One Wicked Sin

I am not sure if he is even still alive….

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged. Her expression was bright and hard and she looked uncaring, but Ethan was starting to know her a little now. He knew this was one of the things that hurt her. Matters might have been very different had her brother been present to help her when she needed him.

“It is of no consequence,” she said lightly. They walked slowly along the upstairs corridor. It was dark and quiet here, but from the floor below wafted the scents of food and the roar of the racing crowd.

Lottie cast him a sideways glance. “How did you learn your French?” she asked.

Ethan smiled. “I had to learn quickly when I joined Napoleon’s cavalry otherwise I would have been cantering left when everyone else was galloping right.” He shook his head ruefully. “I did not have your facility with languages, though. I found it ridiculously hard. If I had not had such a talent with horses I think they would have thrown me out on my ear.”

“How old were you?” Lottie said.

“Seventeen,” Ethan said. “I was fifteen when I ran away from home, seventeen when I joined the Grande Armée.” He squared his shoulders. He could still see the youth he had been, brash and tough—or so he had thought—already hardened by experience and yet still a boy underneath, and a scared one at that.

“Very young,” Lottie said, echoing his thoughts. “I was wed at seventeen,” she added quietly.

Their eyes met and once again Ethan felt that disturbing tug of affinity between them. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and behind it an overwhelming urge to take Lottie and hold her tightly and lose himself in her so that the world and its intolerable conflicts might be held at bay a little longer. He hesitated a moment, a part of him rebelling against his need for her, rejecting the intimacy. But his instincts could not be denied. He took a step toward her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She made a soft sound as his mouth touched hers, though whether it was from pleasure, surrender or something else he could not be sure. Her lips were as plush and smooth as the richest satin and he wanted to plunder them, but he held back, exerting control, wooing where he wanted simply to take. He felt hesitation behind her response. She seemed shy, almost innocent. It was such a contrast with the almost-feral passion she had shown in the carriage. Yet there was nothing feigned about her uncertainty. Once more she was the vulnerable woman he had glimpsed amidst the brazen setting of Mrs. Tong’s Temple of Venus.

He drew her into his room, closed the door quietly and stood with his back to it, looking at her. The hood had fallen back on her tousled brown curls. She looked young and pale and ravishing. How was it possible for such a hardened wanton to look so very appealing?

Why did he even care? The desire in him kindled to a deeper, hotter wanting. He had to have her now.

“Now, where were we?” he said.

FOR THE LIFE OF HER, Lottie could not repress a little shiver. Ethan saw it and paused, his eyes narrowing on her.

“What is it?” he said. “In the carriage—”

“I know!” Lottie burst out. She could not help herself. She was too anxious to keep quiet and pretend to a sexual sophistication she no longer possessed. She knew he wanted an accomplished mistress. He had said as much when they had descended from the carriage. A pity, then, that he had bought a fake.

“I was furious with you in the carriage,” she said. She glanced at him from under her lashes. He was watching her closely, and she could see from the heated intent in his eyes that he wanted her—but he was very still, very controlled, concentrating on her words rather than her body. She felt a tiny breath of relief that he was not a man to pounce on her, force himself on her, as some had tried to do.

“It was good to be angry,” she said. “It meant that I was not thinking. But now I am no longer angry and I cannot.” She made a little, hopeless gesture. “The truth is that I have lost my confidence, my lord. Every time I see a bed now it makes me feel nervous rather than amorous. And I don’t think it’s funny!” she added, seeing that Ethan was laughing at her. Suddenly she wanted to cry. Torn between laughter and tears, furious with herself, she scrubbed viciously at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Ethan shook his head, the wicked smile still curving his lips. “Of course not,” he soothed. “Of course it is not amusing.” His lips twitched. “I had no idea you were so conventional, though. I had thought your amorous adventures must have taken place in vastly more exciting places than a mere bed.”

He came toward her and eased the cloak from her shoulders. His hands were warm on her bare skin. He stroked her upper arms gently, as though she were a skittish animal. It was comforting. Lottie started to relax, allowing herself to be quieted.

