The Sinners Club (7 page)

“Please, my lady, take me deep, finish me.”

She stopped touching him entirely and he almost groaned at the loss.

With a glance at her brother, she wrapped her hand around Jack's cock just above Simon's. “Come then, both of you.”

Simon started to move hard and fast, letting Jack's cock slip more easily through his fingers. The countess sucked the rest of him into her mouth and held tight as the two men climaxed in shuddering waves. As his seed pumped out, she drew back and watched his come flood helplessly over her hand and her brother's.

Without a word, she bent her head and started licking him clean, her rough tongue making him shiver as she traversed his now sensitive cock and balls. Simon eased free and got off the bed to wash, bringing water and soap back to Jack, who was still trapped by the countess's fingers and mouth.

The water felt cold against his heated, pummeled skin as Simon carefully washed him. The countess sat back and watched, her gaze fixed on Simon's hand as he swirled the washcloth over Jack's now flaccid cock.

“That was very nice.”

Jack eyed her carefully but she didn't sound like a woman who intended to throw him out on his ear the next morning. She sounded almost pleased with herself. But then why would she not? He was now doubly compromised by the siblings and hopelessly enmeshed in their peculiar relationship and love life. He fought a grin. They probably thought they had him tied to them for life, but they had no idea that scandal was his lifeblood. Sometimes it was good to be wicked.

 

Mary bent to retrieve her forgotten shawl, allowing Mr. Smith an excellent view of her bosom. Her heart beat strongly against her skin and she was still warm.

“Oh dear,” she sighed.

“What is it, my lady?”

She touched her finger between her breasts and then licked it into her mouth. “I'm all sticky too.”

Mr. Smith glanced back at Simon, who was smiling appreciatively. “I'd be more than willing to help you with that, my lady, if your brother permits.”

Simon waved his hand. “Be my guest?”

Still naked, Mr. Smith climbed off the bed and came toward her. She took a moment to appreciate his lean strength, the firm muscles in his thighs and the already increasing length of his cock.

“Would you care to sit down, my lady?”

She sat and waited to see what he would do next. Simon handed him a fresh bowl of water and a clean drying cloth. Mr. Smith came to kneel at her feet.

“Might I beg a favor of you first?”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “What is it?”

“May I use my tongue on you, before I use the cloth?”

Her nipples hardened in anticipation and she sank back into the cushions with a sigh. She undid the drawstring at the neck of her nightgown. “Yes please, Mr. Smith. That would be delightful.”

She shivered as he delicately drew the fabric away from her breasts, uncovering them completely. For a moment, he did nothing but stare at them before slowly licking his lips. Her nipples ached for his mouth and she drew a deep, tremulous breath.

With a soft sound, he reached forward and cupped her breast. His tongue flicked out and skimmed over her nipple and then around it, making her shiver. He continued to lick at her, his tongue agile as he worked his way around her flesh, dipping between her breasts spreading his time between the two needy points of her nipples.

“Ah, Mr. Smith, that's—”

He nuzzled her skin, sucking her into his mouth and she dissolved into a puddle of desire. She became aware of Simon kneeling by Mr. Smith's side, his hand inching up her nightdress spreading her knees wide to reveal her needy sex.

“She's wet here, Mr. Smith. Do you want to lick her clean here as well?” Simon asked.

“God, yes,” Mr. Smith breathed.

He lowered his head, his wide shoulders pushing her thighs apart. Simon rose to his feet and came to stand behind her, his hands dropping to her shoulders.

“Play with your breasts, Mary. Pinch them hard. Mr. Smith will like it.”

She obediently cupped her breasts, her fingers unerringly finding her nipples just as Mr. Smith's warm mouth sucked at her clit. Her hips surged forward into the heaven of his tongue and teeth and she writhed against him.

“Oh God.”

As Mr. Smith played and sucked at her lower lips, Simon kissed her mouth, stifling her cries as she neared a climax. So wet now, she could hear herself, but she didn't care.

Without warning, Mr. Smith slid one finger deep inside her and curled it around. With a muffled cry she climaxed, her inner muscles squeezing his finger as he continued to draw spasms of pleasure from her clit.

“That's nice, love,” Simon murmured. “God, he looks fine between your legs, making you come, making you scream.”

She lay back against the cushions and Mr. Smith raised his head. His mouth was wet with her juices, his eyes a vivid, narrowed blue.

“I fear I made you even wetter, my lady.”

She smiled at him. “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, sir.”

He smoothed a hand over his now erect cock. “It was my pleasure.”

