One Night of Sin Page 9

  He drove his pelvis hungrily against hers as their tongues mated, their kiss ever deepening. She smoothed his silky forelock, which fell forward in his eyes, all the while intoxicated by the kid-leather softness of his supple, muscular chest against her. The hands with which she touched him, the body she pressed against him, every inch of her exalted with heightened sensitivity.

  “Lie back for me, Becky.” Quivering like a lusty stallion, he nuzzled her fevered brow. “I want you now. I need to be inside you.”

  She pulled back a small space and looked into his eyes. In the candlelight, they had darkened to the brooding blue of sapphire seas. She knew the time had come.

  “You will be gentle with me, Alec?” she whispered, petting his hair.

  “Of course I will, sweeting. Of course I will.” He cupped her face in his hand, the pad of his thumb caressing the corner of her mouth, as he offered another kiss of drugging depth and patient solicitude.

  As his kiss eased her worries, he laid her back slowly on the bed, staring into her eyes. The blue robe was still unfurled beneath her.

  She had one final chance to change her mind when he reached over to fetch something from a trifle-box on the candle stand, but perhaps, at heart, she was as much a gambler as he, for she let the moment come and go without regret.

  “What are you doing with that?” she whispered as he fitted a thin, filmy sheath of some sort over his towering erection.

  “Making sure we’re both protected, my love,” he said softly, and tied the ribbon at its base with shaking hands.

  “Oh,” she murmured, though she did not understand. The man obviously knew what he was doing. In any case, the question fled her mind when he lay slowly between her legs.

  She had never been so acutely aware of every inch of her own skin, and certainly was wildly aware of every inch of him. There was only sensation and sweetness and his mesmerizing blue eyes, his gaze that reached deep into her soul. His lashes swept downward; he lowered his head, his soft lips nuzzling her shoulder. She slid her arms around him with a small, impatient sigh.

  He took her face between his hands and gave her slow intoxicating kisses. These deepened, his tongue delving into her mouth until she was in rapture, her whole body filled with an eager uncontrollable trembling to have him inside her.

  He reached down, his searching fingers assuring her body’s readiness. Becky held her breath, her heart slamming in her chest. He rested his fingertip lightly on her pleasure center as he pressed into her, claiming her, inch by throbbing inch. “Oh, sweeting,” he moaned, though he barely had half of it in yet. “Is that gentle enough?”

  Her only answer was a soft, amazed groan. She ran her hands down his velvety sides, enthralled by each flowing ridge of powerful male muscle.

  “Are you ready for more?”

  “Yes,” she panted.

  “Do you want all of me now?”

  “Alec,” she wrenched out. His hand glided all the way up her body, up her belly, chest, and throat, until he captured her chin very gently.

  “Open deeper for me, sweeting. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to take it all. Oh, Becky, I’m dying for you.” She obeyed, relaxing inwardly as best she could, accepting his fevered kisses while he slid closer, penetrating her with a ragged groan. “Becky.” She gasped at a small burst of pain within as they were irrevocably joined. He remained still, buried to the hilt within her.

  His fiery lips lingered at her brow. “Take your time, sweet,” he soothed in a hoarse whisper. “We’ve got all night if you want it.” He glanced down at her, propping his elbows on either side of her head. He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded with a hard swallow, her world spinning, her pain dissolving fast. Her reeling senses made the cupids seem to swirl around the dome above his bed; from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Alec’s reflection in the mirrors by the bed, the full length of him atop her, the beautiful sweeping line of his bare back. She closed her eyes while he nuzzled her cheek and stroked her breasts, rousing her anew.

  When she sought his lips again, he understood she wanted more. He obliged her smoothly and at once, rising up on muscled arms above her to give himself with slow, deep strokes full of leashed male power and tenderness.

  His hips rode urgently between her thighs, every inch of contact blissful as their bodies moved in a full-length caress from the soles of her feet on his muscled calves, to her hands gliding up and down his rib cage, to the heated rhythm of his chest and belly rocking against hers, and the deep, hot moistness of his tongue in her mouth. He possessed her completely in that moment, claimed her.

