Sylvia Day - [Georgian 04] (17 page)

“It was suggested,” he murmured, watching her carefully.

Her pretty mouth thinned. “You won’t, of course.”

Simon grinned. “Of course.”

“Are you being serious?” she asked crossly, eyeing his humor with an adorable scowl.

“Are you being jealous?”

She looked piqued for a moment, then chagrined. “Will you tell me how you know her?”

He patted his chest with his hand. “If you come lie against me again, I might be persuaded.”

Lynette did as he asked. He tugged the sheet away so that nothing came between his skin and hers. Her breasts were a soft pillow against his chest, the curls between her legs a teasing tickle against his thigh. He had never truly absorbed such delights before, not to this degree. Every cell in his body was acutely attuned to every facet of her.

“Recently,” he began, wrapping his arms around her, “Mademoiselle Rousseau accompanied me on a journey to England. She claimed to be searching for the perpetrator of a crime and the main suspect was an associate of mine whom I knew to be innocent.”

“Did you find him?”

“Yes, and all ended well, but it was revealed that Lysette’s purpose was not the hunt for my friend at all. It was another search entirely. She failed, but it was a lesson learned for me. I watched the woman stab a man to death and callously betray a comrade in an effort to save her own skin.”

“Oh . . .” Her head rested more heavily against him.

“What is it,
a thiasce
?” he murmured, feeling her mood alter.

“She does not sound anything at all like my sister. She sounds like a monster.”

Simon clutched her closer to him, giving her what little comfort he could. “In her defense, at times she seems to loathe herself and the man she killed was not a good one. The venom with which she attacked him also suggested that he had harmed her in some way in the past. There was no glee in her when she acted, only fury such as I have rarely seen in a woman.”

Lynette shuddered. “I cannot imagine killing anyone.”

“I hope you never have to. Regardless of the reasons for doing so, the taking of a life is not something one forgets.”

Her head tilted back, revealing wide China-blue eyes. “Have you ever taken a life?”

“Regrettably, yes.” He flinched when she did, fearing that her adoration of him would change and doubting he could bear it.

“A large number?”

“More than a few.”

She was silent for so long, he wondered if she was thinking of a way to extricate herself and depart. Instead she said, “Thank you for your honesty.”

“Thank you for not running away.”

An ivory shoulder rose in an elegant shrug. “I can see they haunt you.”

“Can you?” he asked hoarsely, riveted by a sense of vulnerability, of being naked in far more than body.

“Yes, it is in your eyes.” She touched his brow with a cool hand. “I know you would not have done what you did if not forced to by necessity.”

Catching her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm. “I am laid low by your faith.”

He treasured her generosity, treasured her. Her steadfast belief in the goodness of his character—based only upon his treatment of her—altered everything. She knew his hands had blood on them, yet she trusted that he would act so decisively only by necessity. She did not judge or disparage, his already negligible assets were not further diminished. She did not color his future with the sins of his past.

“I am not the only open book in this bed,” she said, smiling. “I can read you as well.”

“Oh?” His brows rose. “What are you reading now?”

“You are mad for me,” she pronounced, without a drop of humility.

Simon laughed. “You are incorrigible.”

“You should have known that when I allowed you to kiss me.”

“Allowed?” His grin widened. “Darling, you hadn’t the wherewithal to stop me. You were clay in my hands.”

“I suppose you are just irresistible?” She snorted.

He rolled and pinned her beneath him, enjoying the view of her pale hair and skin against the burgundy and dark woods of his bed. “Resist me, then,” he challenged.

“That would be a bit difficult with you mashing me into the mattress.”

“Mashing?” He lifted hastily.

“Well, you are a big man.”

“The better to please you with,” he purred, punctuating his claim with a nudging of his bone-hard prick into her thigh. He nuzzled his nose against hers. “You would not want a smaller man,
a thiasce
.”

“Are you talking about your cock?”

He laughed at her obvious astonishment.

Lynette pushed on his shoulder. “I am serious, Simon! Does size vary greatly in that area?”

“Yes, of course. As varied as height and weight.”

Her eyes were wide as saucers. “So a smaller man might have had less work to push inside me?”

