The Sinners Club (5 page)

“Jack ...”

“What is it?”

“Please. I want your cock in me. I need—”

“Patience, my friend. You'll thank me when you eventually come, I swear it.”

Balancing carefully, he continued thrusting his fingers into Simon's arse and tonguing the head of his cock and wrapped his other hand around the base of his partner's shaft, squeezing tight.

He changed position, moving from Simon's side to between his legs, his own cock now slick and hard again. Keeping one hand around Simon's cock he removed his fingers and positioned himself at the other man's entrance.

“You'll take me now, hard and fast if that's how I want it, and you won't come until I tell you to.”

Simon groaned as Jack pressed forward the head of his cock, sliding easily into the well-oiled hole. Jack momentarily closed his eyes as his rigid flesh was surrounded by heat and tightness, and God... He started to thrust, needing the friction, the slap of skin against skin, the sense that he'd never have enough of this particular man's smell and taste. Pressure gathered in the small of his back and in his balls and he released his hard grip on Simon's stiff length.

“Come with me. Now.”

He shoved one last time and closed his eyes as his come jutted out deep in the other man's arse, leaving him spent, and then collapsed over Simon's still-shaking torso. Simon's hand came up to cradle his head, and the warm stickiness of come between them melded their skin together.

Eventually, Jack managed to lever himself up onto his elbows and found his new lover staring quietly up at him.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. That was...” Simon hesitated. “Extraordinary.”

“I'll do better when I'm not so tired.” Jack rolled off Simon and onto his back. “If the occasion should ever arise, of course.

Simon's chuckle was low and comforting. “I would be honored to share your bed again.”

Jack turned his head and smiled at his companion. “Then perhaps I
should
stay here rather than at the inn, as you suggested.”

“I'm sure my sister will agree.”

“She won't mind?”

“You staying, or this?”

“Either.”

“She won't mind. She loves me.”

“My sister is the same. She despairs of me ever settling down, though.”

“If your inclination is to bed another man rather than marry a woman, it does present some difficulty.”

“To be perfectly honest, Simon, I am happy to bed men and women.

“You are?”

He hesitated. “Does that offend you?”

“Not at all.” Simon reached out a lazy hand and stroked Jack's hip. “I can perform perfectly well with a woman too.”

They smiled at each other in perfect accord and then Jack yawned.

Simon sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. “I should leave you. You must be tired after your journey.”

Jack watched with pleasure as Simon strode toward the collection of their hastily abandoned clothes and extracted his garments. He didn't bother to dress and just bundled everything up in his arms.

“Thank you.”

Jack nodded. “It was a pleasure.”

“One that I would be more than willing to repeat.” Simon jerked his head at the tower door. “You know where I am if you need me.”

“I do.”

Simon retreated after a last smile, leaving Jack staring up at the ceiling, his body pliant and humming with the echoes of pleasure. As sensation retreated, common sense returned and he considered what he now knew. Simon was no stranger to a man's touch and had willingly allowed Jack to take the lead in their encounter. He obviously hadn't attended public school, so where had he picked up the “English habit” as the French called it? It was possible that a female lover had introduced him to it, but he sensed there was something more. That Simon hadn't always offered such services willingly... and if that was the case, how did that impact his sister, the supposedly virtuous and aristocratic Dowager Countess of Storr?

Jack washed in the now cold water, pulled back the covers, and got into bed as tiredness overtook him. Tomorrow he would probably discover that the Picoults had no evidence to support their claims to the earldom. What would they do then? Did Simon believe that by bedding Jack he'd created an ally to deceive the new earl?

Jack's sense of well-being dissipated completely.

No one was going to deprive him of his inheritance this time. He'd wandered for too long. Now that his sister had found happiness, the lack of a place to call home had finally become plain to him. If the Picoults thought he could be bought that easily, with sex, they were due for a terrible disappointment.

 

Mary knocked gently on Simon's bedroom door and held her breath until he opened it and beckoned her inside.

“Is Mr. Smith here?” she whispered.

“No, he's asleep in his own bed.”

“Then you didn't—?” Simon smiled at her and she blushed. “Of course you did. You're still naked and you smell of sex.”

He turned away from her and went to wash, sluicing quantities of cold water and soap down his chest to pool at his feet.

