Trust Me (46 page)

“You middle name
means gray, like your eyes, correct?”

“Yes. It’s Dutch.” It
had been his mother’s maiden name.

“And you’re here to
invest in privateering voyages for the expected war?” She took hold of the
curtain’s thick, gold, braided cord.

“I own some ships and
take on investors. I also invest in other voyages. It’s a numbers game for
safety.”

She gave a soft sigh—no,
it was more like a moan. A lush bedroom sound which made his lower belly
tighten. “Well, I was wondering…” Her fingers caressed up and down the braided
cord in a way that could only be described as suggestive. Sinfully so. Right
here in the bookstore.

A tide of lust like
he’d never felt before boiled in his blood and stiffened his cock.

“I—I was wondering…”
Her fingers trailed one last time before she dropped the cord. A half-smile
curved her lips.

“Yes, madam?” The
steadiness of his voice amazed him.

“Could you—” She drew
her lashes down as her lips spread in a slow, sensual smile. “Would you be so
kind as to give me a ride in your carriage?”

The inflection in her
voice gave no doubt as to what kind of ride she meant. He definitely should not
accept. For years now, he’d held to a steadfast rule against dallying with
women under thirty. They could prove so troublesome. And this particular young
woman seemed so…irregular, such an odd air of boldness contradicted by an
awkward ingenuousness. A little recklessness there, too. In any case, he
already kept a satisfactory mistress here in Philadelphia.

He couldn’t tolerate
complications in his personal life.

The shimmering beauty
of her eyes seemed to dim and composure seemed to falter, as though a lovely flower
were wilting for lack of water and sunlight. As though she sensed his
forthcoming rejection.

Did it matter so much
to her then?

His heart pounded
into a galloping beat. A heady thrill that could not be said to be wholly
carnal. A sense of arousal like he’d not known in years. He craved to
experience this peculiar, audacious girl.
 

And what true
gentleman could disappoint a lady? He offered his arm. “Come then.”

She raised fine,
pale, gold brows. “I cannot be seen leaving here in your company.”

“Then what?”

“Drive around the
block and wait there. I shall come along presently.”

“It’s raining like
the flood. You cannot walk in that.”

“Do you think I shall
melt?” Her deep and throaty laugh resonated deep in his balls.

“I think a gentleman
doesn’t expect a lady to walk in the rain.”

She laughed again.
“Oh, but I am not a lady.”

“Don’t talk like
that.” His harsh tone puzzled him. Where had it come from? But her
self-denigrating tone angered him.

“Did my fine silk
gown fool you?” She plucked her coarse wool skirt. Her fingerless nankeen
gloves revealed digits reddened as though they spent hours soaked in lye. The
sharp contrast with her refined loveliness made his throat burn and he
swallowed tightly.

She sighed. He
glanced up. Her face was sincere now. Beautiful. How many times had he repeated
that today? God, he was making a jackass of himself. But what did she really
want from him? She was bold, yes, but she lacked the hardened look of a girl on
the town. Maybe poverty had forced her into temporary whoring.

He noticed,
painfully, the obvious worn quality of her clothing. He’d always believed that
for a man of wealth like himself to pursue an impoverished woman was like a fox
narrowing his attention on a henhouse.

Maybe she didn’t
really want this. Maybe she was simply desperate for coin.

“You need money?” The
hoarse terseness of his whisper surprised him. But if she were doing this only
because she needed money, he’d give it to her. And watch her walk away.

“I don’t want your
money.” She turned her gaze to him. Bold, blue, and full of unmistakable
longing. “I only want a ride.”

*
* * *

Alone with her in the
carriage, Grey took her hand. “What is your name?”

“Beth.”

He exhaled her name, cupping
her face and rubbing his thumbs over the hollow beneath her cheekbones. The
sensation was pure luxury, a texture like creamy satin.

She closed her eyes,
lifted her face. Barely aware he still moved closer, he felt her soft mouth
under his with a sense of shock. She moaned and opened her mouth, all hot, wet,
and spicy-sweet, like mulled cider against his tongue.

He moved his hands
down the coarse wool of her back, pulling her closer. The folds of his cravat
rustled, crisply crushing. She cried out.

Damn. His cravat pin.

He leaned away,
stripped his coat off, plucked off the offending pin and came back to her. She
laughed and tugged at his cravat until it came loose. Her grip tight on the two
loose ends, she pulled him close to her face and held him in place.

Her taste was so
intoxicating. He ravished her mouth without mercy. She returned his strokes
measure for measure until they were forced to stop and pant for breath.

Fuck, she was so
intense.

So willing and wanton
and womanly.

Her fire consumed him.
Part of himself, the gentleman, watched appalled as he hooked his hand around
the dampened hem of her coarse wool skirt, pushed it up in one swift motion,
baring her to the waist. She gasped then laughed again.

Her legs,
milky-white, long and lovely, parted to reveal the pale gold and pink shell of
her cunt. His fingertips glided over her inner thigh. Damn, she did have
amazing skin. The equal of any lady’s he’d touched. His hand glided higher,
into her apex. She pressed up to meet his fingers, writhing and drenching him
with her honey.

His two fingers
slipped inside of the irresistible liquid heat. She clenched tight and his cock
twitched with impatience. God, he had to be inside of her. Now.

She reached for the
fall of his pantaloons but he shoved her hands away and wrenched his buttons
open. He pressed her back into the plush velvet cushion then positioned himself
for entry. Her hips arched and she sheathed his length in one swift, slick
slide. Her sharp cry threatened to pierce his eardrums and he brought his lips
down swiftly on hers.