Simon moved from his station at Mary's head and knelt beside Mr. Smith. “And now you have left us both hard and wanting more.”

“There is a solution to that.” She sat forward and grasped a cock in each hand. “It's the least I can do.”

She started moving her hands, watched the men's expressions focus on her fingers and on each other's cocks.

“Hold them together.” Simon murmured. “Use both hands.”

They faced each other, their cocks touching, their shoulders inches apart and Mary wrapped both hands around them, working them together, pushing wet, straining flesh against flesh until they both started to come, Simon's head falling to rest on Mr. Smith's shoulder as he shuddered out a last spasm of seed. She wondered what it would feel like to take them both in her mouth, whether it was even possible....

With a sigh, Mr. Smith eased out of their complicated embrace.

“Thank you both for an excellent evening. It was most unexpected, but memorable nonetheless.”

“We should be thanking you, Mr. Smith.” Simon drew away too. “Let me just put on my robe, and I'll escort Mary back to her room. Was there something in particular you wanted to speak to me about, love?”

Mary made herself respectable again and stood. Her legs still felt a little wobbly. Despite his quiet exterior, Mr. Smith was certainly an inventive and creative lover. “I can't quite remember.”

Simon grinned at her as Mr. Smith made his excuses and retreated to his own room. “I'm not surprised. That was rather fun, wasn't it?”

“Fun?” She let him escort her back to the countess's apartments and made him come into her bedroom with her. “It was a dangerous thing to do. You shouldn't have kissed me like that.”

His smile was lascivious. “Because he'll think we're too close?”

“There are enough rumors out there already without you adding to them.”

He advanced toward her. “You're just angry because you didn't get properly fucked.”

“I am not! I'm—”

He caught hold of her hand and yanked her against his chest. “Yes, you are. But don't worry.” He lifted her against him and backed her toward the bed. “We can soon take care of that.”

J
ack finished a leisurely breakfast without seeing either his host or his hostess and walked down to the stables to inquire as to whether he needed a horse to get to the Grange. He'd received a prompt, if curt reply to his note from Mr. George Mainwaring and was ordered to present himself at ten in the morning at the Grange. Considering the inevitable inclement weather, the head groom recommended a horse, and Jack set out at a slow pace, which was all the old hack would allow.

He didn't mind dawdling. It gave him time to think over the extraordinary events of the previous day, and especially the night. Mary and Simon Picoult had the most unusual relationship he had ever encountered between two siblings. He was not easily shocked, and knew how it felt to have his relationship with his own sister brought under close scrutiny, but he'd never felt any lust for Violet. He was completely sure that she would have gutted him with his own knife if he'd kissed her the way Simon had kissed Mary last night.

A reluctant smile curved his lips. Maybe they'd thought he wouldn't notice... even so, it was an incredible risk to take in front of a stranger. As everything that had happened had been at Simon's instigation, he obviously wasn't as quiet as Jack had suspected. In fact, he might even be as sexually imaginative as Jack. Violet would find that highly amusing. Jack found it remarkably stimulating.

His horse tossed his head as a partridge flew up from the undergrowth and Jack had to grab the reins. He needed to concentrate and forget the Picoults while he considered how to deal with the interview ahead. In his coat pocket, he had two letters he'd written before breakfast and deemed too unsafe to leave at Pinchbeck Hall. One was to Mr. McEwan in London asking some questions about the previous version of the earl's will, and the other to Adam at the Sinners Club asking for help in identifying the Picoults. He'd also added a note about his lack of progress looking for Lord Keyes, but he hoped that would change after he'd spoken to the vicar.

He crossed through the village green, passed the inn and the ancient church, and headed toward an imposing house mounted on a hill overlooking the small village. The gates weren't manned, so he dismounted to open them and remembered to fasten them securely behind him before he proceeded up the main driveway. In his travels, he'd discovered that countrymen of any nationality became very irate if you left the gates open.

He followed the narrow shady driveway up to the house and discovered it was a modern square stucco box in the Palladian style. A path led around the side of the house and he followed it to the stables, which were older and less well maintained than the gleaming façade of the house. He left his horse with a groom and walked back around to knock on the front door.

After what seemed like forever, the door opened and an elderly butler stared at Jack.

“Your business, sir?”

“Good morning, I'm Mr. John Smith. I have an appointment with Mr. George Mainwaring.”

“Indeed, sir. The master is expecting you.” He stepped back and allowed Jack over the threshold. “You may await him in his study.”

