
SIMPLY SINFUL
Books by Kate Pearce
SIMPLY SEXUAL
SIMPLY SINFUL
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
SIMPLY SINFUL
KATE PEARCE
KENSINGTON BOOKS
This book is dedicated to the ladies in my life: my Mother andfive sisters, my critique group (Susan, Amy, Dana and Cheri),and my friends at RWAOnline. And I can't forget to mentionone man---my husband, who believed in me right from thestart. I love you all.
Contents
PROLOGUE
Beecham Hall, Henham, EssexApril 16th, 1817
My dearest James,
Thank you for the beautiful hothouse flowers and fruit you sent from London to celebrate our wedding anniversary. It was very thoughtful of you.
You ask if there is anything else you can do for me. I hesitate to write this, but as I see you so rarely it is the only way I can be sure that you will respond to me. There is something you can do. I want you to come home and give me a child.
With fondest love,AbigailLady James Beecham
1
"A m I really so pathetic?" Peter Howard murmured.
He turned to his companion and discovered she was attempting to hide a smile. He mock-frowned at her as he refilled his champagne glass from the bottle that sat between them.
"I do not think you pathetic, my friend." Madame Helene toasted him with her glass and then bent to kiss the cheek of the naked young man who lounged at her feet. "Why do you say such a thing?"
Peter gestured at the crowd of revelers in the large public salon behind them. The gold and scarlet décor provided a perfect foil for the more daring members of the ton, many of whom were in a state of undress and engaged in riotous sexual pursuits not often seen in public. Madame's exclusive House of Pleasure offered every erotic experience a man or woman might dream of.
"You rule over an excellent establishment, Helene, but there is nothing here that excites me anymore."
Helene put down her glass and began to stroke the young man's long black hair. "What do you crave then? If you can imagine it, I am sure I can provide it."
"I'm not sure I know what I want." Peter noticed a disruption at the far end of the salon where Lord James "Beau" Beecham and his disreputable companions were seated. "Perhaps it is because all my erstwhile drinking companions are settling down. The Harcourt twins are both married and so is Valentin."
Of course, he was still welcome in Sara and Valentin's bed but somehow it no longer seemed enough. He frowned as the noise in the salon increased and looked over his shoulder. Beau Beecham stood on the table now, his hands cupping the breasts of a half-naked inebriated duchess. His cronies shouted crude suggestions as he deftly removed the lady's corset.
When Peter turned back, Joseph, Helene's latest conquest, was trying to crawl onto the chaise lounge between them. Even the sight of Joseph's well-muscled buttocks and erect cock failed to arouse Peter's interest.
"Perhaps I am getting old," Peter said, as Helene ran the tip of her index finger around the crown of Joseph's erection. Her blond hair fell in soft ringlets around her face. Her gown was so sheer that her pert and youthful body looked naked in the candlelight. Peter had no idea of her true age, and he wasn't fool enough to ask.
Joseph moaned as Helene's long nail flicked over his engorged flesh.
"You are not old, mon ami."
"Jaded, then."
Peter drank more champagne. In his thirty-five years he'd probably had more sexual partners than anyone at Madame Helene's. Not all of them by choice. Being enslaved in a Turkish brothel for seven long years had ensured that his sexual expertise was limitless and that he never wanted to be owned or forced by anyone again.
Helene bent her head to lick Joseph's cock, her small pointed tongue as dainty as a kitten's. When she straightened, her lips glistened with pre-cum.
"Jaded, you?" She regarded Peter closely, one hand lazily working Joseph's cock. "Maybe you just want different things."
Peter grimaced. "Like a wife and a family? Who would have me? I'm employed in trade and have no aristocratic blood to make me eligible. The only reason I have an entrée into the ton is because of Valentin's high-and-mighty connections."
Lord Valentin Sokorvsky was not only heir to a marquis, he was Peter's best friend and occasional lover. They had been slaves together until their release at the age of eighteen. Their strong bond had helped Peter survive the brutal, sadistic world of the brothel and supported him through the difficult years of his return to the almost-forgotten land of his birth.
Valentin had found a woman who loved and accepted him and his scarred past. Peter had no reason to believe he would find another such paragon. He wasn't even sure if that was what he truly wanted. He'd always enjoyed sex in all its forms, craved it even, but now he found it impossible to decide what he needed.
Helene pushed Joseph away as he tried to suckle at her breast. He slid to the floor in an untidy heap and pouted. She leaned forward to touch Peter's arm. "Do you wish to talk to me privately?"
Peter glanced down at Joseph, who had wrapped a hand around his cock and was busy pumping himself to completion. Joseph would pay for that act of disobedience. Helene preferred to control the sexual outpourings of her chosen lovers.
"No, I think I'll go home and drown my sorrows in a bottle of brandy. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow."
Helene stood up and grasped his wrist. "Peter..."
He studied the narrow fingers that encircled his wrist like a dainty manacle. "Helene, let me go."
Her grip tightened, and he fought off a now-familiar choking sensation.
"Why? What are you afraid of?"
"That I have become nothing more than a pity fuck for my friends and that that is all I will ever have in my life."
Damnation. He hadn't meant to speak the truth. Strange that after all this time his composure could be shaken so easily. Helene let go of his wrist and stepped back.
He drew in a deep, steadying breath and forced a smile. "Please accept my apologies. I must be drunker than I realized."
She nodded, her expression as carefully blank as his own. "Of course. I will accompany you down to the front hall. I need to show my face around the salons again this evening to make sure everything is running smoothly."
Joseph grunted as his cum spurted through his fingers. Helene swept past him without a glance in a swirl of diaphanous draperies. She snapped her fingers and one of the footmen appeared. She pointed at Joseph.
"Please make sure that this 'gentleman' is sent home. And make sure his name is added to the list of those who are no longer welcome here."
"That was rather harsh, Helene." Peter strolled at her side as she began her tour of the large, noisy salon. "He seemed very young." They stopped at the magnificent buffet. Helene picked a fat purple grape and popped it into her mouth.
"Joseph is an ignorant fool. He is too intent on gaining his own pleasure to have any regard for mine." She sighed. "His stamina is remarkable. I thought to train him, but it seems he is simply too selfish to learn."
Peter realized he was almost smiling again. Helene had a gift for understanding men and their less-than-complicated natures. "Is that how you see your role? To teach the young males of the ton how to bring a woman pleasure?"
She raised an eyebrow. "It is not my primary purpose. But it is a useful one, non? Society should be grateful to me rather than pretending I don't exist outside of these doors."
His gaze wandered over the ornate room, the expensive fittings and fixtures, the lavish buffet.
"Is it enough for you, Helene? Is this what you want?"
He frowned. What was wrong with him tonight? When had he ever cared to think of the future? As a slave he had simply endured. But since Valentin's marriage two years ago, he had started to change, started to want something more.
Helene shrugged, the gesture French and totally feminine. "I have built this place with my own hands. It is enough for now."
He nodded as they continued around the perimeter of the room. Like recognized like. In her past were secrets that resonated with Peter. He could understand her deep need to make herself financially secure. She never spoke of her youth, yet he knew she had suffered as much as he and Valentin. She touched his cheek.
"You know that you are welcome to share my bed tonight, if you prefer not to go home."
He swung around to face her, his good humor evaporating. "Did you hear what I said earlier? I refuse to end up in anyone's bed just because they feel sorry for me."
She pouted, her blue eyes filled with amusement. "Actually, I was feeling sorry for myself. With Joseph gone, I have no one to fuck."
He started to laugh. She had a reputation as a voracious lover. He'd never had any desire to find out if the rumor that she could wear out three strong men in a night and still manage a fourth for breakfast was true. He kissed her hand.
"It's an intriguing offer, but I must decline. I have few friends in this world and you are one of them. I'd hate to lose years of friendship over a night of ill-judged passion."
She glanced around the packed salon. "Oh well, I suppose I'll just have to find someone else. Joseph was black haired so I'll try for a blonde or a redhead."
"Do you collect their scalps as well?"
Helene rapped his knuckles with her fan and headed toward the noisiest corner of the room. "Of course not. I wouldn't have room to display them all." She pressed Peter's arm and pointed at the man who stood on the table in front of them. "What about him?"
"Beau Beecham? I'm surprised you haven't had him already. He seems to have fucked every other woman in town."
Peter studied the tall, commanding figure of Lord James Beecham, the heir presumptive of the childless Duke of Hertford. He wore a dark brown coat that almost matched his eyes and thick curling hair. A black waistcoat, buff breeches and shining top boots completed his immaculate dress.
Helene glanced up at Peter. "You do not like him?"
"I hardly know him. But he has a reputation as a rake and a gambler."
"Mon Dieu, he is a devil indeed."
Peter shrugged. "I suppose he is no worse than any other pampered sprig of the nobility."
"But still, you do not like him."
"He treats women despicably and yet they still flock around him like mindless sheep." He groaned. "Dammit, I am beginning to sound like a Methodist preacher."
"It is not like you to judge a man so quickly, Peter," Helene murmured. "I know of his reputation but, in truth, he rarely entertains a woman here."
Lord Beecham jumped down from the table and came toward them, a smile on his handsome face.
"Madame Helene, what a pleasure. And may I say that you are looking particularly beautiful tonight?"
Peter pretended to yawn behind his hand before taking out his pocket watch and studying it. Something about Lord Beecham always set his teeth on edge. Not, God forbid, that he was jealous of the man; his reaction was far more instinctive than that.
"And Mr. Howard, how are you this fine evening?"
"I'm well, my lord." Peter pointedly took Helene's hand and kissed it. "Don't worry about seeing me downstairs. I can find my own way out. Why don't you stay and see if Lord Beecham can manage to come up with something more original to say to you?"
To his surprise, Lord Beecham laughed. "I fear I have drunk too much wine to be original. I'll stick with the tried and tested compliments in case I make an even bigger fool of myself."
Helene smiled at them both. "Why don't we all sit down and share a bottle of wine?"
Peter tried to catch her eye as she towed him inexorably toward a vacant couch. He sat with extremely bad grace. Did Helene expect him to act as her chaperone while she decided whether she intended to offer the insufferable Lord Beecham a space in her bed? Or was it simply some absurd feminine resolve that he and Lord Beecham should be friends? He started to rise.
"Madame, I need to go."
He winced as she kicked him sharply in the ankle. "I'm sure you can spare me a few more minutes of your valuable time, Peter."
He smiled, showing his teeth. "Unlike most of your guests, dear Helene, I have to be at my desk in the morning and it is already past midnight."
"Ah, that's right. You are Valentin Sokorvsky's business partner, aren't you?" Lord Beecham sat forward. Having anticipated an aristocrat's usual distaste for the idea of a man engaging in trade, Peter found he could do nothing but nod.
"Valentin told me to come and talk to you about investing in one of your next cargoes."
Peter faked a smile. "Unfortunately, Lord Sokorvsky is away in Southampton at the moment. I'm sure he will be delighted to attend to you on his return." Helene kicked him again. "Of course, if you are unwilling to wait, I will be in our offices for the next few days."
He handed over his business card. Lord Beecham studied it and then placed it carefully in his pocket.
"You might wonder why I am particularly interested in your company when there are so many other ventures to choose from."
His sudden descent into sobriety intrigued Peter. Lord Beecham either sobered up faster than any man Peter had ever encountered or he had deliberately pretended to be drunker than he was.
"I wish to investigate trade routes to the West Indies. I am particularly interested in companies that do not engage in the traffic of human life."
For the first time, Peter looked directly into the other man's dark eyes. Good God, Lord Beecham seemed sincere. Peter and Valentin had vowed never to trade slaves. Their own experiences would never allow such misery to sit well on their consciences.
He replied automatically, his gaze still locked with the other man's. "You are correct. It is our policy not to deal with the slave traders or their associates."
Lord Beecham nodded as he offered Peter a cigarillo.
"Would it inconvenience you if I called on you tomorrow with my man of business?"
"Not at all." Peter accepted the cigarillo and allowed Lord Beecham to light it for him from his own. "I will be available from noon onward." As Lord Beecham bent toward him, Peter inhaled his spicy cinnamon cologne and a pleasing masculine scent. He blew out a cloud of smoke as the other man continued to watch him.
"Is there something else I can do for you, my lord?"
Lord Beecham sat back, his smile undimmed by Peter's less-than-enthusiastic tone. "A game of cards, perhaps?"
Peter glanced over his shoulder at Lord Beecham's companions, who were still busy fucking the enthusiastic duchess. "Won't you miss your turn?"
He wanted to go home. He wanted to escape the noise, the raw smell of sex and the drunken laughter. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in the brothel. It was hard to remember that everyone at Madame Helene's paid an exorbitant membership fee to be allowed to behave like this.
Lord Beecham continued to study him. "I have no desire to fuck her. In truth, I would much rather play with you."
"Why?" Peter was beyond politeness now.
"Because I have heard you have the luck of the devil at piquet and I would like to see if I can beat you." He shrugged. "Of course, if you are too tired..."
Helene clapped her hands. "Peter, you must win Lord Beecham for me." She blew a kiss at Lord Beecham. "If Peter succeeds in beating you, I'll expect to see you in my bed tonight."
To Peter's surprise, Lord Beecham didn't look as delighted as Helene might have expected. Perhaps he too had heard the rumors about what she did to her lovers. Peter thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a gold coin.
"I'll play for you, Helene. Lord Beecham looks as if he might benefit from your erotic tuition."
He hid a smile. Perhaps he could keep Helene happy and make it another condition of winning that Lord Beecham promised never to approach him again.
Helene beckoned to a footman, who brought over a new pack of cards. Lord Beecham broke the seal and started to sort out the pack.
"I must go and circulate, but please let me know what happens." Helene kissed Peter's cheek and left him facing his adversary. "I will also make certain that your friends don't bother you again, Lord Beecham."
Peter hoped she had seen the promise of retribution in his eyes. Her hasty departure indicated that she had. Lord Beecham glanced after her.
"She is a fascinating woman."
"She is indeed."
Lord Beecham shuffled the pack, his attention fixed on the play of the cards through his long fingers. "Have you bedded her?"
"I haven't had that pleasure."
"I hear she is a demanding bed partner."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "As I said, I wouldn't know. But I'm sure you will soon have your answers, if you survive the night, that is."
Lord Beecham stared at him, a challenge in his dark eyes. "You are so certain you will win then?"
"I very rarely lose."
"But if you lose, will you take my place in Madame's bed?"
"No. You will have to think of something else to claim as your prize." Peter held up a sovereign and tossed the coin in the air. "Call."
Lord Beecham called heads and won, which gave him the slight advantage and the right to deal. Peter accepted the cards he was dealt and settled back to review his hand.
By the time the first hand was played out, he discovered that Lord Beecham was an extremely capable and intelligent opponent. Not as good as he was, but certainly no amateur.
As they continued to play, their end of the salon emptied and the footman doused most of the candles, leaving them in a narrow pool of light. Brandy appeared at Peter's elbow, and he worked his way steadily through the bottle. A clock chimed three in the hallway and he groaned. He had to be at his desk at eight sharp for an important meeting.
His remaining cards blurred in front of his eyes. What the hell was he doing? And why had it seemed so important to beat this particular man? His attention drifted to the silent, intent figure opposite him. Lord Beecham had discarded his coat and cravat and played his cards with the desperate skill and attention of a man risking his entire fortune. Was he really so anxious to avoid Helene's bed?
"It is your turn, Mr. Howard."
Jolted from his thoughts, Peter threw out a card at random. He couldn't miss the flash of triumph on his opponent's face.
"Mr. Howard, I believe I have beaten you."
As Lord Beecham tallied the points, Peter resisted a childish desire to grab the parchment and check the numbers himself. He knew it had to be close but still couldn't quite grasp that he had lost.
There was no sign of Madame Helene. Peter suspected she had found another willing lover and already retired to her suite. He pushed his blond hair back from his face.
"Perhaps I should've asked you exactly what you wanted from me before we started the game."
For the first time since they started playing, Lord Beecham smiled. "It's quite simple. I want more of your time."
"And what exactly does that mean?"
"There is another proposition I wish to discuss with you in private. I require an hour of your time tomorrow night and your guarantee that you will hear me out."
Peter stood up and gestured at the deserted salon. "We are alone. Tell me now and have done with it."
Lord Beecham remained sprawled in his chair, his long muscled legs stretched out in front of him. He tilted his head back until he could see Peter's face. His smile was slow and satisfied.
"I would prefer to talk to you tomorrow when we are both sober."
Peter nodded abruptly. Despite his concerns he was too tired to argue. "I'll be here at ten."
2
"G ood morning, Peter!"
Peter groaned as he recognized the cheerful tones of Valentin's younger half brother, Anthony Sokorvsky. He hastened to cover his eyes as Anthony flung open the wooden shutters that covered the grimy window overlooking the street.
"Go away, brat. Can't you see I'm working?"
The chair in front of Peter's oak desk creaked as Anthony sat down.
"You don't look like you are working to me."
Peter inhaled the aromatic scent of coffee and blindly reached out his hand. Anthony slid the thick earthenware mug across the desktop. Peter grasped it gratefully.
"Looks to me like you shot the cat last night," Anthony said.
Peter opened one eye. "If by that you mean I overindulged, then you are correct."
He tried to remember exactly why it had been necessary to drink all that brandy and play cards with a man he disliked when he'd intended to have an early night. An image of Lord Beecham's confident face formed in his brain. So much for his plan to teach the insolent braggart a lesson. Instead he'd ended up owing Lord Beecham a favor, which honor demanded he repay.
He finished off the coffee and shuddered as the bitter dregs slid down his throat. His first meeting had passed in a blur. God knows what the bank must have thought. At least they hadn't denied him the opportunity to restructure their loans. Valentin would not have been amused if he had come back to find the company finances in disarray.
"Mr. Taggart said I should come and ask you if you had any commissions for me today."
Peter sat back and considered Anthony Sokorvsky. Earlier in the year, the twenty-one-year-old had been sent down from Oxford. His father, the Marquis of Stratham, had sent him to work for Valentin in the hopes that having to earn his allowance would make him miss his studies and his life of leisure.
It hadn't quite worked out the way the marquis intended. Anthony loved working at the shipping company and had so far refused to return to university. Privately, Peter found it highly amusing that two of the Sokorvskys preferred to work for their money rather than enjoy a life of privilege. Apparently, the marquis was not amused at all.
"What time is it?"
Anthony took out his pocket watch. "It is almost noon. Do you intend to go to the dockside and check the inventory for that last load of goods bound for Jamaica?"
"Why? Do you want to go?"
Anthony nodded. His enthusiasm for the most mundane of tasks still surprised Peter.
"Perhaps I'll come with you." Peter struggled to sit up. "A breath of fresh air might clear my head."
Anthony grinned. "And if you feel faint, I'll be there to catch you."
"I'm not quite that decrepit." Peter sighed at Anthony's dubious expression. He could only suppose that thirty-five seemed positively ancient to a boy in his early twenties. He turned to find his hat and coat while Anthony waited impatiently by the open door.
The bell attached to the outer door clanged twice as someone entered the general office. Outside his window, the light was swallowed up by a stationary carriage drawn by thorough-bred horses. Anthony leaned back to look at the new arrivals.
"Are you expecting someone, Peter?"
Peter froze, his fingers on the clasp of his cloak. There, talking to his clerk, was Lord Beecham. He was accompanied by another man dressed in sober brown. Peter hadn't expected Beau Beecham to pursue his sudden curiosity about their business affairs.
Before Peter could retreat, Lord Beecham swung around and met his gaze, a delighted smile on his lips. He didn't look like a man who had sat up all night playing cards and drinking brandy. Perhaps that was what the glow of victory did to you, Peter thought sourly.
Anthony straightened and went to move out of the way as Lord Beecham strode toward him.
"You must be Sokorvsky's brother. You have a look of him." Lord Beecham held out his hand and Anthony shook it. "I didn't realize this had become a family business."
Peter cleared his throat. "Mr. Sokorvsky is only here on a temporary basis whilst he is down from Oxford."
Lord Beecham grinned at Anthony. "Rusticated, were you? What did you do?"
Anthony had the grace to blush. "It involved the dean's wife's petticoats and a flagpole, sir. More than that I am not at liberty to reveal."
Peter frowned as the two men laughed together. Sometimes the upper classes and their childish antics failed to amuse him. On their return from Turkey, when Val's father had tried to force him to attend Oxford, Val had rebelled and started the business with Peter instead. As far as Peter knew, Val had never regretted his decision not to attend university and neither had he.
Lord Beecham's gaze settled on Peter's cloak and he frowned. "Are you on your way out? I believe we had an appointment."
Peter put his hat on. "Unfortunately, one of our ships is ready to leave port tomorrow and we need to go and check the last of the cargo manifest. You are welcome to join us if you wish."
He glanced out of the window. Oh good, it was starting to rain. Peter hoped it would be enough to dampen Lord Beecham's enthusiasm.
"I would be delighted." Lord Beecham gestured back into the office. "If it is acceptable, I will leave my man of business, Mr. Forbes, here to discuss some details with your head clerk. We can use my carriage if you wish."
Anthony's expression brightened. Peter shook his head.
"It's not far to walk." His gaze skimmed Lord Beecham's highly polished boots and perfectly fitted olive green coat. "Unless you prefer to drive?"
"Walking is fine." Lord Beecham put his hat back on. "After last night's excesses, I could do with some exercise."
Peter resigned himself to Lord Beecham's company and ushered Anthony out of the door. The uneven cobblestones shone a metallic gray as the rain pattered down on them. He tried not to breathe in the stench of dead fish and refuse that rose from the overflowing gutters. Their offices in Aldgate were situated much closer to the docks than the polite world of the ton. Anthony forged ahead, his dark hair and cloak flapping in the wind.
Lord Beecham walked alongside Peter and matched him stride for stride. They were of the same height and probably similar in age. And either Lord Beecham had an excellent tailor or Peter was not as broad across the shoulders and chest.
"What is the name of the ship we are visiting?"
Peter shook the raindrops from his face. Lord Beecham obviously expected to be entertained as they walked.
"Actually, we are going to visit one of our smaller ships that will take the last portion of cargo down to the coast at Southampton to be loaded onto the Princess Sara."
"Named for Valentin's beautiful wife, I assume?"
"I believe so." He moved to one side to avoid a hole in the road wide and deep enough to drown a horse in. Lord Beecham followed him.
"What a charming notion. Are any of the ships named for your loved ones?"
Peter half smiled. "I have no loved ones. I'm an orphan."
There, that should keep Lord Beecham quiet, unless he was insensitive enough to pursue such a delicate subject.
"Sometimes I wish I had no family."
Peter shot him an incredulous glance. "I wouldn't recommend it."
Lord Beecham shrugged. "You don't know my family. The obligation to behave as befits my ancient name can be extremely tiresome."
Damnation, what was wrong with the man? Did he expect Peter to commiserate with him? They were hardly destined to be friends. Peter pointed to the bottom of the street where a vertical strip of dark gray had appeared between the soot-stained brick buildings.
"There's the dock up ahead. The Princess Sara is bound for Jamaica. I should imagine you might be interested in the outward-bound cargo, which we trade for rum, sugar and spices."
To his relief, Lord Beecham accepted his abrupt change of subject and simply nodded. "Are there any traders in Jamaica who do not use slaves? I find that hard to believe."
"You have been there, then?" Peter didn't try to hide his skepticism as he stopped and faced Lord Beecham.
"Indeed I have. I spent several years on my uncle's sugar plantation." An expression of revulsion swept over Lord Beecham's face. "I hope to God I never have to experience such suffering again."
Peter fought an urge to nod in sympathy. He reminded himself that he had no interest in Lord Beecham's surprisingly compassionate views, only his money.
"There are some smaller companies." Peter cleared his throat. "Mostly owned by ex-slaves. I admit, the return on our investment might be slightly lower than some of our competitors, but as least we can all sleep at night."
"Thank God for that."
Peter met Lord Beecham's gaze and found he couldn't look away. What other surprises lurked under that exquisitely fashionable exterior? He tensed as Lord Beecham drew an unsteady breath.
"Mr. Howard, I..."
"Peter, are you coming?"
Peter turned abruptly away and focused his attention on Anthony, who had stopped at the end of the passageway. Anthony waved, his face alive with eagerness.
"The boat is just over here. I'll go and see if the captain is on board."
As Peter readied himself for his appointment with Lord Beecham at Madame Helene's that night, he thought over the man's visit to his office. After Peter had rebuffed his attempt to direct the conversation to a more personal bent, Lord Beecham reverted to talking solely about business. He obviously had as good a head for commerce as he did for cards.
Peter frowned as he tied his cravat and fixed it in place with a pearl-headed pin. What did Lord Beecham want with him? Despite the man's efforts to befriend him, Peter had learned to be wary. For a moment he considered not turning up at Madame's and accepting the consequences. But a worm of curiosity niggled him and he knew he would go.
There was no denying it. Lord Beecham intrigued him. Honesty compelled Peter to admit that such a male personification of beauty aroused him. Was that why he disliked Beecham on sight? Simply because he seemed content in his own skin and Peter was not? It was something to think about and did not reflect well on him.
He took a short carriage ride through the darkened streets to Mayfair and alighted at his destination still deep in thought. When he entered the marble hallway of Madame's house, one of the footmen handed him a sealed note. On it was written the number twelve. Peter crumpled the paper and pushed it into his pocket. Lord Beecham had chosen to meet him in one of the intimate rooms on the third floor of the pleasure house.
As he mounted the stairs, a thousand questions formed and were discarded in his brain. What did Lord Beecham want? He found himself hesitating outside the door marked twelve and went in without knocking.
Lord Beecham sprang up from his seat by the fire and bowed.
"Thank you for coming. I appreciate it."
Peter remained standing by the door and took out his pocket watch. "I believe you requested an hour of my time. Don't waste it."
Lord Beecham smiled and strolled toward him. He wore a black coat and brown waistcoat, which enhanced his good looks. A diamond glinted in the crisp white folds of his intricately folded cravat.
"Can I get you a glass of brandy, or even better, persuade you to sit down?"
"No, I prefer to stand." Inwardly, Peter grimaced at his choice of words. He sounded like a bad actor in a melodrama. "What do you want from me?"
Lord Beecham stopped in front of him, his brown eyes level with Peter's.
"Don't you know?"
Peter gritted his teeth. "It seems you find the situation highly amusing, but I ask you once again. You won your bet. What do you want?"
Beau Beecham smiled. "I want your cock in my mouth."
Before he could stop himself, Peter pivoted and slammed the other man up against the door. He wrapped a hand around Lord Beecham's throat.
"Do you think I am some kind of male harlot or Molly to be bought for your perverted pleasure?"
Lord Beecham coughed and tried to clear his throat. "No."
Peter pressed harder. "I will not become a figure of fun for you and your obnoxious cronies. If this is how you choose to win a bet, tell me how much you stand to lose and I will willingly pay up for you."
Lord Beecham held his gaze, his brown eyes steady. "There is no bet. Only the one you lost. If you are a gentleman, you will honor my request. I want my mouth around your cock. I want to suck you until you come."
Peter stared right back at him, already aware from their close proximity that Lord Beecham's cock was erect and rubbed against his own, which was rapidly filling out too. A surge of inconvenient lust uncoiled in his loins accompanied by a series of lascivious images.
He tightened his grip on the other man's throat. "I will honor your request. But if I hear one word about this in the clubs, if my reputation is damaged by your gossiping tongue, I will find you and make you sorry you ever lived."
He stepped back against the wall and ripped at the buttons of his breeches. Lord Beecham exhaled and sank to his knees. Good lord, the man was eager. Peter looked down at the thick wet crown of his cock, which already thrust through the confines of his underthings. He tensed as Lord Beecham shoved the fine linen away to expose him in all his glory.
With agonizing slowness, Lord Beecham simply stared at him. Peter shuddered as Lord Beecham's tongue emerged and licked a drop of pre-cum from the crown.
"Get on with it, damn you."
He groaned as Lord Beecham sucked him into his mouth, one hand gripping Peter's balls, the other braced on the wall beside him. As he drew the long shaft farther down his throat, Peter closed his eyes and tried to move his hips. Lord Beecham used his shoulder to hold him pinned against the wall and sucked harder, used his teeth to graze the tender flesh. Used all the techniques Peter had learned in Turkey to give a man a hard, fast and forceful climax.
His hands fisted at his sides in a concentrated effort not to touch Lord Beecham, to caress his thick dark hair, to offer himself in return. His cum traveled up his shaft and he gritted his teeth.
Lord Beecham released his cock and sat back.
Peter opened his eyes and heard himself panting like a hunted animal. He'd been played for a fool. Lord Beecham obviously intended to leave him aroused and unsatisfied. He tried to compose his features into his usual calm expression but realized he couldn't. He tensed as Lord Beecham rose to his feet; his pupils were so dilated that all the brown had disappeared. Peter managed a sneer.
"Are you satisfied now, Lord Beecham?"
"Not yet, and my name is James. You still owe me fifty minutes of your time."
Holding Peter's gaze, he slowly untied his cravat. His coat and waistcoat followed and then his shirt, exposing his broad chest and flat furred stomach. Peter remained rigid, his cock pumping hard to the rhythm of his raised heartbeat. Lord Beecham bent to remove his boots and tight breeches, displaying the long elegant line of his back. Peter's mouth went dry.
When Lord Beecham was naked, he moved toward the high four-poster bed and climbed up on all fours. In the candlelight he presented Peter with a magnificent view of his muscular thighs and tight buttocks. He looked over his shoulder. The temptation in his glance and his inviting posture was unmistakable.
Peter ran his hand over his throbbing cock. Without speaking he walked across to the bottom of the bed. He found the perfumed oil Madame conveniently left on the nightstand and used his knee to deliberately widen Lord Beecham's legs. He guided his wet, glistening cock toward the other man's arse. Pausing only to grip Lord Beecham's hips, Peter lunged forward and penetrated him.
Lord Beecham groaned. "God..."
Peter used little finesse. If Lord Beecham thought he could coerce him into having sex he would get the most basic fucking available. The kind Peter had been forced to give and take from the roughest of the men who had bought his time at the brothel. The kind of sex that had nothing to do with love and tenderness, only raw, basic need.
He kept his grip of Lord Beecham's hips and pulled back again, drove his length deep. Lord Beecham grunted in time to each hard stroke, widening his stance to invite Peter deeper, his weight braced on his outstretched arms.
Mindlessly, Peter continued to fuck. Aware of the other man's cock pistoning into the black silk counterpane, dripping with pre-cum, as big and hard as Peter had anticipated. He felt his own climax approach, increased the speed of his thrusts until the smack of his flesh against Lord Beecham's sounded almost as loud as their combined groans.
His cum traveled up his shaft and he came deep. He liked the thought of the other man filled with his cum, feeling him for days afterward. A constant reminder of the coarse act he had made Peter commit.
After he caught his breath, Peter withdrew and rebuttoned his breeches. He hardly spared a glance for the naked figure sprawled on the bed. With shaking fingers he took out his leather purse and opened it. He threw two gold sovereigns onto the counterpane.
"That's for the rest of your time. I can't say it has been a pleasure."
Lord Beecham's long fingers closed around the coins, and he rolled over to face Peter.
"Damn you, Mr. Howard."
Peter bowed. "And damn you too, sir, for making me behave like an animal."
He turned on his heel and walked out. He managed to find his way down to Madame Helene's private quarters before his stomach threatened rebellion. Thankfully Helene was not there. He had no intention of sharing his thoughts on the evening's unexpected encounter with anyone.
After he heaved up the contents of his stomach, Peter poured himself a large brandy and sat down beside the fire. With an inarticulate sound he buried his head in his hands. What on earth had he been thinking? He'd used Lord Beecham like a whore, and worst of all he'd enjoyed it. He retrieved the brandy and drained it in one gulp.
After his experiences in the brothel, he'd vowed never to use anyone sexually again. His recent encounters with both sexes had all been by choice and by mutual consent. He'd enjoyed every one of them. Why had he gone against everything he believed in?
He studied the intricately cut brandy glass. Because something about Lord Beecham brought out the worst in him. The man's charming face and legendary reputation with women irked him. Was he simply jealous and had tonight's exercise in power made him feel like the better man?
He got up and retrieved the brandy bottle. His cock had no conscience and throbbed with satisfaction as he pictured Lord Beecham getting dressed and having to walk through the salons, the mark of Peter's handling on his hips and arse. Would Lord Beecham regret his choice? His body had been more than willing to accept Peter's domination.
Peter's cock stirred even more at the salacious thought. One thing was certain. It wasn't the first time Lord Beecham had been with a man. Had Helene brought them together for a reason? She had suggested James Beecham was not all he seemed.
Peter put down the brandy bottle and let out a disgusted breath. Still, he wasn't proud of himself. He felt wretched. There was no way around it. Lord Beecham would have to be faced.
3
H ow would an idle, titled man like Lord Beecham spend his day? Peter rushed through his work as he contemplated his next move. The weather had taken a turn for the better, and thin streaks of sunshine patterned his paper-strewn desk. With Valentin away, it seemed all the everyday problems ended up piled around him. He rang the bell and Taggart appeared.
"Could you send Mr. Sokorvsky in, please?"
Taggart polished his glasses on the dangling edge of his limp cravat. "Are you going to take him out with you, sir?"
Peter grinned. "Do you want me to?"
"He's been flitting around the main office all morning like a demented bumblebee looking for something to do. I'd be grateful if you could keep him occupied for a few hours."
Peter signed the last page of his weekly letter to Valentin and blotted it. "Is he becoming a nuisance?"
Taggart looked affronted. To Peter's amusement all the office staff seemed to dote on Anthony. "Not at all, sir. He's just so eager to learn that we can't keep up with him."
Peter folded the letter and wrote Valentin's direction on it before sealing it with red wax and the company stamp. "I'll take him out of your way, never fear."
He placed the letter on the top of the stack of finished work. "Can you deal with these for me? I might not be back today."
Of course, if Lord Beecham proved difficult and demanded satisfaction, Peter might not ever come back. He pushed that unpleasant thought away along with the pile of documents.
Anthony proved the perfect person to show Peter how a bored aristocrat might pass his day. Unlike Valentin, who would have instantly sensed Peter's perturbation, he was also indifferent to the reasons why Peter wanted to find Lord Beecham. He seemed to assume it was related to their business discussion on the day before.
The hackney cab dropped them off in front of Anthony's third choice of venue, the first two having been unsuccessful. Anthony studied the stream of fashionable gentleman entering Gentleman Jackson's boxing academy in Bond Street.
"I know Val is a member here, and from the look of Lord Beecham I would imagine he is too."
A sensual image of Lord Beecham's taut, flat stomach and muscled biceps taunted Peter's brain. His cock stirred as he remembered thrusting against the strength of Lord Beecham's bowed body.
"I should imagine he is."
Inside, the smell of male sweat, smoke and ego made Peter dizzy. The connecting rooms were crowded with men of all ages, although few of them were actually training. Sporting discussions and arguments abounded with the occasional shouted comment directed to one of the aspiring pugilists in the boxing ring. Anthony walked ahead of Peter, moving easily through his peers, accepting their greetings with aplomb.
Peter stayed back and leaned against the wall. He recognized Lord Beecham stripped to the waist in the center of the sawdust-covered boxing ring.
He found it hard to breathe as he watched his nemesis being put through his paces by a tall well-built man Peter could only assume was Gentleman Jackson himself. Lord Beecham moved well, blocking blows, using his muscular body and speed to outwit his opponent.
Peter licked his lips as a sheen of sweat coated Lord Beecham's toned skin. He wanted to fuck him again. He wanted that magnificent body beneath his crying out and coming for him.
After another rapid exchange of punches that made Peter shudder, Lord Beecham shook hands with Gentleman Jackson and walked to the edge of the ring. His gaze fixed on Peter and he bowed. Peter found himself walking down through the throng of people until he stood in front of Lord Beecham.
"Mr. Howard, what a pleasure. Hand me a towel, would you?"
Peter gave him one and waited while he mopped his face. "I wanted to speak to you in private."
Lord Beecham raised an eyebrow. "Then this is hardly the right place. Come and wait for me while I change and then we can go to my club."
After ascertaining that Anthony was busy with his friends, Peter followed Lord Beecham toward the back of the building. The changing room was deserted. As he stepped through the door, Lord Beecham turned and shoved him against the wall. Peter breathed in the scent of sweat and aroused male.
He held up his hands. "If you want an apology for my appalling treatment of you, I am more than willing to offer you one."
"You insulted me by leaving money, not by fucking me." Lord Beecham held his gaze, a slow anger smoldered deep in his dark eyes. "But perhaps I am also guilty. I was too eager for you. I intended to explain my situation to you first. Perhaps my actions took both of us by surprise."
He stepped back. Peter instantly missed the hot, hard pressure of his body.
"Let me apologize for the coins, then. That was uncalled for." A bead of sweat trickled down Lord Beecham's cheek. Peter stopped it with his index finger. "My past experience sometimes interferes with my judgment."
Lord Beecham turned his head, drew Peter's finger into the warm cavern of his mouth and gently sucked. Peter's cock hardened in a single rush. Lord Beecham released him with a sigh.
"Mr. Howard---Peter, if I may. I really would like to talk to you. Perhaps my club would be an unsuitable place to meet after all. Shall we go to Madame Helene's?"
Peter nodded, his gaze fixed on the swell of Lord Beecham's cock. "I'll be in room twelve."
Peter paced the red-and-black carpet in front of the empty fireplace as he waited for Lord Beecham to appear. He'd sent Anthony back to the office with a message saying he would not be returning. His afternoon was clear.
He paused and stared at the door. Where had this frightening eagerness and surge of desire come from? It was not in his nature to pursue another person. Especially a man such as Lord Beecham. Was he so desperate for excitement that he was prepared to risk his reputation and his life on a man whom he had no idea if he could even trust?
The door opened and Lord Beecham stepped inside. He wore a blue coat and matching waistcoat; his face was still flushed from his exertions. Peter held his breath as a rush of emotion flooded him. He wanted this man in a way he had never wanted anyone or anything before.
With a muttered oath, he strode toward Lord Beecham. He reached out and brushed his thumb over Lord Beecham's full lower lip. The scent of sandalwood soap and recently washed skin tantalized his senses.
"Humor me; I don't want to talk yet."
Within seconds they were struggling to remove each other's clothing. Strength fought strength, muscle worked on muscle until they were both naked and entwined on the bed.
Much later, he turned to study the man sprawled beside him. James lay on his back, one long leg bent at the knee, one arm curved up to support his head. Peter smiled at him.
"Do you still wish to talk to me?"
James blinked slowly. "Actually I do. The matter I wish to discuss with you is extremely personal. If you decide not to help me, you must promise never to reveal this information to anyone."
Peter sat up. "You sound very formal."
James rubbed a hand over his bare chest. "I'm hardly that." He sat up, too, the sheet tangled around his hips. "I'm not sure where to start."
Peter leaned back against the headboard. "At the beginning?"
"Ah yes, the beginning. When I was eighteen, my father discovered me in bed with a friend of mine from school. He beat me half to death and decided that the best way to make me mend my ways was to marry me off to a distant cousin who had grown up in our house."
"I assume your lover was male?"
James shrugged. "Yes. I was less discreet then. The wedding was performed the next day by special license. Neither of us was in a position to argue. Abigail was barely sixteen and dependent on my family for her support, and I was barely conscious after the beating I suffered."
Peter frowned. "I don't believe I've ever met your wife."
"Abby chooses not to come up to Town. I believe she still feels socially inadequate, and to my shame I have made no effort to encourage her to join me."
"Let me guess. She doesn't understand you."
James raised his chin, a challenge in his stare. "She understands me perfectly. She knows what I'm like and she has allowed me to find happiness where I can."
"And you allow her the same freedom?"
"I have offered it to her, but to my knowledge she has never taken a lover."
Peter began to feel sorry for the unknown Lady Beecham. "If she is never in Town, who do you expect her to fuck? The footman or the local farmer?"
"She can fuck anyone she wants if it makes her happy."
For some reason, Peter believed him. "May I ask where this story is leading? What's happened to upset such an interesting and amicable arrangement? Has the saintly Lady Beecham asked for a divorce?"
James let out a sigh, his expression grim. "No, she wants a child."
"With you?"
"Aye."
"Have you ever shared her bed?"
James pulled at the sheet and pleated it between his fingers. "For the first few years, my father kept us apart. I was sent overseas and Abigail remained at home with my mother. When I returned, we did share a bed but it was...difficult for both of us. In the last few years we have restricted our couplings to the absolute minimum."
"Can you not perform with a woman?"
"Of course I can, can't you?"
Peter smiled at James's arrogant tone. "I can make love to anyone. I simply enjoy sex; I have no particular preference."
"I suspect I prefer men, but I can satisfy most women." James cleared his throat. "Abby is different. At first I thought of her almost as a sister. We grew up together. We were best friends. When I had to bed her, I had little experience with women and I suspect I blundered badly. She's found it hard to relax with me ever since."
Peter folded his arms across his chest. "And what does this have to do with me?"
James held his gaze. "Because I think you can help us both."
"Do you imagine I am the kind of man who comes between a husband and a wife?"
"On the contrary. I'm hoping you will teach us how to come together and deal better with each other." James squeezed Peter's knee. "I care for Abby. She has given me everything I want. It seems only right that I give her something in return."
"Why me, James?"
"Because early last year I saw you here with Valentin Sokorvsky and his wife."
"What exactly did you see?"
James swallowed hard and ran his hand over his rapidly rising cock. "Before Madame Helene appeared, I happened to be using one of the more exclusive peepholes on the top floor. You were in bed with Valentin and his wife pleasuring each other. In the short time before Madame Helene sent me away I came just watching you."
He drew a ragged breath as if the memory still aroused him. Peter frowned. Was that why Helene had introduced him to James? Had she realized where his true sexual tastes lay?
"If Valentin Sokorvsky lets you in his bed, I reckoned I might be able to persuade you into mine."
Peter stared at James. The thought of sexually educating both a man and a woman appealed to his jaded senses. In truth, it was the most interesting sexual proposition ever made to him. He always enjoyed his visits to Valentin and Sara's bed, but that dynamic was different. There, he was the one who took. In this instance, perhaps he would be the one who gave.
"Has your wife agreed to this?"
James looked embarrassed. "I haven't asked her yet. I've been too busy gathering the nerve to speak to you."
"Perhaps you should speak to her. She might not be as desperate to conceive a child as you think."
James leaned forward and bit Peter's nipple. "Abby is no shy shrinking mouse. She will surprise you. If she has set her heart on something, I suspect she will do whatever it takes to achieve her aim."
Peter tried to imagine Abigail Beecham and failed. Did James really know his wife as well as he thought? Was she likely to go along with his outrageous plan or shout her objections to the heavens? He sighed as James's warm mouth slid down over his hardening cock. His last thought as he succumbed to James's touch was that he couldn't wait to meet her.
4
A bigail Beecham smiled warmly as John, the new footman, appeared with the tea tray. When he bent to place the tray in front of her, she found herself admiring the stretch of his breeches over his buttocks. To her secret delight, he was at least twenty years younger than any other member of the male staff at Beecham Hall
Member of the male staff...She picked up the teapot and almost dropped it as she considered all the interesting dictionary definitions of those simple words. Steaming brown liquid dripped down the side of the blue-and-white patterned porcelain cup as the teapot rattled in her hand.
This was all James's fault. The letter she had been forced to write to him about making a child together had turned her thoughts increasingly toward the subject of sex.
"Are you all right, my lady?" John paused at the door and regarded her anxiously. "Should I get you some more tea?"
"No, this is perfectly fine." She managed to put the pot down without scalding herself and waved him away.
She added several chips of sugar to her cup and lots of milk before she finally poured in more tea. It was time to get over her shyness. If James didn't answer her letter soon she would have to start looking for a potential bedmate. Her gaze lifted to the wall of family portraits her mother-in-law had insisted on hanging in her private sitting room.
Every time she sat here, she felt their quiet expectancy and silent condemnation. If James's mother mentioned once more that Abigail held the hopes of the Beecham family in her hands, or more importantly in her womb, she would scream until she ran out of breath. How had it ended up being her fault?
If James found her too repugnant to bed, what was she supposed to do? How was she expected to conceive a child when her husband spent less than a quarter of his year in the countryside with her? She retrieved the book she had stuffed down the side of the chair and put on her spectacles. Doctor Frederick's journal of intimate female mysteries hadn't quite lived up to her expectations. In fact, Doctor Frederick's assumption that women were not designed to enjoy intercourse was beginning to annoy her.
Abby finished her tea and scanned the remaining pages of the book. In her quest to understand the notion of love and the mechanics of reproduction, she had scoured the library. Unfortunately, there seemed to be little information available that hadn't been written by men for men. There was certainly nothing in the latest book to alter her original opinion that Doctor Frederick and most men were fools.
Even though she had never enjoyed coupling with James, she had experienced pleasure by herself. It could not be true that all women simply endured or else marriage as an institution would surely have foundered a long time ago.
She placed the book on her writing desk and went to find her shawl. Outside the bow window, the rolling lawns of Beecham Hall flowed down toward the ornamental lake. Beds of blue-bells and narcissi added their strident colors to present a picture of pastoral perfection. Spring was in the air, and even Abby felt the sap rising through her veins.
It would be a beautiful place to bring up a child. James had told her many stories of his younger days before she joined the household at the age of eleven. She pictured herself walking down to the lake, a chubby-faced child clinging to her hand.
With a sigh she turned away from the enticing view. If James didn't contact her soon, she would have to devise another plan to give him an heir whether he wanted one or not.
When she opened the door and walked down the narrow corridor toward the main hall, she heard a dog bark. Her heart gave an excited leap and she picked up her pace. By the time she entered the medieval hall, her husband stood there, handing his cloak and hat to the smiling butler. His dogs milled around his highly polished boots, yapping with excitement.
She paused and simply stared at his fashionable figure. Of all things, she hadn't expected to see him in person. She'd anticipated his rejection in a letter and had braced herself for disappointment. If he had decided to leave the delights of the Season merely to come down and speak to her, something must have changed.
When he swung around and saw her, he smiled and opened his arms.
"Abby cat."
She ran to him and closed her eyes as he locked her in a tight embrace. His familiar cinnamon scent enveloped her, and she leaned into him. Despite everything, it was good to have him home.