She gripped his
shoulders fiercely as he moved deep, fast, hard. Her hips met his, thrust for
thrust. Her legs gripped his waist to propel him deeper until the head of his
cock banged against the mouth of her womb. At her appreciative cry he
continued, fucking her with a brutal abandon.

The smell of their
sweat and sex filled the closed, humid carriage. This was what a fuck should
be. Always.

The wet heat
convulsed around his hardness, the waves of her pleasure long-lasting and
violent. He must withdraw. Now. He tore his mouth away from hers as something
between a groan and a sob forced its way past his lips. His whole body
shuddered as he withdrew, releasing his seed onto her thigh in furious jets.

He touched his
forehead to hers. “Dear God.”

*
* * *

Beth sat in the
farthest corner and cast a sideways glance at her dark-haired stranger. The
angular cut of his cheekbones and strong, imperious jaw gave him an air of
granite-hewn arrogance.

His pale gray eyes
cut into her. Hidden behind her worldly-woman smile, her heart fluttered. As if
she’d been truly touched for the first time.

The horses’ hooves.
The rain beating on the roof. The distant thunder. The rustle of her skirts as
she drew her legs up underneath her. All of it sounded unnaturally loud.

She felt raw,
exposed, bleeding.

Not even her first
lover, Joshua, had affected her so.

And she had no one
else to blame but herself.

She’d come to the
lecture to meet him—the owner of Sexton Shipping. And what an excellent conquest.
Blue-blooded, obscenely wealthy, politically connected, and powerful.

Once, when she’d been
too young to know better, she’d allowed herself to be seduced by a wealthy
gentleman. He had promised eternal love then abandoned her. A bitter lesson but
one she’d learned well. Now she was the seducer. She was very particular,
choosing the handsomest and wealthiest of men. To know she could tempt any man
of her choosing, even dressed in her shabby clothes, added a perverse thrill.
Made her dizzy with power. Conquest and control often proved a headier thrill
than love.

And then, too, there
was the erotic pleasure. She’d always been weak to her sensual drives. Her
mother’s wild blood, some would say. But today it had not merely been Sexton’s
wealth or handsomeness that had drawn her. It had been the way his frosty eyes
cut into her, stripping her bare of all her secrets. And how those eyes had
warmed to silver, shining with such empathy. It was as if he
knew
her,
as if he could see all her faults, all her weak longings and petty spites. Even
the tears she shed at midnight, silently into her pillow. And he didn’t judge
her for any of it. After that moment of rare soul-to-soul connection, she had
to know him. And that had been the problem.

Of course, he had
succumbed. Gentlemen always did. But today had been different. The
need
to experience him gave him a power over her that made her throat go dry and her
palms slick.

It was time to part
ways.

She always cut the
strings after one encounter. Always left them wanting, burning for more. It
made the conquest sweeter.

She flicked the
curtain open and gazed out, trying to determine their location. There was
nothing but the water and gray rainy sky. She turned back to the gentleman.
“Asahel—”

“Grey.” His voice,
deep and strong, reverberated in her stomach.

“Grey, I am
desperately late getting home.”

He reached back and
tapped the carriage wall. “You are not so very late. This normally takes
longer.” He paused and grinned. “A lot longer.”

Dear God, that
grin—had her heart completely stopped? Would it ever beat normally again? She
drew her lashes over her eyes and laughed softly. “I think it was more than
adequate.”

His touch was gentle
on her face. “I want to see you again.”

Covertly, through her
lashes, she let her eyes caress his broad-shouldered, powerful yet elegant
form. Desire tingled through her.

Oh, that wasn’t a
good sign.

Normally, once her
heated passions had been sated, she was eager to leave. To get away from the
scene of her sins. Never to set eyes on her accomplice again. But today, she
longed to linger in his company. To meet with him once more.

Her heart began to
pound and she longed for a drink of rum to wet her increasingly dry mouth.
Fool,
fool, fool!
She should have never started this. She should have backed out
the moment he’d offered her that understanding look. The moment she felt the
need to experience the man beneath the veneer of wealth and power.

He must not guess the
strength of her temptation.

She laughed with
affected lightness. “You want to
see
me? In the parlor, with my sister
in attendance, perhaps? Shall we have tea and biscuits, or do you prefer wine
and cakes?”

His eyes darkened and
the tanned skin tightened over his cheekbones. A thrill of danger passed
through her belly.

“You want bluntness?”
His tone cut her. “All right. I want to fuck you again.”

At the loss of his
warmth, sadness filled her. Would he be sad—possibly a little vexed—when she
never met him again? For the first time, the prospect of a gentleman’s
disappointment failed to fill her with a rush of satisfaction and she couldn’t
keep the conciliatory note from her voice. “It is very hard for me to get
away.”

His expression eased
and he moved closer, a lock of coal black hair falling over his brow. “You
must.”

He took her hand and
she watched, transfixed as he pulled it to his lap. His erection felt huge and
throbbing beneath the nankeen cloth. Again. Already. All that male power at her
disposal. She closed her eyes and gripped him as tight as the fabric would
allow, her cunt clinching to remember the mind-drugging effect of his
lovemaking. A woman could become a slave to this sort of passion.

“I shall be staying
at City Tavern. All month.”

His eyes sparkled,
making her stomach bottom out.

He described small circles
on her palm. “You must come see me, and soon, too. You must promise, cross your
heart.” He traced an
x
across her left breast.

She stared at his
tanned hand against her bodice, bemused. He was not what she had expected. Not
in the least. Heaviness centered in her chest, a slight burning in her eyes.

Truth could only
spoil their last moments.