Jack followed the butler down a long hallway lined with remarkably gloomy portraits and dreary landscapes and was left in a book-filled room that smelled of wet dog and pipe smoke. He strolled across to the fireplace to study the family portraits that hung over the mantelpiece, his hands clasped behind his back.

He didn't recognize anyone in the largest of the pictures and assumed they must all be Mainwarings. Even if the painter had been kind, they were hardly an attractive family. A smaller painting caught his eye and he leaned in close to observe the details. As a child, he'd seen a miniature of his paternal grandmother, and reckoned the central figure had to be her. How the picture had ended up in George Mainwaring's house rather than Pinchbeck Hall, he couldn't imagine.

He examined the faces of the four children in the picture, his gaze finally focusing on the angelic toddler with the black curls and bright blue eyes who must have been his father. The other children had the fair hair, round faces, and slightly protruding eyes of their father, his grandfather, who stood glowering down at them at the back of the group. Looking at the picture, it wasn't surprising that his parent had never felt he'd fitted in and had eloped as soon as he was old enough. He wondered whether there were any other portraits of his father at Pinchbeck Hall. He was said to look very like him. Would the Picoults make that connection? They certainly hadn't done so yet....

“Dull and worthy indeed,” Jack murmured, remembering his father's summary of his family.

“I beg your pardon?”

He swung around to see the current master of the house frowning back at him. George Mainwaring was short, rotund, and wore the belligerent expression of a pug dog bested in a fight.

“Mr. Mainwaring?” Jack bowed low. “Your obedient servant, Mr. John Smith.”

“Aye, I know who you are. Sit down, man.”

Jack took the seat in front of the desk and waited for Mr. Mainwaring to do the same.

“I appreciate your willingness to see me at such short notice, sir.”

“Well, as to that, I'm pleased that someone in London has finally taken note of what is going on up here.”

“My employer, the honorable Mr. John Lennox, asked me to visit Pinchbeck Hall to ascertain what state it was in. Unfortunately neither he, nor the Lennox solicitors were aware that everything had changed and that the last earl had married.”

“Married?” Mr. Mainwaring snorted. “I doubt that, young man. Why buy the cow when you've already sampled the milk for free?”

“Be that as it may, sir, I have seen the marriage lines and they appear to be genuine.”

“I don't believe that for a second.” Mr. Mainwaring pointed a stubby finger at Jack. “And what's more, I'm sure your employer won't thank you for thinking that either.”

“Obviously, you are correct. My employer expects to inherit the title. He will not be pleased by this news at all.”

“And that's another thing. Who exactly is this ‘John Lennox'? I've never heard of him. Maybe he's in league with those bloody Picoults to stop me inheriting what should rightfully be mine.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Mainwaring, I cannot see how you could inherit under the present laws of this land. A male heir always takes precedence over the female line. My employer is the eldest son of the fourth son of your maternal grandfather.”

“So he says.”

“The Lennox solicitors believe his claim is valid.”

“So
you
say.”

Jack forced down his irritation. “If the current countess is carrying a male heir, all this conjecture will be meaningless anyway. Her son will inherit the title directly from his father, the late earl.”

Mr. Mainwaring stood and started pacing, his face lined and glowering. “I'd swear on my mother's grave that marriage isn't valid. Why would he marry the little trollop?”

“I cannot speculate on the matter, sir, not having known the late earl myself.”

“There must be a way to pay them off.” Mr. Mainwaring swiveled around to stare at Jack. “I'd rather your master got everything than
that woman.
Do you think he'd split the costs with me and take them to court?”

“To dispute the current countess's claims to be married and carrying the earl's heir?”

“That's right. Do you think your master would consider it?”

“I could certainly write and ask him, sir. But how do you intend to proceed? Do you have proof that the marriage isn't real?”

“I know the Picoults are scum and that's enough for me. I'm working on finding out the rest. These things take time, lad, but I'm getting close to the truth.” He paused. “It won't take you long to discover that everyone around here thinks those two are far too friendly for siblings.” He winked at Jack. “I'm sure we could find someone to swear that the babe she carries isn't the earl's at all, but her brother's.”

“You're suggesting they are physically intimate?”

An image seared through Jack's mind of the extremely familiar kiss he'd witnessed just a few hours ago.

“Aye, or we can pray that the child pops out with red hair just like his father's.” Mr. Mainwaring's chuckle was distinctly unkind.

“But if the marriage is legal, it doesn't matter what gossip says, does it? Any child born within that union is deemed legitimate and is heir to whatever his father's name entitles him.”