He growled at the thought. “The size of a man’s frame is not an accurate indicator of the size of his prick.”

“Oh. Interesting.”

“Not too interesting, I pray.”

“Are you being jealous?” she tossed back at him, smiling coyly.

With a wiggle of his hips, Simon settled more firmly between Lynette’s spread legs. He stroked the length of his cock through the petal-soft lips of her sex, groaning at the feel of her quickening response.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her curved nails digging into his flesh in a way he found highly arousing instead of annoying, as he had in the past. He usually eschewed marks on his skin that would pique another woman’s pride, but here, now, forever, he wanted Lynette’s mark on him. He wanted it to be visible by one and all that she had given herself to him and taken him in return.

He reached between them and positioned the broad head of his cock at the tiny slit that led to heaven. She began to pant, her eyelids growing heavy as the spark between them kindled to burning.

“See?” she whispered. “I think you might be a size too large for me.”

Lowered his head, Simon kissed her, slanting his lips across hers in needy hunger. Everything about her mouth set him on fire, from the words it spoke to the pleasure it bestowed. Her lips were soft and moist, delicious. And the way they trembled beneath his and parted so willingly ripped his heart right out of his chest.

“God, the feel of you,” he groaned, sinking his cock slowly into the snug depths of her burning hot cunt.

“See?” he mimicked gently, sliding his arms beneath her shoulders to hold her in perfect position. “I can touch you at your deepest point”—he plunged—“and stretch you to your widest . . .” He circled his hips in an oft-practiced motion to make her insensate with delight. “I am perfectly proportioned to service you in every possible way.”

She sighed. “I see . . .”

He lingered at certain depths, stroking over discovered pleasure points, reveling in the feel of her slick, succulent tissues. He had never been as enraptured with the sexual act before, never known it was possible to feel a woman’s pleasure as if it were his own. Not in a proprietary way, but in truth.

As before, he took his time, pumping deep and slow. The sun would rise, she would leave, her family would intercede, and their time together would be over. He felt the ticking of the clock keenly, even in the midst of mind-numbing delight. But his goal was not to fuck her as many times as possible. He did not strive to curb his craving for her or make her remember him by sheer number of orgasms bestowed. Any man worth his salt could make a woman climax.

Not every man could make love to her.

It was quality he wanted, orgasms that shattered her soul, burrowed deep inside her, became a part of her.

Simon buried his face in the mass of her fragrant hair and held her tightly, absorbing the feel of the tight tips of her nipples against his chest and the pillowy cushion of her lovely breasts. Lynette was soft, sweetly curved perfection, so damn beautiful it made him ache to look at her.

She writhed beneath him, her head tossing, her lips whispering his name in a breathless litany. She was so generous in her passion, restraining nothing, giving him everything she was. No other woman in his life had ever come to his bed without reservation. His common breeding, his Irish heritage, his lack of social stature, his lack of property and family. . . He had nothing to recommend him beyond a few hours of pleasurable bedsport.

Lynette’s innocence and purity destroyed him. Not simply her virginity, which he prized, but her pristine heart and mind. Even a whore was pure of heart the first time she fell in love. No wariness to hold her back, no past hurts to fear, no shattered dreams to mend.

Lynette had never loved a man before, in any fashion. He was the first.

He would sell his soul to be her last.

In all of his life he had never had a home, never had a place he belonged or had anything that belonged solely to him. He had never owned anything irreplaceable and precious.

Except for Lynette.

Tonight, she belonged solely to him. The enormity of her gift made him tremble.

“Mon coeur,”
she breathed, encircling him with slender arms, anchoring him to her.

Simon continued to ride her slow and deep, determined to make the joining last as long as possible. His cock throbbed and ached, his ballocks were hard and drawn tight to his body. If he were less than completely mad for her, he would not have endured. She was so greedy, rippling along his length, tightening deliciously.

“Christ,” he gasped, arching as white-hot sensation wrapped around the base of his spine and fisted tight. “It’s so good,” he groaned. “So damn good . . .”

“Please,” she begged, her voice throaty and seductive.

“Tell me what you need,” he purred, licking the shell of her ear. “Tell me, and I will give it to you.”

