Hot Silk (9 page)

Trying to guess was a game that had his blood on fire and his cock rigid and aching.

“What do you like best of all,” she breathed, “in your bed?”

Hades, he’d been anticipating her hurt, her anger. Instead she was intrigued. It was as though a ship deck had slid out from beneath his feet. He took a few moments to get his footing again.

“I’m much more interested in learning what you fantasize about,” he murmured. He moved to stand behind her so his lips brushed her silky hair and he could bracket her by placing his hands on the rail. “Which down there interests you the most? Two men? Another woman? An uninhibited orgy, where you might kiss one woman’s nipples, fondle another’s quim, while many men pleasure you with tongues and cocks…can you imagine making love to five men at once—”

From his vantage he could see her sharp breaths—how they lifted his robe and fluttered tendrils of her hair. “I have seen pictures,” she said abruptly.

“I imagine you have.”

She shook her head. “No, you have no idea. My father is Charles Rodesson.”

“The artist?”

“Yes, the artist of erotica.”

Of all the things Grace could have told him, that was the one to almost knock him off his feet. “So you will be very knowledgeable about pictures. But let’s talk about your fantasies.”

Her soft laugh floated to him. “You don’t care at all, do you?”

“No, I’d rather talk about what intrigues you.”

“All of it. Not that I would ever, ever do such things.” Her fingers brushed beside his and she tentatively hooked her little finger around his thumb. “Sinful to admit, isn’t it? It’s only because of who I am—an erotic artist’s daughter, that I would think that way.”

He’d met defenseless women—women who swooned in the face of danger. But he’d never met one as vulnerable as Grace.

Now he put his finger on why. She was honest, direct—she expressed her thoughts and feelings and he found them irresistibly intriguing. But in her world that was the aspect of her personality that could ruin her.

She must have spent her entire life trying to be someone else.

She amazed him. She wanted to know about him. What he liked in his bed. What his erotic fantasies were. Even if it hurt her, she was curious and brave enough to ask.

“It’s not sinful to admit it, Grace. And it has nothing to do with your birthright.” He couldn’t stop hearing the voice in his head, haughty, cultured, arrogant—
He’s nothing of course, but he is so wild and naughty in bed. I do think bastards make the best lovers, for they have something to prove.

He shoved the Countess of Dorchester’s voice back into the recesses of his mind. “You think that way because you are human. Some of the most highborn men and women are the most perverse of us all.”

Grace said nothing for a while and just took in sharp breaths. Then she pointed down to the orgy. “The women down there, they seem to enjoy touching each other in intimate ways. I’ve never thought of another woman that way. Only men.”

“Which men have you thought of?” He’d meant the question to sound erotic; instead it sounded like the growl of an angry wolf.

“Gentlemen whose names I did not even know. Sometimes one catches a glimpse—of a shoulder, a rough-hewn jaw, a tight derriere—and, well…”

He was hard, wound up, and ready to burst at her innocent explanation. “You created a fantasy.”

“Yes. I know men do that, as I have seen my father’s pictures. Men paid him to draw fantasies for them. I didn’t know if women had fantasies. At least I didn’t until my sisters married, and then they engaged in some more forthright conversations.”

“You thought it was abnormal to fantasize?”

“Yes. Exactly—” She drew in a harsh breath. “Those men—they are kissing!”

He glanced to where she pointed. Nick and John had touched lips. Slowly, they let their tongues come together. Nick’s hand slid down John’s abdomen and wrapped around the shaft of his long cock.

“This is for the enjoyment of the ladies,” he explained. Several clapped, licked their lips, and made lewd suggestions. “Women, my men have discovered, like to watch sexual play between men—as long as they are certain the men will play with them.”

“Who are they—the men of your gang?”

Why had she asked that after talking of her erotic thoughts about anonymous gentlemen and while watching his men have unfettered sex?

“Most followed me from piracy into highway robbery,” he said lightly, stressing how unsuitable the men were. “The men kissing are Nick and John—brutal fighters. Nick, the blond, was captured by Barbary pirates and served in the East in a harem of men. The young lad is Will, a good-natured boy. The bespectacled one is Simon; he loves to study nature. Then there is Horatio—the auburn-haired one. It’s reputed he is also a gentleman’s bastard as I am, but he denies it. And lastly, that one with the black hair is Rogan St. Clair, my lieutenant.”

“You trust them all.”