Mr. Mainwaring sat down again. “Listen, Mr. Smith. You just tell your employer that if he's of a mind to it, I'm willing to work with him to get rid of the Picoults once and for all.”

“May I ask why you dislike them so much?”

“From the age of fourteen, that woman has tried to seduce every man she's met with an eye to marriage. It didn't matter how old or how young they were, she'd try and get her claws into them.” He mopped his perspiring forehead with a large handkerchief. “It's not surprising, though, is it? You can haul a person out of the gutter, but they'll never have true class, will they?”

“I suppose not. Is that where the late earl found the Picoults?”

“He brought them back from a trip to London like a pair of puppies, and we all know what a den of iniquity that place is.”

“Indeed. Surely the earl is to be congratulated for his charitable act rather than condemned?”

“There was nothing charitable about Uncle Jasper. He brought those guttersnipes back with him for a reason. No doubt that girl was putting her lures out even then.”

Jack rose before he said something he'd regret. “Thank you for your time. I'll write to my employer, Mr. Mainwaring, and ask for his thoughts on your suggestions.”

“You do that, Mr. Smith.”

“If you need to speak to me, I'll be staying at Pinchbeck Hall for the next few days while I finish up my business in this area.

“Making sure those Picoults haven't stolen your employer blind.” He nodded. “I've been wondering about that myself. She declined my help after the funeral. Said her brother would manage everything. I bet he will too.”

“From what I can see, the estate appears to be in excellent order.” And now he was defending the Picoults. That probably wasn't wise.

“More cream to skim off the top when they realize they game is up and they run.” He pointed his finger at Jack again. “You watch them carefully, mark my words.”

“I will, sir.” Jack bowed. “I wish you a good morning.”

“And to you, sir.”

Before Jack could take his leave, the door to the study opened and a tall woman, accompanied by a younger, paler version of herself, entered the room.

“Ah, my wife, Mrs. Victoria Mainwaring, and my eldest daughter.” Mr. Mainwaring nodded at Jack. “This is Mr. John Smith, secretary to a Mr. Jack Lennox who claims to be the next Earl of Storr.”

Jack bowed low. “A pleasure, ma'am, Miss Mainwaring.”

“Indeed. Would you like some tea, Mr. Smith?”

“That's very kind of you, Mrs. Mainwaring, but—”

Mr. Mainwaring waved a hand at him. “Oh, go on, lad, stay for some tea and entertain my lady for a few minutes.”

Jack gracefully acquiesced and was escorted into the drawing room, which had been decorated in chilly tones of blue and silver that made him feel most unwelcome. To his surprise, Mr. Mainwaring hadn't accompanied them. He took a seat on the hard couch and eyed his hostess and her unsmiling daughter. The tea tray was already present, and he accepted a cup of lukewarm tea from Miss Mainwaring and wrapped a hand around it for the warmth.

“You are from London, then, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, Mrs. Mainwaring, although I—”

“It is an unpleasant city. I try not to go there unless I absolutely have to.” She turned her penetrating gaze fully on Jack. “Did my husband make our position about those upstart Picoults clear to you?”

“I believe he did, ma'am.”

“They need to be stopped.” Her mouth settled into a thin, forbidding line. “As I'm sure my husband mentioned, we would rather your employer inherited than the Picoults.”

“They seem to be universally disliked, ma'am.”

“By anyone who matters. The common folk love them, but that's because they come from nothing.”

“So I understand.” Jack sipped his watery tea. “By all accounts, Mr. Simon Picoult seems to have run the estate rather well.”

“For his sister's gain.”

“I don't think that's quite fair, Mama. Mr. Picoult can hardly be blamed for his sister's choices, can he?” Miss Mainwaring's voice was quiet but firm, and her cheeks were pink.

“Don't be ridiculous, Margaret. Mr. Picoult is in league with his sister. Just because he has a pleasant way with him doesn't mean he isn't a rogue.”

Jack fought a grin. “Your mother does have a point, Miss Mainwaring. Remember, a rogue lives off his ability to be charming.

She turned to him. “I didn't mean it like that. He certainly isn't a rake. I meant that he is a good man.”

Jack smiled into her eyes. “You are obviously a woman of substance, Miss Mainwaring, and one who follows her Christian duty not to judge her fellow men.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I still don't think he is as bad as my parents make him out to be.”

Mrs. Mainwaring shook her head. “You are very young, my dear. When you meet a true gentleman, like Mr. Smith's employer, you will realize the error of your ways and understand that Mr. Picoult is socially and morally unacceptable. Is Mr. Lennox married, Mr. Smith?”