“Do it again,” she breathed. “Again . . .”

Hitting the end of her, he rolled his hips, grinding into her, giving her clitoris the final stimulation she required.

She stiffened, then keened, climaxing hard. Scratching his back and sobbing his name, she fell apart in his arms, her cunt clinging to his tormented cock with a viselike grip that clenched and released in a powerful massage.

He growled, grinding his teeth and fisting the pillows as she quivered around and beneath him, luring his seed into the spasming depths of her. He resisted by dint of will alone, waiting until her explosive tremors had faded to yank free and spill on the linens. Spurt after furious spurt shook his frame, the orgasm violent in its release, decimating everything he thought he knew about sex.

As liquid warmth bathed his straining cock, he railed at the injustice of it. His seed would never find purchase in her womb, his future would never have her in it.

He was finally home, but he would not be allowed to stay.

Chapter 13

“R
ousseau is not an uncommon surname, Philippe,” Marguerite said wearily. “I would have asked for your help, regardless.”

She stood and picked up her empty glass. Moving to the console, she refilled her drink, then poured brandy into a goblet and warmed it expertly over a taper. She carried it to him.

He had pushed to his feet when she rose and now stood, watching her with the loving eyes she still dreamed of. His fingers wrapped around hers when he accepted the libation, burning her skin and inciting potent remembrances of those fingers touching other, more intimate parts of her body.

“Why not ask your husband for assistance?” he queried softly.

“I have my reasons.”

“Tell me what they are.”

Marguerite’s lower lip quivered and his head bent, his tongue slipping out to follow the trembling curve. He groaned and his fingers tightened on hers.

At the taste of him, heat swept across her skin, her dormant body reawakening at the proximity of its long-mourned lover.

“I have been faithless in my heart all of these years,” she whispered, shaking so forcefully that sherry sloshed over the rim of her glass and soaked her fingers. “The only dignity I have is that I have not been faithless in truth.”

She felt the effort he exerted to release her and step back. His chest heaved from the labor of it and his nostrils flared as if scenting his mate.

“Then give me the truth,” he growled, taking the drink she had prepared for him and downing the entirety of the contents. “If you will not give me anything else, give me that much, at least.”

Although she knew he had reason to be angry, the sound of his pain was too much for her to bear. “I gave you everything!”

“I wish you would have trusted me to protect you.”

Her mouth fell open. “You think I left for
me
? I parted from my family and friends, left every item I treasured behind, and went to you with only the clothes on my back, and you think I left you for
my
benefit?”

Philippe’s grip tightened dangerously on his goblet.

“You were half dead!” she cried, feeling echoes of the remembered pain. “They beat you so viciously I was told you would not live out the week. But I had hope.” She set her glass on the table and turned away. “I believed you would survive because I could not imagine life without you in it.”

“Marguerite . . .”

She heard his glass join hers on the table and sensed him approach. Facing him, she lifted her hand to keep him at bay. “Please. You are my weakness. If you touch me, I will crumble and then hate myself. I do not love de Grenier. I cannot, because I love you. But he has been good to me, even though he knows how I feel. Even though I cannot give him the son he desires.”

He stopped, his jaw tightening. “If he is such an exemplary spouse, why not turn to him?”

“Will you not help me?”

“You know I will. I would cut out my heart and give it to you, if you wanted it.”

She flinched, her eyes watering. “He has been good to me, but less so to my daughters. He is not cruel; he simply is . . . indifferent.” Her breath left her in a shaky rush and she looked away. “After the birth of the girls, I was unable to conceive again. I fear he resents them for that, perhaps unknowingly.”

“He is a fool.” Philippe exhaled harshly, his frame losing its combative posture in favor of one of weary resignation. “So, you would like me to delve into the history of both Simon Quinn and Lysette Rousseau. Is there anything else you need?”

“Money. Mr. Quinn has not yet accepted my offer, but if he does, I should like to settle with him immediately. De Grenier was set to leave Vienna for Paris a sennight behind us. If he departed on schedule, he will not arrive for another few days. Not long to some, but for my daughter, an hour can be long enough to land into trouble. She has already ventured out to see Quinn once.”