The instant Peter stepped into the building, he knew Valentin had returned. The office hummed with purpose. Even Anthony sat at his allocated desk and appeared to be working. Peter nodded a greeting to Taggart and hastened to his office to hang up his cloak and hat.
To his surprise, Valentin was already ensconced in his chair. Peter grimaced as he spied his old friend.
"I know. I'm late. I had a rather riotous night."
He'd left Madame Helene's at six that morning after his long night with James. They'd spent hours talking interspersed with the most intense sexual encounters of his life. Something about James's honesty appealed to Peter. It was rare to meet a man who was so comfortable about his sexuality, a man who'd had the courage to discuss his needs with his wife and remain her friend.
Valentin stubbed out his cigar. "I'm not your father. You don't need to explain yourself to me."
Peter paused as he approached the desk. "Then why do I feel as if I have to? And why are you sitting at my desk with your feet up? Is there something wrong with your own office?"
Valentin chuckled. "Now who sounds like a parent? Which question would you like me to answer first?"
Peter studied his friend. Despite the shadows under Valentin's extraordinary violet eyes, he looked his usual dapper self. His long dark hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon, and his blue coat looked as if it had just left the hands of his tailor.
"Is there something wrong?" Peter repeated the question, his gaze fixed on Valentin's face. "When I left the office yesterday, everything seemed to be fine."
Valentin made a dismissive gesture. "The business is running perfectly. Taggart gave me your latest letter this morning. I understand the bank has proved amenable to our loan requests and that financially we are stable for the foreseeable future."
Peter dropped into the chair in front of his desk. "Then why are you here? I wasn't expecting to see you for at least another two weeks."
Valentin's eyebrows rose. "Am I not welcome, then?"
For a brief second, Peter closed his eyes. Sometimes talking to Valentin was like straying into a maze.
"Val..."
"This is not about the business. It is something more personal." Valentin got up and began to pace the worn floor-boards.
Had Val already heard rumors about Peter and Lord Beecham? It seemed unlikely, but Peter knew Val had excellent sources. Sudden doubt assailed him. What if James Beecham had been lying after all and had spent the morning Peter slept away gossiping to the polite world about Peter's sexuality?
Val cast him a speculative look. "What's the matter, Peter? You look guilty. What have you been up to while I was away?" He stopped pacing and clasped his hands behind his back.
Peter concentrated on appearing relaxed. and keeping his mouth shut He was unlikely to fool Val, who had seen him in every extremity, but he was determined to make the effort. Val swung back round to face him.
"It's Sara."
Peter sat up straight. "Something's wrong with Sara?" No wonder Val was agitated. His wife was the center of his world.
Val's answering smile was crooked. "There is nothing wrong with her, but she is in an 'interesting condition'."
"Sara's pregnant?"
Peter shot to his feet and drew Valentin into a close embrace. For once his friend didn't resist. When Peter drew back he studied Val's face.
"Aren't you pleased?"
"Of course I'm pleased." Val's arrogant expression softened. "In truth, I'm ecstatic. Sara's not feeling quite so thrilled at the moment. She's unwell."
"I hear that's usual in the early months."
Valentin looked quizzical. "And you know that how?"
Peter sat back down. "Women talk to me about everything. Apparently I have a sympathetic face."
Val snorted as he leaned up against the desk, his troubled gaze still fixed on Peter.
"What is it, Val?" Peter leaned forward and touched Valentin's knee. He pretended not to notice his friend move away. "There's something you're not telling me."
"It's about us."
Peter sat back and crossed his legs. "By 'us' I assume you mean you, me and Sara?"
"I haven't spoken to Sara about this yet, so please don't blame her. This is purely my decision."
"You want me to stay away from your bed."
Val held his gaze. "Yes."
"Do you think I might hurt Sara or the baby?"
"Christ, no!"
Peter's gut clenched as though Val had physically hit him. It was an effort to get up and walk to the door. After his night with James, and James's willing acceptance of his lovemaking, Val's sudden hypocrisy made him want to retch.
"Get out of my office, Val. And give my best to Sara."
"If you will just listen..."
"I don't think so. You've always been reluctant to allow me into your bed. And this gives you a perfect opportunity to sever that connection permanently." He opened the door. "I've decided to take a few weeks off. I suggest you leave Anthony in charge if you can't be here yourself. He shows every sign of becoming as ruthless in business as you are."
Valentin moved in front of him, his voice low and fierce. "Don't do this. Don't make this into something it's not."
Peter smiled. "But that's me all over isn't it, Val? I used to believe that you loved only me once and look what a mess that got us into. Perhaps this is for the best."
"Peter, for God's sake, I..."
Peter shoved Val over the threshold, stepped back and carefully shut the door in his best friend's face. He turned the key and remained braced against it until Val's footsteps faded into the distance. Finally he allowed his legs to fold and sank down onto the floor.
Hell and Damnation. What was wrong with him? He'd fully intended to accept Valentin's dismissal with his usual good grace and humor, but he hadn't been able to muster such a positive response. Val was perfectly within his rights to ask Peter to stop visiting his bed. In truth, Peter would have offered to do so.
So why did he feel so betrayed? It all came back to his early dependency on Val. They'd been lovers until Peter realized Val was only tolerating him and much preferred women. Val had never admitted that he needed Peter. Peter had long suspected that Val's invitation to join him and Sara in bed had originated in a desire to please his wife rather than a true acknowledgement of his real nature.
Was it time to break the intimate circle and move on? Peter thought about James Beecham and the unexpected strength of his feelings for this unknown man. He raised his head and stared at his desk. He owed his life to Val and would do anything for his friend. Perhaps it was time to make the ultimate sacrifice and let his best friend go.
Abby waited until James's valet had left before she ventured into his bedroom. He greeted her with a smile and a kiss on her hand. She settled herself in one of the wing chairs beside the fire and accepted a glass of port.
James looked well. The dark green satin of his robe accentuated the darkness of his hair and eyes. He sat opposite her and warmed his big, capable hands in the firelight. She tucked her bare feet underneath her as the port settled in her stomach.
"I wasn't expecting to see you."
He raised his eyebrows. "After the letter you wrote me?"
She glanced down at the ruby-red swirl of her port. "I feel foolish for even writing it now."
"Don't be. I've always admired your ability to get right to the point." He studied her face. "Unless you have changed your mind?"
To gain time, Abby sipped at her port. "No, I'd still like a child, but it was stupid of me to try to force your hand."
He smiled at her, displaying the dimple on his chin. "I'm not sure it was my hand you were trying to force. My cock, perhaps?"
She spluttered as port went up her nose. "James!"
His expression sobered and he reached out to stroke her bare foot. "Abby, I thought I'd take a leaf out of your book and be as direct and honest as I can. I came down here specifically to discuss it with you. Will you hear me out?"
He refilled their glasses and added another log to the fire. Something was bothering him. Young Abby would've dreaded the conversation to come, while her newly determined older self welcomed the chance to express her opinion. Sometimes, James still treated her like a child. After fifteen years of marriage perhaps it was time for him to realize she had grown up.
"Firstly, I want to be sure that this is what you want and not something my mother has pushed you into."
She held his gaze. "Your mother is desperate for me to conceive but I'm not doing it for her. I'm doing it for myself."
He nodded as if satisfied. "I want you to be happy, Abby cat. You have given up a lot for me, and I'm grateful."
She shifted uneasily in her seat. Despite having been married for so long, it was more difficult than she imagined having such an intimate conversation with her husband. He drew an audible breath before facing her again.
"I have met a man."
Abby's stomach gave an uncomfortable flip. "Does that mean you no longer wish to be with me?"
"On the contrary. I believe this man may be the solution to both our problems." He sat forward. "He has experience pleasuring both sexes. I hope that he will teach us how to deal better with each other in bed."
Abby shivered as she recalled their last desperate attempts at coupling. Surely anything would be better than that. She put her glass down on the small table beside her. "Are you suggesting he shares our bed?"
"I know it sounds ridiculous, but yes."
"Has he already shared yours?"
He met her question head on, no shame in his eyes. "Yes, but he doesn't prefer men. He sleeps with women too."
"And do we have to pay him to perform for us?"
James frowned. "He's not a prostitute. He's a respectable businessman." He swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "I had to work damned hard even to get him to talk to me. He doesn't go around advertising his unusual sexuality any more than I do."
Abby already knew the dangers James faced every time he embarked on a relationship with another man. If discovered, sodomites could still be put to death in the most horrific manner.
She stared into the fire. James's suggestion sounded preposterous. Let a complete stranger into their bed and willingly share the inadequacy of their sexual relationship? But if she truly wanted a child...
James came down on one knee in front of her and grasped her hands.
"Look, Abby, this isn't just about having a child. If Peter can help you enjoy sex, I'll accept it, even if it means you can't accept me. At least then you'll be free to choose another lover without my failures as a husband dragging you down."
She touched his unshaven cheek. He really did love her in his way. She was luckier than many of her peers. The insatiable curiosity her mother had always claimed would be her downfall surged through her veins.
"Ask your Peter if he wishes to visit us this weekend. And then we will see."
5
"A nthony, there's nothing wrong. I'm simply taking some time off. Valentin is just as capable of handling the business as I am."
Peter continued to scribble notes to Taggart as Anthony roamed his office. His expression was troubled, which emphasized his likeness to his half brother. He picked up a ledger and then set it down with a thump.
"Is it something I've done? Are you simply sick of the sight of me?"
Peter looked up. "On the contrary, I've recommended to Valentin that he allow you to run the London end of the business."
Anthony blushed. "You did?"
Peter tried not to smile at his young protégé's reaction. Because of events of years past, his relationship with Anthony was almost as complex as his relationship with Valentin.
"I did. I have every confidence in you."
He glanced at the clock. It was getting late. It had been his intention to clear his desk and get out before Valentin turned up. He knew Valentin would be back, and he was curiously reluctant to face his friend and business partner. The scars Val had inflicted were still too fresh.
He retrieved his quill pen and wrote another series of instructions. A shadow darkened his desk and he held out a sheaf of papers.
"Ah, Taggart, I've almost finished. Take these, will you?"
When he looked up he discovered Valentin staring down at him.
"In a hurry, Peter?"
He straightened and carefully replaced his quill in the inkwell. Valentin wore his infuriatingly bland face, the one that made Peter long to punch him. He sat on the corner of the desk and crossed his long legs at the ankle. Peter cleared his throat.
"I'm leaving town at six this evening and I have yet to pack."
He collected the rest of the scattered papers from his desk and headed for the door. As if he had been already summoned, Taggart appeared and blocked his exit.
"Are these for me, sir? Thank you, and may I say that I hope you enjoy your trip. I can't remember the last time you took a holiday."
Peter smiled at him and reluctantly turned back to his office, where the Sokorvsky brothers awaited him.
"Taggart's right, you know." Val addressed his remark to his half brother. "Peter does deserve some time away. It seems as if his brain has become addled."
Peter leaned back against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. "Perhaps I simply need to get away from the unhealthy influences of town life."
Anthony studied both of their faces and backed toward the door. "Perhaps I should go."
Peter remained in front of the only exit. "There's no reason for that. You're part of Valentin's family, and we all know that for him, family comes first. I'm sure he'll wish to seek your assistance during my absence." He dug in his pocket and pulled out his set of keys. "In fact, why don't you take my keys and use my office while I'm gone?"
Anthony's expression grew hunted. "I'm not sure..."
Peter threw the keys. They landed on his desk with a crash, just missing Valentin's fingers.
"Where exactly are you going?" Valentin picked up the keys and studied them.
Peter favored him with a dismissive smile. "Oh, here and there. I wouldn't want to bore you with the details of my personal life."
Valentin stood up. "What if I need to contact you about a business matter? There is the small matter of that bankrupt shipping line we are trying to acquire."
Peter held his gaze. "I'll make sure that any messages left at my house are collected on a regular basis."
"This is not like you." Valentin strolled closer until he reached the door.
"People change, Val. Even I am capable of that." Peter straightened and went to open the door. "Perhaps you might allow me to get on? I have a lot to do today."
Val slammed his hand against the door panel, preventing Peter's escape. "We have not finished this conversation."
"I have."
Peter wrenched hard on the door, pushed past Val's outstretched hand and headed for the main office. How dare Val try to detain him. He had made his position clear and he rarely changed his mind, so what was there to talk about? Surely it was better if they had a clean break.
With a muttered curse, Peter realized he'd left his hat and cloak in his office. He certainly wasn't going back to collect them. Perhaps a walk home would improve his temper. After saying goodbye to Taggart and the rest of the office staff, he stepped out the front door.
He paused to allow a brewers cart to rumble past him and then walked up a sharp incline of the road, avoiding the trickle of filth that ran down the center.
"Peter! Peter, wait!"
He hesitated as he heard Anthony shout his name and reluctantly stopped. To his relief, Anthony was alone. He held Peter's hat and cloak and was breathing hard.
"You forgot these."
"Thank you. I didn't want to ruin my dignified exit by creeping back in to retrieve my belongings."
Anthony grinned at him. "I know. Valentin would never let you hear the end of it." He hesitated and touched Peter's arm. "I don't understand why he is so angry with you, but I'm sure it will come out right."
Peter struggled to find an answering smile. "I'm sure it will, Anthony. Val and I have been friends for a long time."
Anthony stepped back. "Come back soon or I will probably ruin the business."
"You won't do that. I have great confidence in you."
"As you taught me everything I know, I should hope so."
Peter hesitated, then drew Anthony into a rough hug. "Look after Val for me, won't you?"
"As if he'll let me."
"Try anyway." Peter released Anthony and walked away, determined not to look back. Would he ever be able to face either of the Sokorvsky brothers again with the same degree of ease? He wasn't sure.
If he ended up staying with the Beechams and sharing their bed, it would give him the perfect opportunity to decide whether he and Val could continue as business partners or whether he would have to resign and move on.
He walked through the maze of haphazard streets, ignoring the street hawkers and beggars, until he reached one of the busier thoroughfares and hailed a cab. He'd agreed to go down to Beecham Hall in Essex this weekend to meet James's wife. If she proved to be as shy and retiring as he suspected, he imagined his visit would be fleeting.
Would James Beecham be as eager to continue their liaison if his wife took a dislike to Peter? Even though James was exceptional, Peter wasn't sure he wanted just another male lover. He needed a challenge to make him forget Valentin and twenty-four years of hard-won friendship that appeared to have turned to ashes.
In the Turkish brothel, Valentin had refused to compromise. He fought every male lover forced on him. Sometimes Peter would willingly take his place or take his punishment because he knew that Val would rather die than give in. Peter had also known that he wouldn't survive if he didn't have Val.
They had proved big business for the brothel owner. Two fair-skinned foreigners, one dark, one blond. Women paid ridiculous amounts of money to have them both in their beds. Val kept fighting the men and fucking the women. Peter relied on opium and a growing dependency on Valentin to see him through each day.
With a start, Peter realized they had arrived at his modest house on Half Moon Street. He handed over some coins to the cheerful driver and got down. He studied the leaden gray sky. If Lady Beecham didn't like him, he'd take off up north. He had a vague idea that was where he originally came from, although his memories of the time before he met Valentin on board the ship bound for Russia were sketchy at best.
Thanks to the efforts of Valentin's wife, Sara, his narrow town house was decorated with quiet taste and elegance. Peter stared at the gold damask curtains she had laughingly persuaded him to put up in his morning room. Was she secretly relieved not to have to face him again? He'd believed they were friends. Had all her trust in him disappeared simply because she was pregnant? Her desertion was almost as painful a blow as Valentin's.
He wandered into the room and studied the landscape painting above the fireplace. Sara had been careful not to choose any portraits, as if she knew Peter would hate being asked if they were his family. Perhaps Valentin was more astute than Peter realized. Maybe he had sensed Peter's yearning for a relationship and a family of his own even before Peter became aware of it and was merely forcing him into moving on.
To Peter's relief, Adams, his valet, had already started packing for him. He was lucky to have Adams. His discretion and calm manner had impressed Peter from the first. Nothing seemed to disturb his equanimity, even the prospect of his employer leaving for parts unknown and not taking a servant with him.
Peter surveyed the collection of garments Adams seemed to think necessary for his journey.
"Are you sure I'll need all this?"
"Better to be prepared, sir, don't you think?"
Adams checked Peter's shaving gear and then packed it in its traveling case. "I'm certain they'll find a man to assist you wherever you go. Make sure he doesn't ruin the shine on your boots or burn your cravats when he irons them."
Peter smiled. "And how am I supposed to do that? Follow the hapless soul around the kitchen?"
Adams turned to face him, a dozen long, starched cravats hung over his arm. "You are a gentleman, sir. You will know whether he is capable simply by the way he handles your boots and your clothes."
Peter wondered if he was qualified to judge. He had no idea if he could claim the title "gentleman" in its purest sense. His station in life before meeting Val was unknown. It was Valentin's friendship that opened the hallowed ranks of the ton to him. Adams only saw the smooth veneer Peter had perfected over the years and heard the upper-class accent he picked up from Val in the brothel.
Would Lady Beecham want to know exactly whose family he belonged to? It was typical of the English upper classes to grill you as to your antecedents. God knows he had endured it for years. He wasn't sure Howard was his surname. In truth, he wasn't even sure he was called Peter.
He glanced at his immaculate reflection in the mirror and saw a polished stranger, a chameleon. Perhaps both he and Valentin were right. His brain was addled and he definitely needed to get out of the city and think.
Beecham Hall proved a pleasant surprise. Tall chimney stacks and narrow red bricks covered with ivy revealed the house to have Elizabethan roots. Structurally it was in the classic form of an E. Three parallel wings jutting out at right angles from the main body of the house.
James had offered to bring him down in his curricle, but Peter had preferred to use his own transport. It made it easier to get away if the situation proved even more awkward than he feared. The huge elm trees that lined the long driveway revealed tantalizing glimpses of a lake and a series of well-kept gardens laid out in front of the house.
Unlike many aristocrats, James Beecham didn't appear to lack money. The house held a mellow sweetness and charm that defied any attempt to define it as modern. Peter felt himself relax as his carriage pulled up to the front steps. A smartly dressed footman immediately opened the door and let down the steps.
"Good evening, Mr. Howard. My name is Thomas. His lordship informed us you would be arriving this evening."
His carriage and driver clattered away in a spray of gravel around the side of the house. Peter allowed himself to be escorted through the massive oak front door into the hall. The scent of beeswax and dried flowers drifted past his nose. He couldn't help but stare at the intricately carved staircase and the ancient banners that hung from the high ceilings.
Caught by the swirl of air as Thomas closed the front door, the banners undulated in ghostly welcome.
"Mr. Howard? Do you wish to retire to your room before dinner?"
He smiled at the man. "That would be an excellent notion if I have time. But I don't wish to delay dinner."
"Oh no, sir. Lady Beecham told the kitchen not to serve a thing until you are ready to eat."
"Then show me to my room and I will make haste to join my hosts." He paused on the first shallow well-worn step. "You will inform them of my arrival, of course?"
"Already done, sir." Thomas carried on up the stairs. "I'll be acting as your valet for the duration of your stay if that is acceptable, sir."
Peter smiled at the young man's eagerness.
"Perfectly acceptable."
Peter reckoned less than half an hour had passed before he was ready to go back down. He studied his reflection in the mirror. Was he suitably dressed? He'd chosen a dark blue coat and a gray waistcoat with silver buttons. White satin knee breeches completed his rather formal attire. What would Lady Beecham think when she first saw him? Would she see a man of fashion or an upstart cit who needed to learn his place?
There was no use worrying about what couldn't be changed, and he'd survived far worse circumstances than this in his colorful life. Dinner might even prove interesting. And even if Lady Beecham didn't seem amenable to her husband's plan, he might get to spend a night with James before he headed north.
They awaited him in what was obviously the small family drawing room. James stood in front of the fireplace, hands behind his back, hunting dogs at his feet. Peter strongly suspected that somewhere within the depths of the house there was already a portrait of James standing just like this, the country squire at his ease. In truth, there were probably countless such portraits of all the Beechams throughout the ages.
James's face lit up when Peter was announced, and he strode toward him, hand outstretched.
"I'm so glad you could come." He slid an arm around Peter's shoulders and turned back to the fireplace. In one of the wing chairs, Peter could just see a delicate blue slipper and a twist of crumpled satin skirt.
"This is my wife, Abigail, Lady James Beecham."
There was an explosion of movement as Lady Beecham struggled to stand. James steadied her elbow as she whipped her spectacles off her nose and smoothed a wisp of brown hair behind her ear. Peter took his first look at his lover's wife.
She was at least six inches shorter than her husband's six foot frame and half his width. Her high-waisted blue gown seemed too fussy and large for her delicate frame. She raised her chin at his continued silence and he admired her heart shaped face and deep gray eyes.
"Mr. Howard."
No simpering ingénue, this one. He smiled slowly, taking care to hold her gaze.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Beecham. Thank you for inviting me to your home."
She held out her hand and he kissed her fingers. He noticed the absence of any jewelry apart from her wedding ring and her badly bitten nails.
"Are you quite starved, Mr. Howard? Shall we eat?"
Peter placed her hand on his sleeve. "I apologize for arriving so late. I had business affairs to attend to that could not be left undone."
"I know you run a shipping business. It must be very time consuming."
Her voice had a slight huskiness to it, which belied her innocent looks. He escorted her into the dining room, pulled out her chair and waited until she sat down. She waved him into the place set on her right.
"It certainly can be. Although, I confess, I enjoy being busy."
"Unlike me." James's laughter rang out as he entered the room behind them and took the seat across from Peter.
"I beg to disagree," Peter said. "Running an estate such as this must take up a considerable amount of your time."
"Abby runs it, not me."
Peter studied his hostess, who had started to blush and bite her full lower lip. Her skin was as fine as porcelain, her manner that of a woman unused to receiving a compliment.
"Is that true, Lady Beecham? Perhaps you and I should sit down and talk about the problems of maintaining a full staff and the iniquities of our government's fiscal policies."
She stared at him for a long while. He held her gaze, willing to accept her scrutiny if it gave her some measure of his willingness to please. He inclined his head as a footman offered him some pea soup.
"Mr. Howard, you almost sound sincere."
"I meant to."
She blinked at him. "Not many men believe a woman is capable of doing much else than fine embroidery and gossiping."
"Then they are fools. Some of the best managers I have ever known are women." He smiled at her. "Why should you not use the gifts God gave you?"
"Why indeed?" James replied for her, glass in his hand as he toasted his guest. "I told you Peter would understand, Abby." He winked at his wife. "At heart she is a true businesswoman. She was the one who recommended I speak to your business partner, Valentin Sokorvsky, about investing in one of your cargoes."
Peter raised his eyebrows. "Really? Then perhaps we might discuss that at your convenience as well, ma'am."
He returned his attention to the excellent soup and quickly finished it. The dining room was small and intimate. Faded green silk painted like a woodland scene covered the top of the walls. Intricate oak paneling encircled the bottom.
To his surprise, he sensed little tension between his host and hostess. As he listened to them talk, he hastily revised his opinion that they were at odds. In truth, they seemed to be the good friends James had sworn they were. Their ease with each other demonstrated a relationship of long-standing affection.
Perhaps James was right. With a little help from Peter, they might be able to find true companionship in bed as well. Lady Beecham intrigued him. Behind that shy exterior was an intelligent straightforward woman. He was almost looking forward to seeing her and James in bed with him.
"Do you like the countryside, Mr. Howard?"
He turned to address his hostess. "I have little experience of it, my lady. I've mainly lived and worked in the city. Do you prefer it yourself?"
Her chin went up several notches. "Have you ever met me in town?"
"Touché, madam. Of course I haven't or I would surely have remembered you. I assume you prefer to live here quietly all year round."
She sighed. "That was not well done of me, was it? I should learn to be more polite. Perhaps that is another reason why I wouldn't fare well in the heart of the ton."
"Because you are honest?" He captured her gaze. "You may be right but it certainly is refreshing. And you may always be honest with me. I would much rather have a conversation with someone who speaks the truth to my face than someone who smiles at me and later stabs me in the back. Perhaps I should come and live in the countryside for a while and learn how to be so direct."
She was saved from answering him by the arrival of the main course. Peter selected from several dishes including some succulent pork in a mint sauce, and then the servants withdrew, leaving them to serve themselves. Something nudged his foot. He realized that the tip of James's boot was rubbing up the inside of his leg.
He concentrated on his dinner, aware that his cock was half-erect and that James was edging closer to it with every sweep of his foot. Lady Beecham ate her dinner, seemingly unaware of the heightened sexual tension around the small dining table. The toe of James's boot nudged Peter's balls.
"Do you like this?"
Peter straightened with a start as he realized his hostess pointed at a steamed treacle pudding and was not referring to what her husband was doing to him under the table.
"I've always been partial to a good pudding, ma'am." He pushed his chair back an inch and James's foot fell to the floor with an audible thump. "It was one of the things I missed most during my time abroad."
Abby glared at James. What was he doing to make their guest so uneasy? Mr. Howard appeared to be blushing. Her gaze dropped to the table. Surely James wouldn't be so outrageous as to provoke their guest right in front of her? It seemed that Mr. Howard felt the same as she did. There was a place and a time for everything.
She'd often wondered exactly what James did in bed with another man. She'd tried to imagine how it might be different and how the same. Would a man enjoy James's strength and power pressing him into the mattress? She always felt powerless and suffocated. She glanced at Mr. Howard. He didn't seem an easy man to intimidate. Perhaps another man might control James more easily.
Mr. Howard was not what she had expected at all. He was fair haired with sleepy blue eyes. His skin was tanned, which only highlighted the numerous small lines on his face, making him even more mysterious and attractive. He was also one of the most relaxed men she had ever met. And yet she sensed behind the stillness a wary quality that spoke of hard-earned experience and lessons learned.
His interest in her wasn't feigned either. He truly listened when she spoke and answered her in the same manner as he did her husband. Her curiosity stirred, and she went as far as to contemplate what it might be like to share a bed with this glorious silver-haired, silver-tongued man.
After dinner, she correctly left the men to their port and escaped up to her bedchamber. The curtains were drawn and the room was warm and safe. Nothing could hurt her here. She knew James had put Peter in the bedroom beyond his own, which meant that if she didn't choose to see him, she didn't have to.
The question was, did she want to?
The ludicrous notion of allowing another man to show her and James how to deal better with each other in bed suddenly seemed possible. She knew instinctively that Peter Howard was not the kind of man who gossiped or sought scandal. He'd told her to be honest with him. If she were true to her desires, she knew she wanted to find out more about him.
Her plain white nightgown lay on the bed, and she slipped into it. Her body felt different, more alive, her skin heated and sensitive. Was she brave enough to march into James's bedchamber and tell him that she wanted to go ahead? She put on her embroidered dressing gown and settled down to list all the arguments in her head.
6
P eter accepted the candlestick James gave him and followed his host upstairs. As they ascended, their huge shadows played hide-and-seek with the portraits and faded curtains. The house creaked around them like an old man settling his bones into bed. James stopped at the last door on the long corridor and pushed it open.
"This is your room."
Peter grinned at him. "I know. I came up here to change."
James smiled back as he closed the door behind them both. He leaned forward to press a kiss on Peter's mouth. He pointed at a door set in the middle of the opposite wall.
"But more important, that's the door into my room. My father kept his mistress, Rose, here and my mother on the other side in the countess's chambers."
"How convenient for him. And what did your mother think of that?"
James shrugged. "I think after producing six children she was quite relieved. In all their years together, I never saw her and Rose exchange a cross word."
Peter shuddered as James slid his hand down over Peter's flat stomach and erect cock to cup his balls. "Have you missed me, then, Peter?"
"Yes, can't you tell?"
James squeezed hard and dropped to his knees. "Let me suck you quickly before I go and meet my valet."
"It won't take long. I've been hard since I got here." Peter sighed as James swallowed his whole shaft in one sudden motion. "Ah, God, that feels..." He came fast, pumping his seed down James's throat.
James stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Perhaps you'll return the favor later?"
"If you promise it will not disturb your wife."
James tore his gaze away from Peter's now-flaccid cock. "If you let me into your bed and we are reasonably discreet, there's no reason she will ever know." He frowned. "Why, does the thought of fucking me here make you uncomfortable?"
"I like your wife. I wouldn't wish to hurt her, especially in her own home."
James grimaced. "Thank you for reminding me of that. She deserves a better man than me." He glanced toward Peter's bed. "It's true that I've never brought a man home before. I'll ask Abby if she minds."
Peter tried not to show his amusement at James's candid remarks. He truly did have a remarkable marriage if he could discuss such matters openly with his wife. "Does your wife inhabit the countess's chambers?"
"She does." James glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "In fact, she usually comes into my room to chat after I've sent my valet away. Why don't you meet us there in about half an hour?"
Peter paused in the act of removing his cravat. "Are you sure, James? Don't you think my appearing in your bedchamber might seem a little premature?"
James laughed as he opened the connecting door. "If Abby doesn't want you there, she'll tell you so herself. But I think I know her well enough to say that her curiosity is definitely aroused."
Peter contemplated his reflection in the mirror. Common sense told him it was too soon and that he should take his time to ascertain exactly what Lady Beecham wanted before he strolled into her husband's bedroom dressed in his nightclothes. Instinct told him James was right and that he might as well find out now whether he was in with a chance of success.
He slid his breeches down and stroked his cock as he removed his underclothes. Lady Beecham intrigued him---her sharp intelligence an instant attraction in a woman who appeared to have no vanity or ability to flirt. If she truly was as straightforward as she seemed, he should be able to decide exactly what she wanted from him in the next few days.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes and washed himself, concentrating on his cock. James's quick, rough mouth had aroused him and he wanted more. He enjoyed the slick feel of the soap on his shaft, which was more than ready to fuck again. He wanted to pull James under him and make him beg to be allowed to come....
Peter shivered as he wrapped his aroused body in his long, black dressing gown. In James's room he made out the softness of a woman's voice. He tightened the belt on his robe and looked at the clock. It would soon be time to find out whether he was truly welcome.
"Do you mind if I sleep with him?"
James's opening question made Abby want to smile. He lounged against her bedroom door looking as anxious as a schoolboy who expected to be punished. She walked past him into his bedroom.
"In here?"
She indicated the imposing ducal bed, complete with embroidered curtains emblazoned with the family crest and motto. The room's unspoken assumption that she was ready and willing to produce the next heir always made her shudder. "Are you sure the ancestral ghosts will approve?"
"I don't care about the ghosts. I care about what you think." He followed her in and shut the door. "And no, I wouldn't fuck him here. I'd go to his bed so that you wouldn't be disturbed."
Abby stared at the door opposite that led into Peter Howard's chamber. Fuck was such an evocative word and one that James had never used in front of her before. She glanced at him. How would she feel knowing her lawful husband was performing indecent acts with another man two doors down from her bed?
James shifted his stance. "Abby, I'd be discreet. None of the staff will know, I promise you that."
She shrugged. "You'd be surprised what they know. They already know how little time you spend in my bed. I'm sure they take great delight in reporting that back to your mother." The hint of bitterness in her voice surprised her.
"That would never do." He went to pour them both a brandy. "The last thing I want is to make matters worse here for you. I can wait."
She sighed as he gave her the glass and sat down. "I sound like a shrew, please forgive me."
He took her other hand and kissed her wrist. "That's not necessary. I'm behaving abominably as usual. Peter told me I was being inconsiderate."
Abby hid a smile. Her husband's lover was reminding him of his manners? Perhaps she should thank him later.
"Do you like him?" James sat opposite her, brandy glass poised in his hand.
"Yes. He is a very interesting man."
James smiled at her. "I knew you would. He is unlike anyone I have ever encountered before in the narrow world of the ton."
"I think he is a man you could trust."
"I think so too."
She glanced up as there was a knock on the door. James met her gaze.
"Are you ready to see him, Abby, or shall I tell him to go?"
She drew in a deep breath. "I want to talk to him."
Still holding her gaze, he turned his head. "Peter? The door is open; come in."
Abby held her breath as Peter Howard came into the room. He wore a long, black dressing gown, which covered him from shoulder to toe. Even though the garment revealed less of his body than his evening clothes, the sight of his long, lean figure made her shiver. Did James understand how hard it was for her to step outside the safety of the life she had created to achieve her goal? Somehow she sensed Peter would understand that better than her husband.
What would Peter make of such a domestic scene? She and James, chatting in front of a blazing fire like the old married couple they were. She swirled the brandy around but couldn't force any past her dry lips.
Peter kept his attention on her as James turned to smile at him. Her fingers tightened on the glass until they hurt.
"Am I welcome, Lady Beecham?"
She looked at him, and his pale blue eyes assessed her in return. His expression remained calm. She had no sense that he was challenging her for James's affections. He was not the kind of man to mock her or take advantage of her. His speech about honesty at dinner had convinced her of that.
"Yes, yes, you are." She put down her glass and hitched her bare feet higher until they disappeared beneath the hem of her white nightgown. "I was just about to tell James that I wanted to ask you some questions."
He sat down in the third chair and smiled at her. "That is an excellent idea. What do you wish to know?"
She looked at James, who nodded encouragingly.
"Ask him what you like, Abby. If you aren't happy to do this, we won't. It's as simple as that."
"I agree, Lady Beecham." Peter sat forward. "If we decide to proceed, it's because it's something we all want and desire. Not something forced on any of us."
Again his sincerity seeped through her uncertainty. He seemed to instinctively understand that honesty was something she and James both valued. She clasped her hands in her lap.
"Why?"
"Why would I agree to be part of this?" He smiled, and the sweetness of it made her want to smile back. "Because I am tired of my life and I wish to find a challenge. That would be the simplest answer."
"We are a challenge?"
"A sexual challenge I have never been offered before."
Abby frowned at him. "I'm not sure I wish to be 'won'."
Peter shrugged, the gesture elegant and fluid. "If we all learn something from this experience, perhaps we all win. I, for one, am willing to give it a try."
"Why?"
"Because I find you both fascinating and refreshing. Such honesty in a marriage is a rare commodity."
"And if I say no, will you still continue to see James?"
Peter murmured his thanks as James handed him a glass of brandy. "Not if it is against your wishes, my lady. I have never been the kind of man who comes between a husband and wife."
"Unless they ask you to, come, that is," James remarked. Abby frowned as she realized from Peter's quickly concealed smile that James had made a joke. It occurred to her that if she continued with this wild fantasy, she might soon be laughing along with them.
She silently begged God for some confidence. "I do not wish to end up as a figure of fun." She locked gazes with Peter. "If this is all an elaborate ruse to persuade James to leave me, I'd rather know now."
Peter sighed. "I understand how you feel, my lady, and I applaud you for your frankness. The only way I can prove to you that I am sincere is by giving you my word that I will never mention anything that happens between the three of us to another soul. If you can accept that, I believe we can arrive at a very satisfactory arrangement for us all."
She stared hard at him, noticed the seriousness of his expression and the directness of his stare. Despite her isolation, or perhaps because of it, she considered herself a good judge of character. Perchance it was time to make that leap of faith. She held out her hand.
"Please call me Abigail."
He took her fingers within his own and lightly kissed them. "And I am Peter. I would be honored to serve you, ma'am."
James leaned forward and covered both of their hands with his own. He squeezed hard. "Then shall we drink to our new association?"
Abigail sat back as James held up his glass. "To new beginnings."
She obligingly clinked her glass against the other two glasses and took a small sip of brandy. Her hand shook and the rim bumped her lip, splashing brandy onto her sleeve.
Peter's fingers closed gently around her wrist and righted the glass. "Relax, my lady, nothing is going to happen to you tonight. We need time to get to know each other."
She smiled at him as she swallowed some more brandy. "It's all right; I didn't think you were going to leap on me and tear my clothes off."
His smile held a hint of mischief and approval. "That's for tomorrow night, didn't James tell you?"
Abby put the glass down before she dropped it. "Are you jesting with me?"
"Yes, I believe I am."
She found herself smiling back at him and relaxing into her chair. Peter finished his brandy and glanced across at James.
"Before we go any further, I'd like to tell you something about myself. James might already have heard the gossip, but I think you should hear the truth."
James raised an eyebrow. "I thought we'd already agreed to proceed, but if you think it necessary."
Peter studied his empty brandy glass. "Twenty-four years ago, the ship I was on was attacked by pirates. Another boy and I were taken prisoner and sold as slaves in Turkey."
"I remember reading about this in the papers," James said. "You were rescued at the age of eighteen by an English merchant and returned to our fair shores."
"That's correct. We were slaves for seven years." Peter still refused to look at Abby. "What most people don't know is that we were slaves in a Turkish brothel."
Abby covered her mouth with her hand. "But you were only eleven years old when you were captured."
His mouth twisted. "I suppose we were lucky in some ways. At least the woman who bought us waited until we were old enough to get an erection before she set us to work as sex slaves."
"And how old were you, then?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Old enough to fuck and for her to be paid for it, that's all she cared about. It could've been worse." He gave her another charming smile, which didn't quite succeed in blocking the more horrific images his graphic language had conjured in her mind.
"Christ."
James finished his brandy in one swallow and slammed the glass down onto the table. Despite James's outburst, Peter kept his attention on her. "If my past offends you, I would be happy to leave your home. And of course, my offer to remain silent stands."
The clock on the mantelpiece wheezed and clicked as it struck the half hour. Abby made sure she kept her gaze fixed firmly on Peter. "Why should I be offended by your past? You were the one who had the tenacity to survive it, not me."
He smiled at her; the beauty of it made her want to weep. He was obviously not the kind of man who needed or expected to be pitied.
"Thank you for that."
James stood up and rested his hand on Peter's shoulder. Abby studied the brief flash of stark emotion that clouded his gaze. "As far as I am concerned, you will always be welcome here."
Peter reached up and patted James's hand. His long fingers were almost as dark as her husband's. She imagined them against her pale skin---against James's warmer tones, imagined them all mixed in together...
James touched her shoulder and she jumped. "I have to go back to London tomorrow. Will you allow Peter to stay and keep you company?" He winked at Peter. "There are two elderly female cousins who live in the house, and my mother resides down the driveway. I should imagine your reputation will be safe."
If she said no, would Peter leave as well? She smiled at them both. "It would be delightful to have someone new to talk to. I swear I've bored everyone here to death with my stories."
Peter took her hand and kissed it. "I'm sure you could never be boring, Abigail."
James laughed, his good humor apparently restored. "Oh yes, she can. You wait until she wants to discuss the theories of crop rotation or differing types of fertilizer just when you are trying to eat your dinner."
Abby scowled at him. "At least you were so bored you slept well that night."
Peter stood up and bowed. "I'm looking forward to many an evening of just such stimulating discussion, my lady. Now I will bid you good night. It's been a long day."
He nodded at James and retreated into his bedchamber. Abby noticed the way James tried not to follow Peter's movements with his eyes. With a sigh, she hugged him and kissed his cheek.
"James, if it will make you happy, go to him. I don't mind."
He met her gaze, hope shining in his. "Are you sure, Abby?"
She touched his cheek. "Yes, go and enjoy yourself."
He let out a breath. "Thank you. I'll make sure we are discreet."
Her smile disappeared as she shut the door into her chamber. She leaned against the brightly painted panels and listened for the telltale click of the opposite door opening. It didn't take long. She imagined Peter with his arms around James. She pictured them removing their clothes...goodness; she wanted to see them, to understand what they did together.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and stared at her cold, empty bed. Perhaps one day she would be brave enough to ask James to show her exactly what he did, but until then, she'd have to comfort herself and imagine.
7
P eter stripped off his tight-fitting brown coat and started on the buttons of his blue waistcoat. Eight days had passed since James had left him alone with Abigail, and each one had proved a surprise and a delight. His lover's wife intrigued him. She was intelligent, argumentative and fond of getting the last word. To his surprise he found her immensely stimulating both mentally and physically. She reminded him a little of Valentin's wife, Sara, although she wasn't as beautiful, or perhaps so amenable.
As he slipped out of his waistcoat and handed it to Tom along with his coat, he glanced at the pile of letters that had been delivered to him from home just before dinner. Even from a distance, he could see one of them bore the distinctive scrawl of his business partner.
In truth, he was astonished Val hadn't tracked him down and confronted him sooner. It wasn't usually his friend's style to allow matters to fester between them, although perhaps in this instance he was being cautious because of Sara.
After relinquishing his boots into Tom's tender care, Peter nodded at him to leave. He was no dandy who needed a servant's assistance to put himself to bed. He studied the pile of letters again. Damnation, he missed Sara. She accepted him exactly as he was and knew more about him than any other woman of his acquaintance. In bed she was as passionate as her husband, but unlike Val, she was fascinated by the endless sexual possibilities of allowing him to join in their play.
Peter's cock rose at the thought of Sara's lush body, and he cupped his groin. A tap on the door that led into James's room made him swing around, his hand still cradling his balls. Abigail stood there, her hair braided in one thick plait that hung over her shoulder. She glanced at his groin and looked away.
Slowly Peter dropped his hand to his side. What had James done to make her react like an untried virgin to the slightest sign of sexual intimacy?
"My lady? Is something wrong?"
He watched her gather her courage and sent her a quick smile of approval.
"Nothing is wrong." She cleared her throat, her fingers clasped around the end of her braid. "I just thought it would be interesting to..." She waved her hand vaguely toward him.
"Interesting to...?"
Color flushed her cheeks and her chin went up. "To come and talk to you like I do to James after we have dined, to become more intimate with you. Isn't that what this is all about?"
He turned back to the mirror, his movements slow and un-hurried. "Of course it is, and you are most welcome. If you wish to talk to me, I'll finish undressing and we can be comfortable."
He shook out the folds of his cravat and tossed it over the back of the chair. He was pleased to see Abigail decide to stay and settle in a chair. Keeping his back to her, he undid his cuff links and placed them on the dressing table.
"Will you fetch my dressing gown? It's on the bed."
She brought it to him, her gaze fastened firmly on his chest. He remained still as she hesitated in front of him. He held his breath as she reached out and touched his shirt.
"Surely you will be too warm if you keep this on under your dressing gown."
His nipples hardened as she continued to pet the fine lawn of his shirt.
"You're right. I'll take it off." He smiled down at her. "It's not as if you've never seen a man's chest before, is it?"
Her palm flattened against his shirt. "James always wears a nightshirt."
He laid his fingers over hers and trapped them against him. "Always?"
She sighed. "He doesn't want to be with me, remember? He doesn't like me to touch him in bed at all."
Peter guided her back to her seat and sank to his knees in front of her. "I think you are right, we should talk. Tell me all of it. Tell me about James."
"Why?"
She sat on the very edge of the wing chair, her hands clasped together on her lap, her gaze anywhere but on him.
"Because if I don't understand what happened to make you so afraid, how can I help you?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Abigail, you can't bear to look at me and I haven't even taken off my shirt yet."
She glared at him then. "As far as I understand it, all you need to do is unbutton your breeches and shove yourself inside me. Why should I worry about you taking off your shirt?"
Peter sat back on his heels. "If you think that is what making love is about, then you are truly ignorant."
"I'm a woman; I'm supposed to be ignorant about such matters."
"Is that what you want?"
She brushed surreptitiously at a tear. "I don't understand you."
He handed her his handkerchief. "Is that how you want to remain, ignorant and unsatisfied? Do you think that is what James wants for you?"
"James wants me to be happy."
Peter nodded. "Yes, and I can help you with that, but I need to understand what happened between you to see if I can resolve your problems." He waited as she screwed up the handkerchief between her hands. "Abigail, I want to help."
She raised her head and her gaze settled on the fire.
"I adored James; he was like the brother I never had. On the eve of my sixteenth birthday, his parents told me I was to be married. But I didn't find out until the ceremony that I was to marry James."
She sighed. "I thought to refuse, but when I saw what they had done to him, I remembered his kindness toward me, the way he defended and comforted me when my mother died, and I couldn't let him down."
"Of course not. Loyalty is very important to you, isn't it?" Peter kept his voice low, reluctant to pull her out of her story, sure that worse was yet to come. She sat up straighter, her fingers laced together on her lap.
"Our wedding night was a disaster. James' father insisted on remaining in the bedchamber to make sure the marriage was consummated. We were trapped together behind the bed curtains. I was terrified that if James didn't do his duty, his father would beat him again or do the job himself."
"Had James ever been with a woman before?"
Her smile this time was wry. "Apparently not, as he had no more idea of what we were supposed to be doing than I did. It would've made a marvelous farce on the stage. Living through it was not quite so amusing."
Peter tried to imagine the scene and failed. "But, forgive me for asking, how did you manage?"
She looked away from him again and he took her hand. "Remember, you can tell me anything. I've lived through a sexual hell of my own."
She returned her gaze to his. "James couldn't get an erection, and eventually his father sent his manservant to help him. The man thrust his hand through the bed curtains and roughly handled James's..."
"Cock," said Peter quietly. "Call it his cock."
"James's cock. He got hard very quickly and climbed on top of me. He told me to forgive him and then..."
Her gaze became shuttered as if even after all this time, her memories were too horrible to share.
"It must have hurt. I know how that feels."
"It was awful, and even more awful because I knew I couldn't make a sound in case the duke thought James was hurting me. I stuffed my hand into my mouth to stop myself from crying out. James was crying too. And even after all that, they still beat him half to death before they sent him away."
Peter stood up and busied himself fetching Abigail a brandy. "That wasn't your fault, was it? You did your best for him, didn't you? You weren't to blame for his father's actions."
She brushed angrily at the tears on her cheeks. "I know that. But at that point it didn't make me feel any better."
His lips twitched as he fought a smile. She continued to surprise him. He was reminded of Valentin, facing every potential disaster with his fists raised to fight. "No, I should imagine it didn't."
She glared at him, eyebrows raised in a question. "Do you find this amusing?"
He touched the corner of her trembling mouth with his thumb. How could he tell her that the courage and sense of loyalty she had displayed toward her friend at the tender age of sixteen inspired him and reminded him of his complicated relationship with Valentin?
"Not at all, I'm just appreciating your resilience and trying to resist the desire to kiss you and make everything better."
Her cheeks flushed even more red. "I'm not a child."
"I didn't intend to treat you like one." She swallowed as he bent his head and gently brushed her lips with his own. She tasted of her tears.