“As I see it, we have two alternatives,” Ethan continued softly. “Either we can make each other angry again—which should be all too easy to do given our somewhat volatile relationship—or.” He paused. “I can help you try to overcome your aversion to beds as furniture and to regain your confidence. What do you say?”

Lottie’s heart was suddenly racing again. Her breath hitched in her throat. There was no escape. She knew there was not. She had taken his money and now she would have to pay his price. Even so, her lack of confidence flaying her, she sought excuses.

“I am not certain,” she said, “that you are the right person to help me.”

Ethan looked quizzical. “You think my technique will be inadequate?”

“No,” Lottie said, smiling despite herself. “How like a man! I think your technique is too good. I need someone who is not too skillful or experienced so that they don’t expect too much or become impatient with me—”

“No you don’t.” Ethan was caressing her again in gentle strokes, up her bare arms, down again. It was extremely pleasant and distracted Lottie from all her worries. “You need me,” he continued. “You need to be seduced.”

Seduced. The word hung in the air between them. It sounded tempting. Lottie shivered a little with nerves and anticipation.

“You see this as a challenge,” she said.

Ethan smiled. “Perhaps there is an element of that in it,” he said. His smile faded. His gaze keen and hard rested on her. “Make no mistake, Lottie,” he said. “I bought a mistress and now I want what I have paid for.” Heat kindled in his eyes. He ran one finger down the curve of her arm, making her shiver. “To have to work for the pleasure is quite exciting,” he added. “If you had planned this as a harlot’s trick you could not have read me better. I hate a conquest to be too easy.”

Another shiver rippled down Lottie’s spine, awareness mingled with apprehension. “How ridiculous,” she said, a little unsteadily, “to need to seduce your mistress. It isn’t too late,” she added quickly, as Ethan bent his head to feather a kiss across her collarbone. “You could find another mistress. One you do not need to coax like a virgin.”

“It is far too late for that,” Ethan said. He pressed a kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat. She could feel him smiling. Lottie’s pulse raced. She knew Ethan would feel it beating like a trapped bird against his lips. She felt a little faint.

Ethan released her and stepped back, holding her lightly by the wrists, looking at her. Suddenly Lottie hated the fact that she was standing there in the garish, tasteless gown that had been the first thing she had grabbed to escape Mrs. Tong’s whorehouse. The dress screamed harlotry like a street seller. She stiffened and Ethan released her and gave her a questioning look. There was a smile still in his blue eyes but behind it a flame burned, and she recognized it for desire and felt her wayward heart flutter.

“It is all right.” He spoke gently. Somehow—how was it possible?—he had read her mind and sensed her distress at the tawdry gown. “We can get rid of it.”

Lottie’s lips curved into a shaky smile. “How practical you are.”

He smiled back. “It is a pleasure to be of help.”

He brushed his hands down her arms, from her shoulders to her elbows, and the dress, running true to form, fell off her like an empty shell. She wore no stays for she had dressed in haste. She heard Ethan’s breath hitch as his gaze fell to her shift. It was her own, a sheer and delicate scrap of silk defiance in the face of Mrs. Tong’s vulgarity and so fine that her nipples showed like a shadow through the material. It also molded the voluptuous roundness of her breasts. Though she was not a tall woman she was built with generous curves and as she had aged she had despaired of the way that all of those curves had sagged slightly as though they were getting tired. She supposed that she could hardly blame her breasts for drooping a little; she was fairly weary of life herself at times.

Yet Ethan did not seem to dislike the fullness of her figure for he was smiling and the sharp light of desire in his eyes ignited further.

“Delicious,” he said softly, and Lottie felt a ripple of awareness course through her. She waited for him to remove her shift, but instead he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, slow and sure, his lips moving against hers with the gentlest of persuasion until she parted for him and answered him hesitantly, their breath mingling, the touch of his tongue soft against hers. She felt the surge of response in him, the triumph and the need to possess, and for a moment she felt afraid again before he reined in his reaction and drew back. He was breathing a little harder and she could sense the impatience in him and yet he mastered it with iron control.

