Authors: Kate Pearce

Simply Carnal (17 page)

BOOK: Simply Carnal

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Elizabeth walked back to the mirror and stared at the now-empty room. Where had all the men gone?

“Did you enjoy that, Elizabeth?”

She turned, her hand pressed to her lips, to find Christian had come through the black drapes and into the room, still naked. As he sauntered toward her, she inhaled the intertwined smells of sex and soap and sweat.

He cupped her chin. “Did you do what I told you to do?”

She could only nod and he smiled.

“I’m glad to hear it.” His fingers traced the curve of her jaw where the bruises still lingered. “Did you come?”

“Yes.”

“Even better.” He paused and looked down into her eyes. “Everything I did in there was for show. You know that, don’t you?”

She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I wasn’t jealous, if that is what you mean.”

He leaned closer and licked at the seam of her lips, his tongue as delicate as a butterfly’s touch. “I’m glad.” His fingers moved to the back of her gown, and he started undoing the buttons. “I want to see you.”

She let him take off her gown, and it pooled at her feet. He helped her step out of it and guided her back to sit in the chair. “I know you are sore.” He kissed her knee through the filmy muslin of her shift. “I’ll be careful.”

“I’m not ...” She moaned as he gently pushed her knees apart and stared at her needy sex.

“God, look at you,” he whispered. “All ready to be fucked. Did watching us excite you?”

“Obviously.” Elizabeth couldn’t help her sharp retort.

He chuckled against her thigh, and his warm breath stirred against her most tender flesh, making her shiver.

He lifted his head to stare at her, his gaze considering. “What did you like the most?”

She yearned to say “you” but hesitated to give him such an easy victory. “It was all wonderful.”

He licked her clit, the tip of his tongue curling around her swollen bud like a caress. “What part in particular? Did you like seeing us all in collars and leashes?”

She almost groaned at the new question. “That was certainly unexpected.”

She was rewarded for her answer with another slow drag of his tongue over her clit and down to her opening. His tongue dipped inside her, and she wanted to clutch at his hair.

When he looked up at her, his mouth was wet with her juices. “Would you like to lead me around like that?” His finger came to rest on her clit, and she felt the pulse of her need throb against his flesh. “I suspect I would resist you.”

A picture of herself in a collar, fighting
him
flashed through her mind and she shuddered. “I would ... I would not want to do that to you.”

His gaze sharpened and he moved his finger from her clit and slid it deep inside her. She held her breath, but he did nothing more. She tried to raise her hips and he held her still.

“What
would
you want, Elizabeth?”

She licked her lips and stared into his suddenly narrowed eyes. Keeping his finger still inside her, he bent forward and kissed her mouth so slowly and thoroughly that she whimpered. He pulled away and bit the tip of her nose. “Do you want my mouth and fingers on your cunt, Elizabeth? Do you want me to make you come?”

She nodded but he did nothing more than stare at her.

“Yes,” she whispered reluctantly. “I want you to make me come.”

“Then answer my question.” He kissed her again. She tried to arch her back and push his solitary finger deeper, but he allowed her no quarter. “What made you wet, what excited you?”

His soft voice made her shiver and want to answer him. He sank down to his knees between her open thighs and regarded his embedded finger. “I want to make you come, but I can’t until you tell me the truth.”

“I never tell you the truth,” she whispered. “You know that.”

He licked her swollen clit with the tip of his tongue, back and forth, back and forth until she wanted to scream with frustration. Every time she inched forward, he moved back, keeping her on the brink of a climax that she knew would be amazing.

“Please, Christian.”

He looked up at her. “Tell me.”

She sighed. “I liked watching you.”

He added a second finger to the first and she moaned, but he still didn’t move them. “You liked watching me having to do what I was told?”

“That was certainly unusual.”

He held her gaze. “I don’t enjoy it.”

“I know that.”

He added a third finger. “And what else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m not that conceited. I’m sure there is more.” His thumb hovered over her clit and she stiffened. “Do you want to climax or not? You’re so wet and open that you look like you’ve already had a man’s cock and his come inside you.”

In truth, at this moment, she wanted to climax more than she wanted to breathe. She closed her eyes and he snapped his fingers.

“Don’t do that.”

The cool note of command in his voice made her focus on his face.

“Look at my fingers inside you. Don’t you want my mouth there as well?”

“Yes,” she choked out. All she had to do was put her own hand on her clit and she would be climaxing right now. But she knew she wouldn’t do it, and she guessed he knew it too.

He licked a slow circle around her clit and then down and around his own fingers, making her quiver.

“Tell me.”

“I imagined myself in the bed with you all.”

“With the client too?”

“No, just me and the three of you.”

He added a fourth finger, and the glimmerings of a climax stirred deep inside her.