He kissed her again, more slowly this time, and allowed the tip of his tongue to outline her lips. She sighed and opened her mouth to him. One of her hands crept into his hair as he made his first delicate foray inside. He murmured his appreciation as her tongue met his in a shy dance of advance and retreat.
When he finally released her, his breathing was as erratic as hers. He held her gaze, let her see the arousal in his eyes.
"I want to kiss you again, but first, tell me something. When James returned from Jamaica, did he share your bed?"
Abigail frowned and absentmindedly stroked his cheek as if impatient to carry on. He captured her fingers against his skin.
"He did and it was still awful. After a few weeks, we agreed we would try to be intimate with each other only once a month in the hopes of making a child. It made it easier for us to share the same space and become friends again."
"And had he improved as a lover?"
Her smile was wry. "A little, but I still think he sees me as a friend, and that makes it more difficult for him to treat me like other women."
Her perception amazed him. For a woman who spent most of her life in the obscurity of the countryside she was remarkably astute.
Abby leaned forward, desperate for him to stop talking and kiss her again. He pressed his fingers to her lips. She pushed them away. Had she done it again? Had she managed to offend a man without even understanding why? Anxiety rose in a hot, red tide in her stomach.
"What's wrong? I thought you wanted to be intimate with me?"
"I do, but I think you need to slow down."
She straightened. It was her fault. There was something wrong with her. After hearing about her disastrous love life, Peter had lost interest. She struggled to keep the panic out of her voice, forced herself to be angry instead.
"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say to you? It's not as if I'm a virgin or anything."
His expression changed. "You are a virgin in every way that matters."
Coldness settled over her. Even she had heard the gossip from London. Peter obviously knew James bedded other women and had no trouble performing with them. There was something about her that repelled men. She raised her chin in a vain attempt to show him she didn't care.
"If I am that inadequate, please don't feel obligated to stay until James comes back. I'm sure he would be delighted to see you in Town."
He tried to take her hands, his skin warm against her cold, clenched fists. "You misunderstand me. I don't want to go. And as I said, I want to show you how much more enjoyable lovemaking can be when you are not afraid."
She fought a desire to close her eyes against the graphic images of James pushing inside her that still threatened her dreams.
"I also know how it feels to have sex with someone who doesn't seem to care if they hurt you or not."
"James never wanted to hurt me. It's my fault. I don't know how to please him, I don't..."
He took her chin in his fingers, his gaze hard. "Don't say that. It's not your fault and I'm going to prove it to you."
He drew her to her feet, his smile inviting and warm.
"I want you to undress me."
She stared at him. "Until you are naked?"
"Yes."
"And then what?"
"And then you may touch and play with me as much as you want."
A curious warmth ignited low in her belly. "Any part of you I wish?"
He glanced down at his breeches, smoothed a hand over the front. "Yes."
Abby took a step toward him. "And while I play with you, what will you be doing?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying it, I hope."
"You will not touch me?"
He sketched a cross over his heart. "I won't." He glanced at the bed. "In fact, if you don't quite trust me, when you have me naked, you can tie my hands to the bedpost so that I won't be able to touch you at all."
"How will this help me?"
"Because you need to see a naked man and learn how to arouse him. When you understand how to drive a man wild, you will also learn what arouses you." He gestured at the bed. "Think of me as one of those scientific experiments you are so fond of reading about."
Abby swallowed hard. She wanted to touch him so badly, and in truth there was nothing except her own fear to stop her. James would be delighted at her boldness. She marched toward Peter and started to pull his shirt from his breeches. He winced as she tugged at the front.
"Perhaps you might consider undoing my breeches first. My shirt is still tucked in."
Without raising her gaze from his waist, she set to work on the four buttons. When the front placket dropped away, she studied the shirt. Puzzled, she touched the wet patch in the center and felt the pulsing heat of his erection beneath it. She snatched her fingers away as if she'd burned them.
Peter let out an unsteady breath. "I'm already aroused. Be careful when you pull off my shirt."
Abby touched the spot again. Wet cloth and burning heat, the scent of laundry soap, musk and male. She used her thumb and forefinger to mold the damp cloth to the head of his cock. He remained still, his hands relaxed by his sides. Curious now, she bent down to take a closer look. Her braid brushed against his thigh and his cock jerked between her fingers. She hurriedly let go.
He obligingly lowered his head so that she could remove his shirt. It dropped from her fingers to the floor as she got her first view of his chest.
His skin was tanned and muscular and covered with a light dusting of gold hair. Amongst the hair rested half an ancient coin attached to a chain. A gold ring threaded through his right nipple caught her attention. She touched the warm metal with the tip of her finger.
"Does this hurt?"
"Not anymore. It hurt like hell when it was first done, but that was almost twenty years ago."
She couldn't resist giving the thin gold circle a gentle tug. "I'm surprised you keep it. I would get rid of any reminders from my years as a slave."
He breathed out, brushing the back of her hand with his chest. "Not all my experiences were unpleasant and it brings me pleasure. Why deprive myself of an exquisite sensation?"
She studied the ring and he stood quietly while she did it. It occurred to her that he had more patience than any man she had ever met. Had he learned that in the brothel? Greatly daring, she leaned forward and touched the golden hoop with the tip of her tongue. The smooth metal glided against her teeth. He made a sound low in his throat, a murmur of pleasure and approval.
She straightened and met his shadowed blue gaze. He let out a careful breath. "Ask me anything you want, Abigail; I'll try to answer you."
"Did you like that?"
He glanced down at his chest. "When you licked my nipple? Yes, of course I did." He returned his attention to her face. "I'd like it even more if you sucked it into your mouth."
"Like a baby?"
He shrugged, the movement highlighting his taut muscles, the tension coiled beneath his skin. "Like a lover."
Mesmerized by the expectation in his gaze, she latched on to his nipple and suckled him. She sucked until the point was hard and thrust against her tongue.
When she raised her head, he was panting. "Do it again; bite me a little. Do anything you desire, but don't stop."
She returned her attention to his chest, bringing her other hand up to caress and tease his left nipple. His skin smelled of the spiced wine they'd shared at dinner and cigar smoke. She wanted to lick her way all around his chest until she could taste nothing but him.
His cock nudged incessantly at her hip as he rocked into her. Her skin felt as if a thousand pins prickled over it. She wanted more. She wanted to see all of him.
His breath hissed out as she tugged urgently on his breeches. Thank God he'd already removed his tight-fitting boots or she would've been in trouble. He stepped out of his breeches, bringing his small-clothes with them.
Abby held her breath as he straightened and stood still in front of her. His cock was erect and strained upward toward his navel; a thin trickle of liquid on his shaft shone in the candlelight.
"You are wet."
He glanced down. "Yes, its pre-cum. My cock needs to be wet to slide inside you more easily."
She reached out a finger and collected a pearly drop of the fluid on her fingertip. Bringing it to her nose, she sniffed and then licked it into her mouth.
"Starchy and salty."
Peter swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on her mouth, the movement of her lips. She circled him and admired his tight buttocks, halted at the appalling sight of his scarred back. She touched the raised white lines and he shivered. She bit her lip, determined not to let her horror show.
"It is easy to forget what you went through. But now that I know what lies under your exquisite clothing, I'll never forget."
It was easier then to return and view his arousal. He made no effort to cover himself or hide his erection. His calm acceptance of his state made her less fearful and more accepting of the rising tide of her own sexual interest.
"Do you wish me to sit on the bed?"
Her gaze returned from contemplation of his cock to his face. Amusement at her unabashed appraisal mingled with desire in his narrowed eyes.
"No, will you just stay as you are?"
He shrugged, the movement making his stomach muscles ripple. "Of course, and remember, you may touch me in any way you want."
"And if I don't want to?"
"Then I'll get dressed and we can share a brandy in front of the fire and talk about our plans for tomorrow." He held her gaze, a smile in his. "This isn't meant to be an ordeal, Abigail. It's meant to give you pleasure."
Her hands fisted at her sides. "I want to lick you. I want to rub my face against your skin and breathe you in."
The amusement faded from his face and was replaced by something far more potent. "Then do it." He walked across to the end of the four-poster bed and grabbed hold of the bedposts with both hands. "Lick me."
Her body ached, her nipples were hard, and between her legs was a heaviness and warmth she'd never experienced before. Was this lust? Was this how a healthy female was supposed to react to an enticing male body? Gathering her courage, Abby placed her palm over Peter's heart, felt its frantic beat. She slid her hands down his back and nuzzled her face against his chest, enjoying the rasp of his hair and the tight buds of his nipples. Emboldened now, she touched his buttocks, cupped them in her hands as she continued to lick and suck on his chest.
He groaned in her ear, the urgent press of his hips driving his cock against the thin fabric of her nightgown, soaking it in his pre-cum. She shut her eyes and brought one of her hands around to touch his shaft. The heat and strength between her fingers made her body clench and then open as if in welcome. She discovered his softer flesh, slid over the hardness within, and wrapped her fingers around him.
"Ah, God, yes...just like that."
She looked up to see that his eyes were closed, his teeth biting into his lip as she pulled on his engorged flesh. She took a step back so that she could watch herself work him. Was there power for a woman in this after all? He looked as if she was giving him everything a man could want.
Her fingers were slippery with his pre-cum now and she tightened her grip. What she was doing wasn't pretty, and his equipment hardly seemed like anything she had seen in the medical books she read. But it was far more real and exciting. She enjoyed the sight of the swollen purple crown of his cock emerging from the softer skin of his shaft, the wet, urgent sound of his flesh as it slipped through her pale fingers.
"If you keep this pace up, I'm going to come."
"Come where?"
His words were terse, but she understood why now. Her own body was in the grip of an animal excitement she couldn't deny.
"Into your hand."
"And if I slow down?"
His smile held a hint of desperation. "Still into your hand but not quite so quickly. If you don't want to get wet, I suggest you stop."
"But you said it was up to me. You said I could do anything I wanted."
"I'm not telling you to stop. I'm just telling you that actions have consequences." His last word was a groan as she squeezed his shaft.
"I've never seen a man come."
His gaze fixed on her busily working fingers. "You've seen James."
"Not like this."
His breathing shortened and his hips jerked forward. "Well I hope you enjoy the experience because I'm..."
Abby hastily covered the tip of his cock as a stream of seed spurted out. She held him until he'd finished, watching in fascination as the starchy liquid trickled down between her fingers. On impulse she brought her hand to her mouth and tasted him again.
He choked a laugh at her obviously unguarded response.
"Don't worry, I believe it's an acquired taste." He continued to study her. "Are you done with me now? Shall I get dressed?"
Abby licked her lips. Did he know how she was feeling? Would he understand the way her body had responded to his arousal?
"I feel...strange."
"In what way? Have I frightened you?" He reached forward to touch her cheek.
She shook her head; her loosened braid brushed his knuckles.
"No, not at all." Despite her embarrassment she smoothed a hand over her breast, displaying her tight nipple through the fabric. "When James touched me I felt nothing, but now my breasts ache and between my legs..."
He smiled down at her as if she were a particularly bright student. "That's desire, Abigail. That's exactly how you should be feeling."
She gathered her courage. "But what should I do about it?"
Peter studied her flushed face. His little pupil was learning more quickly than he had anticipated. He crossed his arms over his naked chest and leaned back against the bedpost.
"That's entirely up to you. You can go back to bed and attend to your own needs or trust me to satisfy you instead."
She frowned as if the choices he offered her were too difficult. God, he wanted to touch her. Fill his hands with her breasts and slide his fingers deep inside her sex until she screamed her release. He reminded himself to be patient. He was a grown man, he could wait for his reward. It was more important that Abigail learned not to fear a man's lovemaking.
Absently, he smoothed a hand over his cock, which was already half-erect again. Her gaze fell below his waist, and his cock filled out even more.
"What would you do to me?" she whispered.
"Whatever you told me to."
She took a step closer until her breasts brushed his chest. "What if I asked you to take away the ache in my breasts, could you do that?"
"Aye." And increase the ache between her legs until she begged him to touch her there too. Before he could say another word she pulled her nightgown over her head, giving him his first view of her body. She was less well endowed than certain favored ladies of his acquaintance and thinner than was currently fashionable. Her skin fascinated him. It was a rich, creamy porcelain that he yearned to sink his teeth into. His gaze swept her long legs and narrow hips and came to rest on her small breasts, which were tipped with large, puckered red nipples. Why couldn't James see how desirable she was?
"You are beautiful."
She frowned, but to her credit, didn't try and hide from him. "I'm not. But thank you for the compliment."
He took her hand and guided her to sit on the end of the bed. "I don't pay empty compliments. You are beautiful to me."
She blushed, the color rising from her throat to her cheeks. The same deep scarlet as her nipples. He licked his lips as he studied the succulent tips.
"May I touch you?"
He sensed her uncertainty was temporarily cloaked by the incessant drug of desire. If she changed her mind he would gladly walk away from her if it ensured she was ready to play again another day.
"Yes."
He bent to kiss the space between her breasts, gentle kisses moving closer toward her nipple with every touch of his mouth. The scent of her arousal floated up to him, making him instantly hard. His mouth settled over her nipple and she jumped.
He slid his hand between her shoulder blades and held her still as his mouth ravaged her flesh, slowly sucking her into his mouth until she moaned and moved with him. God, she tasted sweet, her nipple as large, succulent and sensitive as a fresh berry. He fingered her other nipple, rolling it into a hard peak between his finger and thumb.
As he sucked her, she wrapped her arms around him, keeping him close. He worked his body between her thighs until the hot, wet center of her sex rubbed against his belly. Was she even aware that she was working herself against him like a cat in heat?
When he switched breasts, she moaned and grabbed onto his hair as if she was afraid he meant to leave her. His swollen shaft pushed against the unforgiving oaken frame of the bed, the roughness a salacious addition to his already-overloaded senses. He tried to murmur something soothing, but his mouth was too full of breast and the taste of her silky skin. She rocked harder against him. He imagined he could feel the nub of her swollen clitoris as he gently bit down on her nipple.
She went rigid against his belly and he felt the faint clench of her climax ripple through her skin. He jammed his cock hard against the bed frame and came with her, careful not to bite at the breast that still filled his mouth.
After a few long moments he released her and looked at her face. To his amusement she wore an expression of intense chagrin.
"What did you do to me?"
He glanced down at her tight, red nipples. "I sucked your breasts."
She waved a hand down farther. "Not there, here, between my legs."
"I think you did that yourself."
She frowned. "I don't know exactly what happened. At one moment I felt like a parcel that has been tied up too tight, the next it was as if I'd exploded like a firework."
Peter bit his lip. "That is certainly one way of describing it, and a very original one I might add. Most people simply say they have come, climaxed or had an orgasm."
She frowned so hard that her eyebrows met in the middle. "But I didn't think women were supposed to be able to do that. They don't have to release any seed, do they?"
Peter kissed her knee. "Abigail, perhaps we could discuss this after we wash and put on our clothes?"
"But I want to know!"
"Abigail..." He pulled on his dressing gown and tossed her nightgown over her head. "Bear with me, please. I would hate for you to catch a chill."
8
A bby pushed her arms into the long sleeves of her nightgown and hurried back to her chair by the fire. It gave her time to watch Peter bend to pick up his breeches and shirt. His skin gleamed in the flickering firelight; muscles moved beneath his bronzed skin with effortless ease.
She squeezed her thighs together as another warm coil of lust unfurled low in her stomach. Peter didn't seem appalled by her actions. In truth, he had seemed to enjoy her attentions and enjoyed pleasuring her back. She bit her lip as he joined her to sit by the fire, two glasses of brandy in his hand.
"How can you do this with me when you care for James?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Enjoy touching you, you mean?" He shrugged. "Because you are both so different."
"Perhaps it is because you don't really care for either of us and simply care about your own pleasure."
He went still, his gaze fixed on her face. "I'm not a whore paid to perform. I find pleasure in it, yes, but I tried to make sure you enjoyed it too."
Abby tore her gaze away from his and watched the brandy swirling in her glass. "So if we all enjoy ourselves that makes it right, then?"
"I'm not sure what you want me to say. Why should we not enjoy ourselves? Is it a sin to be happy?"
"It is a sin for me to bed you and a worse sin for you to bed my husband. Do those two wrongs make a right?"
He put down his glass and got to his feet. "Abigail, if you are angry with me for making you come, please just tell me."
A tightness crept up the back of her throat and tears filled her eyes. "I shouldn't have enjoyed what you did to me."
Peter discarded his robe and put on his breeches and shirt before he turned to her again. He sat down, one knee crossed over the other, his expression calm.
"I told James this might be too difficult for you. We are asking you to deny the social conventions by which most of us live."
"Don't patronize me!"
"Abigail, there is no shame in realizing you do not wish to renounce these things."
She shook her head, her mouth dry as he continued to stare at her. With a muttered oath he dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her hand.
"I'm more than sorry I've upset you. Despite what you might think, I've come to admire and respect you over the last few days."
She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. "You respect a woman who allows you to cuckold her husband?"
His head came up and he met her gaze, his eyes a harsh silver beneath the soft blue-gray. He got slowly to his feet and bowed.
"Lady Beecham, forgive me, but trying to make me angry will not help you feel better about what just happened. You, of all people, know how much James loves you, and insinuating otherwise is disrespectful not only to him but to yourself."
"You are suggesting this is all my fault?"
He bowed again. "I have some correspondence to deal with. I will remove myself from your presence." He picked up a pile of letters from his desk and strode toward the door. "If you wish me to leave in the morning, just tell Tom. He can help me pack."
Abby watched dry eyed as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She struggled to her feet and threw her brandy glass at the door. The tinkling sound of the breaking glass roused her from her stupor. How dare he speak of such personal matters and how dare he presume to know her better than herself!
She stormed back into her own room and flung herself on the bed. Despite her anger, her body mocked her, still filled with desire for a man who...Abby sat up. A man who respected and desired her. A man she'd driven away because of her own uncertainty and guilt. A man who had defended his lover, her husband, with quiet dignity and without flinching from her anger. She covered her face with her hands, felt her tears finally flow. What had she done and how on earth was she going to put it right?
She wanted a child not just for her own sake but for James. Despite his claims that his family name meant nothing to him, she knew how deeply his land and his house were embedded in his sense of self. Peter presented them with a perfect opportunity to turn their uncertain future into a happy one, where even if they couldn't love each other in the conventional sense, they could both love their child.
Abby scrubbed the tears from her face. If she wanted to achieve her desires, she would have to be bold for the first time in her life. She glanced at the clock and stripped off her nightgown.
Peter found his way down to the library and lit a few candles on the vast walnut desk. He threw his letters onto the leather surface, sat down and put his head in hands. How depressing that Abigail had suddenly rediscovered her social conscience. Her attempts to seduce him had stimulated and aroused him more than he could've imagined possible.
He stroked a hand down the front of his breeches. He was already half-erect again, his cock eager for her sex. He sighed. Damnation, how had he misjudged her so badly? She'd seemed willing, if not downright eager, during their lovemaking. Only afterward had she seemed to change her mind.
He sighed as he slid a paper knife beneath the seal on a letter from his bank and quickly scanned the contents. Over the years, he'd held enough weeping women in his arms to realize that most wives didn't have the ability to get back at their cheating husbands without suffering some emotional guilt.
The candles guttered and smoked as he worked his way through the pile of business correspondence. He'd told Adams not to bother to send any social invitations along as he was unlikely to be able to attend. He didn't even miss the endless round of parties and long evenings spent drinking and whoring. In truth, he had no close friends apart from the Sokorvskys and the Harcourt twins, and they were married now.
Walking and riding in the countryside around Beecham Hall with Abigail had been surprisingly restful, a balm to his troubled soul, in fact. He'd begun to crave the fresh air, clear skies and---her company. She didn't know of his reputation in London and so expected nothing from him but those things he chose to share with her, those parts of himself he usually kept hidden.
He half smiled. Who else would have encouraged him to elaborate on his plans for the business and his interest in the new forms of steam locomotion? Certainly not the ladies of the ton, who were far more interested in discussing his stamina in bed.
Reluctantly, Peter set the last letter aside and reached for Valentin's. If anything was guaranteed to make his erection disappear, it would be a diatribe from his business partner and former lover. He sighed as he read. Valentin was short and to the point. He wanted Peter to come back and explain himself. He was worried about Peter's mental state. Enclosed was a sealed note from Sara, who according to Val still knew nothing of Valentin's decision to keep them apart.
Peter smiled as the scent of roses mingled with the smell of candle wax.
Peter, where are you? Val says you are out of town and unable to be contacted, but I know something has gone awry between you. Val refuses to share anything with me, insisting any explanation is yours to provide. (How like my dear husband.) I hope he shared our wonderful news with you. If he didn't I will surely strangle the man and marry you instead. Please come and visit me at your earliest opportunity. Despite what Val has probably said, we both miss you. Your affectionate friend, Sara Sokorvsky
"Any explanation is mine to provide." Peter screwed up the note and threw it toward the fire. "How typical of Valentin to lay all the blame on me."
He grabbed a piece of parchment from the drawer and spent a good ten minutes attempting to make a decent nib for his pen. He'd write to Sara and congratulate her on her news, assure her all was well and that he would visit as soon as he was able. There was no point in alarming her with his and Val's troubles. Val knew him well enough to feel secure that Peter would never betray their difficulties to another soul. Especially not his wife.
Peter scratched his signature at the bottom of the page and addressed the letter to Valentin's house in Southampton, where Sara preferred to reside. Val's letter didn't warrant a reply. Nothing had changed. Peter still felt too raw to cheerfully pick up his friendship as Valentin wanted. He'd done it so often in the past and been grateful to be let back in. Not this time.
Peter sealed the letter with the Beecham family crest stamped over hot red wax and flexed his fingers. The long clock in the corner struck four as he stared at the pile of letters on the desk. What next then? A swift removal from Lady Beecham's house on the morrow and a long delayed trip to the north of England where he hoped to trace some of his family.
Or he could simply return to London and stay in bed with James for a week. Peter shifted in his seat as his cock stiffened. But would James want him once he realized Abigail didn't? Peter sighed. Probably not. The bond between the Beechams might be unusual, but it was as deep and solid as the bond between Sara and Valentin.
Sudden envy flooded him. How had all his friends found women to love them? Why was he the only one who was still alone? Perhaps he wasn't as good at fooling women as he thought. Did they sense the emptiness within him, the lack of self, of family, of substance? He glanced at the shadowed portraits on the wall. Even though Abigail believed she had nothing to offer, she had this. A family name to be proud of and a husband who was willing to go to any lengths to provide her with the child she yearned for.
His cock hardened as he imagined his seed creating a child with a woman who loved him. A child who would never know what it was like to grow up alone as he had. Peter stroked the growing bulge in his breeches and his aching balls. He slid a hand into his breeches pocket and drew out a silver cock ring. Opening his breeches, he slid his balls and shaft through the three rings, grimacing at the tightness of the cold metal against his heated weeping cock. A brisk walk up the stairs, a little rough play with himself in bed and he would be ready to face another lonely day.
He gathered his mail, blew out all but one of the candles and retraced his steps to the darkened hall. He left the letters on the table and turned to the shallow, worn stairs. The old house creaked and whispered as he passed through the narrow corridors, the smell of beeswax and dried herbs rising in the warm currents as he passed.
With every step, his swollen constricted cock brushed the taut buckskin of his breeches. He wished James were here to suck him dry, to kneel down in front of him and take him, drain him, cock ring and all, until he could no longer breathe.
When Peter opened his bedroom door, a draught blew his candle out. With a soft curse, he placed the candlestick by his bed and shrugged out of his clothes. He hadn't drawn his curtains completely last night. In the gray early morning darkness, the metal of the cock ring gleamed dull and tight against his shaft. He touched the crown of his cock, swirled his finger in the thick wetness and deliberately scraped his nail over his most sensitive flesh.
He climbed into the high four-poster bed and collided with a warm naked body. He grunted as his cock jammed against something hard and fought to move free. He grabbed hold of a flailing arm.
"Lady Beecham, what the hell are you doing?"
Abigail came up on her knees, her eyes bright and desperate in the half light.
"I don't want you to go!"
He tried to move away as his cock slid against her hip again. She scrambled after him and he caught her by the shoulders, keeping her at arm's length.
"There is no need for this now. We can talk in the morning."
He tried to sound patient and calm. God, he needed her to leave before he dragged her underneath him and pounded into her until she screamed her release to the heavens. She started to tremble.
"You no longer desire me, do you? I've driven you away."
He forced himself to relax his grip, slid his hands down over her naked arms in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"No, it's not that. It's late and you are obviously over-wrought and...Christ..."
Her hand brushed his cock and then fisted around him. He stopped moving as all his blood left his brain and pumped through his swollen shaft.
"Peter, what have you done to yourself?"
He grabbed her wrist, tried to prevent her from exploring. "Abigail, it's nothing, just let me take care of it." He groaned as her grip tightened.
"Is this my fault? Are you punishing yourself because I turned you down?"
"God, no...I..."
His hips rocked forward and an exquisitely painful sensation spread through his loins. God help him, he wanted her hand there, needed her hand there. She tried to pull away but he covered her hand with his own. He moved again, thrusting into her fingers, so wet now that he moved easily even within her tight grasp. Unable to stop, he threaded his other hand into her hair, keeping her close as his body took over the rhythm. He forgot about being civilized or apologetic and simply took.
"Harder."
He tightened his fingers over hers, needing the roughness and the friction to counteract the constraint of the cock ring keeping his shaft erect. She murmured his name, her gaze lowered to his groin and she put her other hand on his balls, squeezing tight.
"Yes, like that, hard, make me beg."
He kissed her neck, her shoulder, managed to find her breast and angle her nipple into his mouth. She shuddered as he sucked hard on her, showing her no mercy, demanding she take as well as give.
Groaning encouragement, his come gathered and his balls fought to crawl inside his body. Harsh movements now, pain, a mere breath away from the overwhelming pleasure, a game he knew how to play to the edge and back again. His cum spurted through their locked fingers and he fell forward, taking her down onto the mattress beneath him.
He concentrated on breathing, aware of her supple body crushed beneath his, the tightness of her nipples against his chest and the sticky wetness binding their hands at his groin.
With a silent groan, he managed to slide the cock ring off, wincing as the metal dug into his now-flaccid flesh. Abigail took it from his lax fingers and he rolled away from her, giving her plenty of space. So much for treating her like a lady. She'd seen him at his most basic and brutal. Would she take the opportunity he offered to run back to her bedchamber and pretend nothing had happened?
Peter lay on his back, one hand covering his eyes as if he hoped she might disappear if he didn't look at her. Abby knelt up and examined the device she'd taken from him. Three thick silver circles welded together in the shape of a triangle. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how he'd felt with the metal surrounding his flesh, the swollen heat of his shaft and the tightness of his balls beneath her fingers.
She flexed her crushed fingers, and her body tightened and cream gushed between her thighs. He'd used her to bring himself to pleasure in the most brutal fashion, more brutal than James had ever been, and yet she wasn't afraid. She wanted more. She glanced across at his tense form, touched the rapidly drying seed at his groin.
"Does this bring you pleasure too, like the nipple ring?"
"Aye."
He sounded exhausted, defeated even. Gathering her courage she leaned closer, trailed her fingers over his stomach and tangled them in the now-soaked hair at his groin. His muscles contracted and his cock twitched close to her hand.
"Does it hurt you?"
"It prolongs the sensations, keeps the blood in my shaft for longer so that it's harder to come."
She stroked one finger along the length of him, felt his shaft expand and shift against his thigh. Since making her outrageous decision to place herself naked in his bed, she had to leave her shyness behind. She jumped as he caught her wrist, stilling her wandering fingers.
"Abigail, why are you here?"
"In your bed?"
"Yes."
"Because I've gotten over my maidenly scruples?"
He stroked the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. "Somehow, I doubt that. I suspect you just don't like to lose an argument and are determined to prove me wrong."
She hesitated. "No, it's not that, although James insists I am remarkably stubborn." Despite Peter's restraining hand, his cock continued to swell beneath her fingers. "You were right about me. I scared myself because I wanted you so much."
"My lady, you don't know what you want."
Abby moved closer, her knees bumping against his side. "I know that I want a child and that you are going to help me achieve that dream. Isn't that enough?"
He came up on one elbow to stare at her, his fingers leaving her wrist.
"I don't know, is it?"
She stared into his calm blue eyes, found it difficult to believe that the man who'd suckled at her breasts and forced her to help him come was concealed beneath that polite, calm veneer. She worried at her lower lip, watched him follow the movement. Without answering his question, she bent her head and licked the top of his cock. He tasted so male; she licked him again and allowed the crown to slide inside her mouth.
His hand fisted in her unbound hair, forcing her to look up at him.
"Abigail, do you have any idea what you are doing?"
"Sucking your cock?"
"If you do that, I'll take you tonight. I'll be inside you. Is that what you want?"
She bent back to her task, swallowed more of him into her mouth. He took one of her hands, wrapped it around the thick base of his shaft and showed her how to move her fingers in time to her sucking. She closed her eyes, lost in the rhythm of her mouth and his erotic response to it. When he tried to pull away, she snarled and almost bit him.
He retained his grip on her, his hands firm and unyielding.
"Let me make this even better." His hands closed around her waist and he swung her over him so that she straddled him, her bottom close to his face, her mouth now only inches from his stiff cock. "Carry on."
She drew him into her mouth, yelped as his tongue swept over her sex and began to lick, suck and bite her most secret flesh. She fought to concentrate on him as her body writhed and swelled to his touch. Pressure built and she shamelessly ground herself against his sinful, lascivious mouth. He tugged on her hair again, dragging her away from him.
She tried to stop him, found herself flat on her back, her legs spread impossibly wide with him between them. He gazed down at her, his face wet with her cream, his cock dripping onto her belly. The stranger was back, the civilized educated man gone, along with his fashionable clothes and conversation. Was it always like this at the moment of consummation between a man and a woman or had she roused something different in him?
"Last chance to change your mind, Abigail."
He grasped his cock around the base and pressed it to her swollen sex, circling the knot of nerves above her aching channel.
"Please don't stop, Peter, please."
He drew back and positioned himself at her entrance. She kept her gaze on his as he slowly pushed inside her. His face contorted as he kept going.
"Christ, you're tight. You're squeezing my cock like a vise."
Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and he went still. "Abigail?"
"Perhaps there is something wrong with me. Maybe James wasn't the problem after all."
She tried to breathe normally, tried to stop her body from shrinking away from him. His mouth brushed hers.
"Don't say that."
He pulled out and knelt between her thighs. She felt the hot sting of tears on her heated cheeks. His fingers touched her face.
"God, don't cry."
His face became an indistinct blur behind her tears. She gasped as he kissed his way down her stomach and settled between her thighs, his breath warm on her quivering flesh. He licked her clit, one finger worked inside her, followed by another. She trembled as he increased the pressure of his tongue on her sensitive flesh; her hips came up off the bed toward his mouth.
"Aye, seek my mouth; take your pleasure from me."
His encouraging words vibrated against her thigh as he added a third finger, the slick wetness of her cream against his probing fingers loud in the silence. She concentrated on the sounds as her body tightened unbearably, gripping his shoulders as he worked yet another finger in, widening her impossibly.
She stiffened as a climax crashed through her, making her cry out his name. He kissed her throbbing clit, rose over her again and before she stopped convulsing, slid his cock deep inside her. This time there was no pain, only a sense of fullness and excitement that radiated throughout her entire body.
He held still over her, hands braced on either side of the mattress. A lock of blond hair fell over his eyes.
"Is that better?"
She nodded, unable to think coherently enough for speech while he held himself deep inside.
"May I continue?"
"There is more?"
"Good God, woman, what exactly did James do to you?"
She tried to push at his muscled chest, found she didn't have the strength to move him even an inch.
"James would spend all his time trying to get inside me and then he'd leave his seed and withdraw. What's wrong with that?"
A laugh shook through Peter, making her shudder too. "That man deserves to be shot for his treatment of you. I can't wait to show him the error of his ways."
He moved his hips back, then thrust back into her in a smooth relentless rhythm that made her pant with each forward movement. She closed her eyes and clung onto his shoulders, allowed him to guide her body into the position he wanted, and simply enjoyed. His pelvis rocked against her most sensitive parts, driving her toward another peak and then another.
She screamed as she came again, felt every inch of his cock being squeezed inside her clenching passage. Heard his answering groan and felt the hot spurt of his seed deep inside her. He collapsed over her, his face buried against her shoulder, his body shuddering.
Abby stroked his hair, waiting for the guilt to wash over her, and found her mind surprisingly clear. She suspected that would change later but concentrated fiercely on enjoying the moment, Peter's arms wrapped around her, his body pressed against her, his cock still inside her.
"Did you mean to make love to me like this?"
He groaned and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him.
"No, I intended to be far more gentlemanly. I hope that if you ever give me another chance, I would take my time and not scare you."
"You didn't scare me on either occasion." She stroked his chest, fingered his nipple ring. "I'm glad I caught you unawares."
"Glad that I was so demanding?"
She hesitated, lifted her head to catch his gaze. "Glad that you were yourself."
"Myself." He shrugged, the movement drawing him slightly away from her. "Of course, I am renowned for my generosity in bed."
She placed her hand on his thigh. "You were generous to me."
Even in the uncertain light she could see his smile was bitter. "Then I have achieved my aim." He removed her hand. "And perhaps you should go back to bed before you have another change of heart."
Abby sat up straight. "That's not fair."
"There's nothing fair about sex."
She bit down on her lip. "Why are you trying to get rid of me?"
He moved away until he sat on the edge of the bed, presenting her with his scarred back. "Perhaps for the very same reasons you used against me?"
"You feel guilty?"
He looked over his shoulder at her, his gaze intent, and she kept speaking.
"Guilty for what, Peter? For betraying James or for allowing me to see beneath that perfect gentlemanly veneer you wear?"
He got off the bed, walked across to the window to stare outside. Abby struggled to untangle her legs from the knotted sheets and follow him.
"I'm no gentleman, Abigail." He swung around. His body, bathed in the first rays of the sun, was stippled with color like a stained glass saint.
"My, you are feeling guilty."
His smile flickered out. "Aye, because you deserve so much better. You deserve to be sweetly wooed by a man on bended knee who will teach you about love and give you the time to learn to love him in return."
She came to stand beside him, aware of the wetness of his seed on the inside of her thighs and the dull ache between her legs.
"That sounds like a fairy story and I don't believe in them. I also believe I have a right to decide how I wish to be wooed."
He touched her cheek, his fingers cool against her flushed skin. "Abigail..."
She pressed her fingers to his mouth. "Don't tell me what I want." She reached down to encircle his cock with her hand. "Don't tell me how to think."
His breathing quickened. "I wouldn't dream of doing that."
She squeezed hard, felt his flesh respond and fill out between her fingers. "Then I want this. I want you inside me, teaching me everything I need to know. I want a child. No lies, no treating me like a fragile flower, just this."
Peter studied the hand wrapped around his shaft. Despite Abigail's brave words, her fingers trembled as did her voice. His cock didn't care, swelling and growing like some monstrous beast. He let out a ragged breath. Did she really believe she was capable of dealing with every one of his deviant, twisted sexual whims?
"You should go back to bed."
He winced as her hand tightened painfully on his already well-used shaft.
"I won't be treated like a child, Peter."
He grasped her wrist and held her still. "It is almost five. The maids will be coming to light the fire in your bedroom. Do you really wish the staff to find you here with me?"
"No, no, I don't."
She relaxed her grip, allowed him to step away. "Then perhaps you will allow me to visit you tonight so that we can discuss this matter more deeply?"
She turned to face him. "Do you promise not to leave today?"
"I promise." He touched her full lower lip. "Now go and get some rest."
She hesitated in front of him. "I thought I would feel guiltier, but I don't."
"Don't worry, you will." He maneuvered her toward the door and opened it with a bow. "Sex has a way of emptying good sense from a lover's brain. Unfortunately morning brings wiser counsel. Good night, Abigail." She frowned and Peter tensed for another argument. "Good night, Abigail."
"Good morning, Peter."
She sailed past him, her bare skin the color of the purest porcelain, her brown hair long enough to caress the curve of her buttocks. Her hair brushed his cock and he fought a desire to pull her into his arms, carry her back to bed and fuck her and fuck her until he forgot who he was or who he thought he was and simply found himself in her sex.
He turned back to his bed and climbed in. The scent of their lovemaking lingered on the sheets. He closed his eyes and remembered that first moment of penetration, the tightness of her channel, the perfection of her breasts. His cock jerked. With a groan, he wrapped himself in a sheet and fell into a well-deserved slumber.
9
"I am an adulteress. I have committed adultery."
Abby repeated the words out loud as she gazed up at the top of her canopied bed. She waited for a moment but nothing of a celestial nature troubled her. Outside her window, the birds sang, church bells tolled and the sounds of a busy household waking up continued. She said it louder.
"I am an adulteress and I'm going to church this morning. What do you think about that, God?"
Perhaps God was simply waiting until she was over His threshold before He smote her. For some reason, the thought didn't deter her. She felt better than she had since her marriage had begun. Would God understand that? Was He truly a loving God who would forgive her transgressions because He knew the purity of her intentions?
She got out of bed and made a face at herself in the looking glass. Perhaps that was taking things too far. She was unlikely to ever understand the workings of God's mind even if she studied them for a lifetime.
"Good morning, my lady."
Abby turned with a smile as Marie's cheerful greeting sang through the room.
"Good morning, Marie."
Marie set a rose-patterned bowl and a pitcher of warm water on the table beside her. "You're up bright and early this morning, ma'am. Did something awaken you?"
Abby smiled at her reflection. What would Marie say if she confessed that she hadn't slept at all? Caught up in remembering how Peter's body had felt moving over hers and her thrilling response to his maleness had kept her awake until the sun had risen.
"Which gown do you wish to wear to church this morning? The puce or the olive green?"
Abby bit her lip. "I don't suppose I have anything scarlet?"
Marie paused, her hands full of petticoats and stays. "Not that I remember, ma'am. Would you like me to check?"
"No, I'll wear the olive green." She sighed. "My mother-in-law would never have allowed her dressmaker to make me a scarlet gown."
Abby stood up and washed her hands and face. After her liaison with Peter, she'd cleaned the rest of her body and changed her nightgown. The flesh between her legs was still tender and her thigh muscles ached from being spread wide by his hips.
Marie deftly laced up her stays and helped her into the drab olive morning dress. Abby sighed at her dowdy reflection. If appearances truly were deceptive, no one would ever suspect she had enjoyed a night of passion with her lover.
"I'll have my breakfast downstairs this morning."
"Very good, ma'am."
Abby skipped down the stairs to the smaller of the two breakfast rooms and stopped abruptly in the doorway.
"Good morning, Abigail."
She stumbled into a curtsey, her horrified gaze fixed on her mother-in-law, the dowager Lady Amelia Beecham, who sat opposite Peter at one end of the small dining table. What on earth was her mother-in-law doing there? Perhaps God did have a perverted sense of humor after all.
Lady Amelia was dressed all in black. The five dyed ostrich feathers that topped her high poke bonnet waved majestically in the slight breeze from the open window behind her. Peter stood up and bowed.
"Good morning, Lady Beecham, I was just explaining to Lady Amelia how I came to be visiting with you."
"Indeed, Abigail. If you had any manners, you would have informed me that you had a guest. I could've helped you entertain." Lady Amelia smiled at Peter. "I only live half a mile away in that appallingly dilapidated cottage my son insists on referring to as my dower house."
Peter smiled back at the older woman. "But I have been well entertained. All I required was directions around the estate and a decent horse under me."
Lady Amelia sniffed. "That hardly sounds entertaining to me."
Before risking a word to either of them, Abby found herself a seat and heaped some food onto a plate. She buttered a piece of toast and slowly cut it into small squares.
"I beg to disagree, Lady Amelia." Peter said. "James asked me down here because I was worn out by my exertions in Town. It was a shame that he was called away so unexpectedly, leaving me to impose on my gracious hostess." He bowed in Abby's direction. "The beauty and hospitality of Beecham Hall have proved exactly what I needed."
To Abby's astonishment, Lady Amelia merely nodded before directing her fire back to Abby.
"Did you forget that today is the anniversary of my late husband's death?" Abby opened her mouth but Lady Amelia kept talking. "Did you tell James that he should be here to attend church with us and show his respect and devotion to his father?"
Abby cleared her throat. "I did mention it to James. As Mr. Howard said, he was called back to Town unexpectedly. He sent his apologies."
Actually, James had told her to tell his mother that the only thing he prayed for was reassurance that his father burned in hell. Over the years, Abby had become an expert at not passing along James's messages and had cheerfully taken the brunt of his mother's disapproval on her own shoulders.
"Pah, that boy will be too busy whoring and gambling in London to attend his own funeral."
Abby concentrated on drinking her tea as her mother-in-law continued to mutter about James. Would James be out whoring or would he be too busy wondering what she and Peter were up to? To her eternal gratitude, Peter kept up a light stream of conversation that kept Lady Amelia sufficiently amused and her interest away from Abby.
Abby studied Peter as he nodded encouragingly at Lady Amelia, who appeared to be simpering. He wore a dark gray coat and cream waistcoat over buff-colored breeches and polished boots. His elaborately tied cravat was secured with a pearl pin. As if aware of her scrutiny, Peter winked at her.
She wished she had his ability to soothe troubled waters with such grace and patience. More often than not these days, she ended up offending her mother-in-law, who would then leave in a huff and refuse to speak to her for weeks. Her gaze lingered on Peter's breeches. Did he wear those rings around his cock during the day? Was he wearing them now?
Her spoon clattered to the floor, earning her a frown from Lady Amelia.
"You can see why my son doesn't bother to come home, Mr. Howard." Abigail set her teeth. It was an old complaint. "Why would he bother to stay around a woman who has proved both barren and ungrateful to those who have elevated her far above her true station in life?"
Peter put down his napkin and rose to his feet. "I have never heard James speak of Lady Beecham other than in terms of the greatest respect." He bowed. "Perhaps there are other reasons why he stays away."
Lady Amelia frowned at him. "Well, I cannot think of any. You are coming to church with us, young man?"
"I would be delighted to represent James in this matter. I'm sure he is truly devastated about not attending today."
Abby caught his eye and he winked at her again before leaving the room. How was he able to do that and not let Lady Amelia see? Abby finished her toast and poached eggs and wiped her mouth with her napkin.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment, mama-in-law, I'll just go and put my bonnet on."
Lady Amelia pointed a black-mittened finger at Abby. "It is most improper of you to entertain a gentleman in your house when your husband is not present."
Abigail held her gaze and kept her voice steady. "Mr. Howard is a friend of James. They came down together. When James had to leave he asked me if Mr. Howard could stay on for a few days to recuperate. I am scarcely alone in the house with him, and I fail to see how obeying my husband's wishes are any of your concern."
"You are up to something, missy, don't think I don't know it and don't imagine that a gentleman such as Mr. Howard would stoop low enough to notice you."
Abby turned toward the door. "Mr. Howard is indeed a gentleman. That is all there is to it. If you fear for my virtue, why don't you move back into the house and chaperone me?"
Lady Amelia got to her feet. "There is little need for that. This house is full to bursting with aged relatives and hangers-on. And if you can't even entice your husband to your bed, why should I worry about your pathetic attempts to lure another man into it? Mr. Howard will laugh in your face."
Abigail averted her gaze from the vitriolic glee in the dowager's eyes. She had never been a very good liar. Some part of her yearned to shock her mother-in-law into silence by confessing her sins. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite bring herself to do that to James or Peter. And the knowledge that another man did find her desirable was still too precious to share with anyone.
"I'll meet you in the hall, ma'am."
Abby curtsied and made her way back up the stairs to her bedroom to pick up her favorite bonnet. If she was to be struck by God's vengeance as soon as she entered the chapel, she intended to look her best.
Peter risked a glance at Abigail as she waved off Lady Amelia's carriage from the front steps of the house.
"Lady Amelia doesn't like you very much."
She turned to him, a faint smile on her lips.
"No, she hated the fact that I had to marry James and she's tried to make me feel inferior ever since."
He took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm and led her away from the house toward the gardens. Soft sunlight filtered through the golden-hued trees and the first fallen leaves crunched underfoot. He glanced down at Abigail. Her soft brown hair was braided in a coronet on the back of her head, giving her a studious and old-fashioned air.
"Despite her obvious dislike, she doesn't intimidate you, does she?"
"She used to. But I realized that however hard I tried to please her, it would always be my fault that James hadn't turned out to be the son she wanted. She has no idea of his true nature and why he hates his father so much."
Peter chuckled. "I think James has turned out remarkably well considering, don't you?"
She sat on a small stone bench with a view of the ornamental lake and arranged her skirts around her. "Sometimes I do, and then I catch a certain look in his eye and wonder if I really know him at all."
"What do you mean?" Peter took the seat beside her and held her gloved hand.
"When he came back from the West Indies, he had changed."
"In the sense that he was no longer a boy but a man?"
"It was more than that. One good thing was that he seemed to accept that he couldn't change his nature. He tried to be honest with me about what he could offer within our marriage. He even offered to secure a divorce, which I refused. But sometimes I think he still wishes he was back in the past and that he'll never be complete living here."
Peter frowned. Yes, he'd sensed that about James too. A yearning for something, a search for yet another experience to block out or negate the past. Was that one of the reasons he was so attracted to him? That shared sense of loss and desire for completion?
"I know how he feels. Recently I have discovered a desire within myself to investigate my past."
"Before you were kidnapped?"
"Yes. After the pirates attacked our ship I was unconscious for several days. By the time I woke up in the brothel, my memories had all but disappeared."
Abby considered him, her head on one side like a curious bird. "You do not know your family?"
He managed a smile. "I don't even know if I have a family or if Howard is truly my surname. Before I met you and James, I was intending to travel up north and see if I could find out anything about my relations."
She squeezed his hand, her expression serious.
"You should do so. Everyone should know their family."
He chuckled. "Even if they are old harridans like Lady Amelia?"
"James loathes her. It is one of the reasons why he hates to come home." She shrugged. "The other being me, of course."
Peter glanced around; they were concealed from the main house and the pathway was empty. He slid his fingers under her chin and raised her head until he could look into her somber gray eyes.
"That will change. Soon you will not have to worry about James seducing you. You will be the one doing the seducing."
She moved closer, her light scent filled his nostrils and he bent to brush a kiss over her soft pliant lips.
"I didn't go up in flames."