She raised her hands so that he could draw her shift off and cast it aside. Then she stood naked before him but for her stockings and shoes. She found she had to turn her face away from his scrutiny. She did not know why this was different from her bravado in the brothel where she had paraded herself barely dressed in the transparent negligee. It felt different, though. It felt honest, as though more than her clothes had been stripped away.

When she risked a look at his face the unashamed appreciation in his eyes stole her breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. His gaze pinned hers as she looked away. “Surely you know that?”

Actually she did not. She could not remember anyone ever telling her. She knew that Gregory had chosen her for her prettiness as well as her family connections because he had wanted a wife who was an adornment to his position. But Gregory had never admired her as a woman. He had appreciated her only in the cold way that he valued a piece of china or glass. Her lovers had thrown her pretty compliments, it was true, but she had often thought that was just part of the game, insincere, giving her the words she wanted to hear. Ethan sounded as though he really meant it, and although the cynical side of her berated her for her credulity, she desperately wanted it to be true.

“I …” Her heart was beating so hard and fast that the words seemed trapped in her chest. She felt self-conscious and had to smother a sudden insane urge to grab the cover from the bed and cloak herself in it. Yet at the same time she felt hot and dizzy and excited, a spiral of lust curling low in her belly.

Arousal.

She remembered the sensation but her memories seemed a pale and empty thing beside this burning reality.

Ethan took her hand and she almost jumped. Of all the places to touch her when she was naked. He was gently coaxing her to sit on the edge of the bed, then to lie back, spread and exposed to his gaze. Her stomach squirmed again in helpless desire as he allowed his gaze to travel over her from the crown of her head to her feet. He eased off her shoes and let them fall, then rolled her stockings down and cast them aside.

He came down beside her, still fully dressed, resting on one elbow. “You still look terrified.” His fingers touched her cheek in a reassuring caress then moved to brush the tangle of hair back from her brow. “I had hoped to banish your fear a little by now.”

Lottie turned her lips against his fingers. “You have,” she whispered. “If you stop now I will probably kill you.”

He laughed then swooped down to take her lips again in another deep kiss. He was less careful now, less controlled. She could feel his restraint slipping. Yet still he held something back even as the kiss took her to a place that was heated and sweet and intense, a place that she never wanted to leave.

They were both gasping when they finally drew apart.

“Take off your clothes,” Lottie whispered. “This feels very unfair.”

Ethan rolled over to shed his coat, casting it carelessly across the room. He pulled off his neck cloth and threw aside his shirt, barely repressed impatience in each gesture. Lottie watched. She had seen more than her fair share of naked men and had mostly found the male form a disappointment, oddly shaped, flabby, or even downright ugly. Men generally looked so much better with their clothes on. Her grandmother had told her so before she wed at seventeen and Lottie had never had cause to doubt her.

Not Ethan Ryder, though. His body was firm and lithe, whipcord strong, his shoulders wide and his chest hard and muscled. Lottie thought his thighs would probably be equally heavily muscled from so many hours in the saddle and she felt a little light-headed to think about it. Her mouth was dry and her blood felt drugged, heavy with lust.

“And the rest,” she prompted, as he paused. The glitter in his eyes as he looked down at her was bright and hard, desire distilled. Her heart thumped.

It took him only a moment to discard the rest of his clothes, and then he stood before her entirely naked and magnificent with it, strong, powerful and, as Lottie could not help but note, with an enormous erection as impressive as the rest of him. Her throat felt as dry as sand now. She waited for him to return to her, to straddle her, to take her.

He did not. He stood looking down at her, his gaze as powerful as a physical touch. Lottie shifted restlessly beneath it. Then he was beside her again, touching her with gentle, reverent strokes; the line of her shoulder, the curve of her hip, the hollow of her elbow and the softness of her stomach. He kissed the underside of her breast. Lottie shivered. She reached for him, thinking that she really must show some of the initiative that would be expected of an experienced mistress, but he returned her hands firmly to her sides.