“With you? Yes. None would ever cross me. Rogan is a man I would trust with my life. He’s saved my arse more times on the sea than I could count. None of them will know your name, love, even if they do get a glimpse of your face.”

She gave him a frank gaze. “Devlin, I want to know what you meant about making up for two wasted years. Do you mean us? I don’t understand.”

“I want to do the things I wish we’d done two years ago.”

“But I can’t stay, Devlin. I have to go. My grandmother wants to see me, and I must go and meet her.”

“You want to run away from me to go and see your grandmother.”

“I
have
to. I don’t have much time, and if she thinks I am not coming, she might not write to me again. She might never open another letter from me.”

“A martinet, is she? I’d be apt not to go if she threatened me like that.”

“It’s not a threat, Devlin. It’s the truth. She is the Countess of Warren, my mother was her daughter, and my mother was cast out of the home when she ran off with Rodesson.”

Grace, the granddaughter of a countess. No wonder she possessed the manners, refinement, and elegance of a lady. “How did your mother end up eloping with an artist?”

Grace sighed. “Rodesson had been engaged to paint my mother’s picture, and they fell in love. They eloped to Gretna Green, but along the way, they both realized that marriage would not work—he was wild, bohemian, and would never be faithful. By then, my mother was enceinte with my eldest sister.”

Familiar anger heated the back of his neck. “And her parents would not take her back.”

Biting her lip, Grace shook her head. “My mother was never allowed back into their house. We have never been acknowledged by them.”

“Yet your mother had the courage to build her own life.”

“Yes, with the help of loyal friends, my mother set herself up in a house in a small village and invented a new name and a whole new life. As far as the world knows, I am Grace Hamilton, daughter of a sea captain who traveled to India to seek his fortune. But now, after all this time, my grandmother wants to see me. My grandfather will not bend, but she asked for me to come to her.”

“It means a lot to you.”

“Of course,” she said softly.

“It shouldn’t.” Abruptly, he drew her back from the railing so she could no longer see the unfettered orgy below them. “The bath should be ready. Come with me.”

To his surprise, she took his hand and let him take her.

H
is most intimate room surrounded her.

Grace pivoted slowly, the hem of his robe swishing around her ankles as she took in the furnishings and the paintings on the wall of Devlin’s bedchamber. A sturdy bed of dark oak with four columns and a burgundy velvet canopy filled most of the room. Curtains were tied to the posts with velvet ropes. The bedside table, the secretary, a leather chair—all were simple and plain. She thought of the food they’d eaten, of the dishes it was served on. Silver and china but not elaborate. He must have stolen a fortune on the seas and on the king’s highways, but he did not surround himself with lavish treasures.

He surrounded himself with women.

A handsome man with a reputation for theft and plundering—she had to remember that was what he was.

An open book rested on its pages on the bedside table.

What did he read? It filled her with intense curiosity.

She glanced around to find Devlin. He pushed open a door and steam billowed out.

The bathing room.

He dropped his robe, caught it, and tossed it over the back of the one chair as he stepped out through the door. Heavens, the man treated her to the most beautiful view from the rear. His shoulders and narrow waist formed a pronounced vee, his arse was tight and firm, his legs powerful and lean. She wanted to race across the room and grasp that rump, but she let him go.

Then she glanced at the title of his book.
Clarisse.
The author’s name startled her.
Madame de la Plaisure
—a name she knew from sister Maryanne’s scandalous time publishing erotic books.

Devlin lived in the midst of a continual orgy and he found the need to read erotic literature? Casting a quick glance to the bathing room, she did the unforgivable. She flipped over Devlin’s private book and began to read.

The soft creak of a footstep on a board startled her. Grace hurriedly replaced the book. Blast, she’d turned the page—he would know what she’d done when he picked it up.

Her breaths came furiously; her heart hammered.

Goodness, she’d asked him what he wanted in his bed. Was this it?

The horrible man in that book was planning to spank a woman, to dominate her.

Well, Devlin was a pirate. Perhaps he read the book to whet his appetite before he ravished innocent victims.

He hardly seemed like that kind of man.

But what did she know of men?

The only man she felt she knew at all was Devlin, but she knew that the way he behaved with her was not the entire extent of the man he was. He might be kind with her but cruel when he took a ship or a woman’s jewels. He must intimidate people—he must make good on violent threats—else why would they hand over their money?