Peter drew back to look at her.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, I didn't go up in flames when I entered the church. I was wondering if God really would smite me down for committing adultery."
He smiled. "I believe God gave us free will. We simply have to live with the choices we make."
She held his gaze, no shadow in hers. "I am quite happy with my choices, are you?"
"Indeed I am. But then, I'm not the one who is married."
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten. You are a rake. You are expected to ravish married women."
He grimaced. "It is not something I'm particularly proud of. In truth, just before I met you, I'd decided to change my ways."
"And get married?"
"Who would have me?" He shrugged, offered her a guarded smile. "A man who works for a living and has no family to speak of?"
"A man of integrity and worth."
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, a strange feeling of warmth in his stomach. "Thank you for that. But I intended to curtail my amorous activities until I knew what I wanted."
"And then you met James."
"Yes, and then I met you."
She touched his mouth, traced the curve of his lip, her expression serious. "I cannot believe you are the same man whose bed I crept into last night."
"Why is that?"
He turned his head until her finger slid into his mouth and gently sucked on it. She shivered and moved closer.
"Because, here you sit, a veritable fashion plate of a London gentleman and yet under these fine clothes..."
"I'm naked?"
He stroked his hand down over her back.
"Yes, naked and different and..." She moaned as he kissed her hard on the mouth. Her hand slid into his hair to hold him close. He kissed her again, licked her ear and bit gently down on the curve of her throat.
"Naked and aroused, now, thanks to you. If you look down at my breeches you can see what you have done to me." He took her hand, pressed it to the swell of his cock. "Does it please you that you can make me hard in an instant?"
"Yes." She hesitated, her teeth teasing her lower lip. "All through the service this morning, I kept wondering if you wore those metal rings around your cock all the time. If you had them on in church."
His cock responded with obvious enthusiasm and he shifted in his seat.
"No, not all the time and certainly not in church. I was half-erect simply sitting next to you."
She'd reached for his gloved hand during the sermon, held it concealed in the folds of her skirts until it was time to stand for the last prayer. He returned to her mouth and kissed her again, more possessively this time. She let her hand lie in his lap, cupping his growing erection. He nipped at her lip.
"If our choices are made, and there is to be truth between us, I want my cock in you now. I want to slide you down over my shaft and thrust into you until I come."
She shuddered, her breathing uneven. "Surely I cannot take you up to my chamber in broad daylight."
"All you have to do is sit astride me. Your skirts will cover the opening in my breeches and as long as you don't scream too hard, no one will come to disturb us, especially on a Sunday."
He waited for her reaction, fascinated to see if she would allow him such liberties in public. Normally he wouldn't risk such a public assignation with such a naïve partner. Perhaps Abigail's direct approach to the mysteries of sexual intercourse was affecting him after all. In truth, it was a relief not to have to think of something clever to say to excite a woman who was as jaded as he was.
"Think of the delicious contrast," he murmured. "The majority of our clothes chastely in place while our sexes join in naked, wet congress."
She frowned, her attention fixed on his cock. "How is it that your words make me feel strange?"
"In what way strange?" He ran his finger along the appallingly high neckline of her gown.
"As if my body is melting. As if between my legs everything is swollen and wet and throbbing."
He let out a slow, careful breath. "Abigail, you have no idea what you do to me when you say things like that, do you?"
She frowned. "Do I disgust you? I thought we were to be honest with each other."
"You do not disgust me. You make me want to forget all about being a gentleman and simply fuck you." He slid his hands around her narrow waist and drew her astride him. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. He pressed on her buttocks until her sex rubbed against his cock. "Does this feel like disgust?"
"No, it feels...wonderful."
Peter took one last wild look around and reached down to unbutton his breeches. His cock sprang free and caught in the bunched-up skirts of her gown. He slid his hand under her skirt and petticoat, found her sex and groaned.
"You weren't joking about being wet and ready for me, were you?" He slid one finger deep inside her.
She looked down. "Is that what I was feeling? I wasn't sure. I just felt empty as if I needed something."
He added another finger. "You needed to be filled by my cock and my seed."
Her mouth formed a perfect "oh" as he worked her, his thumb circling her clit even as his fingers scissored inside her. Her nails dug into the fine cloth of his coat as she rocked her hips in time to his movements. His cock pushed against her gown, staining and darkening the green satin until he roughly pushed the skirt aside. Her passage tightened about his fingers and he stilled.
"Wait, this will make it even better."
He lifted her again, turning her around to face the lake and slowly lowered her down onto his cock. He set his teeth as her tight passage gradually gave way to the pressure of his thick shaft. She whimpered as she came to rest against his groin, his tight balls tucked neatly under her buttocks.
"Is the lake man-made?"
Peter moved his hand until it cupped her mound, rubbed his fingers over the swollen bud of her clitoris.
"What?"
He increased the pressure and felt her twitch around his cock. "Is the lake natural or man-made?"
"It's man-made, diverted from the River Roding." Abby gasped as Peter continued his slow torment of her sex. "Why are you asking me this now?" Her heart threatened to burst through her bodice as he touched her. She glanced down at her dress. She looked immaculate. No one would realize that beneath her skirts, Peter's cock filled her and his hand played idly with her sex.
"I am just making conversation, Abigail." He nuzzled her neck. "Don't you think it is a beautiful day to be sitting out watching the swans on the water?"
"Yes."
She wasn't as expert at concealing her feelings as he was. She wanted him to move, to either end or increase the sexual tension coursing through her veins. She tried to rock her hips but he wrapped an arm low around her waist until she went still.
"I could sit here all day."
"Like this?" She tried to breathe normally.
"Why not?"
"Someone might come by."
"As we have already agreed, what would they see? A man and a woman sitting together watching the sun on the lake. They would never know that my cock is buried deep inside you and that my thumb is slick and wet over your beautifully swollen clit."
His hand moved from her hips. "Of course, if you weren't wearing such an appalling gown, my other hand would be cupping your breast, my thumb working your nipple in the same rhythm as I circle your clit."
"My gown is not appalling."
He flicked her swollen bud, making her jump. "All your clothes are appalling. The first thing I intend to do when we arrive in London is take you to a modiste I know and make James buy you a whole new wardrobe."
"I am not going to London."
She sounded breathy, quite unlike herself. Quite soon, if he didn't do something more definite with his cock, she was going to become even more unladylike and start to writhe and beg and plead.
"Yes, you are. You will enjoy the experience with both James and me to guide you."
She shuddered at the thought of James and Peter and climaxed, her breath coming in choppy gasps as Peter murmured his encouragement in her ear. It took her several moments to realize that his cock was as hard as ever and remained buried inside her.
"Aren't you going to...?"
"Come?"
His fingers returned to play with her clit and she stifled a gasp.
"Not yet. As I said, I am enjoying the scenery too much to want to exert myself."
He resumed his gentle stroking on her already-over-sensitized flesh.
"Did the thought of James make you come?"
She stiffened. "Why would you think that?"
"Because he is your husband?"
She swallowed hard. "I imagined him, standing here, watching us."
His finger stilled on her clit. "And did he approve?"
"He was smiling."
His fingers resumed stroking, one circling the place where they were joined. He sounded huskier, more intense. "Then mayhap we should assume we have his blessing."
"Do you think he would enjoy seeing us together, like this?"
"Aye, I think he would. How could he not? After all, he wishes us both to be happy."
Tired of waiting for him to move, Abby brought her feet up onto the edge of the stone seat to give herself some leverage.
"I don't have time to sit here all day, Peter."
She braced her feet, realized she could then slide herself up and down over his shaft. He groaned, his hands grasping her hips, helping her balance as if he couldn't stop himself from aiding her. She tried to speak through the growing pleasure.
"That is much better, I can feel every inch of you."
"You are such a resourceful woman, Abigail."
His breath hissed out between his teeth as she found a rhythm she liked and worked herself over him. His fingers returned to torment her clit, sending her over the edge into a shattering climax. He started to thrust upward, his remaining hand forcing her down onto him, leading her into another orgasm and the hot explosion of his own.
Abby leaned back against him, her head on his chest, her feet falling limply to the ground.
"Now I feel like sitting and staring at the swans for a long while."
He lifted her slightly and withdrew, then buttoned his breeches. He pressed his handkerchief between her legs and sat her beside him.
"Did you know that swans mate for life?"
Abby glanced up at his serene face. What had he looked like when he climaxed? Had he looked as desperate as she had felt? She stared at the lake.
"Did you mention the swans to remind me that I have betrayed my wedding vows?"
He glanced down at her. "Why do you assume that every remark I make to you is meant to provoke an argument?"
Abby got up and smoothed her wrinkled skirts down over her shaking legs. "Perhaps because I have no experience in the kind of romantic talk that goes on between a lady and her lover."
"I'm glad about that." Peter stood up and looked down at her.
"Glad that I argue with you all the time instead of sigh over your fine manly features and the cut of your coat?"
He smiled slowly, his blue eyes narrowing with amusement. "Yes, because I find it deeply refreshing."
She laid her hand on his arm and stood, and they turned toward the kitchen gardens on the west side of the house.
"As I told you before, I have grown tired of the posturing and falseness of the ton. I enjoy the opportunity to be with someone who is honest and forthright."
"You mean you have run out of pretty things to say."
He frowned. "Perhaps you are right. The insincerity no longer sits well with me."
"So I should continue to be as honest and assertive as I like with you?"
He kissed her hand, his expression solemn. "My lady, that would be delightful."
10
"I s this message really so urgent that my business partner had to almost kill you and your horse to get it here?"
"Apparently, sir."
"Thank you, then." Peter nodded at the mud-spattered man in front of him. "Go and get yourself something to eat and drink in the kitchen while I see if this letter needs a reply."
Without speaking, Abigail led the way out of the great hall and into the study. Peter followed, his thoughts in a whirl. She handed him a paper knife and he ripped through the wax seal of the letter.
"What the devil does Valentin want now? And how did he know where to find me?"
"Did you write to him?"
Peter paused. "I wrote to his wife and I used your family seal on the wax. Perhaps he got the information from Sara." He bent his head to scan the letter.
It appeared that his idyllic two weeks with Abigail were about to be ruined. The message was short and followed by Valentin's scrawled signature and private seal. He looked over the top of the paper at Abigail.
"Lord Sokorvsky insists I meet him at our Southampton office this weekend."
"Does he say why?"
"Only that it concerns a matter of great personal significance."
Peter stared at the letter. What on earth did Val mean? Was something wrong with Sara or was this simply Val's latest attempt to force him into a confrontation? He frowned. Still, it was unlike Val to go to such lengths without a good reason.
"At least that gets me out of going to London."
Peter snapped his attention back to Abigail.
"No, it doesn't. You have already agreed to meet James with me. You can come to Southampton first and then on to London."
"What if I don't wish to do that?"
"Why would you not?"
Abigail placed the knife back into the desk drawer and slammed it shut. She walked away from him, arms crossed over her chest.
"We have had a perfect two weeks. Why not end it now?"
His gut tightened as he studied her defensive posture. "Do you really think I am ready to leave you?"
She turned, her chin high in the air, her smile deliberately bright. "I have proved an apt pupil for your lessons. Perhaps this is merely a preconceived ruse to ensure your escape."
He stared at her, unaccustomed anger rising through his carefully constructed layers of politeness. "You really do have a low opinion of yourself, don't you."
She whipped off her spectacles. "What on earth do you mean?"
He shrugged. "So ready to believe I would walk away from you at the first opportunity I get, everything between us unfinished."
Her hands balled into fists. "Why wouldn't you? Everyone else has."
He held her gaze, noticed the hint of tears in her eyes and sighed.
"Because we agreed to be honest with each other. If I wanted to leave, I would tell you." He held out the letter. "Read it yourself. Make sure I'm not deceiving you and then tell me how I can ignore such a plea from my oldest friend and not hurt you in the process."
She walked back toward him, took the letter from his outstretched hand and dropped it behind her on the desk. Briefly he considered ducking as she squared up to him.
"Perhaps I should go to Southampton with you and then on to London to meet James?"
He let out a breath he'd been unaware he was holding. She was truly magnificent. "What an excellent idea."
Peter dismounted from his horse and swiped at the driving rain that obscured his vision. A moment later, the Beecham carriage rattled through the arched entrance into the malodorous inner courtyard. The nearest door of the carriage half opened, and a small booted foot appeared. Peter hurried to the aid of James's cousin Trixie, who descended from the carriage with a speed and agility that defied her sixty-two years of age. Cousin Trixie lived at Beecham Hall and had been thrilled to be whisked away on an adventure with Abigail.
A servant hurried up with an umbrella and escorted a chattering Miss Trixie inside the Dolphin Inn. Peter remained to help Abigail down the steps.
"Be careful, my lady. It is still raining quite hard."
Abigail wrinkled her nose as she took in her dismal surroundings and allowed him to hurry her inside. To his relief, the landlady awaited them in the narrow hall. She curtsied, muttered about the weather and offered hot rum. Abigail visibly perked up and headed for the stairs, chattering animatedly as she ascended.
Despite its depressing exterior, the inn was small but clean, the ceilings low and warped with age. Peter inhaled the welcoming scent of lavender and hops, bumped his head on the low doorway and hissed a curse. It took him but a moment to settle Miss Trixie into the room that should have been his and place his bags in the one adjoining Abigail's.
He knocked on the connecting door and found Abigail warming her hands by the fire, her bonnet laid out to dry on the table.
"I advised Miss Trixie to eat in her room tonight and ordered her a fine dinner. We shouldn't be disturbed."
She turned to smile at him. Her damp hair curled around her face and her cheeks were flushed. "Cousin Trixie is a dear. She told me not to worry about Lady Amelia finding out anything about you and me."
"You told her about us?"
"I told her nothing. She imagines she is aiding a tragic love affair. She is an incredible romantic at heart and has always wished me well."
"You deserve a love affair, Abigail." He kissed her mouth, found her lips were still cold.
She laughed, and the sound made him want to smile right back at her.
"Not a tragic one, I hope. I'm not the kind of woman who dreams of dying in the arms of her one true love or contemplates throwing herself off a cliff."
"I'm glad to hear it. What a horrible mess to clean up." He kissed her again and gestured at the door that linked their suites. "After our dinner, I'm going to take off the rest of these wet clothes and have a bath. Do you care to join me?"
"In the bath?"
"If you wish."
She studied him, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "I would like that."
He smiled as his anticipation rose along with his cock. "So would I."
By the time he was immersed in the bath, Abigail perched on the side, clad in his dressing gown, a glass of brandy in one hand and an apple in the other. He grinned up at her.
"Come into the water."
"There does not seem to be much room."
"There is plenty of room if you straddle me."
She let the dressing gown drop to the floor. His throat closed up at the sight of her luscious body leaning over him, the glimpse of her sex as she climbed into the bath, the slight sway of her breasts against his face.
His stiff cock slid against her belly as she settled herself over him. He handed her a washcloth and almost purred when she began to rub it slowly over his chest. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation more. When was the last time someone had cared for him with such gentleness? He and Val had tended each other's wounds in the brothel but that was different.
"Peter, when you go to bed with James, how exactly do you manage?"
"Manage what?"
He opened one eye and regarded her. Stupid of him to think she would let him enjoy the moment without another infernal question. She blushed furiously, her gaze fixed on the movement of the washcloth in her hand.
"Ah, you mean how do James and I make love?" He slid lower in the water, bringing her breasts closer to his mouth and licked her nipple.
"Men do not have the same equipment as a woman."
Peter tried not to laugh at her prim tone as he slid his hand around the curve of her bottom. He'd learned she hated not to know everything.
"Men have some of the same orifices as a woman, just not as many." He slid one well-soaped finger past the tight bud of her anus. "I take James here and in my mouth."
She wriggled closer so he suckled her breasts for a while and added another finger, his thumb circling her clit as she moved sensuously against him. Water lapped at his chest and trickled over the sides of the bath to the floor.
"Can you take a woman like that?"
He opened his eyes fully and stared into hers. "Yes, with patience and time." He scissored his fingers inside her. "I've already begun to prepare you to take my cock there, haven't you noticed?" He returned to her hard nipples, biting and licking them until she moaned with each deliberate flick of his tongue.
Three fingers now, the most he'd ever pushed inside her. He kissed her mouth, brought his other hand down to her sex. His aching cock rubbed against her belly. "When James and I take you together, you'll need to be ready."
"Take me together?"
"Of course. Isn't that what you want? Two men pleasuring you with their hands, their mouths and their cocks?"
She climaxed unexpectedly against his fingers, her teeth biting into his lip until he tasted his own blood. With a groan he lifted her up and over his shaft, brought her down in one long stroke and pumped hard into her soft willing flesh.
Before she finished shuddering, he lifted her out of the bath and laid her on the bed, her legs spread wide, his shoulders between them. He grabbed a drying cloth from the stack beside the bath. Using the corner of the rough fabric, he carefully dried her sex. As he worked, her hips moved restlessly on the covers and cream flowed to glisten on the plump rose-red folds of her pussy.
He nudged her clit with his nose, licked her from front to back in an endless lap of pleasure until her hand fisted in his wet hair, driving him on or holding him back he could no longer tell.
"I never thought to have you both."
He lifted his head to look at her. Her damp hair fanned out on the pillows and her nipples were still hard from his mouth. He climbed on the bed and crawled over her, his wet hair patterning her skin with water, his cock adding a thicker pool of pre-cum on her stomach.
"How did you think I would teach James how to appreciate your body and give you pleasure?"
"I thought he would watch, while you..." She waved a hand at his groin.
"While I fucked you? Sometimes he might watch and sometimes I might watch him." He bent to brush a kiss against her lips. "But mainly we will be making love to you together." She shivered and he paused, all his concentration on her face. "Does that displease you?"
She opened her eyes. "No, it doesn't displease me at all." She touched his cheek. "You will not let him hurt me."
"Trust me, after I've shown him the error of his ways, he will be incapable of hurting a hair on your head."
"It's really not all my fault, is it?"
He kissed her again, groaned as his aching cock slid against her slick skin. "I told you it wasn't. James simply needs to learn how to bring out the best in you. If I can do it, he can too."
"But what if he doesn't want to?"
"Abigail, he does. Why else would we be here like this together if he didn't intend to try to give you a child?"
She bit her lip as she considered him. He braced himself for another round of questions.
"Do you like it when James makes love to you?"
"Aye, and you will too, I assure you."
"He doesn't hurt you?"
"No and he won't hurt you either, I promise."
Her fingers trailed down his chest and he froze in place over her, his breathing as uneven as hers. She stroked his cock and he groaned.
"Can you show me how it might feel?"
"How what might feel?"
"Having another man inside me."
He blinked hard, struggled to find the discipline that had seen him through a thousand sexual encounters and realized it had deserted him. He stared down at her, the directness of her gaze made his cock swell even more.
"If you wish."
He got off the bed and prowled the room looking for something suitable to introduce her to the pleasures of anal play. He pinched out the flame of one of the slender tallow candles on the mantelpiece and pulled it free of the candelabra. He smoothed the cylinder of wax with his fingertips. Not too thick or too long but firm enough not to break when he slid it inside her.
He turned back to the bed where she had raised herself up on one elbow and watched him intently. He fought a smile. Abigail would always want to know exactly what was going on and have a thousand questions to ask whilst he did whatever she required.
"This will be perfectly adequate for our purposes tonight."
She took the candle from his hand and studied it, a small frown creased her brows.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
Peter gently pushed her back down on the bed and kissed her before she could ask any more questions.
Abby squirmed as Peter kissed her; his hands roamed her body and brought that now-familiar ache back between her legs. His fingers drifted lower and settled over her sex, drawing the thick cream from within her, swirling it around her swollen lips until all she could hear were the lush sounds of her own desire.
His fingers probed her buttocks and one slid past her anus. She tensed but felt nothing but pleasure as he continued to fondle her. His mouth slid over her sensitive breasts, the rough hint of unshaven skin enough to set all her senses on fire.
"Imagine it, Abigail. Imagine how it would feel to have two men touching you like this."
She closed her eyes, tried to picture James and Peter bending over her, the contrast between James's dark muscular body and Peter's lightness, James's brute force and Peter's finesse. She moaned and her juices thickened under Peter's skilled fingers. He slid a pillow under her buttocks, displaying her secrets to his gaze.
She looked down, saw his fingers buried knuckle deep in both of her passages, imagined two cocks there instead. Her hips rose off the bed in an instinctive plea, and he smiled.
"James will be underneath you, his cock primed and ready to take you in the arse. My cock is also ready to take you here." He abruptly removed his fingers and she jumped.
"James first." He showed her the candle now coated in his pre-cum and her cream. She tried to relax as he penetrated her with the blunt end, felt the increase of pressure and then mercifully it stopped.
"We'll pretend, just for tonight, that James has a very small cock of about only two inches in length, the same as the revered Napoleon."
Abby stifled a giggle. Peter simply smiled, his attention focused on her pussy.
"Whereupon I, of course, have a magnificent ten-inch cock, which will fill you to perfection."
"Of course."
She stopped speaking as he slid inside her, the twin penetration brought a peculiar sensation of fullness.
"Wait. I'm not sure..."
His fingers danced over her clit and she instinctively shifted her hips. He slid deeper and she climaxed, clenching around his cock and the added hardness of the candle until she thought she might never stop coming. Peter braced himself on his elbow and watched her, his gaze intent as she writhed and moaned his name.
"Perhaps we'll allow James to have a three-inch cock tonight instead."
He held deep and steady within her as he manipulated the candle, moving it in and out of her like a real cock. Abby found herself digging her nails into his muscled biceps as he worked her. Had she ever imagined there was this much pleasure in the world? Had she ever dreamed that a man would offer her the opportunity to experience such joy?
Her body tightened again and she fisted her hand in Peter's hair until he had to look up at her.
"Peter...I can't take any more. It's too much."
He smiled at her. "Yes, you can."
She screamed as he began to move in counterpart to the thrust of the candle, his shallow strokes aligning his body against her pubic bone and sending her into an unknown land of desperate greedy desire that she had never imagined. His flesh slapped against hers, her body lifted to him, eager for every drop of pleasure she could wring from his engorged pumping shaft.
He groaned in time to his thrusts, his hips losing their rhythm, his grip tightening on her shoulder, face contorted with the beautiful agony of lust. She tried to kiss him, missed his mouth and sank her teeth into his shoulder instead, anchoring her to his body as he finally shattered and exploded deep inside her.
He collapsed over her and she stroked his damp pale hair, still quivering with the aftershocks of the prolonged series of orgasms. She imagined James on her other side, felt a pulse of sexual approval from her body. Idly she wondered if she was turning into as depraved a sensualist as her husband. After Peter's graphic demonstration, two men in her bed sounded like heaven.
11
"A t what time do you have to meet Lord Sokorvsky?"
Abigail poured herself some more tea while Peter studied the morning newspaper. Rain pattered at the small diamond-shaped window and a strong draft blew down the chimney, making the sullen fire belch smoke. Peter lowered the paper to smile at her.
"At three this afternoon in our office at the docks."
"I have never visited Southampton before. Do we have time for some sightseeing of our own?"
"Indeed we do, although there is not much to see. I have one business meeting this morning and I hope you will accompany me to it."
She put down the teapot. "Are you sure you want me to come? I could stay here with Miss Trixie?"
"Of course I want you to. After I've finished my business, I'm relying on you to help me pick out a very special birthday present for James."
Abigail covered her mouth with her hand. "With all the excitement I had almost forgotten it was James's birthday! Did he mention something he would like? I always have the hardest time finding anything to give him."
Peter's answering smile was cryptic. "I believe he will enjoy what you and I plan for him." He stood up and bowed. "Go and fetch your cloak and bonnet and we can be off."
Abby held tight to Peter's arm as he led her through an increasingly narrow set of streets and alleyways that lead away from the relative security of the docks and the shipping offices. She squeaked as a rat ran across her path followed by two mangy-looking dogs.
"Are you sure we are in the right place?"
Peter rapped on the door of a dilapidated warehouse with his cane. The door was opened by a short Oriental gentleman who bowed and stood back to let them in. He wore a long black satin embroidered robe and matching skullcap. When he bowed his pigtail was long enough to touch the floor. Abigail's nose twitched as the scent of foreign spices and coffee tickled her nostrils.
"Why is this place so hidden away?" she whispered.
"Perhaps because the best things always are."
Peter bowed low to the other man. "How is business, Mr. Fan?"
"Adequate, Mr. Howard. How is your business?"
"Adequate, Mr. Fan, adequate." Peter squeezed Abby's gloved hand before releasing it. "I wonder if you would allow my companion to peruse the goods in your special section whilst we complete our business?"
Mr. Fan's black gaze swept Abigail and she curtsied.
"Good morning, Mr. Fan. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine and will soon be yours if my small offerings find favor."
Abby looked up at Peter to find him winking at Mr. Fan. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
"Do you care to share the joke, Mr. Howard? You know how I hate to be left out."
He patted her rear. "I can assure you that you will not be left out. Now allow Mr. Fan's assistant, Li Chin, to show you his treasures while I finish my negotiations."
Abby allowed herself to be drawn away but not until she gave Peter a last lingering stare that promised retribution. She followed her guide down a set of rickety stairs into the basement of the building. After bending her head to pass through a low door frame, she realized Li Chin had disappeared. Slowly she walked forward into the dimly lit room, which at one point must have been a wine cellar or something requiring separate storage bays.
On one side of the cellar, a single light shone on a table covered in green and white objects laid on a red silk tablecloth. Abby stopped to listen, heard Peter's faint laughter somewhere above her, the rumble of a cart passing by on the road outside. By the table she paused again, trying to comprehend exactly what she saw.
Beautifully carved jade and ivory figures stared back at her. She picked up one of the objects and weighed it in her gloved palm. Her color heightened and her heartbeat raced as she realized exactly what she held.
"These are a little more sophisticated than a candle."
Her words sounded loud in the silence. Unable to resist, she took off her glove and ran her fingers over the intricately carved piece of jade that resembled a stylized version of a man's penis. The pieces on the table ranged in size and complexity from three inches to about a foot in length. Thickness varied too. Abby picked up one of the larger pieces and could barely encircle the heavy base with her finger and thumb.
A pulse throbbed between her legs as she imagined what it would feel like if Peter slid the thick wedge of stone inside her. A slight sound from above made her drop the phallus on the table and move hurriedly into the next alcove. She almost retreated. This table held a variety of cock rings made of metal and other materials varying in thickness and complexity.
"Are you enjoying Mr. Fan's little pleasures?"
Abby jumped as Peter's arms closed around her. "Is this why you brought me here, to see these things?"
He spun her around to face him, his expression calm. "Mr. Fan also runs a perfectly respectable import business. I buy my coffee from him. It is excellent. He also imports some more intriguing items from other less repressed countries in the non-Christian world to aid sexual pleasure. I was hoping we could pick out a birthday present for James."
His blue eyes narrowed as he scanned her heated face. "And perhaps, something for you."
He took her hand but she resisted when he tried to lead her back to the first table. He paused, eyebrows raised.
"Lady Beecham?"
"Why do you think we will find a present for James here?"
"Because I believe James requires certain...elements to truly arouse him."
"I thought you said he performed perfectly well in bed with you."
"He does. This is more about what I can offer him in return." Peter picked up a thick leather cock ring and stroked it. "James likes to be dominated, and in that respect, I'm not the best man for him."
Abby stared up at his averted face. "What do you mean, dominated?"
"Tell me, does James ever ask you to do anything particularly unusual to sexually excite him in bed?"
Abby felt her cheeks heat even more. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Peter took a step toward her. "Yes, you are. What does he ask you to do to him?"
"Fight him." Abby swallowed hard. "He asks me to get angry with him and hit him. He insists it excites him."
"And does it?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He touched her arm and she flinched away. "I'm sorry, Abigail, but I need to make sure you understand why I want to do this for James."
"You intend to hurt him?"
"I want to understand what he craves and what it is he needs to be sexually satisfied."
"And you think he needs pain?"
Peter put the cock ring back on the table. "I'm not sure. I think he prefers to be told what to do in bed, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wants to be hurt."
"Why would he be like that?"
"You said yourself that James was different after he returned from the West Indies. I suspect he met someone during his stay there who formed his sexual tastes, and I doubt he has ever forgotten him."
"How can you know that?"
His smile flashed out. "I can't, but I have my suspicions. If we present James with a safe way to explore his fantasies of being dominated, perhaps we will find out."
Abby found herself nodding at him. She had known James for almost his whole life, and everything Peter said made sense. She turned toward the table containing the jade and took a deep breath.
"Do we need one of these?"
Peter came up behind her. "Possibly. Which one do you prefer?"
Abby bit her lip. "It depends on how you intend to use it."
"In James."
She shivered as Peter drew her back against his chest, one arm slung low around her hips. He reached past her and picked up one of the white ivory phalluses, his tone almost businesslike.
"James is a big man; he's used to taking a man's cock, so we will offer him something a little longer and wider than he might expect."
"Bigger than you, you mean?"
Peter's soft laughter ruffled the hairs at the nape of her neck. "Bigger than most men. This one should suffice." He handed her the thick engraved ivory rod, which was at least nine inches long and almost as wide as the huge phallus she had first noticed.
"Peter, have you ever tried one of these?"
"As a free man? Not that often." He let out a breath. "But when I was a slave, there was a well-to-do couple who paid for my time once a week. My hands and mouth were bound so that I couldn't touch or speak to them. They would take me to their bed, cover me in scented oil and slide a thick jade dildo, much like this one, deep inside my arse."
Abby found she was stroking the cold ivory with her fingertips. "And did you enjoy it?"
His smile held no warmth. "They would play with me for hours, her mouth on my cock, my nipples, my face and then his, just enough touching to keep me erect and ready to fuck but not enough to let me come." His voice softened and Abby held her breath. "And then they would fuck each other and I would have to watch, my balls and cock hard and aching and no ability to gain relief."
"That was cruel."
He sighed. "That was slavery. They paid for their pleasure, not mine."
She closed her eyes against the calm emptiness in his. "And what did you do afterward?"
"I would try to find someone to relieve me, of course." He kissed the side of her neck. "There are worse things than being blue-balled, Abigail. Now, come, let's think about James."
He reclaimed Abigail's hand and led her back to the table covered in cock rings. "Let's find one that's heavy and has a wide band so that he will be aware of it on his shaft and balls."
She opened her mouth and he laid a finger across her lips. "And before you ask, I've tried out everything in this room in one form or another, willing or not."
"How did you bear it?"
"Being a slave?" He hesitated, aware of her intense interest and unsure how to deal with it. He doubted she would let him get away with his usual self-deprecating lies and half truths. An unheard-of desire to finally speak the truth shook through him.
"Because I had no choice. I wanted to protect my friend and he wanted them to kill him. I had to stay alive for us both."
She covered her mouth with her hand, and he had to look away from the compassion filling her eyes. He very rarely spoke of his past to anyone except Valentin and Sara. He hated to see pity on anyone's face. Or even worse, the avid curiosity of those who would enjoy such deviant sexual games.
He tried to smile, found it more difficult than he had imagined. "It wasn't all bad, Abigail. Some parts of it were very pleasant."
She shoved at his chest, making him rock backward. "Don't lie to me, Peter. Don't retreat behind that charming mask. It must have been hell."
His temper rose again. An emotion he thought he had well under control until he met the Beechams.
"What do you want me to say? If I agree with you that it was indeed hell and that I drowned myself in opium and sex to forget such a harsh reality, what will you do? Feel sorry for me? I do not want your pity."
"I do not feel sorry for you."
He realized his hands were trembling, and he carefully pushed them deep into his pockets. She continued to study him, a brave challenge in her gaze.
"You don't have to protect your friend anymore. You don't have to pretend that everything was wonderful."
He stared at her, drew in a slow breath. "I still have to protect myself."
"From what?"
"From the knowledge that I am nothing more than a man cut from the flimsiest of paper. A paper figure, a fraud, a person of no substance."
Abigail looked at him for a long while. He tried to remain still and calm under her scrutiny, to call on the reserves of patience he was renowned for. Was she right? Had he spent so many years protecting Valentin that he'd forgotten how to be himself? Not that he even knew who that long-lost boy was anyway. He closed his eyes against the sudden sense of hopelessness.
"What else do we need for James?"
"I beg your pardon?" Peter said.
He still sounded shaken. Abigail added the thickest leather cock ring to the ivory wand in her hand and deliberately walked away from him toward the next alcove. Her voice traveled back over her shoulder, echoed off the low walls.
"I asked what else we needed."
He didn't reply, and she allowed her hand to trail over the intriguing objects laid out before her. Would he retreat from her now that he'd allowed her to see he was vulnerable or would the charming mask be back in place? Did he really believe he was so worthless? She raised her voice.
"Peter, what on earth are these?"
He caught up with her and smiled as he saw the table full of sex toys. He picked up the string of glass beads, which graduated from the size of a berry to that of a small plum. Abigail touched the smallest bead.
"What do you do with these? They are unmatched."
"They do not go around your neck." He put his fingers over Abigail's. "These are another way to train your arse to accept a man's cock."
"Oh, I see." His fingers were steady as she rubbed the beads he held. "I suppose they could also go inside a woman's other passage."
"Indeed they could. In truth, I would enjoy slowly extracting these from your pussy with my teeth."
Her breathing hitched. Peter had obviously decided to go on the sexual offensive. Did he think to distract her? He took the beads and slipped them into his pocket.
"Surely James won't need those?"
He held her gaze. "But I might." She bit her lip, her gaze falling to the front of his breeches where she could see the growing swell of his cock. "Is there anything else on this table that interests you?"
She leaned forward and gave him another object. It was made of wood and about the size of a pear. It was carved to represent a pineapple. He smoothed a finger over the polished wood surfaces.
"Do you like this newfangled fruit?"
"I have never tasted it."
"It is delicious, but not nearly as delicious as this would taste."
"I would imagine it is too large to penetrate a man, so where is it supposed to go?"
"In you."
His slow smile heated her blood. A pulse throbbed low in-between her legs.
"But isn't it too wide?"
"I'd make it fit."
She found herself leaning into him.
"I'd use my mouth and fingers on you until your pussy was so wet and open that you'd take this easily." He cupped her breast, found her nipple and pinched hard. "God, I'd love to slide this inside you, see how wide it made you and watch you come."
"Peter..."
He kissed her, his mouth as arousing as his words. She allowed the ivory wand and cock ring to fall limply from her grasp onto the table.
"I'd slide it inside you in the morning and have you wear it for me all day." He kissed her again, more deeply, slid his thigh between her legs and rocked her against him. "I'd make sure to come back during the day so that you could spread your legs and show me how full your pussy looked. Then I'd tongue your clit until you came for me again and again."
Oblivious to the public nature of the room, her fingers bit into his sleeves and she rode his thigh. She moaned as he backed her up against the nearest wall.
"I need to taste you."
He fell to his knees and rucked up her skirts, shoving them into her willing hands. His mouth took possession of her mound, sucking on her clit, his tongue delving deep inside her until she cried out and shattered in his arms. He stood up, his mouth gleaming with her cream and kissed her again, his cock pressing against her belly until she stood on tiptoe, trying to get him where she needed him most, to draw him deep inside her.
He wrenched his mouth away from hers. "Will you take me here? Will you let me inside you?"
In answer she pulled at the buttons of his breeches, tugged at his shirt to expose his straining stiff cock.
"Ah, God..."
He picked her up, brought her down over him and started to thrust, each penetration pressing her harder against the wall. Abby dug the heels of her kid walking boots into his pumping buttocks and simply held on tight as he worked her with his cock. His mouth covered hers, refusing to let her turn away even in the extreme of pleasure when she yearned to bite down on his flesh. They came together, her muffled scream meeting his groan within the intimate circle of their joined lips.
Abby closed her eyes as Peter gently returned her to the floor and stuffed his folded handkerchief between her legs. He stroked her cheek.
"We have a few more items to choose for James and then we can leave. Mr. Fan will send me a bill for the things we take. There is no need to see him again."
Abby opened her eyes, saw the sated lust in his gaze and touched the corner of his mouth. "Can we go back to the inn after that?"
A small smile transformed his face. "I thought you wanted to do some sightseeing."
"I'd much rather see you."
"In bed? That would be delightful." He winked. "After we've checked on Miss Trixie, of course."
She nodded. "Of course. I'm so glad you agree with me."
"Abigail, I suspect it is the only place we will ever completely agree." He caught her fingers and kissed them one by one.
She sighed. "Well, I suppose it's a good place to start."
12
"I 'm sorry I'm late, Peter. It's this damned weather."
Peter got to his feet and bowed as Valentin swept into the office, untied his cloak and tossed his hat on the desk. It was late afternoon, the sunlight obscured by a thick layer of cloud and a bracing sea breeze. Every time he swallowed, Peter tasted the sting of sea salt on his lips.
"I had to make sure that new captain of ours had his load secured properly before he left port."
"You had to?"
Peter sank back into his chair, drinking in the sight of Val's disordered hair, the high color on his cheeks and his amazing violet eyes. Despite his reservations about their continuing relationship, Val truly was a beautiful man.
"Well, I was on the dock, and as you know I always enjoy getting reacquainted with my ships." Val shrugged as if he was embarrassed. "Sometimes I even miss the days when we had to sail them ourselves."
He smoothed his hair back and retied the blue ribbon at the nape of his neck. A battered oak desk and two walls of book-cases took up most of the small office space. On stormy mornings like this, Peter always felt slightly claustrophobic in the dark, confined space. He much preferred the more spacious London office and let Valentin and the office manager handle most of the day-to-day business in Southampton.
After Val sat behind his desk, Peter kept still, his expression interested but polite. He'd had enough of losing his temper recently, and Val was a past master at provoking him, especially when attempting to divert attention away from himself.
Valentin folded his hands on the desk. "You must wonder why I called you here in such haste."
"Not really." Peter shrugged. "You've always been rather high-handed, Val."
His partner shot him a sharp look. "I beg to disagree. I wish I had the time to argue the point with you, but there are more important things to discuss."
"Yes, such as how you knew I was staying at the Beechams. Did Sara tell you?"
"No, I simply asked Adams, your valet. He was kind enough to give me the information when I stressed the importance of my business." Val's eyebrows rose. "What's wrong, Peter, were you trying to hide from me?"
"You still haven't told me what you want." Peter regarded him levelly. "I assume that all is well with your wife?"
Val frowned. "I don't want anything from you, and yes, Sara is fine."
"And you would've told me if she wasn't?"
Val stopped moving the books on his desk around and glared at him. "Of course I would. You are the one who insists on making this whole misunderstanding into a farce worthy of Drury Lane, not me."
"Tell me what is going on, Val." Peter kept his voice calm. After his recent emotional skirmishes with Abigail, he refused to wade into the murky waters of his past again with his business partner.
Val stared at him for an endless moment and then sat back in his chair. "Fine. If that is the way you wish to conduct the conversation, so be it. If you remember, just before you flounced away, we bought out an old shipping business based here in Southampton."
Peter set his jaw. "Meadows and Son. Yes, I remember, and I did not flounce, I made a deliberate decision to keep out of your life."
Val looked skeptical. "I've had Anthony going through their old papers and records. Last week he insisted he had found something I would like to see. Ah, here it is." He pulled a heavy leather bound book into the center of his desk and opened it. He pointed at a narrow line of script.
"These are the records of the ship, the Queen Henrietta."
"So?"
Val glanced up at him, his finger poised over the page. "It's the name of the ship that carried us into foreign waters and led to our capture and slavery in Turkey."
Peter's fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. "I repeat: it's fascinating, but what relevance does it have to the present?"
"We are all listed here, me, my father and you." Val tapped the page. "And more than that, our addresses are listed too." He stood up and rang the bell on his desk. "One of Mr. Meadows's old employees, Mr. Cole, now works here. I thought you might like to speak to him."
Peter remained seated, his thoughts reeling through his head like a flapping sail in a storm. His gaze fell on the tattered book on Val's desk. After all this time, he was about to find out something about his past. Was he ready?
A quiet knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. He looked up to see an elderly man enter the office, his face wreathed in smiles.
"How can I help you, my lord?"
"Mr. Cole. I'd like you to meet my business partner, Mr. Peter Howard."
Peter sprang to his feet and offered the old man his hand. To his surprise Mr. Cole clung onto him for far longer than was polite.
"I remember you now. You were such a slight boy when your mother brought you into the office." He patted Peter's hand. "I was one of the junior scribes in those days. It was my job to write up the passenger and cargo lists and sell any extra space."
"You met me and my mother?"
"Yes, indeed. She had arranged for you to begin a new life with some distant relatives of her family, missionaries I think they were, working in Russia. She had very little money, so Mr. Meadows, the younger, agreed that you could work for your passage."
Peter waved at the nearest chair. "Please sit down, Mr. Cole. I have no recollection of these events at all."
Mr. Cole's grizzled eyebrows rose over the top of his spectacles. "I had no idea, sir. You must ask me anything you want. I'll try to remember as much as I can. Your mother was such a pretty young thing."
Peter drew in a steadying breath. He couldn't even look at Valentin, although he could sense his concern like a palpable thing.
"Did my mother leave an address?"
"I believe she did, sir, although after the ship was captured, we wrote to her to inform her of the tragedy and heard nothing back." Mr. Cole's eyes misted over. "And when we heard that you and the young lord had been found again, we were so excited!" He leaned forward. "Of course, we didn't go gabbing our mouths off like some people might these days, although I did take it upon myself to write to your mother once again."
"I assume she didn't reply."
"Well, sir, the letter came back unopened and marked not known at this address, which wasn't surprising considering the number of years you'd been lost."
"Not surprising at all," Peter murmured automatically.
"And you've done so well for yourself, sir. It just goes to show how far a man can rise these days with a little grit and determination."
"And an obliging friend with a title."
"Peter..." Val got to his feet. "I hate to interrupt, Mr. Cole, but I have more to discuss with Mr. Howard. Perhaps you could continue this conversation later?"
Mr. Cole stood too. "Of course, my lord. I'll be in the main office if you need me." He held out his hand to Peter, who shook it. "It was a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. I hope to see you again soon."
"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Cole. You have allowed me to glimpse a part of my life that I thought I had lost forever."
He watched Mr. Cole nod to Valentine and head for the door.
"Mr. Cole?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Was my mother accompanied by anyone?"
"Not that I know of, sir. She came to our offices by herself."
"Thank you, again."
Mr. Cole shut the door firmly behind him, leaving Peter staring at Valentin. He took a deep breath.
"Do you have that address?"
"Of course." Val handed Peter a piece of paper. He rapidly scanned Val's distinctive script.
"My mother lived in a vicarage?"
"Apparently so." Valentin smiled. "In truth, I have another reason for my hasty summons."
Peter straightened, the slip of paper crushed in his fingers. "What the hell have you done, Val?"
"I took it upon myself to communicate with your family."
Peter braced his fingers on the desk to steady himself. "You took it upon yourself. Do you imagine I am too stupid to do this?"
Valentin frowned. "Of course not. I just wanted to help."
"Why, Val?"
"Because you are my friend." Valentin pushed away from the desk and began to pace the small room. "Because I suspected that left to your own devices you would probably do nothing with this information."
"Are you afraid that I intend to leech on you for the rest of my life?"
"Of course not!"
"But you have taken away my choice in the matter."
"Christ, Peter, I've found your family for you!"
"Because you still feel guilty about denying me yours?"
Val went still, his eyes blazing with anger. "How dare you suggest that I'm so mean-spirited and selfish that I interfere in your life purely for my benefit?"
"Why not? You've always taken what you wanted from me and ignored the rest."
Val took another turn around the room until he came back to stand in front of Peter. His mouth was set in a hard, hostile line. "I understand that you are upset about this news so I am willing to forgive your slurs on my character."
"That's very big of you, Val. Now tell me the rest. There is more, isn't there, or else you wouldn't be feeling so bloody guilty."
Val looked back at the papers on his desk. "I had a reply from a gentleman called William Howard. He is the current rector of Farlington Church in North Yorkshire."
"You had a reply?" Peter sat down suddenly.
"This gentleman, who may be your maternal grandfather, will be in London for the next few days. He is staying at Grillon's Hotel. I suggest you go and see him."
Peter stared at his boots, noted the specks of mud that now dulled their gleaming blackness, wondered how Adams ever got them to shine so well. He flinched as Valentin hunkered down in front of him.
"I know that this is a shock, and I apologize if you feel I have overstepped the boundaries of our friendship." Peter shuddered as Val put his hand on his knee. "But, Peter, for your own sake, please make the effort to see this man, even if it is just for a moment. You will never forgive yourself if you let this chance slip through your fingertips."
Peter stared at Valentin's hand. His friend rarely touched him voluntarily these days.
He wanted to weep.
He needed to leave.
"Thank you for the information." He got up so abruptly he knocked Valentin to the floor. "I need to think."
It took all his concentration to maintain a calm façade as he headed for the door. Val got slowly to his feet and remained by his desk, his expression troubled.
"Peter..."
"I'll be in touch, Val."
Valentin sighed. "Christ, Peter, why do you have to make this so hard? Do you wish to have dinner with us tonight? I'm sure you can think up some excuse to explain to Sara why you didn't choose to stay with us for the first time ever."
"I'm not traveling alone."
He thought of Abigail waiting impatiently for him at the hotel. God, he wanted to lay his head in her lap and let her stroke his hair until he fell asleep.
"You are with someone?"
The sudden harshness in Val's voice brought Peter's attention back to his friend. "That's usually what not being alone implies, Val. So don't worry about me."
Valentin's hand dropped to his side.
"Then good night."
"Good night, Val. It's probably best if you don't tell Sara I was here at all."
Peter found his way out of the office and forced himself to spend several minutes conversing with his employees as if nothing had happened. He managed to escape and headed for the street. To his relief, the inn was only a few minutes' walk away. The storm clouds had finally opened up, and in the driving rain, it seemed like twenty miles. He stumbled up the stairs and found Abigail's door. He went to knock and then hesitated. Did he really want her to see him like this?
He slowly withdrew his hand and walked softly down the hall to the door that led into his own room. He needed time to compose himself. Abigail was far too perceptive to see him in this state and not ask questions that he knew he had no answers for. He sat on the side of the bed and allowed his head to drop into his hands.
What in damnation was he going to do now?