“No,” he whispered. “Lie still. We do this my way.”

He returned to his ministrations, firm and yet tender, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He nibbled the soft skin of her neck and her shivers intensified as his breath caressed her skin. His mouth moved lower, discovering the soft hollow of her collarbone again, licking and tasting her skin. She found herself arching up to meet him, wanting him to take her breasts in his mouth, aching for his touch. Frustratingly, infuriatingly, he left them alone. Instead she felt his tongue explore the curve of her belly and flick teasingly into her navel. The cool air breathed across her damp skin and she shuddered, need coiling within her like a tight knot.

“Please …”

She had not meant to beg, had not realized that she would want to do so. She felt the sweep of his smile against her stomach.

“Ah.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in his voice.

He raised himself up to take one of her tight nipples into his mouth. She almost screamed; her mind spun away with pleasure. He was pulling it, tugging it with his teeth, the tiny bite mingling with the ecstasy that threatened to melt her very bones. She could not stop the trembling. The muscles jumped and quivered in her belly, and she reached again for him, blindly, but again he pressed her back down into the bed, his lips and hands tracing caresses across her skin from her stomach to her breasts until she moaned. She had never felt so vital, her body alive, all thought banished, a creature of sensation alone.

“You are driving me to madness….” The words were torn from her and she heard him laugh before his lips returned to her breast to torment her anew.

Lottie writhed, desperate to feel him inside her now, but again he evaded her grasp and resumed the slow, tantalizing mastery of her body, pressing his open mouth to her skin, his touch as hot as a brand. This time when his trail of tiny kisses reached her throat again he raised himself above her and his lips returned to her mouth, demanding, insatiable, all control lost. He plundered, but whatever he asked she gave more. There were no memories to haunt her here, no experience to draw on because she had never felt this way before, never felt this pitch of pleasure that was mingled somehow with exquisite tenderness.

“Please,” she cried again, and this time she did not recognize her own voice. “Now …”

This time he slid a hand down to part her legs and she felt the cool air against the damp heat of her cleft. Her body plunged into another spasm of helpless hunger. He was poised above her, the touch of his fingers soft against the softer skin of her inner thighs and sliding toward the burning core of her. When he stroked her there she cried out, thinking she would come at once, all restraint lost. His fingers paused in the slow circles they were tracing.

“Wait,” he whispered. His breath skittered across her skin racking her with shivers. She heard his voice laced with humor and wickedness. “Not yet.”

“I cannot help it!” Another shudder shook her body. Desire, irresistible, unendurable, raked her. She could feel herself poised on the edge, suspended in restless, intolerable need, before one smooth stroke of his hand sent her flying into the abyss, the pleasure exploding through her body, her mind light and free. Gone was the shame and the confusion of the past weeks and months, the misery that had stolen her certainties and wrecked her confidence. She felt vivid and alive and for one terrible moment so grateful to him that she thought she loved him.

The blinding light faded a little from her mind, the brilliance dying. Gasping, she lay back on the bed, her body slick with sweat. She became aware of Ethan still kneeling between her parted thighs, still hard and erect and not one whit sexually satisfied. Truly, she thought faintly, she was a terrible mistress, grasping after her own pleasure so greedily with no thought for his.

“I’m sorry—” she croaked, and saw a frown crease between his brows.

“For what?”

“You told me to wait….” Her body still thrummed with pleasure like the last echo of music.

His expression lightened. “I am flattered you could not.”

He tilted her hips up slightly and slid inside her, forcing a gasp from her because she was so tight around him. A new assault of sensation cascaded through her.

“Oh!”

He held himself quite still as her body instinctively adapted to his, cradling him, enclosing him in its heat. Then he rocked inside her, a tiny movement, a deeper penetration, creating a tumult of feeling. Her body tensed about his, clenching him tightly, and she heard the breath hiss between his teeth. Looking up into his eyes she saw the strength there and the power and knew he would not be provoked into hurrying this. Her body melted further into blissful sensation.