“Damn, that's cold.” He took the drying cloth she offered him and rubbed vigorously at his chest and torso.

Mary walked closer and placed her hand on his upper arm. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Was he grateful for the attention?”

“You mean, was he willing to fuck another man? He was, my love, and very experienced at it too.”

“Oh.” She pouted.

“Are you jealous that I got to see him naked first, to suck his cock, and have him sucking mine?” He caught her hand and placed it on his already rising shaft. “You are, aren't you?”

She squeezed him hard and his breath hissed out.

“Be careful with that.”

“Why? You've done what you needed with it tonight, haven't you?”

He smiled down into her eyes. “That depends.”

“You are irrepressible!”

“I know and that's why you like me.” He pushed against her palm, his crown now slick and throbbing against her skin. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

Before she could protest, he picked her up and deposited her on his lap on the chair by the fire. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her steady, one warm hand cradling her hip, the other blocking her escape on the arm of the chair.

“What's wrong?”

“What if he wakes up and comes looking for you?”

“Then we'd hear him, you could make a run for it, and I—well, I'd be a very well-satisfied man.”

“He was really that proficient?”

“Mary, he had all the skills of a professional, and I should know.”

“Do you think he has
lied
to us?”

“I'm not sure. His knowledge of the Lennox estate and the fact that he brought a letter of recommendation from Mr. McEwan would suggest that he is what he says he is.” He kissed her shoulder, pushing her shawl away to expose her simple nightgown. “He
did
spend much of his life in France, which might explain a lot.”

“That's true.” Mary shoved ineffectually at his head as he continued to kiss his way down her arm. “Perhaps it would be better to let him stay here while he finishes his various tasks so that we can gather a better sense of him.”

“Oh, he is more than willing to stay.” He nuzzled her breast. “He wants me.”

“So you said.” His chuckle was muffled against the swell of her breast. “I am not jealous.”

“Methinks you are, but whether of me or him, I'm not sure.” His mouth closed over her covered nipple and sucked hard. Even as her body heated she yanked on his hair.

“Ouch!” He looked up, his expression aggrieved. “What?”

“This is hardly the time for
that.”

“Why not?” He slid one hand down the front of her nightgown and cupped her breast, his thumb unerringly finding her nipple.

“He might come in!”

“He's already come, my darling.” He kissed her. “In my mouth, in my hand, and in my arse. I reckon we're safe for a while.”

“You let him fuck you?”

He shrugged with lazy grace. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

Mary pulled back so that she could see his face. “You don't like to be fucked.”

He sighed. “I know, and yet somehow, this seemed right. He suggested it and I... was more than willing to let him.” He briefly closed his eyes. “And it was worth it. He used his mouth and fingers on me until I was begging for his cock.”

She brushed a finger over his mouth. “You begged?”

He shifted beneath her, and she was aware of the swell of his shaft pulsing against the thin fabric covering her thigh.

“I told you he was exceptional.”

“And now I
am
jealous.”

He pinched her chin. “If he does wake up and desire me again, do you want to stay and watch?”

“Why would you think I'd be interested in such a thing?”

“Because I know you. I can smell your arousal already.” His hand snaked around her thigh and delved between her legs. “Damnation, you're wet.” He stood in one easy motion and brought her over to the bed. “Let me see you.”

“Simon—”

“Let me show you what he did to me.” He dropped her onto her back and spread her legs wide, wedging his shoulders between them. “He used his tongue on my prick while he rimmed and played with my arse.”

He bent over her and his tongue stabbed at her clit, circling and licking it until it was as swollen and stiff as a man's cock. She slid a hand into his hair and tried not to moan too loudly as he continued the sweet torment. His finger slid inside her slick cunt and she took him gladly, accepted more until he was thrusting with all four fingers in and out of her.

“He wouldn't let me come.” He raised his head, panting to stare up at her. “It was the most beautiful torment imaginable.” He looked down at her sex and licked his lips. “I'll let you come now, though. I want to see you. I almost wish he'd walk through that door and see you too.”

That thought was enough to send Mary spiraling into a climax. He kept her coming, using his mouth and fingers to prolong her pleasure and then finally gentled her down. He kissed her thigh and her knee and slowly lowered her nightgown.