Abby looked up from her book as she registered the soft knock on the connecting door between her room and Peter's. She'd spent an agreeable hour with Miss Trixie who had retired for a nap. She had taken advantage of Peter's continued absence to curl up in a chair by the fire, perch her spectacles on her nose and read the latest lurid tale from the Minerva press. Peter came in, shut the door behind him and bowed. Abby took off her glasses.
"Well, Peter, how did it go?"
He took the chair opposite and poured himself a cup of tea from the pot in front of her. His hair was damp from the rain, his skin pale. He sipped at the tea and then grimaced.
"This is cold."
"That is because I ordered it about two hours ago." She put down her book. "Would you like me to order some more?"
"It isn't necessary, but thank you for the offer."
Abby studied him more carefully. He was at his most polite, which usually meant he was trying to distance himself from her. She leaned forward and took the cup from his hand.
"What happened? Was it bad news?"
His answering smile was as flat and perfect as a frozen lake.
"It depends on how you define bad."
"Peter..."
He shrugged. "Lord Sokorvsky told me that something interesting came up in the accounts of the shipping company we recently took over. Apparently this company had documentation regarding the ship I left England on that was bound for Russia."
Abby clasped her hands in her lap. "Did they have any record of you?"
"I was there, listed alongside the rest of the crew." He glanced up at her and then looked away. "Not quite the gentleman you might have imagined."
She ignored his self-deprecating statement. "Why were you on that ship?"
"I told you. I was working like the rest of the crew. Working to pay my passage to a better life, apparently."
Abby frowned. "I have heard of workhouses and orphanages sending children to the colonies. Why would they have put you on a ship going to Russia?"
"They didn't. My mother did."
"Your mother?"
He shrugged. "Lord Sokorvsky even found an old employee of the shipping line to confirm that he had indeed met me and my mother. Mr. Cole understood that she was sending me to relatives who were missionaries in Russia."
His gaze glanced off her again as he didn't want her to see his eyes. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles white. She took a careful breath. Despite his light conversational tone it was obvious that this news had affected Peter far more deeply than he was prepared to admit.
"Do you remember her?"
"My mother? Not at all. I don't remember boarding the ship or anything until I woke up naked in a Turkish slave market with Valentin."
She nodded. "I thought it must've been Lord Sokorvsky you were enslaved with."
He winced. "Please forget I said that. The experiences I shared with you are my own and no one else's."
"Still protecting him, Peter?"
He sighed, pushing a hand through his damp fair hair, his face lined with weariness. "My mother left an address, although the shipping company was never able to contact her there."
"It is possible she made it up. She sounds like a woman who was running out of options if she chose to send her child away from her."
Peter stared at her. "I am impressed at your attempts to be fair to a woman you do not know." His smile was bitter. "I regret to say that I cannot think quite so kindly of her at the moment."
"Perhaps her family abandoned her and she had no other choice."
"Perhaps she just wanted to get rid of me." He sat back in his chair. "Thanks to Lord Sokorvsky's interference it seems I might find out."
"He contacted your family?"
"He contacted the people who live at the address she gave, a rectory in the north of England. How ironic is that? Apparently a man, who might be my grandfather, is expecting a visit from me in London in the next few days."
Abigail jumped to her feet. "Then we must hurry! We don't need to stay another night; we can be on our way now."
He smiled at her. "Are you so eager to be gone, Abigail?"
"Of course, if it means you find your family."
He stood up and walked away from her to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"What if they don't wish to find me?"
She stared at the rigid set of his shoulders. "Why should they not?"
"If I was truly wanted, surely they would have come looking for me a long time ago."
She moved to stand behind him, hating the terrible edge of uncertainty in his softly spoken words. She wrapped her arms around him and smoothed her cheek against the fabric of his dark coat.
"Perhaps they didn't know that you survived?"
He sighed, the sound torn from him, his agitated breath condensing on the windowpane.
"Then if we are not leaving until tomorrow..." She turned him around and started working on the buttons of his waistcoat. He stopped her hands with his own.
"Abigail, you don't have to do this. I would completely understand if you wished to review our relationship in light of these revelations."
"Because you had a mother?"
"Because it seems I'm a peasant and a bastard."
She covered his mouth with her fingers, cutting off his words.
"Come to bed, Peter."
She cupped his balls and smoothed her fingers along his rapidly growing shaft, hoped she had enough skill to love him as he deserved to be loved, to make him feel as worthy as the next man and to forget all his troubles for a few blissful hours by sharing himself with her.
13
P eter sat on the window seat of his guest bedroom in the Beechams' London town house and stared out at the ironclad morning. A pale sun rose over the slate rooftops making them gleam like scales. He touched the rippled panes of glass, felt the cold leech into his fingertips. Whatever happened today would change him forever. Either he would find out he had a family or he would start looking for them in earnest.
He sighed, his breath condensing in the frigid air like a ghost. Did it really matter? Part of him believed he should be proud of what he had achieved, while the other longed for a family history like the Beechams had, a sense of anchoring yourself between the past and the future, a sense of belonging.
He pictured Abigail's smiling face as he'd led her and Miss Trixie into the house on the previous evening, her pleasure in being with James again.
"What are you thinking about?"
Peter shivered as James wrapped his arms around him from behind. James smelled of the sex they'd shared and of warm, contented male. Peter allowed himself to lean back against James's shoulder. After dinner on the previous evening, Abigail had pleaded tiredness and left them to their own devices. James hadn't wasted much time in visiting Peter's chamber and sliding into bed with him.
"I'm thinking about my family, or lack of it."
James drew him closer, one finger stroking Peter's nipple ring. "Whatever happens, you still have friends and people who care for you."
"I know. It's just that the thought of being part of a family is such a difficult thing for me to grasp." He sighed. "I might find them, only to be cast out when I am forced to reveal what a mess I have made of my life."
"You survived years of slavery and returned to your home country to start a successful and prosperous business. What fault can anyone find with that?"
Peter chuckled. "There speaks the true aristocrat, always assuming that his actions are correct and not open to question."
James nipped at his ear and rocked his hips against Peter's back. "I'll have to leave soon so that the servants don't see me here. Can I tempt you back to bed?"
Resolutely Peter shoved his problems to the back of his mind and turned to study James. "Tonight belongs to Abigail, agreed?"
"If you insist." James groaned as Peter reached forward to stroke his cock.
"I do insist. You might be pleasantly surprised. Your wife is an incredibly passionate woman."
Peter allowed James to guide him back to the shadowed bed, his own cock rising in anticipation. James lay back on the rumpled sheets, his dark tousled hair in stark contrast to the white linen, his shaft already stiff and eager.
Peter licked the wet crown. "You are insatiable."
"Only for you." James groaned. "While you've been enjoying yourself with my wife, I've been pining away in this big house by myself."
"You haven't had sex for more than two weeks?" Peter slid his tongue over the sensitive slit of James's cock, dipped inside.
"No, damn you, just my hand and my imagination."
"James?" Peter lifted his head to stare into his lover's eyes. "I did enjoy every minute I spent with Abigail, and I will teach you to enjoy her too."
James sighed as Peter sucked his cock deep into his mouth. "God help me, I'm already looking forward to it."
Abigail breakfasted in bed alone and spent much of the morning interviewing her cook and housekeeper to find out exactly how James managed his London staff when she wasn't there. Very well it seemed. Indeed, the housekeeper was a little patronizing at first, but Abby soon set her straight. She doubted the woman would question her competence to manage a household staff again.
The house itself was narrow and had four stories and a basement. It wasn't the original Beecham House, which had been a cavernous mansion on one of the larger squares. James had disposed of it as soon as his father had died, insisting he would never live in it. He'd chosen the smaller house in Finsbury Place, and Abby thoroughly approved.
The clock in the dining room struck one. Abby heard the welcome sound of male voices and sat up straight. Miss Trixie had already been invited to visit one of her oldest friends and had departed in a flurry of kisses and promises leaving Abby alone. She smiled as her two favorite men entered the room. Peter was about the same height as James, but there all likeness ended. He was of lighter build, his hair a soft silver blond. James had the powerful build of an athlete with broad shoulders and strong thighs.
To her relief, both of them looked pleased to see her. She had wondered, during her lonely night's rest, if they would be so delighted to see each other again that they'd forget all about her. Peter bowed and kissed her hand.
"Good afternoon, Lady Beecham. Are you ready for your first outing into fashionable London?"
James kissed her cheek and settled into the chair next to hers. He nudged her arm.
"Peter tells me we are taking you to a dressmaker he knows or some such frivolous nonsense."
"We don't really need to go. My gowns are quite sufficient."
"No," James said firmly. "They are not. You look like a dowd. We'll soon have you rigged out in fine style and then we'll take you to your first ball before the end of the week. How does that sound?"
"Terrifying," Abigail muttered, but James was too busy laughing with Peter to hear her. She glanced sideways at her smiling husband. There was a slight purplish bruise on the side of his neck. Had Peter done that, and did James like the sting of Peter's teeth as much as she did? She imagined them together in bed, felt her body heat in response. She imagined lying between them, legs entwined---and choked on her ratafia.
"Are you all right, Abby cat?"
James slapped her so hard on the back that she almost landed face-first in the turtle soup the butler was serving.
When she finished coughing, she noticed Peter studying her, his expression pensive. After the servants left, he reached across the table and touched her fingers.
"I think Abigail is simply looking forward to our shopping expedition and the evening's entertainment, aren't you?"
Her mouth went dry as she studied his handsome face. Despite his concerns about his family, he still found time to understand her and soothe her fears. She drew in a steadying breath, squeezed his fingers and let them go.
"Have you contacted the rector yet?"
"I sent him a message. Apparently he is out for most of the day. I'm sure he'll reply to me when he gets back."
Peter's relaxed demeanor failed to hide the slight tension in his blue eyes. Abby gave him a bright smile.
"Good, then we have the whole day to enjoy ourselves."
He smiled at her with singular sweetness. "Indeed we do."
Abby stopped so suddenly at the door of the discreet modiste in Bond Street that she bumped up against James's chest.
"Abby!"
James grunted and grabbed hold of her shoulders to steady her. Peter maneuvered gracefully around them both and opened the door. He bowed with a flourish.
"Lady Beecham, Lord Beecham?"
James propelled Abby through the open door and bowed back. "Mr. Howard."
Abby found herself in a small parlor decorated in tones of cream and rosebud pink. Dainty chairs filled the space along with several small tables piled high with fashionable ladies' magazines. She instantly felt out of place. Peter picked up a journal and immediately flicked to the fashion plates at the end.
"This is the kind of thing you need, Lady Beecham."
He showed her a picture of a willowy lady with a wistful expression dressed in a thin drape of silky yellow fabric. Abby put on her spectacles and frowned.
"That woman's neck is as long as a giraffe's and her arms almost touch her knees! Do you really want me to look like that?"
James chuckled. "Perhaps you look like that already and you just don't realize it."
Peter shot James a reproving glance. "Not the dress, my lady, but the color. Do you like it?"
Abby considered the image. "It is a little bright, don't you think?"
"I think you need to expand your horizons." Peter tossed the book back on the pile. "Who has chosen your gowns for you up until now? Surely not James."
"My mother has," James interjected. "Abby never seemed to care what she wore, so my mother simply took over and provided her with a succession of dresses every year."
Abby stuck out her tongue at James. Peter turned toward her.
"Is that true? Why didn't you choose your own gowns?"
She shrugged. "What was the point? It wasn't as if anyone would see me in them apart from the local gentry and the household staff."
James patted her knee. "I'm sorry, Abby, that was my fault. I shouldn't have made fun of you and I shouldn't have left you alone down there for so much of the year."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, James, don't start to feel sorry for me all over again." Uncomfortable with his show of remorse, she turned her gaze onto Peter. "And don't you start either."
"I wouldn't dare." He smiled into her eyes, making her breathless. "But now you have two men who would love you to dress up for them. Will you allow us to help you choose your new wardrobe?"
Abby grabbed one of the Ackermann journals and flicked rapidly through the pages, head bent to conceal her suddenly flushed cheeks. "All right, then."
"Gracious as ever," James muttered.
Peter bowed and then sat opposite her, his feet crossed at the ankle, boots gleaming in the lamplight. A china clock on the mantelpiece chimed the quarter hour. The door opened and both men shot to their feet. Abby followed more slowly, her attention fixed on the thin gray-haired woman who came to stand in front of her.
Peter bowed. "Madame Wallace, it is so good of you to see us. May I present Lord and Lady Beecham?"
Madame nodded at James and then resumed her inspection of Abby.
"Good day to you, my lady." Her accent was northern, her manner that of a drill sergeant. She poked the ruffles on Abby's chest. "Who on earth persuaded you to wear that gown? It makes you look like a frump!"
Abby glared right back at her. "I am a frump. I'm quite happy being a frump, and there is very little you can do to change that."
James cleared his throat. "Ah, Abby, my darling..."
Abby ignored him. "I'm not sure if I do want new clothes."
"Why, because it is easier to hide yourself behind these ugly garments than try and be fashionable?" Madame Wallace snorted. "If you have managed to attract two such handsome gentlemen to your side dressed like this, imagine what you could do if you made a little effort."
"One of these gentlemen is my husband. He has no choice in the matter."
"But Mr. Howard is a renowned connoisseur of lady's fashion. How embarrassing for him to have you on his arm."
Peter chuckled. "It is no hardship, Madame, I assure you."
Abby stuck out her chin. "Maybe I don't want to be fashionable. Most of the women in these plates look awful."
Madame sighed. "That is because they aren't real women. If my clients really looked like that, I would no longer be in business."
Abby cast a defiant look at James, who was frowning slightly at her. Peter seemed to be trying not to laugh.
"Madame, my husband and Mr. Howard believe I need new clothes. I am only doing this to please them but I do not want to end up looking like a figure of fun." She held Madame's gaze. "If I don't like something you propose or make for me, I'll tell you."
Madame nodded. "Of course, my lady, although you must promise to allow me to be just as blunt." She grabbed a handful of Abby's silk skirt. "If you can wear this abomination in London, you definitely need some advice."
Abby held out her hand. "Good, then we understand each other."
Madame shook it firmly. "Then take off that travesty of a dress and let me take your measurements." She clicked her fingers and a young woman instantly appeared at her side.
"Give me my tape measure and notebook. I will deal with this client myself. Don't come back unless I ring for you, and I don't wish to be disturbed."
Peter closed the door after the girl hurried out. "Are you afraid that Lady Beecham will scare your staff?"
Madame flicked him a disapproving glance. "If you intend to stay in here, Mr. Howard, please be quiet."
Abby grinned at Peter. "I should imagine that anyone employed by Madame is used to being scared."
She stood still as Madame expertly unlaced her gown, leaving her in her stays and petticoats.
"How long have you been wearing these stays?"
"As long as I can remember, why?"
"They do nothing to help your figure at all."
Abby glanced down at her slender form. "What figure is that? I'm built like a boy."
"You have breasts, my lady. You just need to show them off more."
Peter touched Abby's shoulder. "We would like Lady Beecham to have a corset that allows greater access to her breasts. Can you do that?"
Madame cupped Abby's breasts and pushed them together. "Of course, Mr. Howard. We can make something that appears to offer her bosom up to any man's attentions."
Abby shivered as Peter traced the curve of her collarbone; her nipples hardened in an aching rush. Madame ignored them both, her attention on measuring and recording Abby's waist and hips. When she stood back she was frowning.
Abby bit her lip. "I told you I was better off hidden in those hideous dresses."
She almost flinched when Madame brandished her quill pen at her.
"You have the perfect measurements to wear these skimpy high-waisted dresses the ton is so enamored with. In fact, you are one of the very few women who has the boyish figure necessary for the fabric to hang properly. Why didn't you come to me years ago? I could be famous by now!"
"And if you were famous, you probably wouldn't have to be bothered by the likes of me."
"Absolutely, my lady, but I'm no fool. I can make you look beautiful, and in return, all you have to do is mention my name at every possible opportunity."
"Sounds fair to me," Peter said. He dropped a kiss on Abby's shoulder. "I knew you two would get along."
James sighed. "I'm so glad you are all enjoying yourselves. How much is this going to cost me?"
Abby fought a giggle as Madame turned on James. "I am about to make your wife one of the most fashionable and sought-after women in London and you quibble about the cost?"
James raised his hands. "I apologize, Madame. I'll just keep my mouth shut and pay up as required." He winked at Abby. "In truth, I do owe my wife almost sixteen years of her dress allowance."
Madame nodded. "It is settled, then." She scooped up Abby's gown and marched toward the door. "Stay here. I will be back with some garments for you to try on."
"What about my dress?"
Madame favored her with a deep frown. "I'm going to burn it."
Peter waited until Madame left and then turned to Abigail.
"I knew you two would come to an amicable agreement."
She stared at him, her mouth open. "Peter, she is so deliciously rude! How did you know that she would be the perfect person to persuade me to change my ways?"
"Perhaps because you've met your match?" James chimed in, his face alight with laughter. Peter grinned at him.
"I'm not as rude as that, am I?"
"No, Abigail, of course you aren't." Peter hastened to intervene as Abby glared at her husband. "But you are direct, and I truly believe Madame Wallace has the skill to make you look and feel beautiful."
Abigail glanced away, worrying her lip. He slid his fingers under her chin. "You will look beautiful, you know. All the men of the ton will be after you."
"But," she whispered, "I already have all the men I want."
He rubbed his thumb against the corner of her mouth. "I hope that is the case. James and I will have to be on our best behavior to keep your interest."
He stepped back as Madame entered, a swathe of garments draped over her arm.
"Move away from her, Mr. Howard, and let me do my work." She gave him a hard, assessing glance. "I assume you both want to stay while Lady Beecham tries on these garments?"
"Yes, we wish to stay."
Peter went to sit on the small velvet couch beside James. As he settled back, his thigh brushed against his lover's. James moved his arm until it lay along the back of the seat, his fingers rested lightly on Peter's shoulder.
Madame stood in front of Abigail, blocking Peter's view as she dropped the old pair of stays to the floor and laced Abigail into the new corset.
"There, that is much better. It makes your bosom look higher and fuller. What do you think, gentlemen?" She stepped back and Peter almost swallowed his tongue.
Abigail's breasts were barely restrained by the corset, her nipples high and tight as if she offered them to a man's mouth. He imagined burying his face in the luscious mounds, sliding his cock into that cleavage and coming hard and fast.
"Good Lord, Abby." James gripped Peter's shoulder hard, his expression startled. "Who would've thought you had breasts like that?"
She scowled at them. "I feel like a trussed-up chicken."
"Well you certainly don't look like one." James got to his feet and circled his wife, his expression predatory. Peter followed. Below the corset, Abigail was naked until the garters of her stocking. Peter's cock rose as he studied her small buttocks. He paused in front of James, reached back and palmed his lover's erection.
James let out a sudden breath. "You look beautiful, Abby cat."
"I look ridiculous, but from the besotted looks on both of your faces, I assume you both approve?"
"Of course they do." Madame nodded at Peter. "I need to fetch another gown. I will return in about ten minutes."
"Thank you, Madame."
Abigail let out an exasperated sigh that almost dislodged her breasts from their precarious position.
"Why will it take her that long to find a dress? I'm cold! Is she still finishing it?"
Peter glanced at James, who took up a position at Abigail's rear. "She isn't sewing the dress. She just realized we needed some time to ourselves."
"We do?"
Peter bent his head and licked her nipple. "Aye, we do. James, put your arms around her waist." He waited until James obliged, drawing Abigail tight against his body. She sighed and leaned her head back against his chest. Peter began to suckle her breasts, pausing occasionally to make sure James could see every deliberate flick of his tongue. Her hips moved against his, cradling his growing erection.
He slid one hand down over her stomach until it covered her mound.
"Can you feel how excited we are, Abigail? Can you feel James's cock rubbing against your buttocks?" She moaned as Peter circled her swollen clit with one finger. "Just imagine how it will feel when we are all naked and moving against each other. Both of our wet cocks slipping and sliding over your flesh, coming inside you, making you desperate to climax as many times as you can."
James nuzzled her earlobe and snatched a quick kiss from Peter. "Abby cat, I can hardly wait to see you with Peter. In truth, I can't wait to see you with me. I hope I can please you this time. I know I want to."
Peter smiled at James as they both stepped away from Abby. Her skin was flushed a delicate pink, her eyes full of passion. She frowned.
"Are you going to stop now? Just after you're succeeded in arousing me?"
"Yes."
Peter and James returned to their seat on the couch. Peter grinned up at Abigail.
"That's not fair!"
James snorted. "You want us to take you in the middle of Madame Wallace's salon? She'd probably throw a bucket of water over us."
She looked thoughtful. "She probably would." She eyed Peter's erection. "What about that?"
"Oh, don't worry about me, I'll manage."
"And what about you, James?"
"I'll manage too, dear."
Her eyes narrowed but before she could speak, Madame appeared with yet another gown over her shoulder.
"Have you finished?"
Peter stood up and bowed. "Indeed we have, Madame. Do you have any gowns that Lady Beecham could take with her today?"
"I have several for her to try on." She directed her frowning gaze at Abigail and pointed at a curtained-off area of the fitting room behind them. "If you will come with me, we'll make a start."
Abigail sighed and followed Madame. Before she disappeared behind the curtain she gave James a hard stare.
"You will still be here?"
"Of course, my dear." James tried to look innocent. "Peter and I are quite capable of amusing ourselves for a few minutes while you change."
"I should imagine you are," Abigail muttered before Madame whisked her behind the red curtain.
James smiled at Peter and lowered his voice. "Do you think we can amuse each other? I have a wager for you, if you're interested."
Peter traced the length of James's cock through his tight breeches. "I'm interested."
"I'll wager I can make you come in your breeches faster than you can make me come and before Abigail emerges to show us her new gown."
"You're on."
Peter unbuttoned the side flap of James's breeches and shoved his hand inside. He didn't bother to pull the shirt away from James's cock, he just set to work, jerking James's shaft through his tightly closed fist. He shuddered as he felt James close his hand around his cock, his grip even tighter, thumb circling the crown of Peter's cock.
After the excesses of the previous night, they were both a little tender. Peter increased the speed of his pumping hand as Madame raised her voice and Abigail answered her.
"Christ..."
Peter fought a groan; his cock was aching for release, primed to come at any second. James squeezed tighter. The curtain twitched and Peter's vision deteriorated all his attention on his desperate desire to come into James's big fist. His stifled groan was met by one from James as they both climaxed, soaking their shirts and each other's fingers with hot, wet come.
"I think that was a draw," Peter croaked.
With a sharp rattle, Madame opened the curtain just as Peter managed to withdraw his hand and slide it into his pocket. James was a little slower, his fingers tangling with Peter's wet shirt and sensitive cock. Peter's breath hissed out as James finally struggled free.
"Well, what do you think?"
Peter opened his eyes to find Abigail in front of him. She wore a gown of deep green floating muslin, which emphasized the creaminess of her skin and the gray of her eyes. Silver embroidery graced the low bodice and hem of the exquisite dress. James sighed.
"You look wonderful, Abby, just like one of those fashion plates."
Peter nodded, aware of the anxiety behind her eyes.
"Beautiful."
"Good," said Madame. "She may have this ball gown and one other day dress. I'll send the rest of the gowns over as soon as I've bullied my seamstresses into making them."
"Don't bully them on my account," Abigail said. "I'd rather you didn't make them work like slaves just for a few frivolous gowns."
James cleared his throat. "Abby, perhaps you could try on the rest of the gowns before I waste away from lack of sustenance?"
She shook her head. "James, you are so selfish."
She turned on her heel and headed back for the curtained area, Madame at her heels. Another argument started up. James grinned at Peter and slowly licked his fingers. "Don't worry, I'll make sure the seamstresses are recompensed for their time."
"Madame will enjoy plundering your purse. She is expensive but well worth it."
James looked serious. "I can see that. Abby looked like a different woman altogether. I really am looking forward to seeing her in my bed."
"With me?"
"Of course. How could I not? Two of my favorite people ready and eager to do my bidding."
Peter cupped James's groin and squeezed hard. "We'll see who is doing whose bidding. Now how about another game? First one to make the other erect before Abigail emerges in her next gown?"
James was already reaching for his breeches before Peter finished speaking.
14
"T hank you, James."
Abby glanced up as James placed her new fur-lined cloak around her shoulders. He winked at her and drew her close, protecting her from the large colorful crowd on the steps outside. In the flickering lamplight, extravagantly dressed members of the ton jostled with hawkers and beggars. Shouts rang out for footmen, flower sellers and coachmen as people tried to find their way out of the melee. Peter had already walked ahead of them to summon their carriage.
"Did you enjoy the evening?"
Abby let out a blissful sigh. "It was wonderful. I've always wanted to see and hear one of Mozart's operas." She covered his hand with her own. "And our supper was delightful too, although how we were supposed to eat with all those interruptions is beyond me."
Peter waved at them and they joined him at the curb. Abby shivered as a slight wind ruffled her newly cut hair. Peter and Madame Wallace had persuaded her to try one of the daring short styles to show off her long neck and apparently graceful features. She still felt exposed and a little awkward. Privately James had also agreed, insisting it made her look more like a man and that suited him just fine.
James handed her into the carriage and followed her in. Peter joined them while James was still laughing at her.
"Abby wants to know how on earth she was supposed to eat her dinner when all those people wanted to meet her."
"I'm not sure why you think it is amusing, James," Abby retorted. "I was hungry!"
"All those people were eager to meet you because you are beautiful." Peter nodded at James. "Your wife has taken the ton by storm."
"Don't be ridiculous, Peter. Those people stopped by to talk to you or James, not me."
Peter's smile was slow. "Believe me, James and I aren't generally so popular. Speaking to us was simply a way to engineer an introduction to you."
Abby hunched a shoulder at him and turned to look out of the window. A knot of anxiety gathered in her stomach. Surely he was wrong. Why would anyone be interested in her? She shivered and drew the cloak more tightly around herself. Perhaps the gossips were simply desperate to take a good look at the woman James had abandoned in the country for so many years that most people believed she was a myth.
"I don't wish to become a figure of fun."
James chuckled. "Why should you? You are my wife and you bear an ancient name. Why would anyone bother to ridicule you?"
"Because you've never allowed me to come to London before and I am considered something of an oddity?"
James's smile died. "That's not fair. You made that choice. I asked you to come with me many times."
Abby subsided into her corner again. James was correct. Eventually he'd given up asking her and she'd never broached the subject with him again. It had been easier to hide away and blame James for her lack of courage. She bit down on her lip.
"Abigail, if you are tired, we don't have to join you tonight."
She closed her eyes against the gentle understanding in Peter's voice, struggled to summon the necessary spark of anger.
"You no longer wish to share my bed?"
Peter shifted forward in his seat. "That's not what I said."
"It is what you meant, though, isn't it? Having James all to yourself has obviously made you regret your decision to include me in your bed sport."
James grabbed her shoulder and gently shook her. "Abby cat, stop it. Peter is right. If you are too afraid to share our bed, then just say it, don't try to create an argument out of nothing."
The carriage stopped and she wrenched away from his touch. She flung open the door, stumbled down to the pavement and twisted her ankle in the gutter. Ignoring Peter's quiet entreaty to wait, she kept going, her gaze fixed on the open front door, the staircase and finally the sanctuary of her bedroom.
"Are you all right, my lady?"
Abby clutched at her cloak, startled by the appearance of her maid sewing in the shadows by the fire.
"I'm fine, Marie. Just a little tired. Help me take off this gown and then you can go. I'll bathe in the morning."
Abby swallowed hard. Her throat ached with all the tears she refused to shed until she was quite alone. Thankfully, Marie didn't fuss around her. Soon she was efficiently divested of her garments and tucked up in bed. Her breathing evened out and she tried to listen for sounds of movement from James's suite. Would they come after her or leave her to her fears?
She blinked away a few hot tears. She'd let her own trepidation rule her again, just as she had when Peter first touched her. She pleated the cool linen sheet in her fingers. Was she really such a coward? Peter and James insisted they wanted her. Did she have the courage to get out of her bed and find out?
"That went well." James grimaced as Peter leaned forward to light his cigarillo. "What the hell did I do wrong?"
They sat together in front of the fireplace in James's suite, a bottle of brandy and three glasses on a silver tray between them.
"I don't think you did anything wrong. She simply got scared," Peter said.
"Of us?"
"Obviously."
Peter poured himself a large glass of brandy and swallowed it in one gulp. He refilled both their glasses.
"I'm hoping she will be brave enough to come and find us. She'll probably try to pretend nothing happened, and for once you might consider not teasing her and allow her to keep her pride."
"I don't tease her."
Peter fixed James with his most intimidating stare. "Yes, you do. I'm surprised she hasn't planted you a facer yet."
James stripped off his black coat and threw it over the back of his chair. "I told you we were more like siblings, didn't I?"
"But not tonight."
James gripped the back of his chair, his expression serious. "No, not tonight." His fingers caressed the satin brocade. "I hope she comes back. For the first time, I can see her as a woman as well as my friend." He smiled at Peter. "Thank you for giving me that."
Peter shrugged. "If I said the pleasure was entirely mine, would you call me out?"
James's answering smile was slightly crooked. "Only if you both decided I had become irrelevant."
"Now you sound like Abigail. This arrangement was meant to bring you together, not make matters worse. Rest assured, you are still relevant to me and I'm sure it will be the same for Abigail. She wants a child. She wants your child."
"And I still want to do this for her."
"And so do I."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Peter crossed the small space between them and kissed James lightly on the lips. "I want you to enjoy us both. I know it is difficult for you to be with a woman, but I also know you can perform perfectly adequately if you wish."
James bit down on Peter's lower lip. "You've been listening to gossip again, haven't you."
"Indeed I have. If I'd thought the idea of touching a woman was impossible for you, I would never have agreed to share your marriage bed in the first place."
"I can guarantee I'll perform much better if you are both there."
Peter deepened the kiss, one hand curved around James's neck to hold him still. He stepped closer, allowed his erect cock to brush against James's. When James drew back, his breathing was harsh.
"I'm glad we are in agreement then."
Peter smiled. "Now let's just hope Abigail realizes it too."
Abby drew in a deep calming breath and opened the door into James's suite. Peter and James sat by the fire, feet stretched out to the blaze, glasses of brandy in their hands. James looked up as she approached.
"Ah, there you are, Abby cat. Would you like some brandy?"
He patted his knee as Peter poured her a small glass of the deep brown liquid. Still mindful of her dignity, Abby perched on James's outstretched knee and dutifully sipped at her drink. James and Peter continued to talk as if she wasn't there, and gradually she relaxed back against James's shoulder. Perhaps they hadn't noticed she had bolted after all. She gave Peter a small smile and he winked at her. Well, perhaps they had, but they were obviously doing their best to pretend otherwise.
She stiffened as James took her brandy away and put it back on the table. He cupped her face in both hands.
"Do you still want to do this, Abby?"
She stared at him, judged the sincerity in his brown eyes.
"Yes."
He kissed her forehead, then her nose and finally her mouth. "Thank God."
James nodded at Peter and Abby almost stopped breathing. Peter sank down onto his knees in front of the chair she and James occupied and touched her hand.
"May I kiss you, Abigail?"
Abby licked her dry lips. James widened his stance and Peter moved closer between his outstretched thighs. His lips brushed hers in a delicate caress and she opened her mouth. He murmured his approval as his tongue dallied with hers, drawing her deeper and deeper into an erotic kiss. Behind her, James's arms tightened, supporting her from shoulder to knee.
She felt surrounded by maleness. The intoxicating scent of Peter mingling with the more familiar smell of her husband. She shivered as James worked on the sash of her dressing gown and parted her robe, leaving her just in her nightgown.
"God, Abigail, you are so beautiful. Isn't she, James?"
"Aye."
James sounded different, his usual laughing tone replaced with something deeper and more intense. She turned her head to look at him, saw the stark sexual hunger in his eyes. Was it for her, for Peter or for them both? Her body responded with pulsing warmth of its own.
Peter placed his hands on her knees and squeezed.
"I want to touch your sex. I want James to watch me touching your sex. Will you let me?"
"Are you sure James wants to see that?"
Her voice trembled and she jumped as James answered for himself.
"I want to see his mouth on you, his fingers sliding inside you. I want to see what I look like when he is working me."
Abby relaxed her legs and allowed Peter to bring the palm of his hand up the inside of her thigh. James pulled up her nightgown.
"Let me sit farther back in the seat before I overbalance myself trying to watch."
Abby allowed herself to be drawn back into the chair, her bottom settled firmly against the heat and hardness of James's groin, her legs spread wide over his thighs. Peter smiled up at her, the lust in his gaze tempered by the sweetness of pure desire.
She groaned when his tongue flicked at her swollen bud and writhed back against James, who groaned in return.
"Touch her breasts, James."
Peter returned to licking her clit, his finger already sliding through the slick wetness of her cream. James cupped her breasts and then settled his thumbs over her nipples. He looked over her shoulder as Peter worked her, timing his strokes to Peter's thrusting finger.
Pleasure rippled through Abby's entire body. She could never have imagined that two men would be able to send her into such instant frenzy. But then, hadn't they been preparing her for this all day? All those small caresses, the attention paid to her breasts at the modiste, the heavy drape of James's arm over her shoulder at the theater. She didn't feel like a proper lady at all. She wanted to writhe and scream and beg them never to stop.
James squeezed her nipples. "God, Peter, I want to see more of both of you. Take off some of your damned clothes, man."
"An excellent idea, if Abigail agrees."
James lifted Abby off his lap and stood up, his cock clearly visible through the tightly stretched fabric of his white pantaloons. Abby realized the sight didn't frighten her at all. She even glanced back at Peter to see if he was also aroused, wondered how the two men compared, blushed at her own daring.
"Help me undress, Abigail."
Peter beckoned at her, his smile inviting, and she turned to help him. Behind her, James pulled off his waistcoat and cravat and sat down to take off his shoes.
"Leave your pantaloons on, James."
Abby looked up at Peter and turned to see James's reaction, hands frozen at the waistband of his pantaloons.
"Why?"
Peter grinned. "Because I want you to suffer, of course."
Abby touched Peter's arm. "I don't mind if he gets undressed, honestly."
He touched her cheek. "I'm glad to hear it, but this is for James's benefit, not yours. I like to make him wait. He has a tendency to be so impatient."
"Damn you, Peter."
James pulled off his shirt and then carefully rebuttoned his pantaloons over his straining shaft. A patch of dampness immediately showed through the white satin. He bowed and gestured toward the bed.
"May we proceed now?"
"Indeed we may." Peter gave Abby his shirt and stepped out of his underclothes. He stood and held out his hand. "Abigail?"
She glanced down at her nightdress. Her nipples already showed through the soft fabric. She closed her eyes and pulled the gown over her head.
James sighed as Peter drew her toward the bed.
"This is most unfair, you know, being the only person not allowed to be naked."
Peter stroked a hand down James's back and cupped his buttock. "You will be naked soon, I promise you. But I want you to play with Abigail first."
She climbed onto the bed after James, who slid an arm around her waist and rolled her onto her side. He drew her against him until she came into contact with his chest and groin. She felt the heated press of his constricted cock and wiggled. He groaned, rocking his hips against her.
"Don't do that, Abby, or I'll come in my underclothes and I haven't done that for years."
Peter settled in front of them on his side, his cock erect and already wet.
"That's perfect, James; hold her against you just like that while I make her come."
Abby swallowed hard as Peter approached her again and kissed his way down her throat. James brought his arm around her waist, anchoring her against his lower body. She sighed when Peter licked her nipple and sucked it into his mouth. His fingers playing with her other breast as he suckled. Tension shuddered through her made her arch her back and move with the increasingly demanding tug of his mouth on her sensitive flesh.
James moved with her, rocking his hips against her, the wet press of his covered cock sliding between her buttocks and the small of her back, setting up an erotic response between her legs. He grabbed her knee, brought it back toward his hip, opening her for Peter and bringing his cock closer to her sex.
To anchor herself against the onslaught of sensations, she slid one hand back and wrapped it around James's neck; the other she placed in Peter's hair. One of Peter's hands settled between her legs and dipped into the thick wetness there, rubbed it over her clit and then back over the constricted bulge of James's cock in an endless provocative circle that had Abby and James moaning.
James pulled her back even closer, the blunt tip of his cock grinding against her open core as if trying to force entry. Peter's fingers worked them both into a desperate frenzy. Abby climaxed first, her screams muffled by Peter, who came back up to kiss her mouth as she spasmed helplessly between him and James.
As she tried to recover her senses, she heard James begging.
"Please, Peter, let me take off these damned pantaloons and come."
Peter looked at Abby. "Would you like to help James with his cock?"
She managed to sit up, focused her gaze on James, who was kneeling up on the bed, his face set in an agony of lust, his pantaloons stretched to their limits by his huge erection. She glanced back at Peter.
"And what will you be doing while I'm doing that?"
"Watching and making love to you at the same time." Peter stroked his own cock and moved behind Abby. "Do you think you would like that?"
"Will James?"
"Aye, I will. Just hurry up and do it before I explode."
Abby crawled across to him and worked carefully at the buttons of his pantaloons. His breath hissed out every time she inadvertently brushed his cock. When she had freed him, she sat back on her knees.
"Dammit, Abby, you've seen my cock before. Why are you staring at it so hard?"
"Actually I've never seen you like this." She touched the swollen tip. "Your shaft is thicker than Peter's but maybe not quite so long."
She leaned forward and gave him a tentative lick. He tasted of leather and cinnamon. His stomach muscles clenched and he grabbed a handful of her hair.
"Suck it, Abby. See how much bigger I am than Peter when you try and take me in your mouth." He sounded hoarse, and most unlike himself. Abby considered asking him another question. As if he guessed her intention, he tightened his grip on her hair.
"Suck it. I'm sure Peter told you I like it hard and rough."
She slid her mouth over the first three or four inches, inhaling his earthy scent, tolerating the insistent pull on her hair, the unspoken demand that she take all of him right now so intrinsically James, she almost wanted to laugh. She even remembered to relax her throat and breathe through her nose, to allow him even deeper.
"Christ, that's good, Abby; you've almost taken all of me."
She wanted to smile, couldn't with her mouth full of thick, pulsing male flesh. She started to move, sliding his cock back and forth down her throat. He encouraged her with every strangled moan and coarse demand he made. Even if she didn't understand the words, she understood he enjoyed what she did to him.
Peter's hands came to rest on her hips and he raised her until she was on all fours, her arms and hands balanced on James's legs.
"We haven't finished yet, Abigail. I'm going to kiss James and then I'm going to slide my cock deep inside you."
Peter knelt up and James abruptly stopped talking. As Peter kissed him his cock twitched and swelled in Abby's mouth, making her swallow hard. She tried to stay still as the crown of Peter's cock brushed her buttocks and then slid home inside her, forcing her forward, making her take all of James.
Peter started a shallow thrust, and Abby simply allowed her body and her mouth to move with him. James's grip on her hair became more frantic, his hips jerking as he fought against his climax. Peter caressed Abby's clit, joining in the overpowering rhythm sending her into a land where sensation ruled and all she cared about was the next thrust of Peter's cock, the overwhelming fullness of James in her mouth and the slap of flesh on flesh.
She climaxed, the sensations ripping through her like a storm, her body writhing between the two men as they came into her, filling her with their seed, completing her. She opened her mouth, gasped for breath as Peter slumped over her, his face buried against James's shoulder.
"That was an excellent start."
Abby groaned as Peter rolled off her. James lay on his side. He kissed Abby and then Peter.
"I agree," James said. "What's next?"
Peter smiled down at Abby, and despite her recent activities her body responded to the salacious promise in his blue eyes. She smiled back.
"Well if James intends to create a child, surely he needs to change places with you?"
"What a splendid idea, Abigail. And he doesn't even have to move very far." Peter touched James's shoulder. "Stay on your side and bring Abigail back alongside you."
James complied and Abby found herself pressed against the muscular length of his body from head to toe, his arms wrapped around her waist.
"Now bring her right leg back over your hip. Mmm...that's nice. I can see both of you so well." Peter flicked Abby's clit and drew James's cock between her buttocks. He bent down, his mouth working them both until James was fully erect again.
James groaned. "I want to fuck her."
"Then go ahead." Abby quivered as Peter helped James slide inside her. She felt no pain, her channel already wet and open from Peter's lovemaking.
Peter lay on his side and studied Abigail's sex. James's cock was embedded inside her, her labia swollen and stretched around his thick pulsing shaft, her clit as stiff as any man's erection. She didn't look in the least bit scared anymore and, as Peter had suspected, James proved very amenable to direct instructions.
Peter sighed, appreciating the delicious contrasts of his lovers. God they looked beautiful together. Abigail's short hair in tight curls around her heart-shaped face, James's larger body framing and surrounding her, his luscious mouth half open as he groaned in delight.
"So tight, Abby cat, so fucking tight."
James started to thrust, one hand gripping Abigail's hip, bringing her hard back against him on every stroke. Every time she came close to his face, Peter licked her clit, making her writhe down on James. He shivered as he felt James's hand close on his thigh.
"Abby, take Peter's cock in your mouth."
Peter's cock swelled as Abigail maneuvered herself into a position to oblige. He tried not to shove too hard, to remember that she was new to this and that he needed the pleasure to be all hers. He continued to play with her clit while she drew him deeper until he grew even larger in her throat and forgot about being gentle. Forgot about treating her carefully and simply fucked her mouth as hard as he could.
James grunted, his movements fast, slamming Abigail into Peter's cock.
"I'm going to come."
Peter redoubled his efforts on Abigail's sex, felt her tense, almost cried out as she climaxed and bit down on his shaft, forcing him to come too.
When Peter finally opened his eyes, James was grinning at him and Abigail was apparently asleep, squashed happily between them.
"I believe that went well, Mr. Howard."
Peter smiled back. "I believe it did, Lord Beecham."
"Perhaps tomorrow night will prove to be even better."
Peter's smile faltered as he contemplated what the morning might hold. He held James's gaze.
"God, I hope so."
15
I t seemed rather fitting that the skies were low, sullen and threatened rain. Peter sighed as he put on his thickest outdoor coat and hat. The Reverend William Howard had replied to his message and requested that Peter meet him at his hotel at eleven. Peter glanced at his pocket watch before he stowed it away. Thankfully, Abigail wasn't up yet and James was nowhere to be seen. He headed down to the hall.
To his surprise, James paced the black-and-white tiled entrance hall, hands behind his back, expression impatient. He glanced up when he heard Peter's footsteps on the stairs.
"Are you ready, then?"
Peter mock-frowned at him. "I've already told you I don't need an escort."
James glared right back. "I'm not coming with you. I'm taking a walk. A gentleman is perfectly entitled to take a constitutional stroll in the park whenever he likes."
"In this weather?"
The butler held open the door and both men stepped out into the chilly fog. Peter pulled on his gloves and glanced sideways at James. Despite not needing company, it warmed his heart that James wanted to be there for him. Valentin would probably have assumed he was coming and be damned with asking.
"I appreciate your concern for me."
"No, you don't. You think I'm being an overbearing nuisance."
Peter smiled, his attention fixed on the corner of the square where a small lone figure swept the muddy crossing. "Actually, I do. It will help me greatly to have people I can confide in afterward."
James snorted. "I'm surprised Lord Sokorvsky isn't here to ensure you do as he says."
Peter kept moving as the wind rose and the trees in the center of the square swayed in unison like the corp de ballet. "Lord Sokorvsky and I are at odds at the moment."
"And what happens when you aren't at odds? Do you kiss and make up?"
Peter stopped walking and simply stared into James's anguished brown eyes.
James grimaced. "Christ, I apologize. That was uncalled for. The last thing you need at this moment is a jealous lover."
"Exactly. Can we discuss this at another time?"
James bowed. "Of course. Now do you intend to get a cab from here or continue to walk?"
Peter paused at the entrance to Grillon's and took a deep breath. Regardless of what happened next, he would maintain his dignity. He'd spent half his life simply existing, waiting to find himself. He also knew it was possible to still be alive and breathing after the most exquisite torture. Those harsh lessons in the brothel had always stood him in good stead. He hoped to God they would now.
When the desk clerk ushered him into a private parlor, Peter quickly scanned the room. A small fire burned in the hearth and two wingback chairs were drawn up close to the heat. An elderly gentleman stood by the mantelpiece. In the silence, the sound of the door clicking shut behind the clerk was loud. Peter bowed.
"Mr. William Howard?"
His bow was returned and a pair of eyes, the same pale blue as his own, regarded him over a pair of half-spectacles. There was a distinct similarity between their height and build. The man gestured at the two chairs.
"Please sit down, Mr. Howard; I've ordered tea."
Peter took off his hat and gloves and laid them on the scarred table. He took the chair opposite the older man and settled back, aware of the unabashed scrutiny he was being subjected to, more than willing to allow it if it helped his case.
"You do have a look of my daughter."
Peter let out a silent breath at the grudging admission. "Did your daughter have a child, sir?"
"She did, but we believed that child to be dead."
"In reality, sir, or just because she had a child? Some families prefer to pretend such a child never existed. I assume your daughter wasn't married."
"She, Lily, certainly wasn't married. At the age of sixteen, she ran away from home on a foolish whim."
"A foolish whim?"
"She believed herself in love with a young soldier who was stationed at the local barracks."
His expression grew pinched, the calm disdain on his face for his daughter, more than apparent, even after all these years.
"Ah, foolish indeed." Peter studied his boot cap before again raising his head. It wouldn't do for him to stare constantly at this man who might be his only living relative. "How did you find out about the child?"
"She came back, of course, after the rogue discarded and ruined her."
"And you welcomed her into your house?"
"I am a man of the cloth. I couldn't allow her to live in my house and pollute the thoughts of her siblings with her immoral ways."
A thousand heated responses flooded Peter's mind but he held them back, determined to hear the truth and finish this before he lowered himself to lose his temper. Perhaps Abigail had a point when she'd suggested his mother might've had good reason to run away.
"So what happened to her, to me?"
William Howard sat forward, his expression harsh. "Don't judge me, sir. I was put in a very difficult position."
Peter managed a thin smile. "I'm sure you were. Please carry on."
"I arranged for her and the child to be boarded out with a family about twenty miles from where we lived."
"How very generous of you."
"As I said, it was the best I could do. She had a comfortable home, someone to help take care of the baby and enough money to see her through each year."
"So what happened?"
William sighed. "After three years, she ran away again."