“Were you holding our leashes?”

She stared down at his embedded fingers that stretched her wide, aware that she was vulnerable and on edge and that she no longer cared.

“No.”

His thumb settled over her clit. “Then what?”

“You were holding mine,” she whispered unsteadily. “You were all ...”

“All what?”

“Fucking me.”

“As we fucked the client?”

“No.” She licked her lips. “I had no say in what you were doing to me.”

“We were using you as we wished?”

“Yes.”

“And did you like it?”

“I loved it.”

With a curse, he pumped his fingers into her, and his mouth dove down to join his thumb on her clit. Elizabeth screamed as the strongest climax of her life roared through her, and she kept coming, her body wracked by the spasms, her back arching as she ground herself against his mouth and fingers.

Christian pulled her out of the chair and down on top of him, expertly bringing her over his erect shaft and letting her set the pace. She came again and he propped himself up on his elbows so that he could take her breasts into his mouth and suckle her in time to his thrusts. Her third climax took him with her, and he groaned as his come was forced out of him in long, hot spurts high inside her.

She collapsed over his chest, her breathing unsteady, her face buried against his shoulder. He held her carefully, aware that she was still bruised from her ordeal and unwilling to add to the soreness she would have on the morrow.

He threaded his fingers into her long, tangled hair and nuzzled her ear. If he’d understood her correctly, his lover entertained fantasies of being dominated. Excitement threaded through him as he considered what to say to her next.

“Elizabeth.”

“Yes?”

“You enjoy it when Ambrose, Paul, and I all fuck you?”

“Yes.” She moved restlessly against his chest. “And I should not have said anything. You will never let this go, will you?”

“You also fantasize about being taken against your will?”

She pulled back from him. “I didn’t say
that
.”

He held her wary gaze. “You
said
that you would have no say in what was done to you. Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I ...” She tried to roll away from him, but he held her still. “I have imagined what that might be like.”

“Indeed.”

This time, Christian let her go and watched as she gathered up her clothes. The thin muslin clung to her skin where he’d left his seed and his sweat. He cupped his balls, and his already-overused cock started to stiffen again, the pain melding into the anticipation of pleasure. The sight of her well-fucked body stirred something deeply primitive in him. He wished he’d bitten her throat and marked her completely as his own....

She glanced at him and then looked away. He made no effort to cover himself or slow the glide of his fingers over his rapidly hardening flesh.

“Do you think I find your fantasies repulsive?”

“I’m not sure.” She kept her face averted. “All I know is that you will find a way to use them against me.”

“Against you? Surely if I understand what you want in bed, I can better provide satisfaction for you?”

She sighed and her shoulders went down. “Of course. I forget that you manage a house of pleasure. That would be your goal.”

His fingers stilled and anger pooled in his gut. “You’re not a client. I have no need to please you at all.”

She headed for the door. “Then, please, don’t bother.”

He let her leave, aware that she had exposed herself far more than she would have liked. It would be wise to let her regain her composure before he followed up on her interesting revelations. She didn’t know that the thought of her fighting his domination excited him more than anything. He squeezed his cock hard and his come flooded out over his pumping fist. But he would follow up on her fantasies. The temptation was too hard to resist.

“T
hank you for seeing me today, Mr. Neate. I appreciate it,” Christian said.

Mr. Neate looked up from his perusal of Elizabeth’s locket and grunted. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Delornay. I never know what you will turn up with next. Although this”—he pointed at the locket—“is quite a simple piece compared to most of the jewelry you bring me.”

“It is indeed. You managed to open the clasp?”

“I did. Would you like to see what is inside?”

Christian nodded and Mr. Neate carefully opened the locket to reveal two tiny portraits of a man and a woman. Christian peered at the small painted images. The female bore a striking resemblance to Elizabeth.

“I believe the locket was made in London by a goldsmith named Edwards, Mr. Delornay. The hallmark dates it to about thirty years ago.”

Which would tie in nicely with Christian’s theory that the locket had belonged to Elizabeth’s mother.

“Does Mr. Edwards still practice his trade?”

“I don’t believe so. After making some inquiries, I found out that he sold most of his work through Wilson and Farridge, a jewelers in Cheapside. Do you know it?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been there, but I suspect it will be my next call this morning.” Christian closed the locket and handed it back to Mr. Neate. “Did you have any success in deciphering the crest engraved on the front?”

Mr. Neate passed him a sheet of paper. “I managed to draw it out for you. The motto is in Latin.”

“So it is.” Christian studied the crest. “I’ll have to check with the College of Arms to make sure I have it right.” He folded the piece of paper and put it inside his coat. “Thank you, Mr. Neate. You have been most helpful.”