“She is like her mother, then,” he said, with a fondness in his voice that made it difficult to breathe.

“Too much so.”

“Allow me to ease your burdens,
mon coeur
. If you need funds, you have only to ask.”

“Thank you, Philippe. I will reimburse the expense as soon as possible.”

“I ask for only one thing in return.” His gaze darkened. “When I have information to share, I want to do so in the flesh. I want to admire you from afar, since I cannot have you.”

Her mouth dried. “It is too dangerous.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Very much so, but I cannot resist. You will not return to Paris, will you, when you leave again?”

Marguerite shook her head. “No.”

He crossed his arms, his coat stretching over the beautifully defined musculature she remembered so well. The years had been kind to him. She found him just as devastatingly handsome now as she had when first laying eyes on him.

“I will protect you from discovery,” he promised. “You will have to protect you from yourself; you know I will never turn you away.”

“Philippe . . .”

“You do not trust yourself as you should. You are decided against sharing my bed again, therefore, you will not change your mind. You are too honorable, too loyal, too stubborn.” The smile he gifted her with was so despondent, she sobbed for being the cause of it. “I cannot resent those traits in you, since they are why I love you as I do.”

She tried to hold her tongue, but could not. It was unfair that their love was like a flower destined to grow in the dark, stunted by lack of warmth and sunshine, struggling to survive in the barren soil of their hearts, watered only by tears and the mist of memories.

“Je t’aime, ”
she whispered.

“I know.”

 

Lynette awakened to the feel of something tickling the tip of her nose. Exhausted, she swiped at the offending sensation with her hand. Her eyes remained squeezed shut in the hope that she could drift back to sleep again.

“Time to rise,
a thiasce
.”

The sound of Simon’s deep burr woke more than just her brain. Every nerve ending in her body tingled at the sound.

“Simon.” She smiled, but did not open her eyes.

He leaned over her, his skin smelling of bergamot soap. His lips brushed featherlight over her brow. “A bath awaits you.”

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past three.”

She groaned. “Your servants must hate you.”

He laughed and straightened. “Perhaps it is a usual request.”

A low growl rumbled in her chest.

“Thoughts of you have led to a recently acquired need for chilly submersion,” he drawled, soothing her ruffled feathers.

Opening one eye, she peeked up at him and marveled that he could look so wonderful with no sleep and hours of sweat-inducing exertion. His hair was tied back now, but he was still shirtless and clad only in breeches.

A black brow arched. “Again? You are insatiable.”

“Hmm . . .” She rolled to her back and stretched, gasping as his hands cupped both breasts and squeezed. “Who is insatiable?”

“I am not a man to miss an opportunity.”

She exhaled harshly, tired and loath to leave these hours behind. “Is that what this was? An opportunity?”

He gave her a chastising look, then stood and held out his hand. “I think you should parade around naked for a few moments, by way of an apology for that question.”

Wrinkling her nose, she took his hand. He tugged her up, caught her close, and grabbed her buttocks with a firm smack, making her gasp in surprise. He kissed her nose. “Lack of sleep does not suit your temperament, I see.”

Lynette wrapped her arms around his lean waist, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his breeches. “Leaving you does not suit me,
mon amour
.”

“Shh.”
He pressed a finger to her lips, while lacing his other hand with hers. He tugged her toward the adjacent sitting room.

A lovely and quite large copper tub waited there, luring her to sink deep into the steaming water and melt away the unfamiliar aches and pains that plagued her every step. The thoughtfulness Simon displayed moved her deeply, showing her that he valued her for more than mere sexual gratification.

There were no servants about and the tension created by walking around unclothed faded away. She smiled.

“What thoughts inspired that siren’s smile?” he asked, his arm providing her support as she stepped into the tub.

“I was thinking that I have become a wanton woman to cross a room naked with a man and not feel painfully awkward.”

“Let me assure you, there is nothing even slightly awkward about you.”

Lynette settled into the oversized tub with a blissful sigh. She was sore in places she had not known could feel discomfort and her limbs were weighted by exhaustion. However, for the most part, she felt better than she ever had in her entire life. There was a certain unique contentment that came with having one’s carnal needs sated so thoroughly. Solange always had an air of indulgence about her that was very alluring. Now, Lynette understood why.