"Without me?"
"Yes, luckily, she left you at the cottage with the Mudsons. The next letter we had came from London, where I assume she took up her old ways."
"You mean she became a prostitute?"
"I can't confirm that, but that is what I suspect. We didn't hear from her for several years then."
There was a knock at the door and a smiling maid appeared with a coffeepot and some tea. Peter blindly took a cup of coffee, held it in his hand, simply for something solid to hold onto.
"When was your last contact with her?"
"She came to tell us she was leaving the country with her latest protector, a man she swore was going to marry her. You would've been about ten or eleven at the time." William grimaced. "She seemed delighted at the prospect of leaving the country."
"Did she speak of me?"
His gaze slid away from Peter. "We assumed she was taking you with her."
"But she didn't. She took me to the docks and signed me up as a cabin boy aboard the Queen Henrietta bound for Russia."
"So Lord Sokorvsky said in his very detailed letter."
Peter put down his cup. "I was also told that I was expected to meet up with a party of religious missionaries in Russia who would take care of me."
"I had no knowledge of this. But then Lily was always an excellent liar."
"But do you believe I am her son?"
The silence lengthened as William studied Peter. His expression had reverted to a calm mask that reminded Peter eerily of himself. "I would assume so. As I said, you have a look of her and she was the image of me."
Briefly Peter closed his eyes. "I promised myself I would not offend you and that I would be grateful for anything you had to tell me about my family, but how can you sit there so calmly and talk about my mother and me as if we meant nothing to you?"
"I grieved for my daughter and for you many years ago." William paused, fumbled with his spectacles. "It was a great shock when we received Lord Sokorvsky's letter."
Peter tried to relax. "I can understand that. Did you receive news that my mother and I were dead?"
"I received news of her death, yes, about four years after she left England. She succumbed to an infection of the lungs whilst residing in Italy."
"And what of me?"
William sighed. "I have a question of my own, if I may. Why didn't you contact me directly after your return to England at the age of eighteen?"
"Lord Sokorvsky told you about my capture and release from Turkey then?"
"He told me that you two were enslaved together and rescued, yes. Why didn't you come to me then?"
Peter gritted his teeth. "Because after the battle on the ship, I was knocked unconscious. I have no knowledge of my life before the age of eleven."
"Some might say that the sudden return of those memories is very convenient for you."
"The memories have not returned. All I know about are the records left at the shipping office and the testimony of a man who met my mother and me at the docks."
"And do you believe that information?"
"There were only two children registered on the ship, Mr. Howard, and since I was one and Valentin Sokorvsky, the person I spent the next seven years with, was the other, there seems little doubt that I am who I think I am."
William nodded. "And the ship's records led your business partner back to me and my family." His shrewd gaze swept Peter. "You appear to have done well for yourself despite everything."
"Meaning despite being an unwanted bastard I have prospered? Or are you suggesting my business partner and I deliberately decided to contact you now? For what reason?"
"At first I thought you might need money, but I can see now that you do not."
Peter rose slowly to his feet and stared down at the old man. "You are correct. I do not need your money, and it seems that I do not need you, either. Thank you for your time and goodbye."
He picked up his hat and gloves and turned for the door, the ache of betrayal rolling in his gut, the need to leave no longer an option but a necessity.
"Mr. Howard, you misunderstand me, I did not mean to imply..."
"Ah, but you did, didn't you? You'd already decided that I was somehow out to cheat you, or blame you for my state. I told Lord Sokorvsky that this was a waste of time and I was correct." He bowed. "I wish you good day, sir."
He escaped out into the lobby of the hotel, pushed through a group of elderly matrons and out into the street. Rain fell in a steady stream, making the gutters overflow, creating a filth-ridden flow of water down the center of the road. Peter breathed in the damp air and kept walking.
As dusk fell, he found himself standing outside Madame Helene's discreet house in Mayfair. With hands that shook, he fumbled for the key that allowed him access through the more private areas of the house. He opened the door, and his teeth chattered as a wave of warm perfumed air surrounded him.
The thick carpet muffled the sound of his soaked booted feet as he found his way to Helene's private apartments. He tapped on the door, heard her seductive response and went in. She lay on her bed, a white whisper of a negligee wrapped around her luscious body. She sat up and her eyes widened as she stared at him.
"Peter, mon dieu, I was not expecting you. What on earth happened?"
He tried to smile, found he couldn't, simply stood there shivering like the child he'd once been, afraid, alone and desperate. She came to his side and drew him into her arms.
"Come and have a bath, cheri, then we can talk."
He allowed her to take him by the hand and lead him into her fragrant bathroom, content to allow the minutes to flow by in the mechanics of cleaning and warming himself. Perhaps after that, he would be able to decide what in God's name to do next.
"Thank you for your help, Helene."
Peter straightened his clean cravat and pinned it in place with a diamond stud. Helene had arranged for a clean set of clothes to be delivered from his house. She studied him now, her anxious face reflected in the mirror beside his.
"Are you sure you don't wish to talk about this, Peter?"
He managed to smile. "I merely got soaked in the rain. There is nothing to discuss. And now I must hurry. I have arranged to meet the Beechams at the Lowerstoft's ball."
"The Beechams?"
"Yes, they are both in town."
"I heard that rumor. I also heard you were seen dining with them last night."
Peter caught her gaze in the mirror. "Don't fish, Helene, it doesn't become you."
Her soft laughter warmed him a little. "I'm not above a little gossip, my friend. In truth, it is one of my favorite pastimes."
"Is that why you introduced Lord Beecham to me then?" He turned to face her as he shrugged into his tight-fitting blue coat. Helene helped him adjust the shoulders.
"Did I do the right thing for once?"
He held her gaze. "You know you did. He is exquisite."
"And his wife?"
"None of your business."
She winked at him. "I'm glad to see you are feeling better."
He kissed her hand. "I'm not, but at least, thanks to you, I'm able to pretend otherwise." He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. "Thank you, Helene; I appreciate everything you have done for me this evening."
She pouted. "I have done very little except wash your hair and your back. You wouldn't let me bring you sexual relief or tell me what is really wrong." She patted his cheek. "Please take care of yourself. You are one of my oldest friends. I would hate to see you hurt."
"You gave me what I needed and that's what a true friend does, isn't it?"
She sighed. "I suppose so, although I feel quite inadequate."
Peter picked up his hat, gloves and cloak. "I will come and visit you properly soon and tell you anything you want to know."
She waved him away. "I don't believe that for a minute. Now be off with you. You wouldn't want to keep the Beechams waiting, would you?"
He thought of Abigail and James, wondered if they were worried about him, whether they would turn up at the ball or wait for him at their home. He stopped walking. Perhaps they wouldn't do either. He'd gotten them into the same bed together. Were his duties fulfilled? Wasn't he supposed to make his usual graceful exit and move on?
The hackney cab Madame ordered for him drew up outside the house and he climbed in. The streets were almost deserted now, the rain unrelenting. He shivered, acutely aware of the coldness that lingered just below the surface of his skin, the chill of loneliness he wondered if he'd ever get rid of again.
He didn't want to move on. He wanted the Beechams to be there for him, Abigail's sharp common sense and James's gruffness, which concealed a sensual nature few might have imagined. He wanted to lie on the bed with them and share his impressions of his grandfather. Because whatever happened, he knew in his soul that William Howard was definitely related to him, whether he chose to acknowledge the connection or not.
Peter straightened his coat as the coach drew to a halt outside the glittering Grosvenor Square mansion where the ball was taking place. A footman opened the door and hurried to cover Peter's head with an umbrella. He smiled his thanks, made sure to tip the man lavishly and entered the house, his smile firmly fixed in place.
16
"D o you see him, James?"
"Abby, if you ask me again, I'll send you outside in the rain to go and look for him yourself."
Abby pouted at James. The press of people in the grand entranceway of the house surprised her. It was as difficult to move as market day in Henham. She struggled to hang onto James's arm, aware that her beautiful green gown was being trodden on. The constant stream of apologies and sidestepping only served as a distant annoying buzz to her concern for Peter. James came to a sudden stop.
"This is ridiculous. Let's make our way back into the ballroom. It will be far easier for Peter to find us there."
Abby had to agree. James caught her hand and dragged her back through the fracas until they reached the large entrance doors to the ballroom. Soft music floated out of the door and, inside, couples bowed and twirled in a stately country dance. Abby stared entranced at the sight until James tugged on her hand again.
"Let's sit here."
James ushered her into a chair and sat next to her with a worried frown. Abby touched his hand.
"Do you think Peter is all right?"
"Damned if I know. I left messages at his house and at the shipping company but nobody has seen him today."
Despite the excessive warmth, Abby shivered. "Perhaps he stayed with his new family."
"He didn't. I also checked at Grillon's and neither Howard was still there."
Abby drew an unsteady breath. After the best and most erotic night of her life, the news of Peter's desertion sat heavily in her stomach. Did he think they didn't need him anymore? Had he decided to go and search for his family without telling them goodbye?
"Lord Beecham?"
Abby looked up to see a complete stranger bowing to James.
"Fulcomb."
James stood up and bowed in return, his gaze shifting around the room. Mr. Fulcomb bowed again and nodded shyly in Abby's direction.
"I was hoping for an introduction, Beecham, and the chance to dance with your beautiful wife."
James stared at Mr. Fulcomb. "You want to dance with my wife?"
"I believe it is customary at balls, to dance, I mean." The poor man blushed red and pulled nervously at his shirt points.
"I know that, but why my wife?"
Abby stood up. "James, dear, let me handle this." She curtsied to Mr. Fulcomb. "I would be delighted to dance with you, sir, although I don't know waltz very well, so please don't ask me for one of those."
She placed her hand on Mr. Fulcomb's sleeve and smiled at James. "I'll be back soon. Let me know if our particular friend arrives, won't you?"
Despite James's scowl and Peter's absence, she intended to have at least one dance. As a young girl she'd dreamed of having her Season, of dancing the night away at the ton balls and meeting the man of her dreams. Of course, that had changed after her hasty marriage, but it was far too tempting an opportunity to miss.
When Mr. Fulcomb took her back to James, she was flushed and slightly breathless. James grabbed hold of her hand and marched her firmly toward the supper rooms.
"What the devil was all that about?"
"What?"
"You, grinning up at that idiot Fulcomb while he danced you around the room."
Abby sighed. "It's called enjoying yourself. Am I not allowed to do that?"
James held her even tighter. "I don't think I like it."
She fought a smile. "Don't tell me you're jealous."
"I don't know. I just didn't like seeing his hands on you."
"You didn't seem to mind Peter's hands on me."
He smiled down at her, the new dangerous smile that made her aware of him as a sexual being, as a lover. "Now, that's different."
"Why, because he is your lover too?"
"Exactly."
He leaned into her, kissed her lightly on the lips. "Peter had better turn up soon or I'm going to die of frustration. I want you both again very badly."
Abby stared into his heated brown eyes, remembered him thrusting inside her, Peter entwined with them both. His smile deepened.
"Aye, you want it too, don't you?"
"Good evening, Lord and Lady Beecham."
James straightened abruptly, obscuring Abby's view of Peter.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Peter wore a pale blue coat with a silver waistcoat and black pantaloons. His expression was serene, his smile calm and distant. Abby clutched James's hand.
"What happened, are you all right?"
Peter bowed. "Good evening, Lady Beecham. It was a...difficult day. I apologize for not contacting you earlier. As you can see, I am unharmed."
James took a step forward. "We were worried about you."
"I realize that and I repeat, I apologize." Peter bowed and remained silent, his cool gaze resting on James.
"That's not good enough." To Abby's surprise, James touched Peter's arm. "We need to talk to you."
Peter bowed. "There is a steward's office toward the rear of the house. We can be more private there."
Abby closed the door and leaned against it. In the flickering candlelight, Peter looked remote, his face that of a stained glass saint about to be martyred and rising toward heaven. James sat on the corner of the desk, arms folded over his chest, his expression formidable.
"Abby and I spent all afternoon worrying about you and you stand there and apologize as if we were mere acquaintances you had let down on a social occasion?"
Peter sighed. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."
"We want you to tell us what happened, dammit!"
"Are you quite sure you want to know?"
"Christ, Peter, you spent last night with us! We are supposed to be lovers! Do you think we've suddenly changed?"
Peter studied his fingernails. "I wondered if, perhaps, you would prefer it if I moved on. I got you back into bed with each other, after all."
James shot to his feet, marched across to Peter and kissed him hard on the mouth.
"Goddamn you for a fool. I'm not done with you yet and neither is Abby."
Peter looked at Abby. "Is that true?"
"Yes." Watching James kiss Peter stirred her memories of the previous night. Her nipples hardened and dampness gathered between her thighs.
"Show him, Abby."
She managed to walk across to Peter, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. His tongue met hers, drew her in, tantalized, teased, promised unheard of delights. She moaned as James moved behind her, trapping her between them. He cupped her breasts, pressed them into Peter's chest.
"Now do you think we want to let you go?"
Peter groaned. "God, no."
James touched his cheek. "Then tell us what happened."
"He seemed to believe you really were his grandson but he also assumed you wanted something from him?"
Peter sighed, one hand pushing back his blond hair.
"So it seems. I found myself getting angry and I had to leave."
"Suspicious bastard," James muttered as he continued to pace the worn carpet.
"Well, I certainly appear to be a bastard."
James paused to glare at Peter. "Not you, your grandfather! What a hypocrite. I thought he was supposed to be a man of the church."
"I think he was as ill-prepared for our meeting as I was. Perhaps I should've stayed and heard him out."
"You are far more charitable than I am," Abby said. "I think I would've walked out as well." She reached across and squeezed his arm. "What are you going to do now?"
"Get on with my life, I suppose. I don't need the Reverend William Howard's approval to live the way I want to."
Despite Peter's calm words, Abby sensed the bleakness leaching out of him. His composure was as fragile as the finest porcelain, and to her, just as transparent. She repressed a desire to go and find his grandfather, tell him what a fool he was and stamp very hard on his foot.
"You are right, who cares about him anyway?"
Abby caught Peter's faint smile and gave it back to him full measure. She looked up at James, who seemed as concerned as she was. He nodded. She slid off her corner of the desk and went to stand between Peter's legs.
"James was telling me off for enjoying the ball."
"No, I wasn't, Abby. I just said I didn't like other men dancing with you."
Abby outlined Peter's lips with her gloved finger. "You would like to see me dance with Peter, though, wouldn't you?"
"I'd rather have you both naked in bed with me, but I suppose that would be all right."
"I would like to dance with Peter, and then I would like to dance with you."
James groaned. "I hate prancing around like a fool."
"But I want to feel you both move against me as we dance. I want to imagine what we will be doing together later." She looked from Peter to James and back again. "I want to imagine watching you together."
James raised his eyebrows. "You want to see us fuck?"
She kissed Peter and then moved to James.
"Did you think I would be too afraid?"
He smiled down at her. "Not really, you've always been a curious little cat." He turned to Peter. "What do you think? Should we show Abby how it's done?"
Peter's answering smile held a mixture of gratitude and warmth that made her want to cry. If her bold words helped take his mind off the unkindness of his grandfather, she was happy to oblige.
"If that is what the lady truly wishes."
Abby curtsied to them both. "It is, but first you must dance with me. This is my first ball and I absolutely insist that the two most handsome men in the room waltz with me and only me."
James sighed and headed for the door.
"It seems we have created a monster, Peter. Let's see if we can keep her happy."
Much later, Abby glanced up at Peter as they waltzed around the ballroom. He was an exquisite dancer. Far more graceful than she would ever be and adept enough to make it look as if she knew what she was doing. He smiled down at her, his blue eyes tranquil.
"Is the ball living up to your expectations?"
"It is. I am dancing with one of the most handsome men I've ever met, and even better, I know he won't just bow and walk away from me but take me home for a far more intimate dance."
His thigh brushed hers as they navigated the corner. James's amused face flashed by them, his expression full of approval.
"You amaze me, Abigail."
Concentrating as she was on her steps, she almost missed Peter's softly spoken words. She took a moment to register the quiet pleasure they gave her before she replied.
"Why is that?"
"Because of your ability to see James and me as we really are and for your acceptance of our peculiarities."
"I don't think you are peculiar at all."
"Exactly."
He smiled and drew her even closer until the bodice of her gown brushed his chest with every movement.
"I think caring for someone is the most wonderful thing in the world. Why should it matter what sex that person happens to be?"
"Abigail, you truly are unique."
The music stopped and she curtsied deeply. Peter brought her back to her feet, his gaze steady on hers. The ballroom disappeared, only the blue of his eyes existed, his admiration and appreciation a balm to her soul and a blessing she had never expected to receive.
"Peter."
Abby winced as Peter's grip tightened. He turned toward a gentleman dressed in dark blue and white, his unfashionably long brown hair was secured in a bow at the nape of his neck. Abby gulped as she registered the passion emanating from his amazing violet eyes. He was almost too pretty to be a man.
"Valentin." Peter ushered her forward. "Lord Sokorvsky, may I introduce you to Lady James Beecham?"
"Your servant, ma'am." Lord Sokorvsky bowed, instantly dismissed her, and returned his attention to Peter. "I wish to talk to you."
"I wish to enjoy the ball."
"Peter..."
"I'll come by the office tomorrow and talk about anything you want, Val, but I'm here with friends and I don't wish to spoil their evening or mine."
Lord Sokorvsky set his jaw. "It will only take a moment of your time. I'm sure Lady Beecham won't mind."
"But I will. I'm not going to do what you want, Val, so go and bully someone else for a change."
Abby quailed at the murderous expression on Valentin Sokorvsky's face. "I will not be so easily dismissed. You owe me more than that."
"And I always will, won't I?" Peter sighed. "All right. I met the Reverend Howard. He believed I'd turned up hoping to help myself to some family money or blame him for my fate. I disabused him of that notion and that was that."
A flurry of emotions crowded Valentin's face. "Hell, Peter, I'm sorry, I..."
"Don't be, Val."
Valentin reached out and grabbed Peter's forearm. Abby tensed as Peter shrugged out of his grasp. People were starting to notice them. Where was James when she needed him? She loudly cleared her throat.
"Mr. Howard, this is not a good place for such a private conversation. Why don't we all move toward the far window?"
She herded them toward a more secluded corner of the ballroom and then out into a narrow landing that connected the back stairs and the kitchen.
"This conversation is finished anyway," Peter said, his gaze locked with Valentin's. "Lord Sokorvsky has found out what he wanted to know and is now happy to leave."
"No, I'm not."
"What's going on?"
Peter grimaced as he registered James at Abigail's side, his expression grim, his intent to interfere obvious. He came to stand beside Peter.
"Sokorvsky, I'm Beecham."
Valentin's gaze turned impatiently away from Peter's. "I know who you are."
"Good, then perhaps you might also know that I'm considered very loyal to my friends."
"So?" Valentin's increasing hauteur and aggression was so reminiscent of a fighting cock that Peter fought an insane desire to laugh.
"Mr. Howard is my friend and I believe I heard him ask you to leave."
Valentin took a step forward until his face was but an inch from James's.
"This has nothing to do with you, sir. My friendship with Mr. Howard goes far deeper than yours ever will."
Abigail clutched at Peter's arm as the two men closed in on each other.
"Peter, make them stop!"
Peter patted her shoulder and shoved himself bodily between the two men. He placed a hand on each of their chests.
"James, I appreciate your help; Valentin, I will talk to you later."
Both men stared at him. James was the first to respond. He bowed. "I'll take Abby to the refreshment room. We'll meet you there."
"Thank you, James."
After the Beechams left, Peter turned back to Val, who lounged against the wall.
"You need to go now."
Valentin straightened. "What is he to you?"
"Lord Beecham? What do you think?"
"I think he is a fool. I saw you dancing with her. Does he know you're fucking him and his wife?"
"Jealous, Val?"
Peter found himself slammed up against the wall, Valentin's hand at his throat. Anger coursed through him as he stared at his oldest friend, his lover, his nemesis, his savior, his tormentor...all those things applied and none of them, none of them, mattered. Despite the press of Val's body against his, he fought to breathe normally.
"Who or what I fuck is up to me," Peter said. "It has nothing to do with you anymore, remember?"
Val laughed. "This is all an attempt to get back at me, isn't it? Does it make you happy that I reacted so strongly? Is that what you intended?"
"Your arrogance amazes me. I don't want you back. I want what I have now."
"And what is that? Another married couple to cling to?"
Abruptly Peter pushed at Val's chest and sent him staggering backward. He refused to cheapen the relationship he had with the Beechams by dragging it down to Val's level.
He refused.
"Good night, Lord Sokorvsky."
Peter walked back into the noise and light of the ballroom. The scent of hot wax and hundreds of warm scented bodies, a familiar perfume of arousal in all its forms. He took a deep breath, aware that his hands were shaking and that he was almost at the end of his already-depleted emotional resources.
Perhaps it was time to leave the mess of Valentin and his grandfather behind for a few hours and simply enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. He smiled savagely to himself. Who would've thought that his ability to pretend the horrors of his life didn't exist, abilities that had gotten him through years in a brothel, would still apply in the heart of the ton?
"Peter?"
Oh God, no, not now.
Peter stood still as Sara Sokorvsky stopped in front of him. She wore a gown of deep rose pink, which enhanced her beautiful complexion and complimented her thick dark hair. Diamonds and rubies glittered at her throat and wrists. She held out her hands, her expression radiant.
"Oh my goodness, it is so wonderful to see you!"
"It's only been about four weeks, Sara, hardly a lifetime."
He automatically took her hands and squeezed them hard before abruptly letting go. She frowned at him.
"Are you and Val still fighting?" Her expression sharpened. "Have you seen him this evening?"
"I have had that pleasure, yes."
She held his gaze, her blue eyes steady on his. "And you are still angry with him."
He drew her arm through his and led her away from the dance floor. "It's complicated, Sara. You know everything Val and I do is like that."
She glanced at him and then away. "I was beginning to wonder if your disagreement had something to do with me."
He forced a smile. "Why would you think that? You know how much I care about you."
She bit her lip. "Is it because I'm pregnant?"
Peter briefly closed his eyes. "Sara, I'm delighted that you and Val are expecting a child."
"But you don't want to be anywhere near me while I'm carrying it." Her voice trembled. "I understand some men find a woman repugnant at this time---in their bed, I mean."
Peter stopped walking. "Is that what Val told you?"
She raised her chin. "I'm not stupid, Peter. The only thing different is that I'm pregnant. That's why everything else has changed. That's why you and Val are fighting."
"That's not true."
Tears glinted in her eyes. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, rock her until she started smiling again. She was usually so strong, he hadn't expected such an emotional reaction to his absence.
"Sara..."
He gazed at her, but what could he say? If he insisted that he wasn't repulsed by her and would be quite happy to see her naked, he would be betraying not only Val but the Beechams.
"Sara, I will always care for you."
"But not while I'm pregnant." She gave him a stiff, regal curtsey. "Thank you for being honest at least. I'll tell Val he can stop sheltering me from the truth and perhaps we can all be friends again?"
"I'll always be your friend."
She nodded, her gaze fixed on his shoulder, her lips pressed tightly together. He knew he was handling her badly, but he didn't have the emotional resources left to correct her assumptions. Perhaps it was better this way. Good old Peter, taking the blame for Val yet again. Hadn't he always done that in the brothel? Had Val ever even realized?
"I see Valentin over there by the window."
Peter nodded. "Shall I take you to him?"
Sara stepped away from him. "No, thank you, I think I can find him myself."
"Of course you can."
"Good night, Peter."
He bowed deeply. "Good night, Sara. Take care of yourself." He hesitated, touched her hand as she passed him. "I really am delighted about the baby."
Her expression softened. "Thank you for that."
"You are more than welcome. I'd tell you to give my love to Val, but we both know he has no need of it."
She considered him calmly, head on one side. "I begin to think there is more to this quarrel than you are letting on."
"No, there isn't. You are right to doubt me. Now go and find Val; you know how difficult he is if he can't be with you."
He smiled into her eyes and started to walk away from her, convinced he could feel Val's stare boring into the back of his neck. He fixed his attention on the refreshment room. Would the Beechams still be there and, more important, had they seen his encounter with Sara? He devoutly hoped not.
17
A bby turned quickly away as Peter concluded his conversation with the beautiful woman in pink and headed for the refreshment room. Her instincts told her that the interaction had been far from casual; their intimacy and closeness with each other had been obvious. Well, obvious to any one who might have cause to be jealous.
And she was jealous.
She nudged James in the ribs. "Who is that woman?"
"Which one?"
"The one Peter was just talking to." The one who touched him with a familiarity that makes my hackles rise.
James craned his neck to see around her. "Oh, that's Lady Sara Sokorvsky."
"Of course it is."
James looked down at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was just surprised at how well she seemed to know Peter."
James finished his glass of wine and avoided her gaze. "She is the wife of his best friend."
Abby chewed on her lip. "I suppose she is." She fixed a bright smile on her face as Peter reached them.
"No pistols at dawn, then?" James inquired.
Peter's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Not quite, thank God, although it came close." He sighed. "I suppose I'll have to go to the office tomorrow morning and talk to Val again. I owe him that."
James pulled a face at Abby. It was obvious that he didn't like the idea of Peter going near Valentin any more than Abby enjoyed the thought of Peter meeting Sara. What a pair they were.
Abby waited to see if Peter would mention his encounter with Sara Sokorvsky, but he didn't. He merely spoke to James about a racehorse he had placed a bet on until Abby fought a yawn. Both men looked down at her.
She deliberately licked her lips. "Aren't either of you ready for bed?"
Peter shared a long look with James, who nodded abruptly.
"I'll go and call for the carriage."
"I'll find our hats and Abigail's cloak."
James disappeared into the crowded ballroom while Abby and Peter slowly made their way back to the front of the house. The hall was a crush of people again, some leaving, others still arriving. Peter drew Abby close against his side as he struggled down the wide stairway. At the bottom, Abby almost tripped over a long satin train and fell against Peter. He caught her against him in the shadows of the massive stairwell; his body touched her from knee to shoulder. Ignoring the shouting melee she drew his head down, kissed him hard on the lips.
His response was to kiss her back with an intensity and passion that made her lean into him and wrap her hand around his neck to keep him close. He groaned into her mouth, shoved his thigh between her legs and rocked into her. She forgot where they were as heat seared through her, making her body pulse and open for him.
His hand crept up the inside of her skirt, stroked her bottom, delved between her buttocks and fingered the tight rosebud of her anus. She squirmed against him, rubbed her fingers deliberately against the swell of his shaft until he moved with her, shoving himself into the palm of her hand.
The series of shocks he had suffered that day had obviously shattered his impressive self-discipline. She had never known him so unguarded, so ready to allow her to take liberties with him. She gloried in his lack of control, turned it to her own selfish benefit.
He was first to tear his mouth away. She stared into his lust-filled eyes, determined he'd only see and think of her and forget all about the beautiful Sara Sokorvsky.
"Abigail, you must let go, or I'll be tempted to pull up your skirts and be damned who sees us."
She nodded and reluctantly released him. He disappeared into the throng and returned shortly with her cloak, his hat and gloves. He draped the cloak around her shoulders, his touch gentle and impersonal, as if he understood how close she was to dragging him back into the shadows of the stairwell and encouraging him to fulfill his threat to take her in front of the ton.
"James will be waiting."
She allowed him to help her into the carriage, saw James already seated on the forward facing seat, legs spread wide, brown eyes gleaming with anticipation. He sat up and stared at them both, expectation rising on his face. Peter pulled her onto his lap.
"Abigail is trying to start without us, James, and we can't have that."
"No, we can't." James grinned, his gaze fixed on Peter's hands, which cupped her breasts. "What shall we do with her?"
Peter pulled off his gloves and hiked up her skirts. "Drive her wild. Make her beg for us."
He covered her mound with his hand, thumbed her clit, his fingers swirling into the thick wetness her body had already started to produce. She moaned when he spread her legs wide and beckoned to James.
"Come here, kneel up between her thighs, kiss her."
James obliged, his large muscular body pressed against her, the slick fabric of his pantaloons soft against the inside of her thighs. His cock was on level with the seat and available to Peter's waiting hand and her wet sex.
He kissed her hard, his mouth demanding. But she was no longer afraid of his roughness; instead she welcomed it, longed for it, invited his response with a female aggression all her own.
"Kiss me too, James."
Abby watched the two men kiss, admired the strength of their coming together, the fierceness of two males sharing a moment of pure, rugged passion. She struggled to turn her body and kiss them both too. James laughed and nipped at her lower lip.
"Always so bossy, Abby cat. Always wanting to be involved."
She ignored him, concentrating on the sensation of Peter's hand between her legs. James kissed his way down her throat and licked the swell of her breasts.
"Loosen her gown, Peter. I want to suck her."
Peter obliged and Abby shuddered as James drew her breast into his mouth and suckled hard on her. Her nipple tightened as he pressed it to the roof of his mouth. She writhed against him, clutched his thick dark hair in her fist as a climax threatened to overcome her.
As if he sensed her need, Peter's hand flexed against her mound and he drove several fingers deep inside her.
"James, sit back."
James reared back and barely managed to avoid falling as the carriage rounded a corner. He braced himself using the carriage walls. His attention remained fixed on Peter's fingers embedded inside Abby. She was beyond modesty when Peter used his other hand to display her swollen bud to her husband.
"You see this, James? This is where you must suck her next. Think of it as a miniature cock; make her come."
"My pleasure."
James leaned forward, his thick hair brushing her thigh, his breath warm on her sex. She struggled to look down, saw him lick Peter's fingers and then her clit. A pang of pure lust shot straight to her womb. His mouth closed around her and within a short while she climaxed, thrusting her hips upward to keep his mouth working her, Peter's fingers moved in harmony to James's, and her body stretched like a bow with sheer pleasure.
When she opened her eyes, James was kneeling up again, his attention fixed on Peter, who was trying to tighten the laces of her gown.
"I thought this evening was about you two and your pleasure, not mine," Abby whispered.
James kissed her knee just above her garter. "It's about all of us, Abby, don't you know that yet?"
He returned to his seat and Peter pulled down her skirts. She realized the carriage was slowing down.
"Are we home yet?"
Peter kissed her cheek. "We're not ready to go back yet. We're going to Madame Helene's where we can be together without upsetting the servants or the neighbors." He drew the hood of her cloak over her now-disheveled hair. "Please keep yourself covered until we reach the safety of our room."
Abby allowed James to help her out of the carriage. She clung to his arm, barely noticed the grandness of the white building they entered and the luxurious, overperfumed surroundings. They took her up a set of backstairs, surrounding her with their masculine presence as if she were a precious object that needed to be guarded. She didn't object, the sensation too novel and exciting to be denied.
She entered a bedchamber that was large and decorated in the colors of the sea. Soft blue walls with mother-of-pearl finishes, the rest of the furniture cream, white and silver. A huge bed covered in an oyster-silk counterpane and matching pillows dominated the space. Abby leaned against the door, her slippered feet sinking into pale aqua carpet.
James ripped off his coat, waistcoat and cravat, the bulge in his pantaloons obvious, his intention to get started even more so. Peter merely stared at them both, a slight smile playing over his face.
"James, stand next to Abby and hold her hand."
Abby shivered as James stopped undressing and came to stand beside her, his gaze fixed on Peter.
"I want you both to understand how much I appreciate you."
James moved restlessly, his shoulder bumping Abby's.
"We know that."
"Good, because I want to show you just how much." He bowed to Abby. "Help James out of his pantaloons and he will help you with your gown."
James took little time to strip her gown away, leaving her in a single thin petticoat, corset and stockings. It took her longer to help him because of the tightness of his pantaloons and the wetness that made the cloth stick to his flesh. Finally they were ready to face Peter again.
He smiled. "James, hold up your shirt; Abigail, hold up your petticoat."
He sank to his knees in front of them, his face on level with Abby's mound and James's cock. Looking up at them, he wrapped one hand around James's shaft and slid three fingers up inside Abby. He smiled again.
"One hand for each of you. My mouth, you will have to share."
Abby closed her eyes as he thrust his fingers inside her, his mouth alighting on her clit and then moving to the crown of James's cock as he worked his shaft. James rhythmically gripped her hand as Peter worked him, groaning with pleasure as she moaned alongside him. Her nails dug into his palm as she reached another climax, knew he had come too when he crushed her fingers so hard she thought he'd broken them.
Peter stayed where he was, licked the come off James's cock and then the cream trickling down Abigail's thigh. Desperate for relief, his own shaft throbbed within the confines of his pantaloons. James grabbed a fistful of his hair.
"Your turn now, Mr. Howard."
He allowed James to bring him down to the carpet and tear open his breeches. Abigail knelt beside him too, her attention fixed on his straining cock.
"We'll take turns, Abby. Ten sucks each. Ladies first."
Peter shuddered as Abigail's mouth closed over his cock. James clamped a hand around his wrists and brought them over his head, stopping him from touching Abigail. He couldn't stop his hips rising into each of her delicate strokes. James took over, his mouth harder, rougher, his teeth much in evidence grazing Peter's shaft with every upstroke.
The second time around, he came, right into James's mouth. He was held deep until James swallowed every drop of his come and then kissed his shaft. Held him and sucked him until he was ready to fuck again.
Abigail was the first to get up and lead the way over to the bed. James removed her corset and petticoat.
"Peter's going to fuck me now, Abby. Do you still want to watch?"
Peter wanted to smile at Abigail's decisive nod. It was so typical of her. Despite her relatively recent introduction to the pleasures of the flesh, she was more than willing to experience anything. James brought a chair to the end of the bed and patted the seat.
"Sit here, Abby, you'll get the best view." He turned around. "Peter?"
"Yes, my lord?" Peter bowed.
James frowned. "Are you mocking me?"
"Not at all. I'm just admiring your ability to order everyone about. It must come from years of shouting at the hapless peasants."
James grinned, stripped off his shirt and climbed onto the bed. Peter took a long moment to admire James's athletic build, the perfect distribution of muscle, the slight gleam of sweat on his skin. His cock responded with enthusiasm and thickened and lengthened. James held his gaze and rubbed a slow circle on his chest. He slid his hand down to cup his balls.
"Do you want me?"
"What do you think?"
Peter got up and walked across to the bed, reaching for the bottle of oil by the bedside table. He showed it to Abigail, who sat obediently in the seat James had shown her. He stroked her shoulder; her nipples were tight. The scent of her arousal rose around him like an erotic cloud.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely sure. I want to see you together. I want to see what makes James happy."
James laughed. "You will."
Abby drew a deep steadying breath as Peter climbed up onto the bed beside James. He touched James's cheek, drew him into an embrace, one arm around James's shoulder, the other low on his hips. She sighed as their bodies drew together, their erect cocks pushing and rubbing against each other like puppies.
Oil glistened on Peter's fingers as he continued to kiss James and explore his arse. James groaned as Peter's fingers disappeared between his buttocks and set up a rhythm of penetration and withdrawal that soon had James rocking against him. The kiss became deeper, both men struggling to impose their will on the other. A mêlée of muscled male flesh Abby found impossible to look away from.
She slid a hand between her legs to still the throbbing and found it only made it worse. She kept her hand pressed hard to her mound as she watched the two men touch each other. Peter turned James to face her, one hand working his cock, the other still buried between James's buttocks. James leaned his head back against Peter's shoulder, his breathing erratic, his coarse words, begging Peter to fuck him, to take him, to force him.
Abby couldn't look away. She remembered Peter's comments about James's sexual preferences, knew he'd been right. She finally understood that James liked the roughness she couldn't give him, the mastering that Peter could attempt but not want to push too far.
"Fuck me, Peter. Fuck me hard."
James's hands fisted at his sides as Peter gripped his cock and moved faster, more irregularly. He contained and controlled James's strength with his own, mastered him with his touch.
"Shall I fuck him, Abigail, or do you think he's too eager?"
Abby almost jumped when Peter addressed her directly, so intent was she on the erotic tableau before her and her own gathering pleasure. She struggled to focus as Peter stared at her sex.
"Please fuck him."
He smiled, bit down hard on James's neck, making him groan. "I will if you bring yourself to a climax with us." He nodded at her reticule. "Do you have the piece we bought in Southampton with you?"
Abby nodded. He'd told her to bring it with her to the ball. She left her chair and found the odd-shaped wooden diletto. The polished wood felt warm in her hands as she showed it to the two men. James licked his lips.
"Abby is going to take that inside her while you take me?"
"If she wishes to. We'll watch her and if she succeeds, I'll fuck you."
Carefully Abby felt her swollen sex; her juices were so thick that they made a sucking sound as she pressed the head of the pear-shaped diletto to the open mouth of her channel. It slid inwards easily. She bit her lip.
"Oh God." Abby struggled to breathe.
James groaned along with her as he watched. Peter smiled, his fingers still on James's cock.
"How does it feel, Abigail?"
"Big, almost too big."
"Keep working it inside you; touch your clit while you do it."
Abby almost forgot they were watching as she concentrated on sliding the thickest part of the bulbous wood past her entrance. She felt so stretched and full, her whole body started to shake.
"Almost there, Abigail. You look beautiful, doesn't she, James?"
"God, yes, so full, just like I feel when your cock is deep inside me."
Abby opened her eyes to see Peter caressing James's cock. The thick red-and-purple shaft strained against Peter's long white fingers, pre-cum dripped steadily onto the silk counterpane. She circled her opening and endured the burning stretch, the bud of her clit poked out, demanding a flick of her finger.
She gasped as a climax crashed over her, pressed her palm to her sex as the sensations reverberated around her womb.
"Abby..."
James's harsh groan was cut short as Peter shifted his position and penetrated him from behind. Peter leaned into James, shoving him forward onto his outstretched arms, which flexed and bowed to bear the extra weight.
"You'd like that, James. You'd like that thick diletto inside you too, wouldn't you?"
Peter rocked his hips, making James quiver, his face alive with anguished pleasure Abby had never seen before. Did she look like that when Peter made love to her?
"Abby thought it would be too big to fit inside a man's arse but I think you'd take it if I told you to."
James grimaced as Peter picked up speed, widening his stance to better bear the other man's thrusts. Peter bit his shoulder.
"Wouldn't you?"
"Yes, God, yes, I'd take it."
"And like it too."
"Yes."
"Perhaps I'll get Abigail to slide it inside you later so that we can both watch you enjoy it."
Abby squeezed her thighs together at the scandalous thought, imagined James allowing her to touch him in that way, begging her to impale him with the diletto. She rocked back and forth, her erotic rhythm in tempo with the one Peter set, her entire focus on the wild lovemaking on the bed.
"Abigail?"
She blinked, stared at Peter whose eyes had narrowed to slits of pale blue, his whole attention on James.
"Would you like to help?" She nodded. "Come and stand at the bottom of the bed and take James's cock in your mouth. Don't suck him, just hold him tight at the base. Use your teeth if you like; he'd probably enjoy it."
She went to remove the diletto from between her legs but Peter shook his head. "Leave it there. I want to see that after we've finished with James."
Even the three steps she took to reach the end of the bed were almost too much for her throbbing sex. The press of the wood against her most sensitive flesh became even more intense. She looked up at James's dripping cock, kissed the tip and swallowed it whole.
Bracing her hands on the counterpane she shuddered as the bedsprings began to creak more rapidly. Peter increased the pace of his thrusts, shoving James's cock deeper down her throat with every stroke. She struggled to breathe, to simply swallow and take what James and Peter gave her.
James's shout of completion was quickly followed by one from Peter. James's hot cum exploded down her throat. Abby closed her eyes and simply allowed him to use her mouth, to pump himself into her with wild abandon.
She barely resisted when James reached down and brought her to lie between them on the bed. Peter kissed her breasts, licked her nipples until they hardened into two sharp, aching points.
"Did you enjoy watching us?"
She smiled up at him. "Of course I did. You look very beautiful together."
James laughed. "Beautiful? I doubt it."
She touched his cheek. "Why should a man not look beautiful when he is making love?"
Peter's mouth slid lower, kissed her hip bone, her mound, licked the exposed tip of her clit.
"I want to see between your legs."
Abby allowed him to part her thighs. James turned around as well to study her most intimate parts. She flinched as a finger circled the wooden diletto piece that remained outside her pussy.
"She is really wide."
"Mmm...deliciously so, don't you think?"
A soft brush of hair on her inner thighs, the subtle caress of a mouth. The double sensation of two tongues licking her, tangling together, making her even wetter.
"Wide enough to take two men?"
"If she wants to."
Her gaze flew downward.
"Both of you?"
James nodded. "If you wish."
She pretended to sigh. Peter had obviously been serious when he'd mentioned the enticing prospect to her before. "You know how curious I am, James; how could I not take the opportunity to find out exactly what you mean?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
He grinned at her as he readied his cock and then stroked Peter's. "Where do you want me, Peter?"
Peter slowly removed the dildo from Abby's sex and placed it on the table beside the bed.
"Let me wash first."
He returned to the bed. James sat cross-legged as he absently massaged his cock. Abigail lay on her back, her legs spread wide, skin flushed a rosy pink. Her sex glistened with cream. Peter wanted to rub his face against her, lick her juices until she was dry and then fill her with his cum, just as he had filled James.
His shaft thickened so fast it almost hurt. He crawled across the huge bed to Abigail and simply stared down at her. He'd once imagined James would be enough for him but he hadn't reckoned on Abigail's intense sexuality and appeal. Her quick curiosity and acceptance of her sensual nature seemed designed to complement him and James, to add an intriguing third to their pair, to form not a triangle but a circle of pleasure.
Abigail touched him. "Peter, are you all right?"
He smiled at them both. "Absolutely. I'll take the bottom position, James then all you have to do is climb on top and slide your cock in alongside mine."
He lay down on the bed and beckoned to Abigail. "Ride my cock. Come sit on me."
She moved toward him on hands and knees, her slight breasts quivering. He gripped her around the waist, made her face away from him and slid her slowly down over his cock. She gasped as he carefully drew her back to lie flat against him.
James moved between their outstretched legs, one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft.
"This is like fucking both of you."
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Aye, but I wasn't really sure if it would work."
"But you are now?"
"Sure enough to want to keep doing this until Abby gets her baby, yes."
Abigail nudged him. "James, will you just get on with it?"
Peter smiled at Abigail's impatient intervention and stroked her breasts, offering her hard nipples up to James's mouth. James took the proffered invitation eagerly, latched on and sucked hard while Abigail writhed and moved against Peter.
He fingered her clit, moved his hand lower to where his shaft entered her and slid his fingers inside.
"Here James, fuck her here, right on top of my rod."
Reaching forward, he tugged at the crown of James's cock, rubbed it against his, heard James gasp.
"Right here, plenty of room for us both."
James's cock butted against his hand, blindly seeking the slick channel. Peter used his fingers to guide the thick head inside, groaned as Abigail's passage engulfed them both. James pushed deeper, igniting a ripple of intense sensation along the line of Peter's shaft, squeezing him tight up against Abigail's clenching sex.
James loomed over them, his face contorted with exquisite agony.
"God, I've never felt this way before. I can feel every inch of your cock, Peter, and Abby, God, Abby you are so tight I want to thrust into you so hard but I'm not even sure if I can move."
Peter angled his hips upward a scant inch and both the Beechams groaned. A memory of Valentin and Sara similarly entwined with him surfaced. Peter quickly banished it.
"We'll move, don't worry." He curved his hand round James's muscular buttock. "You'll need to do most of the work, but I'm sure that won't bother you."
Peter pressed down on the small of James's back and he started to move, grunting with each stroke. Peter simply allowed himself to experience one of his favorite sexual situations. Two cocks, one beautiful woman to pleasure, enjoyment and extreme joy for all. He stroked James between his buttocks, slipping his fingers inside James's arse through the wetness of his cum, and urged him on.
Abigail's breathing shortened as they worked her; trapped as she was between the two men, she could only take what they gave her, endure the solid pounding from both cocks and luxuriate in it. Her pleasure built until she had to come. Her scream was cut short by James's mouth roughly covering hers, Peter biting her throat as she tightened and tightened like a vise around their straining cocks.
James swore but he didn't stop thrusting into her. Abby began to whimper with every stroke, her body no longer her own, the two men driving her toward a place where there were only the extremes of pleasure and fulfillment and where she had to trust them not to hurt her.
Another climax built so rapidly, her teeth sank into James's lip, drawing blood. He bit her back, his teeth rough against her skin, nipped at Peter's mouth too as he reared back and thrust again.
"Dammit, Abby."
He hammered into her, his expression almost brutal, his cock a hard thrusting presence she welcomed and feared at the same time. Peter increased his tempo too as she moved between them, blindly seeking something, desperately aware that only the two men working her knew exactly how to give it to her.
"Peter...I'm going to come." James's hoarse words sounded much too loud in Abby's ear.
"We'll all come." Even Peter's normally calm voice sounded ragged as he held Abby's hips hard, his fingers biting into her flesh.
"I can't..."
James kissed her hard.
"Yes, you can. I'll make sure of it."
She wanted to close her eyes against the intensity of emotion in his face but found it impossible to look away. He rose over her, grabbed her knees widening the angle of his entry and shoved back into her.
He grunted with each driving stroke, his balls slapping against her and Peter, his cock a living, pounding rod that turned her into a quivering mass of lust. Inside her both men's cocks grew impossibly huge as her body clenched around them.
James's strokes grew as ragged as his breathing, his cries as loud as Abby's.
"Come with me."
He arched his spine, slammed himself home one more time and then fell over Abby in a shuddering shaking heap, his cock pouring out hot seed. Peter came too, triggering Abby's final climax, which was so intense she wasn't sure she would survive it.
She lay sandwiched between the two men, covered in sweat, her cream and their cum, supremely at peace for the first time in her life. She pushed at James's chest until he rolled over onto his side and kissed his chin. She sighed.
"That was very nice. Can we do it again?"
Peter and James groaned in unison.
18
P eter awoke in a haze of pleasure on the verge of coming into the warm mouth that sucked his cock. James lay close behind him, his shaft buried inside Peter's arse. It was Abigail's mouth that covered his cock. He struggled to free his hand and slide his fingers inside her sex.
She shuddered as he stroked her clit, any sound she made muffled by the presence of his shaft in her mouth. James undulated his hips, a slow fucking that made Peter's pleasure grow, so different from the fast and furious lovemaking of the previous night.