“Grace? Would you like to join me in the bath?”

She jerked around.

Devlin wore not a stitch. He was naked, his hair slick with humidity. A stroke of his hands plastered it to his head, making it the color of dark honey. Droplets of moisture dusted his powerful arms, his chest, and his cheeks. Candlelight turned the spots to a sprinkle of gold, like fairy dust. He held out his hand invitingly. “Join me, Grace.”

“In your bath?” She did long to wash the dampness of perspiration from her skin and the dustiness that accompanied a country summer. But climbing into a bath with Devlin—?

She felt inexplicably nervous. They had made love. Why should she be so afraid of simply bathing?

Was it because it was such an ordinary thing, yet a sensual act she enjoyed—and if she climbed into his bath, she would never again bathe without thinking of him?

It was a risk she must take.

Nodding, she crossed the room, the length of his robe trailing behind her. She expected him to wait, to lead her to the tub, but he grinned and darted in ahead of her and she heard the slosh of water as he got in.

As she reached the doorway, she guessed why he’d done it. He lounged in an enormous porcelain tub, his legs spread open to leave space for her to climb in. Water lapped at his chest and tendrils of steam swirled over his arms and around his face. He swept his arms back, his forearms dangling over the sides.

He was irresistible.

He smiled enticingly and she tugged at the belt. Studying the knot, she undid it, then slid off the robe. She felt shy again and instinctively placed her hands over breasts and pubic curls as she approached the tub.

She swung her leg over, gripping the porcelain. What kind of view had she given him with her derriere in the air and her pudgy thigh flying over the rim? Unsteadily she brought her other leg in, and he caught her hips to hold her, to lower her into the blissfully hot water.

Did he share his bath with the other women here? Did he thoughtfully help them in?

She wouldn’t think about that. She did rather a lot of not thinking with Devlin.

His hands linked around her waist and he drew her back against him. Her hair streamed out on the water; her breasts lazily floated.

“I don’t want to let you go yet, Grace.” He cupped her breasts and squeezed her wet nipples. The caressing heat of the water, the press of his hard body against her—it was all so delicious.

“But I have to go,” she murmured. “My grandmother is at a house party and she wishes that I join her.”

Devlin leaned back against the tub and stretched out his legs, lifting his feet so they hung over the edge of the tub and dripped on a discarded towel.

She had never dreamed of being in a bath with a man. She’d learned to love bathing when Venetia and Maryanne had introduced her to a world of wealth. Hot water and lots of it! Scented soap. Luxuriant towels.

But this was more pleasurable, more wonderful. Unforgettably so.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin lift a bar of soap and thoughtfully rub it between his palms. “But she has had no part in your life up until now,” he said.

“My mother knew, when she ran away with a scandalous artist, that her sins might not be forgiven—” Grace broke off as his soapy hands closed around her breasts.

“But even when your mother was in trouble, when you needed money so desperately, they ignored you.”

It was not a question.

“Yes, that is true.”

“Why go?” he asked. “What is there for you?”

Nothing—it should be nothing. But it was everything. She gazed down at his hands, which were bronzed, with seductive long fingers. “My grandmother has wanted to see me for a long time, and now she has found the courage.”

He moved his hands back and there was a long silence. Long enough that she peeked behind her again. Devlin rubbed more soap on his hands then set about washing his right leg. It was simply washing to him, but her chest was tight as she watched his hands caress up and down the length of his lower leg. She had to bite a wet knuckle as he casually soaped his foot and gently massaged his sole.

His bathing room possessed a large paned window. She glanced toward it. If she strained, she could see the golden-red rays of the setting sun flowing over the meadow, over bluebells and wild daisies. She could also see two of his men leading four of the courtesans out into the meadow, all bathed in the vivid light.

Apparently the orgy was moving outdoors. Did none of these men ever bed only one woman at one time?

With a splash, Devlin lowered his leg. “But why go, love, for a woman who took twenty years to find courage?”

She knew that when she spoke she might reveal the shakiness in her voice. Now it was only revealing itself in the tremor of her fingers against his hard thighs. His body was sinfully warm and strong and reassuring against hers. “She—she told me that she has wanted for years to see me. To meet me. But my—Lord Warren would not allow it. And she then realized the only way she could see me was to arrange a clandestine visit. She was going to Lord Avermere’s alone.”

“Avermere?” He washed his other leg. “He is in Italy.”