Simon kneeled beside her and began to bathe her himself, covering a cloth in fragrant soap and washing her gently limb by limb. Eyes half-closed, she watched him, admiring the glorious rippling of powerful muscles beneath his skin. What a potently virile animal he was, yet he touched her with such gentleness.

His hands slipped between her legs and she winced.

“Are you overly sore?” he asked gruffly, his movements stilling.

“No more so than should be usual, I imagine.” She winked. “Especially considering your size.”

But his frown did not fade. With steady, yet tentative fingers, he felt along the swollen lips of her sex. She spread her legs as much as possible within the confines of the tub, showing him that she was not afraid or wounded unduly.

His breath hitched at the gesture and his eyes, so softly affectionate a moment ago, heated with something more profound. His touch became less examining, more arousing, his callused fingertips parting her and slipping over the tiny knot of nerves that brought her so much pleasure.

Her hands wrapped around the hot lip of the tub, clenching as he touched her there, his caress featherlight and teasing.

“Simon?”

“Let me watch you,” he whispered, stroking rhythmically. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She whimpered as her womb tightened again, her muscles tensing, her cheeks flushing from the heat of the water and the added heat of the fire he sparked within her.

He purred. “You feel like the softest silk,
a thiasce
.”

She was completely exposed, pinned by his gaze, her lips parted on desperate pants as her body grew taut as a bow, tightening in anticipation of climax.

The water began to slosh in measured waves, spurred by the movements of his hand at the most private part of her. Over and over, circling around and across the source of her torment. Her head fell back against the tub rim, her hips rising, her body instinctively working toward that blinding release of pressure.

“I wish you were in me,” she gasped, feeling her sex grasping for him, reaching for him.

“Come for me,” he crooned, pushing a finger gently inside her and thrusting shallowly. “Let me feel how much you need me here.”

Arching, she climaxed silently while he watched her, the moment so intimate she felt as if there were no secrets between them.

She turned her head, offering her mouth to him with a breathless plea. “Kiss me.”

He accepted with a groan, his head angled to create the perfect fit between them. This time, she took all that he had taught her about kissing and gave it back to him, her tongue stroking into his mouth until he wrenched away with a curse, breathing heavily.

Pushing to his feet, Simon held his hand out to her. “We must dress you and return you before the hour grows any later.”

His groin was eye level and she could not fail to see how much her passion inspired his. If he cared for his own pleasure, he could have her again now. Whether she returned home or not did not affect him at all. Aside from de Grenier’s wrath, he would incur no penalty. Her father would not insist Simon wed her, because he was unsuitable.

Therefore, the desire to see her home swiftly was for her benefit. Another display of his concern for her well-being.

Lynette dressed swiftly, as did Simon. Her hands shook slightly when she saw the tear in the placket of the borrowed breeches. That she inspired such a primitive response in him awed her, but not nearly as much as the thought that he tempered such fervency. For her.

Heavy-hearted, she followed him down to the front door and exited out to the chilly night air. The sky was dark; the streets mostly quiet, aside from a few eager vendors preparing for the soon-to-dawn morning. Piotr waited by the curb, the reins of their horses held in his hands. Simon’s mount was there, too, the one she had espied him upon the night she arrived in Paris.

He assisted her up, then mounted, sitting tall in the saddle, his hand loosely resting atop the hilt of a small sword. His gaze was sharp, though his posture was relaxed. A hunter in disguise. She stared at him, finding it nearly impossible to believe that so formidable a man had been quivering in her arms.

They rode in silence back to Solange’s home, Piotr falling deliberately behind them, while they traveled side by side. Although she had been overly hot during the ride to Simon’s, she was now shivering on the journey home, the chill starting from the inside and working its way out.

When they reached the alley and dismounted, Piotr hurried to the stables with the two horses. Simon stood with her, eyes bright and frame stiff with tension.

“I will send word to you and the vicomtess,” he said, “if I learn anything of note. I trust that you will heed my warning and leave Paris as soon as possible. Until then, stay out of view, I beg you.”