Who would've thought James could be so gentle or Abigail so good at fellatio? How could they have wasted all those years of potential lovemaking? James gripped his hips and thrust hard one last time, his cum flooding into Peter. Peter reacted by climaxing himself and felt Abigail swallow his seed down her throat.
When they disengaged, he opened his eyes and smiled at them.
"That is possibly my favorite way to wake up."
"Possibly?" said James.
"Definitely, then."
Abigail wiped her mouth. "I only wish men's seed tasted of something better."
"Like fine wine or a cup of frothing hot chocolate perhaps?"
Abigail frowned at James. "You can't tell me you like the taste!"
"It depends whose cum it is."
She sighed. "I'm not sure I believe you, James."
"Why not? I like the sensation of swallowing a man's cum down my throat. I like being used like that."
"So do I, but it doesn't make the taste any better."
Peter hid a grin. Perhaps this was why they'd never discovered the other's hidden sexual depths. They needed a third to umpire their squabbling and bring them together.
"A man's seed can taste differently depending on what he eats."
"Are you serious, Peter?" James sounded skeptical.
Abigail sniffed. "You see? I told you so. Eat nicer things and I'll be a lot happier."
"How about I just drink brandy and nothing else? You'd probably prefer the taste of that and you'd be so foxed maybe you'd stop arguing with me."
"This is why you need me, isn't it?" Both of the Beechams stared at Peter. "To referee."
Abigail patted his thigh. "You might have a point. James is very argumentative, isn't he?"
"I am? Pot and kettle, Abby cat, pot and kettle."
Peter cleared his throat.
Abigail sighed. "We just need you, Peter."
"Aye, we do."
Warmth stirred in Peter's stomach as he stared at them; their sincerity was obvious. He thought of the day ahead and his smile disappeared.
"I have to go and see Valentin this morning."
"Why?"
The abrupt question came from James, all good humor wiped from his face. Peter sat up and carefully stretched.
"Because he deserves a full accounting of my visit with Mr. William Howard."
"I repeat, why?"
"Valentin was the one who came across the information in the first place. I need to convince him to leave it where it should be---in the past. Otherwise he might take it upon himself to keep organizing my life for me."
James looked unconvinced. Abigail squeezed his hand.
"I suspect that Lord Sokorvsky feels just as bad about the way this turned out as you do."
Peter eased over to the edge of the bed.
"What makes you say that?"
"I saw his face when you told him what had gone wrong. He didn't look angry, he looked mortified that he'd brought such a terrible thing down on you."
Peter raised his eyebrows. "You came to that conclusion in the five minutes you saw him?"
She crossed her arms over her breasts, her chin raised. "Yes, I did."
"Why should you imagine he might feel guilt about me?"
"Oh, Peter, don't be a fool. He's your best friend. He knows you better than anyone else alive. Why would he deliberately hurt you?"
He walked away from her. Had to before her logic made him rethink Val's motives yet again. His friend had always had the ability to tie him in emotional knots. At this particular moment, he didn't want Abigail's help untying them either.
"I'll meet up with you both later, if you wish."
James nodded. "That would be delightful. And Abby and I will try not to kill each other while you're away."
Peter picked up his scattered clothes and sketched a bow. "That too would be delightful."
He escaped into the dressing room next to the bedchamber and washed quickly. Val had to be faced, but not before Peter had gone home and changed clothes. There was no need to rouse Val's ire by appearing as if he'd just gotten out of bed. He knew from bitter experience that he needed all his defenses in place before he went anywhere near Valentin Sokorvsky.
He stared at his pale reflection in the mirror. Was Abigail right? Had Val felt more than anger over Peter's disastrous meeting with his grandfather? He shook his head. Now was not the time to become sentimental about Val and his motives. He'd begun the painful process of detaching himself from his friend's life and he needed to follow it through.
A freezing drizzle chased him along the narrow streets to the shipping office. He stamped his feet on the doormat and shook the rain from his hat. Inside it was warm, the office busy, the scent of ink and coffee permeating the fuggy atmosphere.
Taggart came to greet him, his round face smiling.
"Good morning, Mr. Howard. Are you back? I thought you were taking another week or so."
"I am, Mr. Taggart. I just wanted to check in with Lord Sokorvsky. Is he here?"
"Not yet, sir. I'm expecting him shortly though. Do you want to wait in his office or will you go to yours? I'm sure Mr. Anthony would be glad to see you too."
Peter hesitated, hat in hand. Damn, he'd forgotten about Anthony. He allowed Taggart to usher him into his own office and found the younger Sokorvsky snoring behind the desk, booted feet planted firmly on a pile of books.
"Good to see you working hard, Anthony."
Peter shoved Anthony's feet off the desk and Anthony awoke with a curse. He sprang up and shook Peter's hand vigorously.
"I'm glad to see you are back. This business isn't as easy to run as I thought it would be."
"Nonsense, I hear you are doing very well. Perhaps I can retire."
"Please don't do that. Val would probably kill me. He's only been tolerant of my mistakes because he knows you're coming back." Anthony sat down in his chair, his expression careful. "You are coming back, aren't you?"
Peter sat opposite him. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because I'm not stupid and you and Val are definitely still at odds."
"Personally, perhaps, but not professionally."
"You can separate the two? I've always thought the bond between you went far deeper than that."
Peter studied Anthony intently. Was Val's brother aware of their less-than-orthodox relationship? And if so, who had told him?
"Why do you say that?"
Anthony shrugged. "Because I met Yusef Aliabad and he told me that you and Val were lovers."
Peter drew in a sharp breath. How could he have forgotten Anthony's unfortunate entanglement in his and Val's past two years previously?
"Aliabad lied about a lot of things."
A muscle flicked in Anthony's cheek and his boyish charm disappeared, replaced by a starkness that made Peter uneasy. "He bought both your services in the brothel. He fucked you separately and together."
Unfortunately, in his bid to control Val, Aliabad had fucked Anthony too. Anthony never talked about what had happened to him, and Peter had hoped he'd gotten over it. It appeared he was wrong. He met Anthony's gaze head on. His appalling treatment at the hands of their enemy demanded Peter at least try to be honest with him.
"That was in the past. Val is married now and I'm..." He paused, unsure how much to reveal. "And I'm involved with somebody else."
"I've been to Madame Helene's, Peter. I know what I've seen."
For a second, Anthony looked uncannily like his half brother at his most formidable. Peter forced himself to remain calm.
"We seemed to have strayed far from the original point of this conversation. What exactly do you want me to say, Anthony?"
"I want you to treat me like an adult and admit that the situation between you and my brother is far worse than a little quarrel between two mature businessmen."
"Oh, indeed, it's far worse than that, isn't it, Peter?"
Peter stiffened but remained in his seat and waited until Val came to stand beside his brother by the desk. He nodded.
"I was just attempting to explain to Anthony that our personal lives have no impact on our present business relationship. Perhaps you'd like to confirm that."
Val took off his gloves and threw them on the desk. "I'm not sure if I can."
Peter got slowly to his feet. "Then perhaps I should go."
Irritation flickered plainly on Valentin's face. "For God's sake, sit down, man, we have a lot to discuss." He directed a ferocious glare at his brother. "And I'm not sure what any of this has to do with you."
Anthony shrugged and held up his hands. "Believe it or not, I was just trying to help." He nodded at Peter. "I apologize if I embarrassed you, Mr. Howard."
"You didn't."
"Good," Val interjected. "Now get out."
Peter waited until the door shut firmly behind Anthony.
"You have developed a bad habit of eavesdropping on my conversations, Valentin."
"Have I?" Val walked across to the window, hands clasped at his back. "Perhaps it is the only option I have, seeing as you refuse to talk to me anymore."
Peter gazed at his friend's shadowed profile. Was Abigail right? Was Val concealing more than anger behind his bland expression? He tried for a more conciliatory tone.
"You said you didn't wish us to be intimate any longer. If that is the case, how can you expect me to confide in you?"
"I said I didn't wish you to join me in my bed."
"But don't you see, Val, that's all part of it. If you no longer trust me in that most intimate of settings, how can I trust you with my problems?"
Abruptly Val turned even farther away and looked out the window. "It is not the same."
"Perhaps, but maybe it is for the best. You're correct. I've been hanging around you and Sara for too long. Your telling me that I was no longer welcome was a truth I could no longer ignore." Peter sat forward, hands clasped tightly in his lap. "Can't you see that I'm trying to do what's right for all of us? That I need to make a life for myself?"
Val simply stared out the window as if Peter hadn't spoken.
Peter sighed. "Fine, if you don't wish to discuss this anymore, do you want me to tell you what happened with Mr. Howard or shall I go?"
"Tell me about Mr. Howard."
"He thought I wanted something from him."
"So you said, but you did, didn't you?"
"I wanted to find out if I had a family, yes."
"And you found that out."
Peter frowned. "I also found out that he wanted nothing to do with me, that I was an embarrassment, an aberration to a minister of the church."
"Did he actually say that to you?"
"It was implied."
Val turned to face him. "And you are going to give up, walk away, accept your fate with your usual impeccable manners?"
Anger threaded through Peter's calm. "I don't need him, Val, and he certainly doesn't need me hanging on his coattails."
"But what about the rest of the family? Did you ask about them?"
Peter stood up. "This is nothing to do with you. Why are you being so insistent?"
"Because I think you allowed Mr. Howard to distract you from your true purpose of finding your family."
"How so?"
"By walking away."
Peter found he was trembling. "Don't you dare stand in judgment of me; you have no right."
"Perhaps you didn't want to continue the conversation because it was easier for you to believe he didn't want you than to try to make him accept you."
Peter picked up his hat and gloves. "Damn you, Valentin. Attend to your own family and leave me alone!" He glared at his erstwhile best friend, who merely smiled in return.
"And there you go again. Walking out when the conversation becomes not to your liking. Why are you so afraid to stand up and fight for what you want?"
Peter walked up to him and leaned close, anger rapidly consuming what little control he had left.
"I fought for you, Valentin Sokorvsky, and what did that get me?"
"I don't know, do you?"
"An unhealthy dependency on a man who doesn't know how to love and who discards people when they are no longer of use to him?"
Valentin let out a breath. "Is that what I gave you? I always thought I gave you a reason to keep living. That is, after all, what you gave me." He stepped back and bowed. "But perhaps I was mistaken."
Peter met his gaze, tried to forget the flash of pain he'd glimpsed in Valentin's extraordinary eyes.
"Valentin..."
"I'll send you a message if Mr. Howard comes to his senses and decides to communicate with you again. He doesn't have your home address."
Peter bowed as well. "I don't expect that will happen, but thank you for the offer."
Valentin moved away and headed for the door, the epitome of the gracious aristocrat. "Enjoy the rest of your vacation with the Beechams and I hope to see you back ready to work in a couple of weeks."
There was nothing left for Peter to do but walk through the door and out into the street. It was still raining and there was no sign of a hackney cab. He set out, dodging the line of heavy brewers carts emerging from the side streets and the beggars who followed along behind. In the old days he would have taken his troubles to Sara. Now all he could think about was getting to Abigail and hearing her no-nonsense take on his situation.
Abby looked up as the clock chimed two and the door to her sitting room opened. Peter stood there, his smile strained, his hair damp from the rain. She tucked her book down the side of the chair and took off her spectacles.
"Are you coming in?"
"If you are receiving visitors."
"James was in a bad mood and has gone to his club and left me to my own devices, so of course I'm receiving visitors." She gestured at the seat opposite her and Peter sank into it. "How did your meeting with Lord Sokorvsky go?"
"Badly as usual."
She raised her eyebrows. "What did you say to him?"
"You assume the fault was mine?"
"I didn't say that."
She studied him, took in the grim set of his jaw and the hardness in his eyes. Whatever had happened he was still angry about it. He crossed his legs and flicked at an imaginary piece of lint.
"Lord Sokorvsky had the gall to tell me that the reason my interview with Mr. William Howard went badly was my own fault."
"And how did he arrive at that conclusion?"
"Because I walked out."
Abby bit her lip. "Well, it is most unlike you."
"He said I wasn't prepared to fight for what I wanted and had taken the first opportunity to take offence and leave offered to me."
"And do you think he's right?"
He glared at her. "I don't know. When he said it, I simply wanted to land him a facer."
"It's always hard when someone forces us to look at our own behavior, isn't it?"
He shot her a sharp glance. "Are you saying he is right?"
"Are you?"
Peter thrust a hand through his hair. "Hell, Abigail, I don't know. Valentin says I should have asked questions, found out if I have any other relatives still living."
"That would certainly be interesting to know. It's even possible that Mr. Howard's views don't truly represent everyone else's in the family."
"So you agree with Valentin and believe I'm a coward who lost an opportunity to find out more."
"That's not what I said. We agreed to be honest with each other. I'm just trying to help. Have you thought about contacting Mr. Howard again?"
Peter stood up and paced the small room, his expression far from calm. What else had passed between him and Valentin to make him on edge and so vulnerable?
"I don't need the Howard family or the Sokorvskys for that matter. I'm perfectly capable of making a life of my own."
Abby compressed her lips. "Of course you are, Peter. In fact, you don't need James or me either."
He stopped his pacing. "What are you trying to say?"
"You don't need us, but it doesn't stop you wanting us. Everyone wants somebody to love and support them."
He stared at her as if she spoke a different language. She forced herself to continue.
"I thought I could survive in a sexless marriage until I wanted a child." She sighed. "If I hadn't taken a chance on you and James, I would've denied myself the most pleasurable moments of my existence so far."
"How did you find the courage to make that choice, Abigail? How the hell did you do it?"
She held his gaze. "Because I realized that doing something was far better than doing nothing. Taking my fate into my own hands had to be better than slowly withering away because of my own fear and ignorance."
He looked away as if he couldn't bear the sincerity in her voice.
"I'm not sure I have your courage."
She tried to imagine how he felt, a man who had no family, no fond childhood memories and no support. A child forced into brutal sexual slavery struggling to become an adult who understood that sex and love didn't have to be bought or paid for. Who could blame him if he was unwilling to trust his future to the uncertainties of others?
She got up and went to him, took his cold hands. "But you will try, yes? James and I will help you."
His fingers tightened on hers. "If Mr. Howard contacts me again, I will talk to him."
She stroked his smooth cheek, fought back the tears that threatened. He didn't need to see them. He needed to see her strength of purpose, not her fears for him. She studied his drawn angelic face. How had she come to care so much for a man she'd known only for a few weeks? Had James realized how attracted she would be to Peter and would he care that she shared his deep feelings for this particular man?
"Abigail, are you all right?"
She felt her skin heat and quickly took her hand away from his face. He studied her, his mouth turned up at the corner in a quizzical smile. Goodness, he was beautiful, especially when he made love to her and James, especially then.
"I was just thinking about James's birthday surprise tomorrow night. Do you still wish to go through with it?"
He didn't even blink at her abrupt change of subject.
"Of course. I have it all planned. You still wish to be part of it, yes?"
She nodded and drew him back to sit down by the fire. She rang the bell for tea. "I'm looking forward to it. I think James will enjoy himself too."
"I believe he will. Did he say when he would be back?"
She shrugged. "You know James far better than I do. I have no idea what a gentleman may find to do in London for a whole day."
Peter sat back, his face relaxing slightly. "After his club, he might go buy a horse at Tattersalls, and visit his tailor, place a few bets somewhere, argue at a coffee house. The distractions available for the idle rich are endless."
"Unlike you."
"Indeed. I am usually hard at work in my office by now. I only emerge from my chrysalis to become a social butterfly at the weekends and during the evening."
"Despite what he says, James does play a large part in the running of his estates."
"I don't doubt it. Did you think I was belittling him?"
Abby glared at him. "You are being very defensive at the moment. Please don't read ulterior motives into every word I utter."
He smiled at her, the first real smile she'd seen from him all day.
"I apologize, Abigail."
He sat back as a maid brought in the tea and set it on the table between them. Abby handed him a cup and poured her own. She glanced at him over the raised teapot.
"Is that all you have to say?"
He blinked at her. "Yes."
"Just a simple apology with no added explanation as to why you were right all along?"
"Yes."
She smiled at him, realized exactly why she liked him so much.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
He met her gaze, his expression as serious as her own.
"For being yourself."
Startled pleasure flickered briefly in his eyes. "No one has ever said that to me before. And recently I've come to doubt exactly who and what I am."
She put down her cup, reached across and took his hand. "You are Peter, my friend and my lover. Is that good enough for you?"
He squeezed her hand in reply, his voice husky. "It is more than I deserve."
There it was again, that hint of vulnerability behind his exquisitely crafted exterior, the unspoken assumption that he was somehow less worthy of love than anyone else. Abby brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.
"Lord Sokorvsky was right, you know."
Peter let out a long breath. "I know, but don't ever tell him I said that. He'd never let me forget it."
19
P eter straightened his cravat and pinned it in place with a pearl-headed pin. He nodded at his immaculate reflection in the mirror. No one would guess how hollow he felt inside, how unsure of everything he had once believed about himself. He should have stayed and listened to the rest of what William Howard wanted to say. There was really no excuse for his cowardly retreat.
In his heart he'd always known that his mother must have been abandoned by her family. So why was it so difficult to deal with? It didn't make him less of a man. If he'd stayed, he might've gained a better sense of closure, of justification for his contempt for William Howard. He frowned. In retrospect, some of the things his grandfather had said struck him as evasive and now he wondered why.
With a huge effort he dragged his thoughts back to the present. The evening's entertainment beckoned. An evening when James would receive the kind of sexual attention Peter believed he craved, and Abigail...he shrugged into the tight-fitting brown coat Adams held out for him. Abigail would enjoy herself immensely.
Her sexual curiosity inflamed his desires, made him want to please her, to devise new ways to amuse her so that she would never want to look at another man again. He'd never felt like that about a woman before. His fingers stilled on the silver buttons of his waistcoat.
Did James realize he had created a rival for Abigail's affections? And if he had, would he care? Peter had to assume that the Beechams knew what they were doing to him. Part of their attraction for him was their astonishing honesty and intimacy.
"Will we see you back here tonight, Mr. Howard?"
Peter turned to face Adams, who held his discarded clothes over his arm.
"I'm not sure, so don't wait up for me."
"Of course, sir." Adams bowed. "I'll tell the other staff as well."
After Adams left, Peter surveyed the tasteful gray hues of his bedchamber, remembered how Sara had insisted the colors complemented his fair skin and beautiful eyes. He half smiled at the memory. Sara hadn't tried to contact him again. Her assumption that he found her pregnancy offensive, an assumption he'd chosen not to correct, seemed enough to keep her away.
Strange that Valentin hadn't mentioned it during their last confrontation. Peter picked up his gloves and long coat. Perhaps Sara had kept that hurt to herself, fearing to make things worse between her husband and his oldest friend. Not that things could be much worse.
He ran lightly down the stairs into the small hallway, where Adams handed him his hat. He'd spent the last night here alone, wondering if the Beechams would manage to bed each other without him. Worry that they would fought the fragile hope that they still needed him. He paused midstride. Exactly when had this stopped being an amusing diversion and become so important?
"Mr. Howard? I've just been informed that a message was delivered about half an hour ago. Would you like to see it before you leave?"
Peter hesitated, his thoughts already ahead, anticipating the delights to be sampled at the Beechams. He held out his hand.
"Thank you. Give it to me."
Valentin's distinctive scrawl covered only a small part of the envelope and merely suggested Peter read what was within. He pulled off the outside layer, saw unfamiliar writing and spread the single sheet out.
Mr. Howard, I fear we parted on bad terms. I would appreciate the opportunity to talk to you again. Please meet me in my solicitor's office tomorrow at eleven. Address enclosed. Yours, William Howard.
Peter stared at the paper. Was he being offered a second chance or was Mr. Howard's choice of venue a veiled threat that he intended to take legal action against Peter if he continued with his claim? Instinct told him not to go. His promise to Abigail, and Valentin's words, burned in his mind and forced his acquiescence.
He looked up at Adams. "Did the messenger leave a forwarding address?"
"Not as far as I know, sir; do you wish me to try to find out?"
"No, that's fine. I'll take care of the matter myself in the morning." He put on his hat. "Thank you, Adams. If I return home and don't make it downstairs before ten tomorrow morning, please wake me up. Good night."
"Good night, sir, and enjoy your evening."
Peter smiled savagely. He intended to, especially as it might turn out to be the last he ever had.
James paced the carpet of the elegant drawing room, his gaze fixed on the clock. Abby sighed.
"Will you please sit down? You're giving me a headache."
"Peter's late again."
Abby checked the clock on the mantelpiece behind him. "It's only five minutes past the hour. He might have been momentarily detained."
"But it's my birthday."
"So it is. And don't whine."
He frowned at her, then opened his mouth to reply when they both heard Peter's familiar voice in the hall below. Abby stood up and brushed out her skirts.
"There, you see? He's here."
"And about time too," James muttered as Peter came through the door, his expression untroubled. He paused and looked at Abby and then James.
"Am I late?"
Abby went forward to take his hand. "You are perfectly on time. James is being far too particular."
Peter smiled at James. "Happy birthday. I believe you are now thirty-four."
James bowed. "I am indeed, although I hardly feel that old." He shot a quick glance at Abby. "Or that I have been married for almost half my life."
"That is hard to believe. Although sometimes I think our marriage only truly began when we met Peter."
Peter held her gaze, the warmth in his eyes an eloquent testament to how he felt as well. James cleared his throat.
"Are we going out tonight then, Peter? Abby thought you had something planned."
"I do. Our evening will begin and end at Madame Helene's, so perhaps we should start there?"
Abby shivered as she crept up the back stairs at Madame's behind Peter. It was noisy at the pleasure house tonight, the voices deeper, the very air somehow more dangerous. Apparently Thursday nights were mainly for men and not for the faint of heart. Peter paused to allow a pair of drunken half-clothed revelers to stagger across the landing before he opened the door to their usual suite.
Inside the room, a fire burned in the grate, warming Abby a little. Peter lit some of the candles and then bowed to her.
"You'll need to put these clothes on."
A set of male clothing lay on the bed. Abby went to examine the black coat and gray breeches. James leaned up against the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest.
"Abby becomes a man for the evening? Is this part of my present?"
Peter smiled. "Does the thought arouse you?"
"Of course it does. I'd love to see how she looks as a man."
"Help her out of her clothes, then, while I work on the final arrangements."
James was so eager to proceed that he had her naked and out of her dress and corsets within minutes. He stood behind her, his large capable hands resting on her hips, his attention fixed on Peter.
"We'll bind her breasts." Peter handed a roll of fine lint to James. "Wrap this around them."
James obliged, his breath warm on her neck as he attended to his task. When he finished, her nipples were visible through the filmy fabric. He flicked one until it hardened.
"Is this all right?"
Peter leaned into her, licked the taut nipple James had aroused and caught it between his teeth. Abby shuddered.
"Perfect."
Peter retreated, tossed a white shirt over her head and waited until it settled around her hips. James shifted behind her, his cock pressing into her buttocks.
"God, this reminds me of being punished at school. My breeches shoved down around my ankles, my buttocks bared to the swing of the master's cane."
He cupped Abby's bottom in his hands, brought her back hard against his groin. "Some of the teachers enjoyed punishing us. Some of them used their canes in other ways too."
"I'm sure they did," Peter murmured. "The English public school system has a lot to answer for, doesn't it?"
Peter knelt at Abby's feet and helped her step into stockings and breeches. He drew the breeches up her legs, pausing before he buttoned them. She gasped as he slid a hand between her legs.
"Wet already, Abigail? James, feel her here. Imagine bending her over, shoving the shirt out of the way and having her."
James's fingers tightened on her hips. "Can I?"
Peter shrugged. "It's your birthday. And imagine how wet she'll be on our adventures tonight, your cum dripping out of her, her sex swollen and open from your thrusting cock."
The sound as James unbuttoned his breeches was loud in the silence, as loud as his hurried breathing. Peter let go of Abby's breeches, gave her the back of a chair to hold onto and stood to one side.
Cold air wafted over her bottom as James lifted the shirt. His wet cock nudged between her buttocks and then he shoved his way deep inside her. Abby cried out as he filled her. His long hard strokes had her gripping the back of the chair for balance.
Peter moved farther out of her vision. She sensed him come up behind James, his quiet voice mesmerizing.
"Perhaps I'd better touch you too, James? Ten lashes for not doing your homework properly, or would you prefer a cane or something similar inserted in your arse?"
James stopped moving, his cock a thick, hard, quivering presence inside Abby.
"I'll take whatever you want to give me."
"Hold still, then. I have the perfect piece of ivory for you."
The sudden scent of orange oil, James's grunt and forward thrust of his hips as Peter obviously made good on his promise. Abby held still as James began to move again, his strokes more urgent, his rhythm slowly disintegrating as his pleasure built alongside Abby's.
Peter reappeared in front of her and opened his breeches.
"My cock in your mouth too, Abigail, to complete the picture?" He knelt up on the chair, anchoring it against James's weight and aimed his cock at her mouth.
"God, Peter, I can see her taking you in. I can see her mouth working you."
Abby closed her eyes, concentrated on the dual penetrations, allowed herself to enjoy the sensation. If this was only the beginning of the evening, what else was to come? James groaned and his cock spilled deep inside her, sending her into a climax of her own as Peter flooded her mouth.
After James withdrew, Peter finished dressing her, his hands lingered in between her legs as he fashioned the long shirt into a convincing bulge for the front of her breeches. His knuckles deliberately grazed her already-sensitive bud as he worked. James stood close as well to offer advice. While he talked, he fingered his cum as it streamed out of her sex and spread it over her skin like lotion.
By the time they were ready to leave, Abby was already jittery, her nerves stretched, her senses alive and ready for whatever Peter had planned for them. James took her hand, squeezed it hard, his face more animated than she had ever seen it. Just before Peter opened the door, James caught him and kissed him hard. Abby joined in, kissing them both until Peter pulled away. His breathing was as harried as hers.
"If we do not stop, we'll never get out of this bedroom. Do you want to stay here?"
James looked down at Abby. "It's tempting, but I'm more interested in where we'll go next and how Abby will fare in our world."
"I agree. Let's get going."
Peter opened the door and swept them a courtly bow. "After you, sirs."
Abby felt strange without her petticoats. In the breeches she could take much longer strides. As they walked out of Madame's, she tried to mimic James's lordly swagger. It was cold but bright outside, stars visible in the ink blue sky as well as a full moon. Within seconds she also discovered that men's clothing was warmer. No breezes beneath her skirts or bare arms, just solid cloth from shoulder to toe.
James and Peter took up station on either side of her, their large bodies pressed against hers, surrounding her with their strength and protection.
"I thought we'd start at the Golden Goose Tavern down by the Thames. What do you think, James?"
"An excellent choice---crowded enough so that no one will take particular notice of Abby, and yet not so busy that violence is a problem."
Abby was marched along narrow streets that dipped down toward the unmistakable stench of the river. Their boots sounded loud on the cobbled streets. She buried her face in James's sleeve as they passed the deserted fish market. Discarded piles of gutted innards provided a slippery addition to the already-filthy pavement.
Inside the Golden Goose, it was surprisingly bright and cozy. The hubbub of cockney voices and smell of smoke and alcohol was an almost impenetrable fug in some spots. James maneuvered Abby up against a wall near where a game of dice was going on. Peter touched his shoulder.
"I'll go and get some ale."
Abby watched him weave his way to the bar, his blond hair glinting in the oil lamps, a ready smile for anyone who greeted him, even the whores. James kept her close, one arm slung casually around her shoulder. She craned forward to watch the game.
"Careful, Abby."
"Don't call me that. I'm supposed to be a man."
"What would you like to be called, then?"
She frowned. "Tom is a good name."
"Tom it is, then." James shook her hand and returned his attention to the dice game. He tried to hold her back, but she strained every muscle to see past him. With a soft curse, he reversed their positions, giving her the better view. He nipped her ear.
"Don't even think about joining in the game. They'd be on to you in a second."
"I'd probably beat them all, that's for sure. If only I knew how to play." She glanced up at him, met his frown with a grin. "I wasn't going to do anything quite so stupid. I just want to watch."
He relaxed slightly, his hidden hand settling over the curve of her bottom. "Just remember, Tom. If you try it, I'll tan your little backside."
"Did you really enjoy being beaten at school, James?"
"Aye, although it's not that I enjoyed the pain as much as the aftermath. The letting myself be taken, the decision to let another use me sexually made me free." He frowned. "Now I sound like a woman."
"No, you don't. You sound like a man who knows what he wants." She took a steadying breath. "And I can't give that to you, can I?"
"Probably not."
"Do you want me to try?"
He held her gaze, his brown eyes considering. "I'm not sure."
Peter arrived with three tankards of ale and handed one to each of them. James laid a hand on his arm.
"I'm going to place a bet." He slapped Abby hard on the back. "Look after dear old Tom, here."
Peter studied Abby's face.
"Did I interrupt something important?"
"Not really, I wanted to see if I could get James to admit that he doesn't really want me to try to give him the kind of sex he needs."
She tried the ale, wrinkled her nose in disgust and took another reluctant sip.
"What kind of sex is that?"
"The kind when he is grateful to give up control to someone who might hurt him."
"And you can't do that for him?" His tone was gentle and nonjudgmental.
"No. How can you hurt the person you love?"
Peter smile was bitter. "You can hurt them in many ways."
"But like that? Physically breaking someone to your will?"
He shrugged. "I have never enjoyed that myself, but I can see that James does." He clinked tankards with her. "Tonight I intend to show you how you can help him achieve his sexual needs without resorting to complete domination."
"I don't want to hurt him, Peter."
"Then you can watch. You don't have to participate."
A roar of triumph and a series of groans erupted from the game and the circle broke up, disgorging a grinning James. He sauntered over.
"Here you go, Tom." He handed her a pile of coins. "Your winnings."
"But I didn't even ask you to bet for me."
"If I hadn't, you were going to, weren't you?"
She stared up at him. "You know me so well."
His expression softened. "Of course I do. We've been married for a long time."
She lowered her head, fussed around pocketing the money until he started talking to Peter. He did love her in his way and he tried to give her what she wanted. He'd given her Peter, hadn't he? And the promise of a baby. Things that were probably as alien to him as his needs sometimes felt to her. How could she not try to offer him something in return? She stood on tiptoe to whisper in Peter's ear.
"I've changed my mind. I'll do anything I can to help tonight."
He squeezed her shoulder, his smile full of approval. James grinned at her too.
"Apparently, there's a cock fight at the Bell and Candle two streets away, followed by some boxing. Shall we go and watch?"
Abby was the first to put down her tankard.
"That would be wonderful."
20
"R un!"
Abby took off after James, Peter right behind her, her feet tripping on the curb in her unfamiliar boots. Peter caught her arm to steady her and dragged her along with him until the angry shouts behind them became less pronounced. Fighting for breath, Abby leaned against the wall of the shadowed passageway. James put his finger to his lips.
"Shh."
The lamplighters sped past still muttering threats and insults about idle aristocrats throwing stones. Abby clamped her teeth down on her lower lip as a sudden desire to laugh shuddered through her. She looked up, caught the gleam of James's white teeth as he grinned down at her and pressed her face to his chest to stifle her giggles. She was a respectable married woman. How had she ended up hiding in a passageway with two men who really should know better than to taunt city employees?
What an evening. She'd hated the cockfight even more than the boxing. At least the men, unlike the cocks, could decide whether they wished to fight or not. The smell of blood and sawdust and the bitterness of defeat would linger in the back of her throat and her thoughts for days.
Peter closed in behind her, his hands braced on the wall, trapping both her and James. He kissed Abby's throat then James's mouth, a bruising kiss that had James hissing a curse and kissing him back. Squeezed between the two of them, Abby quickly became aware when the kiss turned from playful to passionate as two erect cocks rubbed against her belly and buttocks. She wrapped her arm around James's neck and held him tight as they moved together in a wordless sensual embrace.
James slid his mouth down to hers, his kiss as rough and wild as the one he'd shared with Peter. Abby didn't object as his tongue thrust into her mouth and his fingers clamped onto the back of her head to hold her exactly where he wanted her. As reckless now as he was, she shoved one hand between them and rubbed his cock, the other behind her back to caress Peter's.
Peter's mouth was on hers now, taking over from James. She tried to stand on tiptoes, craving the firm contact of an aroused cock between her legs to relieve the growing ache. James lifted her until the tip of his erection ground into her sex. She moved restlessly against him, suddenly too aware of the thick fabric between them that dulled her reactions.
"Please, James; please, Peter."
She moaned as Peter undid her breeches and pulled them down to expose her bottom. James held her up one-handed as he opened his own breeches, his wet cock springing free and then disappearing inside her. She fought to widen the gap between her legs, but her breeches held her captive. Peter's cock nudged her buttocks and slid into her arse.
He held her too, one arm clamped around her hips, the other around James. She tried to move, couldn't when they both filled her so deeply.
"Fast and hard, James, just how you like it, and then we'll go back to Madame's and finish our evening."
Abby gave herself up to the bliss of being fucked, the only word that truly fitted the impossibly arousing situation. She was out in public dressed as a man, running away from an angry mob, and two men were inside her. Would she ever have believed herself capable of that three months ago? She stifled a scream against James's shoulder as a climax shook through her. Perhaps not, but she wouldn't change a single thing.
By the time they returned, Madame Helene's was quieter, the noise in the salons down to a gentle hum. As they walked through the rooms, Abby tried not to stare at the men entangled with each other, or even more oddly, the men dressed up as women who openly plied their trade.
To her surprise, Peter didn't take them back to their usual blue suite, but climbed another set of stairs into a smaller higher level.
He paused at the third door and looked at Abby.
"If you are tired, this is the perfect opportunity for you to leave."
She smiled back at him. He smelled of sex, ale and of both her and James. How could she not support him through the rest of the evening he'd planned?
"I want to stay and help."
"You are sure?"
James cleared his throat. "Can we get on with this? I want to fuck in a bed, not another passageway."
Peter opened the door. The small room was almost in darkness, the walls a deep rich red, the single curtained window draped in black. A candelabra placed by the bed shadowed more of the room than it lit. In the center of the bare wooden floor there was a large upright wooden contraption.
James hesitated on the threshold until Abby pushed him into the room. He swallowed hard as he circled the structure, touched the wood with his fingertips. Peter watched him.
"Is this part of my birthday present?"
"If you want it to be."
James halted and turned to look at Peter. "Why would you think I would be interested in being...restrained like this?"
"Because I have noticed certain things about your sexual behavior that lead me to believe you would." Peter moved closer. "Have you seen one of these before?"
James nodded, his attention fixed on the chains and manacles that hung down from the top of the rectangular-shaped frame.
"Aye, in Jamaica. The overseer who trained me had one."
Abby held her breath as James licked his lips.
"Did he train you on this?"
"Yes, among other things."
"Then you know what I want you to do."
Abby took a seat on the corner of the bed that was covered in black silk sheets, faced James and watched him strip. The muscled skin on his back glinted as he bent to pull off his breeches and boots. His cock was already erect and wet. He straightened and went to stand between the wooden posts where Peter waited for him.
"The overseer. The one who 'trained' you. Tell us about him."
"When I reached the sugar plantation, my uncle sent me to work for this man. His name was Mr. Robert Hodges."
Peter took James's left wrist, fitted the manacle around it and did the same for the right.
"And what did Mr. Hodges do? Force you to have sex with him?
"No, it wasn't like that."
Peter pulled on the chain attached to the manacles, raised James's arms above his head and wrapped the chain securely around the wooden support. James took a deep breath, tightening his stomach muscles. His cock grew even bigger.
"At that point in my life, I was disinclined to listen to anything anybody had to tell me. I was nineteen, I'd been uprooted from everything I loved, forced to marry and live a lie. Robert wasn't that much older than me. I believe he was about twenty-five. I tried to make his life as difficult as possible."
Peter took off his coat and waistcoat and indicated that Abby should do the same. He walked behind James, pausing to stroke his buttocks. Abby bit her lip as James's muscles clenched when Peter touched him.
"And what did he do about that?"
James smiled. "He finally lost his temper with me and shoved me over his desk to give me the beating I deserved. He pulled down my breeches, gave me ten strokes with his whip and I..."
Peter stepped back into the shadows beside Abby and rested his hand on her shoulder.
"And you did what?"
"I came all over his desk."
Abby winced as Peter's finger dug into her flesh.
"What did he do then?"
"He made me clean up the mess and gave me ten more strokes, this time bending over a chair."
"And did you come again?"
"No, because he told me not to."
Peter left Abby's side and returned to James, a thin whip in his hand. Abby tensed as he trailed the tip of the whip over James's stomach, groin and buttocks.
"If I give you ten strokes, will you promise not to come?"
James shuddered and closed his eyes. "What if I fail?"
"Then I'll give you ten more."
James bowed his head and widened his stance as if anticipating the blows. Peter glanced at Abby.
"Would you like to whip him?"
She stared at the whip and shook her head. Swallowed down her sudden fear.
"You won't hurt him will you, Peter?"
"James?"
"He won't, Abby. I want this. I want him to touch me like this."
She wrapped her arms around herself as Peter stood behind James and raised the whip. James didn't even flinch until the seventh stroke. The only sound, apart from his breathing and the swish of the whip, was the steady drip of pre-cum from his cock to the wooden floor.
"Abby, come and look."
She reluctantly joined Peter and viewed James's back and buttocks. Thin red lines marred his skin but there was no blood.
"Are you all right, James?"
He nodded, his hands fisted above the shackles. Peter placed the whip on the bed.
"When did Mr. Hodges decide to fuck you?"
James grimaced. "When he got sick of me begging."
"You asked him to do that to you?" Abby said.
"He knew what I wanted. He also knew that it was necessary for me to make the decision myself or else all hell might have broken loose with my uncle if I changed my mind."
"Of course, Mr. Hodges had a job and he could probably ill-afford to lose it."
"Robert was like me. A younger son of a noble family who had failed to live up to expectations and been shipped abroad to try and make something of himself."
"And then he met you."
"Aye, he did, and he taught me more about sex and desire than I would ever have believed possible."
Peter stroked James's cheek, brushed a kiss over his parted lips.
"What else did he introduce you to, James? Did he play games with you, torment you until you thought you couldn't go on, make you beg?"
"All of those things. Sometimes when we worked together, he'd constantly brush against me, touch my cock, squeeze my balls, twist my nipples until I was hard and wet and then he'd keep me like that all day until I was ready to do anything he wanted."
"What did he want?"
"To fuck me. To make me scream his name when I came."
"He introduced you to the rack?"
"He said I needed discipline. It was another way to make me wait, to make me beg."
Peter emerged from the shadows, the leather cock ring he'd chosen with Abby in his hand. James stared at it. His breathing quickened and his pupils dilated, bleeding from brown to black in the flickering light.
"Abigail, help me with this."
She hesitated, glanced at James. He met her gaze.
"Please, Abby."
She knelt beside Peter as he showed her the unbuckled connected leather circles.
"These two go around his balls, the third around the base of his cock."
"I remember."
Peter glanced up at James. "Abigail helped me pick this out for you at an Oriental warehouse in Southampton."
"Abby did?" James let out his breath. "Good for her."
She carefully encircled one of his balls with the leather strap and buckled it. Peter did the same with the other one and then ran a finger down James's straining cock.
"Put the last one around the base of his cock. Don't come, James."
She carefully placed the thick leather band around his shaft and drew the buckle through. James groaned as she hesitated.
"Tighter, Abby darling, make it hurt."
She glanced doubtfully at Peter, who nodded.
"I'll do it if you don't want to."
She shook her head. She was going to do this for James if it killed her. Her hands shook as she tightened all the buckles. Her fingers grew slippery from his pre-cum. He moaned, the sound deep in his throat and his cock thrust toward her face.
"What else did we get him, Abigail?"
She jumped as Peter knelt behind her, his fingers caressing her covered breasts. Her nipples hardened in an aching rush.
"I don't remember."
He chuckled, the sound soft against her throat. "Don't worry, I'll get it."
Peter left her kneeling there in front of James, staring at his cock. She brushed a drip of fluid from the tip.
"Does it hurt, James?"
"It's tight. It traps the blood in my cock, makes me stay harder for longer."
"And do you like it?"
He smiled. "What do you think?"
She studied his enrapt features. He didn't seem to be in pain. Peter handed her a vial of perfumed oil.
"Come and help me."
She got unsteadily to her feet and followed Peter to the rear of the frame.
"Open the oil and coat your fingers with it."
She obeyed him, her mind enthralled with his confidence and the strange sense of power she felt when she looked at James tied up in front of her. Who would've guessed that her big, bold husband would enjoy being loved like this? And it was love, not hate that they were sharing.
"Slide your fingers inside him."
She hesitated, her hand barely touching James's buttock.
"Please, Abby," James murmured.
She closed her eyes and slid two fingers inside him. He groaned and moved his hips, pushing her fingers deeper.
"More, Abby, give me more."
She looked at Peter, who was watching intently. He handed her the thick jade phallus they'd purchased in Southampton.
"Try this."
She removed her fingers and slowly slid the jade in a few inches. James arched his back and moaned.
"God, that's good."
Peter touched her arm. "Now move it back and forth like a real cock while I attend to him." She waited tensely until Peter knelt in front of James and licked at James's straining cock.
"Now, Abigail."
She began to slide the phallus in and out, craning to look around James's torso as Peter took James's cock in his mouth and sucked hard. James shuddered and rocked into each rough motion, his biceps straining as he allowed his body to absorb their ministrations. He grunted, his buttock muscles tightening.
"Stop, Abigail."
James was panting now, sweat gleaming on his chest and back, his cock so full and purple it looked painful. Peter stood up, stepped back as if to admire his handiwork.
"Did Mr. Hodges use toys on you like this?"
"Yes."
"How long was it generally before you climaxed?"
James shuddered. "As long as he wanted. All night. Sometimes he'd send me home unsatisfied and then start again the next morning."
"I admire your resilience."
Abby shivered. "But that's cruel; why did you let him do that to you?"
"Because it gave me pleasure."
"Pleasure?"
Peter smiled at her. "Pleasure means different things to different people. I never enjoyed what James is describing and you probably wouldn't either." He tugged James's nipple. "But look at him, Abigail. He's loving every second of this."
Abby studied James's profile. True he'd bitten his lip ragged, but he wasn't begging to be set free. He was begging for more.
"Come here, Abigail. Leave the phallus; James likes it there, remember?"
She walked around the rack to stand with Peter, who slowly removed her shirt and uncovered her breasts. He stood behind her so that she faced James, one hand fondling her breasts, the other inside her breeches cupping her sex.
"She's wet, James. Wet from watching you. Does that please you?"
James lifted his head to stare at Abby. He licked his lips.
"Yes."
"Would you let her do this to you? Tie you up? Whip you?"
"Yes, if she wanted to."
Peter kissed Abby's neck. "And what would you give her in return for such kindness?"
James swallowed hard. "Anything."
Abby gasped as Peter slid two fingers inside her and pumped them back and forth. His thumb settled over her clit, sending her into a fast climax.
"James would give you anything if you'd do this to him, isn't that good to know? You could keep him good and hard all night until he was desperate to come and then let him inside you, let him spill his seed deep inside you and give you children."
Abby stared at James, her body still quivering from her climax. She could master him like this. If she wanted to. Peter brought his hand out of her breeches, rubbed his wet fingers on James's open mouth.
"She climaxes so well, doesn't she? Don't you wish you were her? Your body convulsing and spiraling into pleasure as your cum spurted over your belly?"
"God, yes."
James shifted his feet, licked Abby's cream off his lips.
"Luckily for you, we are not as demanding as Mr. Hodges. Because it is your birthday, we will allow you to come." He gently pushed Abby down to her knees. "You take his cock, I'll take his arse."
Much later, Abby sat on James's lap in the bedchamber in their town house. Peter had gone home, insisting he had business to attend to in the morning. Something about his casual explanation had bothered Abby, but he'd refused to enlighten her further. She sipped at the brandy James had given her and stared into the fire.
"Are you really all right, James?"
He smiled down at her, his fingers playing in her short hair. "That's about the fifth time you've asked me that in the last hour." He stretched his shoulders, settled her more deeply into his lap. "I feel wonderful. It's the best birthday I've ever had."
Abby fidgeted with the embroidered lapel of his green dressing gown.
"Do you think Peter wanted to show us how we might proceed without him?"
James stopped touching her hair. "It's possible. I hadn't thought of it like that."
"I'm not sure I'd be comfortable doing those things to you all by myself."
He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest. "You seemed to enjoy it at the time."
"I did, but mainly because I was watching both of you, do you understand?"
He caught her chin in his fingers looked into her eyes.
"Peter was right, you know. I would give you as many children as you want if you could bring yourself to treat me badly once in a while."
"How can you joke about something so important?"
"I'm not joking. I'd love you to tie me up and have your way with me."
"Are you sure?"
His eyes narrowed. "I know what I want, Abby, even if you don't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He sat back, his gaze considering. "When are you going to admit that you've fallen in love with Peter?"
21
P eter paused outside the steps leading up to the black front door of the solicitors' office on Throgmorton Street. He hadn't told the Beechams or the Sokorvskys where he was going. Valentin might have read the message before passing it on, but he was unlikely to turn up considering the current state of affairs between them.
He knocked and the door opened immediately. A young man with an engaging smile, who reminded him of Anthony, ushered him inside. The hallway was lined with oak paneling and painted an unattractive bottle green. A thin strip of carpet disappeared into the bowels of the house and up the narrow staircase.
"Have you come to see Mr. Davies?"
Peter handed over his hat and gloves. "I believe I have, if he is the solicitor for the Reverend William Howard."
"That's right, sir. Please follow me."
An interesting mixture of cigar smoke and camphor floated out when the man opened the door, making Peter's eyes water. He stepped into the small office. The Reverend Howard sat at his ease in front of the solicitor's desk. Peter pinned on his most charming smile and shook the solicitor's proffered hand.
"Good morning, gentleman. I hope I'm not late."
"Not at all."
Mr. Davies waved him to a chair beside his grandfather. He was a round bald man about the same age as the reverend, and he wore an old-fashioned tie wig that possibly explained the peculiar odor.
"I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I've acted for this particular branch of the Howard family for many years."
Peter nodded at William and sat down. The solicitor glanced at them both.
"The Reverend Howard has some family items he wishes you to have. He thought you might feel more comfortable meeting in this more neutral environment."