“Will you stay?”

“No. It wouldn't be proper.”

He wiped his hand over his mouth as if relishing her taste. “Proper? After that?”

“Don't be disrespectful.”

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed elaborately. “I apologize, my lady. Let me know when you next require your unworthy serf to use his mouth on you, and I'll be instantly at your service.”

“Don't.” She struggled to sit up. “I've enough sly comments from the rest of the staff to deal with without you starting.”

His smile disappeared. “Mary, I didn't mean anything by it. You know that. I'll always support you.” He held out his hand. “Forgive me?”

She went into his arms and he held her tight.

“I'm the one who should be apologizing. I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment.”

“Well, you are with child, love.”

She scowled up at him. “And you are incorrigible.”

He kissed her forehead. “I think you mentioned that already. I know Mr. Smith's descent on us wasn't quite unexpected, but it is still stressful for you.”

“Yes.” She breathed in the scent of his skin, the smell of herself, and the faint, not entirely unappealing scent of Mr. Smith. “I should be relieved that you have engaged him as an ally.”

“I haven't done anything yet.”

“You've bedded him.”

His smile was full of wickedness. “But I fear that is only half the story, love. I think you'll have to consider bedding Mr. Smith yourself.”

J
ack crunched through a piece of toast and took another from the piled plate in the center of the table. Apart from a footman stationed by the door, he was the only occupant of the dreary breakfast parlor. It was another gloomy day. He was beginning to wonder if the sun ever shone in Lincolnshire or if it sulked permanently behind a veil of clouds. He almost missed France and the warmth of the south.

If he wasn't mistaken, his hostess had visited her brother's bedchamber the previous night, perhaps to get a report of his success or lack of it. He hoped he'd proved satisfactory. He'd enjoyed the encounter with Simon more than he had anticipated and wouldn't object to having him again. It was a shame that it was unlikely. Once the Picoults failed to prove Mary was married to the earl, Jack would either have to leave or reveal his true purpose and kick them out. Neither scenario meant Simon Picoult would feel inclined to share his bed again.

It really was a pity....

“Do you want some more eggs, sir?”

A tall, angular woman stood at the open door, her hands folded at the waist.

“No thank you.” Jack smiled. “Are you the innkeeper's cousin, Mrs. Lowden, the housekeeper here?”

“I am, sir.”

“Your cousin said you had been with the Storr family for many years.”

“Indeed, rose from parlor maid to housekeeper too.”

“So you've known the Dowager Countess for a while then.”

An expression of wariness crossed the housekeeper's face. “You might say that.”

“Did she grow up in this neighborhood, or did the earl meet her elsewhere?”

“He brought her and that brother of hers back from goodness knows where and installed them at the house. She was about fourteen, I think.”

“Oh, I didn't realize that the Picoults had lived here for so long. That's quite unusual, isn't it?”

“I suppose it is, sir.”

Jack tried again. “I must confess that I'm unsure of how long the late earl's marriage lasted.” He smiled deprecatingly. “In fact, I wasn't even aware he'd married so late in life. My employer was expecting to inherit the title.”

“So I heard.”

Jack waited patiently as a myriad of expressions chased themselves over Mrs. Lowden's face.

“ ‘Twas a bit of a surprise to us here too.”

“Really? Why was that?”

“Well, she's so much younger than him, and why did he bother? It wasn't as if he needed to make it all legal or anything.”

“Perhaps he thought of the child,” Jack said delicately.

“I suppose that might be part of it. He was a God-fearing man and near meeting his Maker.” She stared critically at Jack as if assessing his longevity. “That's enough to make any man consider the wickedness of his ways, isn't it?”

“Indeed.” Jack slowly shook his head. “Those are wise words for any Christian to live by, Mrs. Lowden.”

“Well, then. I'll leave you to your breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

So the beautiful Miss Picoult had been the earl's mistress before she had “married” him, had she? Was that why he'd brought her and Simon back to Pinchbeck Hall? It seemed horribly likely, and made the idea of the old earl stooping to marry such a woman even more improbable. He spared a thought for any beautiful woman forced into such a situation and wondered what had happened to Mary and her brother to make them accept the earl's offer. Had bringing her brother been Mary's condition for accepting carte blanche from a man three times her age?