  He groaned against her lips as she raked her nails slowly down his back and grasped his lean buttocks.

  “Becky, you’re driving me wild.” He cupped the back of her thigh and raised her body slightly, sighing with pleasure as this brought him deeper into her body.

  “Alec, slower,” she begged him, exploring this whole new sensation of deep delight.

  “Better?”

  “Yes, oh . . .”

  “And this?” Several minutes later he arched back, leaving just enough space between their bodies to slip his hand down between them. He touched her center with a feather-light contact, using the pad of his thumb.

  If he would have moved, she’d have screamed, on the precipice between mindless pleasure and pain, but Alec was much too splendid a lover for that. His patient stillness allowed her to set her own pace, rising against his delicate touch and sinking again on his big wonderful cock.

  “Good?”

  “Yes.” She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

  “I meant it when I said that you could stay with me,” he whispered, lipping her nose and then the curve of her brow. “Come into my keeping.”

  Becky went still; he remained inside her.

  “I mean it. I’m not as rich as Draxinger, but at least I’m not as rude as Rush.”

  She laughed breathlessly at his murmured jest, which in turn roused a sharp gasp of pleasure from him, as laughter made her body clench him more tightly within her.

  “Oh, God, Becky,” he said dizzily. “You—do things to me. I can’t explain it.”

  “Good things?”

  “Very good. Wonderful things,” he answered barely audibly as he lowered his head and kissed her with renewed intent.

  “I can’t stay, Alec.”

  “Of course you can. You must,” he purred. “Think about it.”

  When she realized that after this night she could never see him again, she suddenly wanted to cry. She could never let Mikhail find out that Alec Knight had been the one. She held him harder, clutching him with a new and private desperation.

  “Oh, God, you’re delectable, Becky,” he breathed a few minutes later, his muscled chest damp and heated against hers. “It’s heaven inside you.” She sensed his taut control beginning to fray, but he fought to hold back, letting her take her pleasure of him. “Look into my eyes when you let go. I want to feel it with you. I want to watch you come. That’s right, Becky. Just let it happen.”

  All of this was miraculously unexpected, but she only then began to realize that the best part lay ahead as pleasure turned to bliss, and bliss to ecstasy.

  Her cries climbed in volume and in pitch. Their pace slowed; his strokes deepened. Her body felt made of pure light, pure love, as she held Alec’s sweetly tortured stare.

  “Oh, Becky. I need you.”

  “Alec.”

  “Yes,” he panted, half a growl. He swooped down fiercely and claimed her mouth in a wild and fevered kiss, his arms locked tight around her body. He thrust into her like the end of the world was upon them, again and again, his own violent climax prolonging the exquisite shudders that racked her body. His gasps raged, hot and jagged by her ear, until he collapsed atop her, breathing hard.

  Becky was out somewhere in the universe. A million tiny stars twinkled in her blood; in the silken darkness, s
he floated on the night’s tranquil hush.

  Alec turned his head on their shared pillow and gave her a tousled, heartbreaking smile, one she knew she’d remember for the rest of her life. He just shook his head and pulled her closer.

  Spent and still breathing heavily herself, Becky’s arm felt like lead as she lifted her fingers and dragged a weary caress down the side of his sweat-dampened face. Alec captured her hand and pressed an ardent kiss into her palm. Then he took a deep, cozy breath and hugged her with a lazy trace of a smile, pressing her head against his chest.

  Becky accepted his possessive embrace with quiet joy, and soon drifted off to sleep, listening to the slow, strong beat of his knightly heart.

  She did not know how she would leave on the morrow. She only knew she would not risk this man.

  Not for all the world.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Filtered sunlight and summer breezes wafted into the peaceful bedchamber the next morning. As Becky drifted back to awareness from a deep and restful slumber blissfully devoid of frightening dreams, the first thing she noticed was that the rain had stopped.