“A pleasure, sir.” Mr. Neate wrapped the locket in a piece of soft cloth and gave it to Christian. “I polished it up a bit and fixed that hinge, so the owner will be able to open it more easily.”

“I’m sure she’ll be most grateful.”

After shaking hands with Mr. Neate, Christian turned to leave the small, cramped shop. He signaled for a hackney at the curb, glad for once that he hadn’t chosen to drive himself. The hackney driver would probably know exactly where to find Wilson and Farridge in Cheapside, which would save him valuable time. With the weather looking like rain, he had no desire to wander around an area of London he didn’t know and risk either his life or his horses.

He patted the pocket where he’d put the locket and the drawing of the family crest. If it had its own coat of arms, Elizabeth’s father’s family was an ancient and respected one. He doubted all her relatives were dead and wondered whether they would finally be willing to recognize her. Perhaps they already had and she was simply too proud to respond to them?

He smiled. That was a distinct possibility. His Elizabeth might not acknowledge her rank, but she bore all the hallmarks of a true lady. He frowned as the hackney jolted to a sudden stop and his driver started yelling at some unfortunate man with a cart full of apples who had dared to cross in front of him. She wasn’t “his” Elizabeth. She belonged to no man. She’d made that abundantly clear.

He leaned closer to the window and studied the route to Cheapside, aware that the finer streets were disappearing and the roads becoming narrower. The houses were taller and more packed together and the people less genteel. Not that he felt in any danger. He was well able to take care of himself.

The Wilson and Farridge shop front looked as if it had seen better days. The timber-framed building sat low on the ground as if hunched over in a sulk, and the dirty diamond-paned windows and marked oak door hardly hinted at prosperity. But then Elizabeth had said her father was the black sheep of his family, so perhaps his choice of jeweler had suited his straitened circumstances rather than his rank.

Christian got down and asked the hackney driver to wait. After some further words and an exchange of coin, the driver agreed, and Christian was able to pursue his business. When he pushed open the warped door, a bell clanged somewhere in the back of the building. There was no one at the counter, so Christian waited patiently until he heard booted footsteps approaching.

The man who appeared was tall and thin, with a fine shock of pure white hair. He squinted at Christian through his spectacles.

“May I help you, sir? Do you wish to pawn something?”

His suspicious tone made Christian want to smile.

“Good morning. I’m here on another kind of errand. I’m trying to trace the owner of a piece of jewelry. I believe it was made by a goldsmith associated with your shop.”

The man sighed and shook his head. “We don’t do a lot of jewelry now, sir. It’s mostly trade, if you know what I mean.”

“This particular piece was bought several years ago. I’m hoping you might have a record of it being made or purchased from your shop.”

“We might do, sir. We do have all our records.” He regarded Christian with shrewd eyes. “Of course, searching for that information will take me away from my work ...”

Christian took out his purse. “Naturally, I’m prepared to pay for your time, Mr... . ?”

“I’m Mr. William Farridge, the third to bear that name and the third to run the family business.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Farridge.” Christian consulted his pocket watch. “Do you think you might find the information for me now, or should I come back later?”

“I have the books in the back. Do you have any idea when the piece of jewelry was purchased?”

Christian took out the locket and showed it to Mr. Farridge. “I understand that it was made by a Mr. Edwards about thirty years ago.”

“That would probably be Joshua Edwards. He sold us some beautiful pieces before his death.” Mr. Farridge sighed and peered at the locket. “You don’t see craftsmanship like this anymore. Give me but a moment and I will fetch the relevant book.”

Christian leaned against the countertop and examined the various items on the shelves behind the worktops. He suspected most of them were articles that had been pawned and were either awaiting the return of their owners or a new home. Among the items jostling for position on the crowded shelves were a fine silver christening mug, a pewter tankard, and a full set of wooden false teeth. He hoped the owner of the teeth wasn’t suffering too badly from their loss.

“Here we are, sir.”

Mr. Farridge returned bearing a large leather-bound book covered in spiderwebs, which he thumped down on the countertop. Christian resisted the urge to sneeze as dust flew out.

Mr. Farridge opened the book, pushed his spectacles up his nose, and started turning the pages. Christian tried to look as well, but the spidery handwriting and narrow columns defeated him. He’d need a magnifying glass to make any sense of it.

“Ah! Here it is. One gold locket sold to the Honorable Mr. George Walker.” He looked up at Christian and showed him the entry. “It also gives details of the type of gold used, the procurement of the portraits, and the cost of the special engraving on the front that had to be done by our own craftsman in the shop.”

Christian strained to make sense of the spiderlike scrawl but had no more luck than he had before. “Thank you, Mr. Farridge. Do you also have the address of the original purchaser? I would like to return this treasure to its rightful owners.”