The door opened, and the Dowager Countess herself came through. She wore a black muslin dress and a demure gray fichu that covered her ample bosom and was held together with a jet and silver brooch. Her bright hair was partially covered with a dainty white lace cape, which gave her the appearance of an innocent Quaker miss or, perhaps, a nun.

Appreciating her artistry, Jack stood and hurried to pull out a chair for her. She sank down into the seat in a cloud of soft scent and fluttering thanks.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith. I trust you slept well?”

“Very well, my lady. It must be all this fresh country air.”

“I'm delighted to hear it.” Her smile held no trace of triumph or smugness. Had Simon told her what they'd done? One had to assume so. “Some of our guests find it altogether too quiet.”

Her refined accent was perfect. He could detect no hint of provincialism or carefully hidden working-class roots. But if she really was born a lady, how was it that her brother hadn't been sent away to school? And how had they ended up living at Pinchbeck Hall?

“Is Mr. Picoult not joining us?”

She poured herself some tea and looked over at him. “He's already eaten. He's waiting for us in the earl's study with the necessary papers.”

“Then I'd better finish my repast.”

She reached over and touched his sleeve. “There's no hurry. I'll be a while myself yet. My appetite is increasing by the day.”

“Well, you are eating for two, my lady.”

A faint hint of pink caressed her cheeks. “It is a burden I carry most gratefully, sir.”

Jack returned his attention to his plate and contemplated his rapidly congealing eggs. If his fate depended on bringing an heir into the world, he would be damned careful about his health as well. He wondered what would happen when Simon couldn't produce the necessary documentation. Would they have had time to forge it, or would they attempt to appeal to his better nature and bribe their way out of the situation with his help?

He was almost looking forward to seeing what the inventive Picoult siblings would come up with. With that thought, he finished his eggs and drank another cup of coffee while the dowager nibbled at a piece of toast. For someone who claimed she had a hearty appetite, she seemed surprisingly off her food. But if she feared being unmasked as a charlatan shortly after her repast, perhaps she had reason to be picky.

He waited patiently until she finished her lackluster meal and dabbed at her lush mouth with her napkin. Even as she started to rise, he was on his feet ready to pull her chair out and offer her his escort.

“Thank you.”

She glanced up at him and smiled and he readily smiled back.

“Shall we adjourn to the study?” Jack asked. “I fear to keep your brother waiting for too long. He must have many other duties to attend to around the estate.”

“He certainly works hard.”

“When did he decide that he wanted to be a land agent?”

“When he realized he wanted to make his own way in the world and not be dependent on the whims and goodwill of others.”

There was a hard note in her voice that made Jack pay close attention.

“No man likes to be beholden to another for his coin.”

“Or woman. But that is usually our fate, isn't it? We are ordered around by our male relatives as if we are truly chattel.”

“You did not wish to wed the earl?”

They'd reached the study door and she paused to look up at him. “I was honored to marry him, Mr. Smith. Whatever anyone else might tell you, that is the truth.”

Her gaze was steady and he could sense no hint of deceit in it.

“Then the earl was a very lucky man indeed.”

He opened the door and they both walked through. Simon sat at the desk, which was covered in important-looking documents. Sunlight streamed through the window behind him, making red lights dance in his auburn hair.

“Mr. Smith. How pleasant to see you again.”

Jack ushered the dowager into a chair and inclined his head to his new lover. “Mr. Picoult, always a pleasure.”

He took the chair next to the countess and focused his entire attention on the man behind the desk.

Simon cleared his throat. “I have two items that may be of interest to the Lennox solicitors in London.” He picked up one of the pieces of parchment, which was covered in elaborate wax seals and appeared to be several pages in length. “This is the late earl's final will and testament.” He selected something else. “And these are his marriage lines to my sister.”

Jack stared at the official-looking documents for longer than was polite. “May I inspect them?”

“Of course, Mr. Smith.”

He rose to his feet and crossed over to the desk. With his past, if either of the documents were rushed forgeries, he would be able to spot them easily. Having a feckless father had taught him much about the ways of the underworld. Simon handed him the marriage certificate and Jack read it through very carefully, his indignation rising by the second. If it was a forgery it was impossible to tell. It stated very clearly that Mary Elizabeth Picoult (spinster) had married the sixth Earl of Storr six months previously, which meant that any male child she delivered would be considered the earl's legitimate heir....