  Then she listened to the lulling rhythm of soft, deep breathing nearby and turned her head on the pillow, gazing for a long moment at the beautiful man sleeping beside her.

  Alec.

  His name alone, two soft sensuous syllables, flooded her body with remembered pleasure. She lay quite still, simply enjoying the contentment that filled her, and the rich newfound sense of connection to him, and indeed, to herself.

  Now, why did it not surprise her that the scoundrel hogged the bed? A fond, private, highly satisfied smile played at her lips as she studied him, curbing the urge to caress him. So sweet.

  Alec slept on his stomach hugging a luxurious swans-down pillow, the sheets tangled loosely around his long, muscular legs, his blond hair fanned across his angular cheekbone. The flowing, fluid lines of his bare back and big, loose shoulders made a wistful sigh escape her.

  It was hard not to touch him when she knew the velvet warmth of his skin and the safety of his embrace—and harder still to know she must leave him. It would be so easy to snuggle into his arms and laze the day away, but she knew she mustn’t wake him.

  He would ask too many questions. He might even try to stop her. There was no point in making this any harder than it already was. Her village was still under Mikhail’s iron fist, and she did not want Alec Knight involved.

  No sense dawdling, she thought, staring sorrowfully at her sleeping prince. The longer she lingered, the better the chances he would wake. Pressing up gingerly from the mattress to avoid disturbing him, she only moved about four inches before her hair snagged on something, stopping her. She winced and looked over to find that his fingers were wrapped in her long hair.

  The tug on her scalp pained her but she found a certain humor in her predicament as she carefully disentangled her tresses from around his strong, lax hand. She had to free a few strands from the signet ring that he wore on his left pinky, but soon managed to untie herself from his unconsciously possessive hold.

  Brushing the gold sheets off of her hips and legs, she silently slipped out of his bed and crossed, nude, to the dressing room, the blue dressing gown abandoned, still entwined amid the sheets. Walking caused her a bit of soreness south of her navel, but overall, she felt wonderful, strong. Renewed, refreshed, ready to fight another day.

  The water now lay cold and sluggish in the marble bathing tub. She cleaned away the small streaks of dried blood that remained from her initiation and then got dressed. She was a little surprised that she felt no regret whatsoever for her exploration into passion the previous night. It was not as though a child might result—she had finally divined the purpose of Alec’s condom.

  Her clothes were still a bit damp after their soaking in last night’s storm, but at least the good rinsing had left them cleaner. In between putting on articles of clothing, she helped herself to half of the remaining peach tart, eating with her fingers, and devised her plan of attack. Today, come what may, she would find her way to St. James’s Square and tell the mighty Duke of Westland all that she had witnessed on that horrible night when she had been forced to flee.

  Becky had met the stately and quite handsome middle-aged duke on two occasions in the past, for he owned a palatial hunting lodge several miles away from Talbot Old Hall. All the same, she doubted he’d remember her. Westland and his entourage only visited during grouse-shooting season, but when he came, he sometimes hosted musical evenings or afternoon teas, where he and his terrifyingly elegant daughter, Lady Parthenia Westland, received the local gentry like proper aristocrats.

  As token lady of the slightly ramshackle manor nearby, Becky had been invited, too. When in Yorkshire, the Westlands sometimes condescended to attend the occasional country assembly ball, as well, though Becky had thought the glamorous Londoners seemed to be holding back yawns, despite their efforts to be gracious. Thanks to the local gossip at those balls, she had learned about His Grace’s town house in St. James’s Square. Today all she had to do was find the place, then muster the nerve to go knocking on the Westlands’ door.

  Dressed at last, her hair combed and pinned up as neatly as possible given her haste, she glanced cautiously into the bedroom and made sure Alec was still sleeping soundly. Then she tiptoed over to the mahogany chest of drawers and opened the bottom one without a sound.

  Reaching in past his neatly folded stack of snowy white cravats, she felt around until her fingers closed around the Rose of Indra in its little leather pouch. She withdrew the ruby from its hiding place and then tied it securely around her garter once more.