So Devlin was well aware of the comings and goings of the ton. Perhaps that was essential knowledge for a highwayman.

“Well, then, he must have returned,” she said. “He would hardly have a house party if he wasn’t at home.”

“Turn around, Grace. Let me see you and bathe you. You’ve never been shy with me before.”

She had, but this time it had nothing to do with being shy. He looked so…tempting and desirable in his bath. Lying back, soaking, hair brushed back and droplets of water making his lips moist—he looked so devastatingly likeable.

“Perhaps I am more comfortable this way.” And she was, lying back against him. “But I suppose, since I am your prisoner, I am supposed to obey. Isn’t that what the heroine did in the book you were reading—
Clarisse?
She obeyed her captor’s every command.”

She felt his laugh in the rumble of his chest against her spine. “I was reading the book for release, not guidance on the treatment of a lady, Grace.”

The need to protest rose, but she quelled it. She had looked through erotic books, had been intrigued by the orgies, all the while knowing she would not want to actually take part in one.

“Why?” she challenged. “I should think you would not need that sort of release.”

“I haven’t taken part in the orgies for a long time, sweeting.” His knuckles slid up her spine, sending erotic tremors over her skin. “I’d hoped that you might want to stay longer, Grace. I’ll deliver you unharmed, but I wanted a few days alone together, in this bedroom, with nothing to do but explore fantasy.”

“Explore
your
fantasies, you mean. Like
Clarisse?
”

“This has nothing to do with that bloody book.” Water splashed as he jerked his hands out of the water and she turned back as he raked his fingers through his hair. “The thing is I want you. I’m half mad with it. Twice, I’ve almost got a ball through my heart because I glimpsed blond hair on a coach’s occupant and thought it might be you. I’ve scaled more damned trellises than I care to count, to stand into the shadows of a ballroom and hunt for you.”

“You did that?” Grace pulled away from his strong, hot body, astounded yet confused.

“You came to my bath. I think you do want to stay, Grace.”

“One night. I can stay for tonight. But tomorrow morning, I have to leave. And I
will.
”

Steam swirled in Devlin’s bedchamber and Grace brushed at the droplets clinging to her bare shoulders and the swells of her breasts. But as hot as the air was, she felt more heat inside.

“It’s too hot in here, Grace. Let us go outside.”

After her declaration, he had spoke only of inanities. He had remained firmly in the here and now—did she want him to wash her? Did she wish to wash her hair? What was her favorite scent? Dinner had appeared and then fresh strawberries and thick cream, but he had let her eat that entire treat herself.

He had watched as she dipped each strawberry, caught a soft cloud on the ripe red tip, then sucked off the cream. Over and over, she had done it, until his tension filled the room and she had then bitten into the berry and made a game of slurping juice and licking her lips.

He had been naked and she had seen his cock bounce as she ate each berry. His hand had strayed there twice, but he’d fisted his hand instead of touching himself. As though he’d wanted to draw out the agony.

She had to admit she was amazed by his control. Now, night had fallen and he was still hard. His cock jutted out like a saber as Devlin, naked, pushed open the doors, revealing a terrace lit by a splash of moonlight and fathomless darkness beyond. She slipped on his robe—the blue one he had given her. Even cloaked by darkness, she could not boldly walk outside naked.

He stood at the railing, and for a fanciful moment she imagined him on the bridge of a ship, wheel gripped in his hands. What was it like to sail? Her feet had never left solid ground.

Except now—even with the sturdy terrace beneath her, she did not feel on solid ground. A mass of a million stars filled the sky. Devlin caught her hand and drew her to his side. “There—that is Orion. And the Dipper. There, sweetheart, is the North Star.”

“How do you know so much about the stars?” She whispered the question, awed into silence by the whisper of the breeze in the meadow and the melodies of the nighttime insects.

“For navigation, love. On a ship the knowledge is practical. Here with you, it’s more…romantic.” He slid his arm around her. The night was sweltering and, as he cradled her close, his robe clung to her damp skin. The silk stuck to her hard nipples.

“What do you want to do tonight?” she whispered. “Did you want me to join your orgy?”

“You asked that rather breathlessly. Is that what you want, Grace? In truth, I want to keep you for myself.”

She gazed out over the dark woods and a puff of breeze set the leaves shivering, flashing like silver coins. “That’s what I want—” She broke off as he undid the belt of her robe.