He took her slowly, so slowly, easing out, sliding back so deeply that she felt not only ravished but that she had abandoned everything to him, her heart and her soul, with each stroke. It was so exquisitely tender that it stole her breath. Lottie closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensation of his loving, drawing him to her, eagerly seeking all that he could give and demanding more.

The rhythm changed, became more urgent. Lottie drew him in deeper still as each thrust drove them both toward an inexorable climax. At last he abandoned all control and plunged into her, crying out, entangling his fingers with hers and gripping tightly as the final thrust toppled him over the edge, sweeping her with him. This time it was darker and more intense than before. She was taken beyond the boundaries of all experience. In some profound way she could not understand, she knew he had claimed her.

Lottie allowed her body to lie quiescent and her mind to float as light as a feather in the darkness. She did not want to test her feelings. It seemed too dangerous, for fear that she, Lottie Palliser, once the most sophisticated of society matrons, might have offered up her heart as easily as her admittedly nonexistent virtue.

Yet eventually thought and feeling did return and she could not keep it out. She felt superbly replete, ravished in the best and most satisfying of ways. The other less physical, more emotional outcomes of their lovemaking she tried unsuccessfully to ignore. She felt vulnerable in a different way now. There was a hollow beneath her heart when she looked at Ethan lying in abandoned pleasure beside her. She wanted to hold him and rediscover the tender closeness they had achieved. She wanted to see love in his eyes.

She tried to make light of the thought, telling herself that she was confusing love with gratitude. Ethan had reminded her of how spectacular physical love could be and for that she was immensely indebted to him. That was all there was too it; she felt no deeper feelings for him, could not allow herself to do so. Nevertheless she felt cold, her stomach dropping in despair, for no matter how she had pretended to view love as a sport and recreation in the past, she had never quite been able to disassociate it from emotion. God knew she had tried. She had taken a score of lovers and claimed it was simply for amusement yet each time she knew she had been searching for something deeper and more elusive, and each time she had emerged with her heart scarred a little more.

Ethan rolled over, opened his eyes and smiled at her and her heart did another little dizzy skip and her despair deepened. No, please no. She could not be such a fool as to fall in love with him when she barely knew him, and what she did know with clear hard certainty was that he cared nothing for her and would only use her and then discard her.

“Thank you,” she said very politely, hiding behind barriers, protecting herself. “That was very nice.”

Ethan laughed. “I am glad to have been of service.” He raised a brow. “No more running away?”

Lottie shook her head. She knew it was far too late for that. “No more running away,” she whispered.

Ethan pressed a kiss on the damp skin of her belly, and Lottie shivered, reaching for the covers to shield her as though they could help protect her heart as well as cover her nakedness.

“I’m hungry,” she said as her stomach rumbled. She was glad to be distracted by another very basic physical demand.

Ethan sat up and reached for his clothes. “They do an excellent dinner here,” he said, “if you like plain roast beef.”

“That sounds delicious,” Lottie said. Her stomach rumbled again loudly. She appeared to be going downhill rapidly in the mistress stakes. A professional courtesan would surely waft fragrantly away at the end of a sexual encounter, her mystique and sophistication still intact even if nothing else was, rather than demand to be fed, having worked up an immense appetite. It was then that she realized she had not eaten for days. She had been too nervous and unhappy in Mrs. Tong’s brothel to be able to face food, the sight or even the smell of it. Now she felt ravenous.

“They mix a fair rum punch here, as well,” Ethan said, shrugging himself into his jacket but abandoning his cravat in a crumpled heap on the chair.

“I should have had one of those before we started,” Lottie said.

“We didn’t need it,” Ethan said. He dropped another kiss lightly on her lips and went out, and Lottie lay in sated abandonment, the sheet draped across her stomach, watching the dance of light and shadow out in the street.

Ethan had been right, she thought. He had been the one she needed and he had been skillful and gentle and considerate, and she was enormously grateful to him for restoring her confidence and reminding her how glorious making love could be. She was so grateful to him, in fact, that she wanted to do it again at once—or as soon as she had eaten and given her food a little time to settle since she did not wish for indigestion.