  When her sole inheritance had been retrieved, she stood up, smoothed her skirts, and pulled on her knee-length pelisse. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she shook her head. She couldn’t believe she had to face Parthenia Westland looking like this. She had done her best, but still looked like some sort of wayward servant girl.

  The duke’s daughter, white-blond, sharp-featured, and entirely blue-blooded, was everything Becky was not—everything Grandfather had wanted her to be, but impetuous Mama had run away with her sailor man, and Becky had been the result.

  Ah, well. At least her hair was clean. Even Mrs. Whithorn grudgingly acknowledged that it was her best feature. Giving her reflection a resolute nod, Becky pivoted and marched herself out of the dressing room, knowing she must be on her way.

  Passing through the bedroom, Becky knew it was risky, but she could not help returning to Alec’s side. She went silently into the alcove, squeezing herself up the narrow space between his giant bed and the wall. She just wanted to take one last tender look at him.

  She stood over him, staring at him in lonely sorrow. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again. She ached as she gazed at him. Perhaps there was some way she could contact him once Mikhail had been brought to justice. On the other hand, she was not sure if Alec would want that. He was, after all, a bona fide London rakehell.

  With a pensive half smile, she recalled his roguish taunting last night under that awning when she had threatened him with the candlesnuffer. What are you going to do with that thing, put my lights out? It was terrible to leave him without saying good-bye, but she dared not linger. She was not sure she could withstand the temptation of those deep blue eyes. Her hand moved forward to caress his golden hair, but she stopped herself, her eyes misting. Good-bye, angel man, her heart whispered.

  Then she slipped out quietly.

  Alec awoke at the sound of the closing door. He lifted his head from the pillow and squinted against the light in the direction of the entrance hall.

  “Beck?” he called in a scratchy voice, but there was no answer.

  For a few seconds it didn’t quite sink in—then he saw her place beside him empty and let out a shocked expletive. He jumped out of bed, hastily yanking the sheet around his waist. Racing into the entrance hall, he threw the front door open.

  “Becky!”

&n
bsp; She was on the stairs, having just reached the landing down the hallway. She glanced back in guilty shock, then ran, disappearing from his view.

  “Becky—come back!” He rushed out of his apartment into the carpeted mezzanine hallway. “Where are you going?”

  She ran, not looking back.

  Standing there, staring after her, Alec was so stunned by her desertion that it took his breath away.

  And then he was furious.

  He would not stand for it—being left behind like he mattered not a whit. By God, nobody made love to him like that and then went sneaking off without so much as a by-your-leave! It was one thing for him to do it—how many mornings, after all, had he tiptoed out of London’s various luxuriant boudoirs, slipping out on his drowsing ladies to avoid any weepy good-byes? He would not tolerate it being done to him!

  He was utterly confused, only half awake, and left to wonder what he had done wrong to make her go. He had treated her like a princess last night! For God’s sake, he, Alec Knight, had actually offered to make her his mistress. How could she just leave him without a word?

  Was the beautiful but tenuous bond he had felt between them nothing but a figment of his imagination?

  Well, she was not getting rid of him so easily. He thrust out his jaw in angry determination. I’m going after her.

  Since he could hardly rush out into the courtyard of the Althorpe wearing nothing but a bedsheet and a scowl, he stomped back into his apartment, when a thought struck him. Blazes, I hope she didn’t rob me. The Disciples of Venus had a certain reputation for thieving, and he had not yet paid her. He yanked open the drawer of the console table where he usually kept small sums of money for convenience’s sake. Maybe she had finally started acting like a proper whore—

  The money was still there.

  The sight of it jarred Alec and completed his confoundment. What kind of harlot ran off without collecting her pay? Something strange was going on here. Was it her pride that had made her go? Her way of acknowledging that what they had shared last night was more than commerce? But if she felt it, too, then why wouldn’t she stay? And more important, where was she off to?