her private sitting room.

Every time she sat here, she felt their quiet expectancy and silent condemnation. If James’s mother mentioned once more that Abigail held the hopes of the Beecham family in her hands, or more importantly in her womb, she would scream until she ran out of breath. How had it ended up being her fault?

If James found her too repugnant to bed, what was she supposed to do? How was she expected to conceive a child when her husband spent less than a quarter of his year in the countryside with her? She retrieved the book she had stuffed down the side of the chair and put on her spectacles. Doctor Frederick’s journal of intimate female mysteries hadn’t quite lived up to her expectations. In fact, Doctor Frederick’s assumption that women were not designed to enjoy intercourse was beginning to annoy her.