“Why didn't the earl send this marriage certificate to his solicitor in London?”

“I don't think he was that eager for the news to be spread around.”

Jack looked up. “That's hardly like broadcasting it from the town crier, is it? Informing one's solicitor of one's marriages is a legal necessity that would have saved my employer and me much false hope and anxiety.”

“I beg your pardon? You doubted the validity of my marriage?”

He turned to Mary Picoult, who wasn't looking quite as amiable anymore. In truth, she looked positively furious.

“I didn't say that, my lady. I just wondered why the old earl chose not to share this happy news.”

“Perhaps he knew what your employer's reaction would be!”

While inside he raged at the vagaries of fate, Jack kept his expression as neutral as possible. “We can hardly speculate on my employer's reaction, can we? He is still unaware that his claim has been challenged.”

“Something that you can remedy on your return, Mr. Smith,” Simon intervened. “I've prepared a copy of the marriage lines for you to take with you, and have a signed statement from the local vicar to confirm my sister was married in a private ceremony to the earl in St. Deny's church.”

“I notice that you are one of the witnesses, Mr. Picoult.”

“It was my privilege to do so.” Simon bowed to his sister. “Do you wish to examine the earl's last will and testament as well?”

“I suppose I should.”

Simon vacated his chair and waved Jack into it with a gracious gesture that set his teeth on edge.

“Go ahead. It is rather a lengthy document. Would you prefer it if we left you alone to peruse it?”

“I'd rather you stayed, Mr. Picoult. I might have some further questions.” He smiled at Mary, the apparently legitimate Dowager Countess of Storr. “If you don't wish to stay as well, my lady?”

Mary rose. “I trust my brother to represent my interests fairly in this matter, and I must see to my household.”

Both men rose as she swept out of the room. Jack resumed reading while Simon sat and stared out of the window, one hand tapping against his thigh. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked merrily in the silence, and the fire crackled, sending out puffs of warmth into the chill. Eventually Jack sat back.

“This will was made the night the earl died.”

“Yes.”

“And you and Mrs. Lowden witnessed it.”

“We did.”

Jack stared down at the closely written pages. “I should imagine you were
privileged
to do this for your sister as well. Did you write the whole thing too?”

“What do you mean?” Simon started to rise.

“Well, someone did, and if the earl was dying one might assume that such a task was beyond him and fell to you.”

“I wrote down his words, yes, but he read through them before he signed. What exactly are you trying to suggest?”

Jack whipped off his glasses. “Nothing, Mr. Picoult. I'm just trying to understand the sequence of events.”

“It's not that difficult, Mr. Smith. After the earl married Mary, he decided to change his will. He sent down to London for the last version, read it through, and told me which parts he wished to alter. When he was taken by a sudden illness, he insisted that we finish the new draft and get it signed and witnessed before he died.”

“To ensure that his new, young wife would be sufficiently protected for the rest of her days.”

“What else would you expect? He was truly enamored of her.”

“So I hear.” He glanced down at the text. “I doubt the rest of the Lennox family are going to feel quite so kindly toward her when they find out they are getting nothing.”

Simon shrugged. “They hate us anyway. They refused to receive my sister after her marriage and made several very public remarks about her and the earl, which ensured that the local gentry shunned us as well.”

“How uncharitable.”

“One of them even thought he was in line for the title!”

“Which one?”

“George Mainwaring. He lives at the Grange on the opposite edge of the village. His mother was the previous earl's aunt.”

“Which makes him ineligible as long as there are male heirs.” Jack paused. “If your sister has a male child, the title will be secure beyond doubt.”

“Exactly.” Simon shifted restlessly in his seat and avoided Jack's gaze. “It is something of a slender hope to rest one's future on, though, isn't it?”

Jack glanced down at the closely written pages in front of him. “But according to the will, the countess will receive a pension for life even if she delivers a girl. Surely that is enough?”

“It will have to be.” Simon stood and paced over to the window, presenting Jack with his broad back. “One has to wonder if that comes to pass, whether the new earl will allow her to stay at Pinchbeck Hall or expect her to move out.”