“I’ll copy it all out for you.” Mr. Farridge got a quill pen, ink, and some paper and scratched away for a few moments. “Here you are, sir. I’m not sure if the family still resides at this address, but these aristocratic folk do tend to stay in their ancestral mansions, don’t they?”

“Indeed, they do, Mr. Farridge.” Christian slipped the note and the locket into his pocket and drew out a gold sovereign. “This is for your time. Thank you.”

He left the shop and got back into the waiting hackney cab. So Elizabeth’s father had been an “honorable,” had he? If Christian remembered his titles correctly, and it was his business to know them intimately, that meant her father must have been the son of an earl, a viscount, or a baron. Surely such a family would not want a descendant of theirs working in a pleasure house?

But they had abandoned her father, or at least let him walk away from them—that was something to contemplate. Perhaps Elizabeth had heard enough about them from her father to know that they would never welcome her. Christian frowned. But they didn’t have to welcome her into their home, did they? Surely a gentle reminder that Elizabeth was their kin might result in an offer of an allowance or a place to stay that would give her some security in life?

Would she be happy with that? He guessed that her independence was as important to her as his was to him. How ironic, then, that both of them were still living off his mother’s bounty. He sighed and stared out of the window. What other option did he have? He only knew how to run the pleasure house. If his mother was determined to hang on to it, where did that leave him? At least he was offering Elizabeth a choice.

He forced his thoughts back to the more practical present. He would contact the College of Arms and send his carefully worded advertisement to the newspaper to lure RR out of hiding. The quicker he managed Elizabeth’s affairs, the sooner she would be out of danger and possibly out of his life.

The hackney pulled up at the rear entrance of the pleasure house on Barrington Street, and Christian paid the driver and got down. As the horses trotted away, he took a moment to stare up at the familiar white and stone façade. Was that why he was so reluctant to strike out on his own? Was he too afraid of losing the only real home he had ever had? Yet even this “home” didn’t belong to him. His parents owned it and he just worked for them. A familiar ache gathered in his chest and he shoved it down. He had to believe that he was perfectly capable of leaving both the pleasure house and Elizabeth. He simply had to.

Elizabeth studied her face in the mirror and scowled. The bruising looked even worse than it had the day before, and her whole body ached as if she had run fifty miles. She picked up the bag of jewelry Ambrose had returned to her and emptied the contents onto her dressing table. It took her but a moment to separate the pieces
she
valued from the pieces
of
value her husband had bought her. If she pawned the jewelry, would she have enough money to get her over to France and back to Armand’s château?

She bit her lip. The problem was that she needed at least two good strong reliable men to help her. The Kelly brothers would be perfect. But how was she to recruit such men while at the pleasure house? More to the point, since her recent brush with Gaston, how was she even going to get out of the house by herself to find a pawnshop without raising the alarm?

Frustration threaded through her. She hated being helpless, and here she was trapped in another kind of prison. A kinder one this time, but it seemed that could be just as binding as suspicion and hatred.

Elizabeth fingered the strand of pearls that had once belonged to her mother. These she would wear and cherish until the end of her days. She searched for the locket her father had given her mother on their wedding day and could see no trace of it. Had Armand kept it deliberately to upset her? It would be just like him.

She put the jewelry back into the pouch and stood up. There was no point in worrying about what might happen. She
had
to get back to France before Armand did something unthinkable. Therefore, she had to find a way to make her plan work.

A knock on her door made her pause.

“May I come in?” Christian asked.

“Of course.” Elizabeth fixed on a welcoming smile and watched as Christian closed the door behind him. He was wearing a dark brown coat with a black waistcoat and a simply tied cravat. He angled his head to one side and studied her.

“Your face looks terrible.”

She bobbed him a curtsy. “Thank you. It might look worse, but it actually hurts much less.”

“So I should imagine.” He came toward her, put his fingers under her chin, and turned her face more fully into the candlelight. She thought about how she’d seen him last, naked, his skin glowing with exertion, his cock hard and ready to penetrate her. She also remembered what she’d revealed and fought an urge to pull away from his all-too-knowing touch.

“I thought you might like to dine up here with me.”

“Alone?”

“That was my plan.”

“Am I really that hideous?” Elizabeth asked lightly. The last thing she wanted was to share an intimate evening with Christian Delornay. She was concealing so many secrets that she feared she’d forget herself and start screaming them at him in a never-ending scroll.

“You certainly aren’t fit to welcome our guests.”

“But surely the kitchen staff wouldn’t mind?”

His faint smile disappeared. “Elizabeth, are you trying to avoid me?”

She met his gaze. “I ... I might be.”

“Because of what happened the other night?”

She allowed a hint of bewilderment to enter her smile. “I beg your pardon?”

“Elizabeth ...”

BOOK: Simply Carnal

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