Peter raised his eyebrows at Mr. Davies. "Really? I got the impression he didn't wish to acknowledge I had any connection with his family at all. Why this sudden change of heart?"
William sat forward. "Mr. Howard, last time you walked out on me before I could explain myself properly. Will you at least do me the courtesy of staying long enough to allow me to finish?"
Peter let out a breath. "I apologize for that. Of course I will stay."
William gestured at a small chest on the solicitor's desk. "There are a few things in there that belonged to your mother. Things she left behind when she deserted us for the last time. My family wishes you to have them."
"Thank you. That is very generous of you."
William shrugged. "There is nothing of value, just a few girlish trinkets and the miniature we commissioned for her sixteenth birthday. Not that she ever saw that."
"May I see her picture?"
Mr. Davies rummaged in the box and drew out a small velvet pouch. He handed it to Peter. Inside was a small gold frame surrounding a portrait. Peter stared for an endless moment at the image of his mother aged sixteen. He could see a likeness both to himself and to the older man sitting beside him.
His throat tightened. She looked so innocent, so untouched.
"She was beautiful."
"Indeed she was, although she did not perhaps use her beauty wisely."
Peter put the portrait back in its bag and tossed it onto the desk.
"Because she fell in love?"
"Lily didn't fall in love. She just wanted to escape what she considered a boring existence." William pointed at the box. "Read her diary. She explains exactly what she wanted to do and how she intended to do it."
"Are you suggesting that any man would've done?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"So I am not even a child of love but one born of greed and misguided ambition?"
"Lily did not love wisely. She seemed incapable of understanding exactly what love meant."
"She sounds rather like me."
William gave him a sharp look. "I doubt that."
Peter stared at the old man, saw the lines of fatigue around his mouth, the shadows under his eyes. He was not the only one suffering here. He needed to remember that.
"Thank you for my mother's things. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"
William frowned. "Don't be in such a rush, young man. I've spoken to my wife and to my other children and they would like to meet you."
"With your approval?" Peter couldn't keep the note of surprise out of his voice, didn't even try to.
"Of course."
"Please forgive me if this sounds disrespectful, but you shut my mother out of your life, forced her into a life of prostitution and finally into leaving the country. Why would you want to acknowledge me now?"
William's face flushed an unsightly red.
"Excuse me, Mr. Howard, if I might intervene?"
Peter tore his gaze away from his grandfather's to look at the solicitor.
"Reverend Howard might not wish to explain this, but that is not the case. Your mother was set up in a cottage close to her old home with a couple to care for her and the baby. She also received a more-than-generous allowance from her father."
"Who didn't wish her to darken his door."
"Again, Mr. Howard, that isn't true. Lily insisted she wanted to live her own life. I have correspondence from her in my files detailing exactly how she wanted to live and the allowance she expected her father to pay her. You are welcome to look at it." Mr. Davies sighed. "At the beginning, I think she hoped her lover might return, find her financially independent and available and take her back."
Peter deliberately turned to his grandfather. "This isn't what you told me before. You implied that you made all the decisions to exclude my mother from your life."
"I was trying to protect her memory. To make you believe that I had been at fault."
"Why?"
"Because I thought it might be better for you to have some unsullied memories of your mother." William grimaced. "My wife believed otherwise. She insisted, with impeccable female logic, that you deserved to know the truth and that you were old enough to accept it."
Peter nodded, his attention riveted on the older man.
"So why did my mother leave this paradise?"
William shifted in his seat. "Because I refused to pretend you didn't exist."
"I don't understand."
Reluctantly, William's pale blue eyes met his. "After a few years, Lily wanted a Season in London. She decided she was tired of waiting for her man to return. She wanted to pretend nothing had happened and that she was free and marriageable once more."
Peter swallowed hard, a sick sensation growing in his stomach.
"When I refused, she ran away again, leaving you behind. We tried to persuade her to come back, but it was useless. She preferred to use her body and her beauty to get what she wanted in London. And God forgive me, we decided you were better off where you were rather than gallivanting along in your mother's unsteady wake."
"But she came back for me."
"She came back, yes."
Peter gripped the arms of his chair. "Tell me the rest. I'd rather hear it all."
"She wanted more money, a dowry to set her up with a new man who had promised to marry her. I reminded her of your existence and that she had a responsibility to care for you. After a long argument, I agreed to pay her the money if she took you with her and brought you into her new home and life."
Peter stared at his clenched hands, his breathing shallow, his focus turned in on himself. He'd perfected the art during his time as a slave when a client became too demanding or a beating too severe. Nothing, however, could stop him from hearing the words. He slowly exhaled.
"The clerk at the shipping office said my mother claimed to have no money. That she was sending me to relatives in Russia to keep me safe." He met William's gaze. "She lied, didn't she? She had no intention of taking me with her. She just decided to get rid of me."
Peter got to his feet, walked across to the small grimy window and stared out onto the busy street below. All seemed normal outside; the wind blew through the trees, people hurried about their business. He turned back when his grandfather cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Howard---Peter, if I may. If I'd known what she intended to do to you, I would never have given her that money." William covered his face with his hand. "God help me, but I chose to believe her lies because it was easier than to fight with her. She was still my child, my little girl."
"Don't blame yourself, sir. I perfectly understand."
But he didn't. How could a mother do that to her only child? Was he so unlovable? Had she seen something in him and decided he would cause her nothing but pain so it was better to let him go? Christ, how could he blithely contemplate making a child with Abigail and walking away? Was he cut from the same cloth as his mother?
He turned back to the concerned faces behind him, manufactured a smile and bowed.
"I would be delighted to meet with your family, Reverend Howard. I would consider it an honor."
Not that the invitation would ever materialize, he thought cynically. Why would they want him in their lives reviving painful memories of a daughter who had ice water running in her veins and a cutthroat ability to hurt those who loved her?
William stood up, his expression distraught, tears gleaming in his eyes. "I hoped to spare you these things, but I realized after our first meeting that if I stuck to my story and took all the blame, you might be lost to us again. And I found that, despite the best of my intentions, I really couldn't bear that."
Peter patted the older man's shoulder. "I am perfectly capable of dealing with the truth. I only regret the pain my mother put you through, and I apologize for misjudging you."
William squeezed his hand and cleared his throat. "I appreciate that, my dear boy. I'll be in touch about our next meeting very shortly." He shrugged. "My wife is beside herself with excitement at the thought of you being alive."
Peter paused. "That's right, I remember you saying you believed I was dead. Did my mother tell you that as well?"
The anguish in William's eyes was enough to answer Peter's question. He patted the older man's shoulder and then turned to shake hands with Mr. Davies.
"Thank you for your help. May I take this box with me?"
"Of course. And if you would leave your home address with my clerk I'll be in touch about any other legal matters that arise."
"I'll do that." Peter glanced at William, who had sank back into his chair, his face pale and drained, a visible tremor running through his narrow frame. "Can I help you to your next destination?"
William waved a fragile hand. "No, thank you, I'll sit here for a while and chat with my old friend and then I'll be right as rain." He looked up at Peter, his eyes shrewd. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again. Don't let your feelings about your mother ruin a potential relationship with her family. We are not all as fickle in our affections as she was."
Peter picked up the box and headed for the stairs. He barely remembered the clerk and scribbling down his address before he found himself back outside his own house, the box clutched in his arms. Adams met him in the hall.
"Good morning, sir."
He managed a nod. "Good morning, Adams, I'll be in my study. See that I'm not disturbed, will you?"
His study was in half darkness, the drapes not yet drawn although a fire burned brightly in the grate. He set the box down carefully on his desk, helped himself to a large glass of brandy, downed it and poured another.
He carried the brandy bottle over to the fire and took a seat. Allowed his head to drop into his hands. He'd fantasized about his mother of course. Imagined her coming and saving him from the hell of his life in the brothel, of warm arms wrapped around him, protecting and loving him.
As he grew older he'd used Valentin as a substitute to provide him with those things. He placed his glass on the floor, picked up the bottle instead. How long was it since he'd gotten really drunk? Not since he'd given up opium and orgies. A longing for the oblivion of the poppy seed crawled over him. It would be so easy to obtain some form of the opiate to see him through his anguish.
He licked his lips, tasted the brandy, wished for the bitter taste of the poppy instead. He drank deep, saluted himself with the bottle. His mother would be proud. He'd turned out just like her, a body sold to others for their enjoyment, a man incapable of fidelity and love because he craved the excesses of sexuality.
"My mother was a bitch. And I am her true son."
He said the words out loud, said them again louder, finished the brandy and started on the whisky. As he turned back to the fireplace he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He pulled out the miniature of his mother and studied it. They were even more alike than he realized. Both beautiful empty shells with as much substance as air.
He stared at his face, the pure lines of his cheekbones, the blue of his eyes, and saw a mask, a chameleon, a nothing. With a curse, he picked up the picture and threw it at the mirror. The glass shattered and the small picture fell to the floor. He sank to his knees amongst the shards of glass and stared at the cracked frame. Hurried footsteps sounded in the hallway and Adams appeared in the doorway.
Peter waved him away. Tomorrow would be soon enough to pick up the pieces. Today belonged to him, and misery hated company.
Abigail banged harder on Peter's front door knocker. Eventually a man dressed in a brown livery opened the door. She recognized him as Peter's valet and gave him a bright smile.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Adams. I'd like to see Mr. Howard."
Adams didn't move, his expression one of polite regret.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Howard isn't receiving visitors today. He is a trifle indisposed."
"I'm not a visitor. I'm a friend. You met me the other day! Please tell him Lady Beecham is here and he can decide whether he wants to see me himself."
Adams bowed. "I'll inquire, my lady."
Abby stamped her feet against the chill as she waited for him to come back. Peter hadn't returned from his supposed business errands that morning and, in a fit of bravery, Abby had decided to find him herself. It was now almost four in the afternoon and she was growing impatient.
The door swung open a little and she saw a flash of red on the table next to the door. Curious now, she shoved the door fully open and focused on a pair of ladies' gloves that lay on the table. She set her jaw and strode into the hall, paused to listen for the sound of voices and headed off to the right.
So much for Peter not seeing anyone. She laid her palm on the last door at the end of the corridor and gently pushed. It opened inward, giving her an excellent view of Peter sitting behind his desk and the elegant dark-haired woman pacing the carpet in front of him.
"Peter, this is ridiculous! Valentin had admitted he was at fault. Why can't you simply come back to us?"
"Because I don't wish to?"
Abby realized it was Valentin's wife, Sara, who stood there, her fists clenched, her face flushed with frustrated anger.
"Is this because of my pregnancy?"
Abby clutched at the door frame. Sara Sokorvsky was pregnant? A tendril of fear curled in her stomach. Peter sighed, his face at its most remote. Was this what he did? Got women pregnant and then moved on when they could no longer satisfy him sexually?
"I told you how I feel about your pregnancy."
"No, you pretended to agree that I repulsed you. You allowed me to believe what I wanted to believe."
Peter shrugged one elegant shoulder. "I'm not coming back, Sara. And you can tell Valentin I mean it."
"Do you think I came here as his messenger?" Sara's voice broke and Abby bit her lip. "I came for myself, for what we have shared. Good God, Peter, this child might be yours."
Peter looked away from her. "Don't be ridiculous. It can't be. You and Valentin are married. Any child you have is legally considered his offspring."
"You would deny your own child?"
Sara stepped forward and Peter stood up.
"Why not? People do it all the time."
Abby frowned as he swayed slightly. The scent of strong spirits wafted toward her. Several empty bottles littered the fireplace as well as the odd shard of glass. The mirror was missing from above the mantel. She stiffened as Peter stared right at her.
"You might as well come in, Abigail. You'll hear so much better."
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but the door was open."
He shrugged and spoke as if to himself. "And I just wanted to be left alone today to indulge myself in a little self-pity." He refocused on Abby. "Lady Sokorvsky has already forced her way in, despite my denials, why should you be any different?
Sara Sokorvsky's gaze flew to Abby and she blushed.
"Who on earth are you and how dare you eavesdrop on our private conversation?"
Abby sketched a curtsey. "I'm Abigail Beecham, Lady James Beecham. Your husband might have mentioned me."
Sara lifted her chin. "Are you the reason why Peter won't come back to our bed?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask Peter about that." She turned to him, hoped her desperate need for him to confirm their relationship wasn't too obvious.
"I don't intend to come back to anyone's bed. I'm not a lapdog to be coaxed with treats, threats or blandishments."
Abby stared at him. Something was very wrong. He seemed as brittle as the fine porcelain cup on the desk in front of him. She met Sara Sokorvsky's eyes and realized she was equally worried. Sara cleared her throat.
"We all care about you, Peter. Please believe that."
His smile was cold, his eyes even more so. "I'm sure you do. The question is rather, do I care about any of you?"
Abby's hands fisted. "What do you mean?"
He bowed and turned first to Sara. "You've got what you wanted, haven't you? Valentin, a title, a baby on the way. Why would you need me anymore?"
"Because you are my friend...my lover."
"Things that your husband tolerates only because he loves you."
"No! It is not like that. You know how Valentin feels about you."
"Do I?"
His hard gaze flicked back to Abby. "And you will be delighted to see the back of me once you become pregnant as well, won't you?"
"It isn't that simple..."
"It is. Your husband, like Sara's husband, required me to do a job for them. They both know me well enough to realize that providing fleeting sexual pleasure is what I live for."
Abby faced him, forced him to hold her gaze. "Providing sexual pleasure is your preferred occupation?"
"Yes, satisfying wives, providing them with additional sexual services." He sounded bored, jaded even. "Apparently I perform rather well."
"I can't speak for Lady Sokorvsky, but it was never like that for me."
His eyebrows rose. "Are you sure? You wanted a child and your husband was prepared to do anything to help you achieve that aim---even take another man into his bed. Not that that was a hardship for him, of course."
Abby shook her head in an attempt to clear it. "Why are you saying these things? Are you deliberately trying to hurt us?"
"I'm trying to extricate myself from a situation that has become intolerable to me." He bowed to Sara. "May I suggest you go home now? Tell Valentin that we can discuss dividing the business on another occasion."
Sara leaned her palms on the desk, as if trying to get as close to Peter as he would allow. "Don't do this. It's not necessary. It'll destroy Valentin."
"And that, of course, is what all this is about, isn't it, Sara? Not concern for me, but concern for your husband."
Sara drew herself up, two spots of color burned high on her cheekbones. "I don't understand you at all, Peter, but you can be sure I'll not repeat a word of this to Valentin. You can sort out your own sorry mess."
She curtsied to Abby. "See if you can make him see sense. I give up. Goodbye, Peter."
Abby watched Peter intently as Sara walked out, head held high, and slammed the door behind her.
"I can understand if you wish to sever your connection with the Sokorvskys so that you can continue in a relationship with James and me, but did you need to be so brutal?"
He glanced up at her, his mouth set in a tight uncompromising line.
"You're not listening, Abigail. I said I didn't wish to be the third in any relationship, and that includes yours."
"Why?"
Silence fell as he avoided her gaze.
"I am no longer willing to be used."
Her fingers tightened at her throat. "You feel used?"
"You find that surprising?"
"Yes, I do. In all our interactions I've always had the sense that you were the one calling the tune, not me or James."
"James sought me out. I didn't come crawling to him."
The self-disgust in his voice cut through to her soul. "No one said you did. James asked you to help us reconcile in bed."
"And judging from your erotic display last night, I've achieved that aim, haven't I?"
Coldness swept through her, followed by the first hint of anger. "Are you suggesting it meant nothing to you?"
He turned his back on her, strode to the window. "Why should it? Sex is just a game."
"And that is what we shared?"
"Yes. Good sex, admittedly, but just sex."
She licked her lips and stared at his averted head. "But not good enough for you to want to stay around and have more of it."
He turned toward her, his face a bland mask, his eyes flinty. "Am I not allowed to want more in my life? Am I expected to perform like an unpaid prostitute for the pleasure of you and your husband for the rest of my life?"
"That is unfair."
"Is it?" He came closer, fury emanating from the rigid set of his body. "You can control James now, you know the secret. You'll be pregnant soon. Isn't that enough?"
Her throat dried as she stared up at him. James had told her to tell Peter how she felt about him. There was no way she wanted to risk that while he studied her with such dislike.
"I want you to be happy."
"Then leave me alone."
He walked away from her and sat behind his desk. Even though part of her wanted to run crying from the room, Abby stayed put. Peter picked up his pen and ignored her. She listened to the scratch of his quill, the soft tick of the solitary clock on the mantelpiece.
She studied his desk, saw the open box and the cracked miniature portrait tossed to one side. She drew closer until she could guess who the picture represented. What had happened since yesterday night to change everything? What had his grandfather done? She drew an unsteady breath.
"You wish to end our relationship then?"
He looked up briefly. "Well done, Abigail. You are finally listening to me."
"You refuse to believe that any of us cares about you?"
He waved his pen dismissively. "There are plenty of other marriages I can meddle in; why would I want to stay around yours?"
"Now you are contradicting yourself. If meddling in marriages is what you crave, how can you protest if you are treated as an unpaid prostitute?" His pen stilled and she took another step. "Is it because you've decided you don't deserve to be loved? Is it easier to pretend that all your interactions are simply sexual because deep down you're afraid that if you show love to someone they'll throw it right back at you?"
"Don't try and tell me what I'm thinking."
"What happened this morning with your grandfather to finally convince you that you are unworthy of love?"
Peter stood up, the indifference on his face like a slap.
"Get out, Abigail."
She curtsied, fought to stop her voice from trembling. "James told me to tell you I loved you, but I see you won't believe me anyway, so why waste my time?" She headed for the door. "You're right, I used you, James used you, but it doesn't mean we haven't come to love you. If you had any confidence in yourself, you'd take that love and be damned grateful instead of shoving it back in our faces."
He stared at her, his eyes so calm and empty she wanted to cry. "And Peter, if you don't love yourself, you aren't worthy of the love I have for you, so perhaps this is for the best. Goodbye."
She hurried through the deserted house and back into the street. Her carriage waited at the local tavern at the corner, and she managed to find her way back to it.
After the short journey home, she discovered James dressing for dinner in his bedchamber. His welcoming smile died as he looked at her.
"Abby cat, are you all right? What happened?"
The tears she'd refused to allow to fall in front of Peter came now, hot tears that scalded her parched throat and her cheeks.
"Peter doesn't want us anymore." She pressed her fist to her heart as James pulled her into his arms. "It hurts, James, and I don't think it's ever going to stop."
22
P eter swallowed, tasted the dregs of a night of relentless drinking and groaned. He rolled onto his back, realized he was in bed and wondered how he'd got there. A strip of sunlight crept along the gray silk counterpane and onto his pillow, and he shut his eyes. At least he hadn't succumbed to his desire for opium. Adams had disobeyed his express orders to go and fetch some, and for that Peter was profoundly grateful.
"Good morning, sir."
Peter cracked open an eye and saw Adams carrying a bowl of steaming water, which he placed on the nightstand along with a fresh white towel.
"Did you drag me up here last night?"
Adams bowed. "I did, sir. I didn't wish the other servants or any potential visitors to see you in your inebriated state."
"Kind of you," Peter muttered as Adams opened the door and took a tray from the maid hovering outside. The scent of strong coffee assailed his nostrils. "Don't make me eat anything, will you?"
Adams uncovered the tray and flicked open a starched white napkin with a practiced air. "Just coffee with brandy and some dry toast, sir. That should set you straight."
Peter sat up and dragged the tray over his knees.
"You really are a treasure, Adams."
"I know, sir."
"And I didn't mean to fire you last night, either."
"I realize that as well, sir."
Peter held his gaze. "Thank you."
"I watched you struggle to give up opium once, sir. I didn't intend to watch it happen again."
"Thank God one of us has some sense."
"Actually, sir, in the old days, if you'd been really desperate, you would've simply gone out yourself. I knew you wouldn't do that last night, sir."
"You did?"
"Indeed, sir, you are a better man than you give yourself credit for."
Peter sipped cautiously at the coffee that was laced with brandy. His stomach rolled uneasily and he chewed on a piece of bread. It was true; he hadn't been desperate enough to contemplate leaving the house in search of an opium den. Perhaps he was more mature than he realized.
Adams continued setting the room to rights, laying out clothes and preparing to shave him as if nothing had happened. Peter glanced around the comfortable room. If he gave up his share of the business to Valentin, could he afford to live like this any longer?
He pushed that unpleasant realization away and concentrated on getting some food into his belly. What the hell had he done yesterday? Ah yes, in one fell swoop he'd alienated everyone who had ever claimed to care for him. His new life lay ahead of him, empty and friendless just as he had wanted. He stopped eating. Had he done the right thing? Did he really believe he was so worthless that no one would want him?
No, it wasn't as simple as that. He'd done what was needed to protect the people he cared about, even if it left him with nothing. Damnation, why was he always the one left managing everyone else's emotions? He should feel pleased with himself for doing the right thing rather than wretched.
Of course, if William Howard was telling the truth, he had the possibility of meeting with his newly discovered family. He frowned into his coffee. Did he even want that veil of respectability, of acceptance? Did he deserve it? His life history was hardly likely to enamor him to them. Brothel slave, thrill seeker, all-round bastard...
There he went again, putting himself down. He could almost hear Abigail saying it...
"A message was delivered earlier this morning, sir. Would you care to see it?"
Peter nodded and tried to guess who it would be from. The Beechams and the Sokorvskys could be equally tenacious when roused. And by God, he'd certainly done enough yesterday to deserve their anger. The note was from James.
I will be at Madame's tonight at ten. You still owe me half an hour of your time from your original debt. Beecham.
Peter groaned. How like James to insist on him fulfilling his part of the bargain. What was he expecting Peter to do? Offer him a last half hour of sex? He pictured Abigail's distraught face, the way she'd offered him her love and how easily he turned her down....
Dammit, of course he cared about her. Was she a complete fool? He got clumsily out of bed, dressed with a speed that made his head spin and headed down to his study. In his absence it had been cleaned, the reek of alcohol submerged in the aroma of beeswax polish. Didn't Abigail understand that he wasn't worthy of her? That he was damaged beyond repair? She had James, who despite his sexual preferences made her a damned fine husband.
Peter collapsed in his chair and put his head in his hands. Except he didn't want her to have James. He wanted her all for himself. With a groan, he rubbed his face until it hurt. It was better for everybody if he moved on. Val and Sara would be happy together and so would the Beechams. He had been foolish to allow himself to become emotionally involved with them. It was time he found a person of his own to love.
He reached for the miniature of his mother, studied her face behind the now-cracked grass. Despite every advantage in life, she'd made her choices and probably lived to regret them. He had to forgive her, or the knowledge that she'd abandoned him would continue to eat away at his soul. Abigail was right about one thing. He had to learn to love himself.
The clock chimed midday and he winced at the cheery sound. He would write to his grandfather's solicitor. Ask for more details about the family estate and plan a trip up north. That would give him time to get over the Beechams and for them to forget about him. The Sokorvskys were a different matter. He drew a piece of paper toward him, sharpened his quill pen and started writing.
Abby stared at James, her needle poised over her embroidery. The drawing room of their town house faced the street, and the glass reflected the dark unsettled sky outside, making the room full of shadows.
"You're going to do what?"
"Meet with Peter at Madame's. He still owes me half an hour of his time."
"And you think he will come?"
James raised his eyebrows. "Of course, if he is a man of honor."
Abby stuffed her sewing back into the basket. "And what exactly are you going to do in that half an hour?"
"Have sex with him."
She shot to her feet. "Are you serious?"
James patted her shoulder. "Abby, don't screech like that, it's very unbecoming. I'm going to make him believe that is what I want, while really I'll be trying to persuade him to come back to us."
"By using sex. It's not going to work. He doesn't want to be used."
"Abby..."
She swiped at a stray tear. "He doesn't want us, James. He made that very clear." She raised her chin. "And I don't want him if he hates himself so much anyway."
His smile was pitying. "You are such a liar."
"No, I'm not."
"You think Peter hates himself?"
"Of course. He thinks he's unlovable because everyone in his life, including his mother, abandoned him."
James stared at her. "How on earth did you work that out?"
"It's obvious to anyone who has a brain."
"Maybe a female brain."
Abby marched up to him and poked him in the chest. "Peter does not want to be used for sex. If you insist on pursuing this, you will only alienate him further and it will serve you right!"
James grinned at her. "Don't worry, I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse." He kissed her hand. "You want him back, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then trust me."
Peter arrived early at Madame's. He had no intention of allowing James to put him at a disadvantage. He also intended to have a few stiff drinks inside him before he met his former lover. James could be formidable in his own way.
He scanned the salons, bowed to Helene but didn't approach her. She raised her eyebrows in an obvious question but he was far too vulnerable to deal with her. A card game started up to his right and he gladly took a seat. Perhaps he might meet the man or woman of his dreams here this very night.
But he had met the woman of his dreams...
He ruthlessly quashed that thought. Abigail might fancy herself in love with him, but her attraction was based on the fact that he had introduced her to sex, not true emotion. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. And his attraction to her? He returned his attention to his cards, discarded one and threw another coin into the center of the table. Perhaps he simply coveted the security of her life and her place at the heart of the Beecham family.
It wasn't as if he could ask her to leave James. What did he have to offer her? A dubious heritage, a less-than-perfect past and an uncertain future. What woman would take on a man like that?
Abigail would.
He discarded two more cards, picked up another and frowned at his hand. What the hell was he doing even thinking about her? He loved James too and he refused to destroy their marriage.
"Are you busy, Peter?"
He looked up, found Valentin looming over him.
"Yes."
Valentin blatantly studied his cards. "I don't think so, not with that hand."
Peter briefly closed his eyes and then threw in his cards. He stood up and faced his friend.
"What can I do for you, Lord Sokorvsky?"
"I need to talk to you."
Peter sighed. "Again? Didn't Sara explain my position to you?"
"Sara? I haven't seen her today."
Peter led the way to the quieter of the three main salons. Valentin stopped him with a gesture by the stairs leading upward.
"What should Sara have told me?"
"That I wish to discuss the dissolution of our business partnership."
Anger flared in Val's eyes. "Fuck that." He grabbed Peter's arm. "Come upstairs and let's have this out properly in private."
Peter set his teeth. "I have an appointment at ten."
"With Beecham I presume? Does he fuck as well as I do?"
"Better---probably because he wants to be with me."
"I doubt that. Come and talk to me in private or I'll say what I need to say right here."
Peter started climbing the stairs, Val right beside him. He stopped on the first landing and stuck his finger in his friend's face.
"Firstly I'd like to say that I'm tired of being ordered around by the aristocracy, and secondly, the only reason I'm coming upstairs with you is to preserve your wife's reputation!"
Val carried on up another flight of stairs and pushed open the first door he came to. Peter followed him into the room and leaned against the door. He frowned as Val marched into the center of the room, struggled out of his coat and wrenched off his cravat. Peter blinked at him.
"What exactly are you doing?"
"I'm stripping."
"Why?"
Valentin paused to pull his shirt over his head. He emerged, his violet eyes a deep enraged purple, his long black hair escaping its ribbon.
"Because that's what you want, isn't it? Me, naked, on my knees, begging you."
"Begging for what?"
Despite his anger, Peter's shaft twitched at the erotic sight of Val's muscular body. His friend glared at him.
"For your cock."
"That's not what I want at all." With a huge effort Peter kept his voice light, his expression cool.
"Liar." Val pulled off his boots and started on the buttons of his breeches. "This is what it's all about, isn't it? You fucking me."
"No, it isn't."
Val paused, his fingers stilled on the waistband. "I don't believe you."
"I can get sex anywhere. You know that." Peter shrugged. "I'm incredibly skilled and I'm happy to service both men and women."
Val frowned. "You're not a prostitute anymore. You don't need to sell yourself to anyone."
"Don't I?"
Val met his gaze, his expression full of concern. "Peter, you are one of the worthiest and most courageous men I've ever met. You put me to shame."
Silence filled the tense space between them until the fire crackled and spat out some burning ash.
"Are you feeling all right, Val?"
For a second, Val looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Sara told me I should tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me when we were in the brothel."
"Sara told you?"
"I know, it's not as if I need to tell you, is it? You know how I feel." Val met his gaze. "You saved my life. You saved me."
Peter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door. "Don't do this, Val. Don't try to make me out to be something I'm not. Not now." God, he couldn't stand this anymore. He just couldn't.
Val moved closer, and the familiar scent of his body tantalized Peter's senses. He flinched as Val cupped the side of his face.
"Perhaps Sara was right and you do need to know how I feel about you." Val sighed. "I tried to convince myself that Sara could provide everything I need in bed."
"She can."
"No, she can't. She was the one who realized that and made sure you joined us. I pretended I did it for her, but really, it was for me as well." He shrugged. "It seems my past experiences make me incapable of settling down with a single partner."
He stroked Peter's lower lip with his thumb, his voice soft. "What can I do for you, Peter? If you don't want me, what do you want?"
Peter struggled against an unheard of desire to cry. "I don't know."
"I don't believe you. Sara's pregnancy and the discovery of your family are mere catalysts. This crisis has been brewing for a long while. I've watched you become dissatisfied with your life. Have you discovered what you want?"
"What I want, I can't have."
"You want Beecham?"
The jealous note was back in Val's voice. Peter almost smiled. Six months ago he would've been thrilled to hear that tone; now it didn't matter.
"I'm very fond of James, but I can't give him the sexual domination he craves."
"Ah, so it's his wife."
"Yes, how ridiculous does that sound? Me, a lowborn bastard aspiring to yet another aristocrat's wife."
Valentin met his gaze, his eyes intent. "Does she love you?"
"She thinks she does."
"But you doubt her."
"I doubt myself. I have nothing to offer her. She is married, with a husband who cares about her, and has the security of an ancient and respected family name."
"You have a respectable family name now."
"I have the surname of my mother because I'm an unwanted bastard." He swallowed hard. "She put me on that ship to get rid of me so that she could start a new life." A reflection of his own pain was mirrored in Val's eyes.
"But if you hadn't gotten on that ship, you wouldn't have met me and eventually returned to England."
Peter laughed. "And I should be grateful for that?"
"You're alive, aren't you? If your mother's plan had worked, you'd surely be dead by now."
Peter simply stared at him, his brain working furiously as he sorted through Val's words.
"I hadn't thought of it like that."
"Then think of it now. You have your life and the ability to love whomever you want."
"Except if she is married."
Val frowned. "You and I are never going to be able to have sex lives that follow the norm. Accept it. I love Sara with all my heart but I find I can't do without you in my bed, occasionally." His smile was almost shy. "I miss you. Why shouldn't you find happiness with both of the Beechams?"
Peter opened his mouth to reply and Val slammed his hand over it. "Don't say that you are unworthy or I'll have to punch you."
Peter slowly removed Val's hand. "I won't say it. I've realized it isn't true. Last night I considered taking up my old addictions, but I couldn't do that to myself."
Val's face softened. "God, Peter, you are one of the most deserving and worthwhile men I know." He leaned forward, brushed his lips against Peter's and kissed him deeply. Peter opened his mouth, allowed Val's taste and textures to overwhelm him, buried his hand in his friend's long hair. After a while Val stepped back.
"Promise me that for once in your bloody life you'll go after what you want, not what you think I want or what Sara or society wants, but what will make you happy." He brushed Peter's hair away from his face with gentle fingers. "I want you to be happy, Peter."
Peter stared at his friend. That was exactly what Abigail had said to him as well. "I don't know what to say."
Val started to put his clothes back on. "Don't say anything, just decide what you are going to do to get the Beechams back and do it."
23
"B ut I thought we were to meet at Madame's."
Peter raised his eyebrows at James, who glowered up at him from the pavement outside. He hadn't entered the house in case he encountered Abigail before his plans were complete. Peter swallowed hard. It was quite simple. He had to convince James that he wasn't the right man for him and make him consider what he really wanted. When he and James were clear as to their relationship, Peter could then turn his attention to winning Abigail back.
"Lord Beecham, are you coming or not? We will end up at Madame Helene's anyway."
"All right then." James got into the carriage and slammed the door. As it moved off, Peter deliberately shoved James back into the seat.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Peter stared at him. "What you want, I suspect. Isn't that what your summons was about? A last sexual encounter before I leave." He moved closer. "An encounter where you will do exactly what I say."
"You expect me to agree to that, after all the trouble you've caused Abby?"
"This isn't about Abigail. This is about you and me."
Peter stood over James and adapted his stance to the rocking carriage. He placed his hands on the back of the seat and caged James between them.
"You'll agree, and if you don't, I'll make you."
James bit his lip, his breathing erratic, his brown eyes fixed on Peter's face
"Just me and whatever I choose to do to make our last night together memorable. Put your hands on the back of the seat and keep them there."
James obliged, the bulge in his groin growing noticeably bigger. Peter shoved James's legs wide apart until the satin seams of his pantaloons stretched impossibly tight. He palmed James's cock and rubbed it hard.
"I like your cock. It's big and thick, and best of all, your recovery time is almost as fast as mine." James didn't reply, his gaze fixed on Peter's moving hand. "I like the fact that I can get you hard so fast too."
Peter squeezed his balls, and James's hips jerked off the seat. "I know you like it rough, and now I understand why. The man who fucked you in Jamaica understood you better than I ever will."
James licked his lips as Peter continued his thorough handling. He thumbed the crown of James's cock until his pantaloons were wet with pre-cum and kept going until James groaned with every deliberate stroke.
"If you keep that up, I'll come."
Peter didn't smile. "That's the idea, James."
"I haven't done that since I was in Jamaica."
"You'll come for me now and you'll walk into Madame Helene's covered in your own seed and everyone who sees you will know it."
James stared at him, his breathing ragged.
"Peter..."
"Yes, James?"
He increased the pressure, felt James shudder as his come soaked his white pantaloons. Peter sat back in his seat and admired the now-transparent satin that revealed the dark hair at James's groin and the shape of his flaccid cock.
"I hope you enjoyed that, James, because it'll be a long while before I allow you to come again."
"Take off your clothes."
James didn't argue this time. He stripped off, wincing as he peeled down his soaked pantaloons and stepped out of his shoes. His cock was already filling out again in anticipation of Peter's attention. Peter admired his lover's sleek muscles and the thick thrust of his shaft. He squeezed James's buttock, felt him shudder.
"Tonight, you are mine to do what I want with. You will speak only when I tell you to and you will do everything I say or you will be punished. Do you understand?"
James frowned. "But there is something I wish to discuss with you. It concerns Abby."
Peter slammed his hand over James's mouth. How interesting. Was James as eager to find a solution to their problems as Peter was? Renewed hope rose in Peter's heart.
"Not now. If you wish to discuss Abigail later, you may do so, but not until I give you leave and not if you don't do as I tell you."
James nodded, his expression grave, his eyes cast down. Despite his humble appearance Peter could measure his increasing excitement in his hardening, dripping cock.
He turned and opened several of the drawers in the darkened area of the room, drew out the things he needed and laid them neatly on the bed where James could see them.
"First, your collar. I'll attach a leash to it later."
He buckled the thick leather collar around James's neck. The other man's throat worked as Peter fastened the heavy buckle.
"Clasp your hands behind your back and don't show them to me again unless I tell you to."
A muscle flicked in James's cheek and Peter paused.
"Are you considering disobeying me?"
Peter stared at him for a long while until James dropped his gaze to the floor and put his hands behind his back.
Peter brought out a bottle of jasmine-scented oil and worked it into James's chest and arms. James's cock brushed his clothes but he ignored it. He continued oiling James, down his thighs, his knees and feet, his tight arse and muscled back.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork. James gleamed like a living statue, a testament to his good breeding and fine living.
"Very nice, James. Now I need to dress you."
He moved closer, used his finger and thumb to pinch James's nipples erect. James groaned and took a step toward him. Peter shoved him backward.
"You are not supposed to make a sound or move. I'll have to punish you."
He turned to the bed, picked up the thin whip he'd laid out ready and circled James. Five cuts to each of his buttocks. This time James didn't make a sound, although his muscles clenched against the sting of the whip.
Peter returned to James's nipples and played with them until they were erect. He slid the first nipple clamp on and tightened it. James hissed a curse as Peter added the second.
"You are being deliberately disobedient. I told you not to speak. Now I'll have to gag you."
He slid the ball gag into James's mouth and tied it tightly behind his head, dropped his hand to caress James's heated buttocks making him flinch. "Five more strokes for cursing at me, I think."
After he laid the whip back on the bed, Peter pulled a chair up to face James and sat on it.
"Use your hands on your cock but don't make yourself come. Stop when I tell you to."
James stroked his cock, shoving the thick, wet rod through the tight clasp of his fingers, fingering and squeezing his balls as he pleasured himself. He started to pant, his fingers tightening, his expression agonized.
"Stop and put your hands behind your back."
James did as he was told, his cock jerked up toward his navel as if desperate for release. A release Peter knew would be a long time coming. He waited until James's breathing evened out and then stood up.
"Now for the rest of your outfit."
He slid the thick leather harness between James's legs, fastened the bands around his balls and cock and then showed him the narrow leather strands. "I'm going to wrap these around your shaft. Keep still."
James made a stifled sound behind the gag, which Peter chose to ignore. He wound the leather straps up and down James's cock, covering it completely and tying off the ends securely at the base on the cock ring. He reached behind him for the next instrument he needed. He showed James the elegantly carved three-inch jade plug. It was short and squat and patterned with stylish gold and silver inlay.
"This goes in your arse."
He poured oil onto the jade until it gleamed and slowly slid it inside James, watching his reaction in the mirror. When the jade was fully inserted, he gathered the remaining straps of the leather harness and brought one between James's buttocks to hold the dildo steady. The other two straps encircled low on James's hips and buckled behind his leather-covered cock.
"Now you look like a proper slave."
Peter guided James to stand in front of the long mirror beside the bed. He added a chain leash to the collar and a flimsy silk loincloth, which barely covered James's buttocks. Tremors ran through James as if he had the ague, and his eyes were bright with excitement. Peter added a half mask to conceal James's identity.
Unconsciously, Peter rubbed his own cock. Such extremes didn't really arouse him. They reminded him too much of the Turkish brothel. Luckily he knew there were men who would welcome James and his peculiarities right here at Madame's.
He tugged on the leash. "Are you ready?"
James's whole body went rigid and he didn't move, his muscles bunched as if he was ready to flee. Peter yanked hard on the chain, almost pulling James over. He might not enjoy it, but he knew exactly how to treat James. He made his voice cold. "It wasn't a suggestion. Come now or I'll have to punish you."
The suite of rooms he took James to was on the top floor of the pleasure house. To enter required knowledge of a password, a special door key and the visual recognition of one of Helene's hired bodyguards. Peter nodded at the giant at the final door and walked into the first salon.
The walls were black as were the very few candles. Red was the other dominant color, on the sheets of the enormous bed, the reclining cushions and the couches. One wall was covered in whips, chains and every sexual toy a man could ever wish to use on himself or another.
About a dozen men moved through the two connected rooms. Three others were dressed similarly to James, collars around their necks and negligible clothing. Peter clicked his fingers in James's face.
"You will fetch me a glass of wine from the buffet in the far room. If anyone wants to touch you, you must let them. I'll be watching you."
James bowed and went to turn away. He stiffened as a man dressed in black and red, as if to match the room, blocked his path.
"Mr. Howard. I don't think I've ever seen you at one of our little gatherings before."
Peter bowed. "Good evening, Lord Minshom. You're correct. This isn't really what I crave." He deliberately drew James back against his body and fingered his nipple clamp. "But my slave wished to come."
Lord Minshom's blue eyes glittered as he stroked James's chest and flank. He was about Peter's age, his fortune enormous, his sexual tastes allegedly as deep and bottomless as his purse. "What a prime piece of flesh. Where did you find him?"
"Alas, he is only visiting our fair country. You may of course enjoy him tonight, but he will be off on his travels again tomorrow."
Lord Minshom nodded, his hand creeping under the thin silk loincloth that covered James's groin. His eyes widened as he grasped James's cock and then slid his fingers around his balls and arse.
"My, you have him trussed up as tightly as a virgin in a chastity belt."
"He is still learning. He insists he needs the discipline."
James shivered as Lord Minshom finished his deliberately crude exploration. Peter patted his arm.
"Go and fetch my wine. Bring some for Lord Minshom as well."
James set off. He didn't get far before two other men accosted him, their hands on his body and their avid faces close to his. He stood patiently, allowing himself to be touched. His skin gleamed with oil and his muscles rippled and responded to each improper caress.
Lord Minshom cleared his throat. "I'd like to see my slave suck him off. Would you allow it?"
Peter turned back to Lord Minshom, who was also staring at James.
"I'm sure that could be arranged. That's why I brought him here, to learn, after all."
"But not to be fucked. I notice he was already stuffed with a dildo."
"That's correct. I'm the only person who gets to fuck him and that's only if he performs well here tonight."
Lord Minshom's sneer became more pronounced. "You say you don't enjoy this type of sexual excess, but you certainly know how to handle a slave."
Peter gave him his most charming smile. "Perhaps I have an advantage, having been one myself."
"Of course. I'd forgotten about that." Lord Minshom sighed. "Damnation. Do I need to apologize?"
"No, it happened a long time ago. Perhaps I should be the one apologizing for bringing it up simply to make a cheap point over you."
Lord Minshom cleared his throat and directed his gaze back across the salon. "I'll call my slave over as soon as yours gets back with our wine. He's being fondled on the bed. Would you care to watch?"
Peter followed Lord Minshom over to the vast silk-covered bed. A blond young man lay sprawled on his back in the center, naked except for a silver collar and matching arm bands. Two men bent over him, playing with his pierced nipples and his erect cock. Although he groaned and writhed under their touch, Peter could tell he wasn't enjoying himself. For one moment he caught the man's bored gaze, imagined himself there and had to look away.
Lord Minshom cleared his throat. "Your slave is back." James had indeed returned, his color high, two glasses of wine held carefully in his hands. Peter took the glasses and handed one to Lord Minshom. He touched James's arm.
"Go and stand over there."
James obediently moved away and positioned himself against the black painted wall. Peter grasped his wrists and chained them above his head. Lord Minshom came over and studied James before sipping his wine.
"Adonis, come here." Minshom spoke softly, but the blond man on the bed came instantly to kneel at his feet.
"Yes, master?"
"Suck his cock." Minshom pointed at James. He waited impatiently, tapping his foot until the blond took up his position in front of James. "Is it acceptable if he makes him come or do you wish him to wait?"
Peter studied James impassively. "Make him come. The leather will stiffen up around his shaft."
"Absolutely, and if you desire, one of the other slaves can make him hard again."
Peter nodded, his attention on the blond man who was already licking his lips as he stared at James's cock. Lord Minshom nudged Adonis with his booted foot.
"Suck him and make it fast."
Even through the gag, Peter heard James's groan as Adonis drew his leather-clad cock into his mouth. His hips jerked forward and invited Adonis deeper, thrusting his cock down his throat in hard, rough strokes. While Adonis sucked, Lord Minshom used the toe of his boot to delve between the blond's buttocks, urging him on.
The scent of sex filled the air, and several of the other men gathered around to watch. Peter wanted to look away, caught between arousal and distaste. He forced himself to stare at James who, from the sounds issuing from behind his gag, loved every erotic minute of the experience.
James jerked forward one last time and his whole body arched like a bow. Adonis's throat muscles worked hard, swallowing down James's cum, so much he almost gagged. When he drew back, he stayed on his knees, his head lowered, chest heaving.
Lord Minshom caressed his blond hair. "Very nice." He looked up at Peter. "I think your slave enjoyed it too. Perhaps he would reciprocate?"
Peter bowed. "I'm sure he would be delighted."
"Let's get him erect again then and put them both on the bed."
Several hours later, Peter sat and smoked a cigarillo and watched James being fondled by Lord Minshom. He'd seen his lover satisfied in every possible way and was keen to leave. He yawned discreetly behind his hand and a slight movement in the farthest corner of the room caught his eye. In the deepest shadows, the glint of a metal collar and the pale skin of a naked man made him uneasy. He nudged Lord Minshom.
"Who is that in the corner?"
"The punishment corner?"
"If that is what it's called, then yes."
Lord Minshom smiled as he raked his fingernails down the narrow leather straps surrounding James's cock.
"Sometimes a man is put there as a punishment by his master. At other times, a man will put himself there, if you know what I mean."
"Because he wants to be punished."
"Yes, and at the end of the evening, everyone who wants to have him gets the opportunity, for as often and as long as they want. No exceptions."
Peter peered closer into the gloom. For some reason, the man's body posture reminded him of Valentin at his most vulnerable. He blinked as the man turned his head, caught a glimpse of dark blue eyes and a face so familiar his blood chilled.
Not Valentin. Anthony. What the hell was he doing offering himself like this? Peter started to rise and then sat down again. Anthony was a grown man and it was none of Peter's business. He had as much right to choose his own sexual highs as Peter did. God, did Valentin know?
"Are you intending to stay after all?"
Peter reclaimed James's leash from Minshom and smiled. "Unfortunately not. I have to get my slave home to Amsterdam in one piece by tomorrow or his wife will be suspicious."
Lord Minshom sighed and took his hand off James's cock. "If you really must go. Thank you for an enjoyable evening and bring this one back with you again one night."
"I'll certainly consider it."
Peter bowed and headed straight for the nearest door, James behind him. He had no intention of accidentally catching Anthony Sokorvsky's attention on the way out. He took James back to their original room, stripped off the leather harness and the nipple rings and removed the ball gag. James coughed and cleared his throat.
Peter gave him a glass of wine, waited until he finished it.
"Did you enjoy that?" James stared warily at him. Peter waved a hand. "You may speak as much as you like now."
"Couldn't you tell?"
"From your moans and the way your cock was constantly erect and dripping cum, then yes." Peter held James's stare. "I love you, but I can't do that for you."
James swallowed hard. "I know. I love you too and I don't expect you to."
"Tonight was about showing you my limits and how different they are to yours. It's yet another reason why I can't stay with you and Abigail."
"Abby doesn't want that from you."
"Abigail wants what most women want. A man who loves her and the possibility of a child."
"And just as you can't give me what I want, I really can't give her that."
"Yes, you can."
James smiled. "But you do it so much better and she knows it."
Peter sighed and leaned up against the bedpost as James slowly put on his clothes.
"So where does that leave us? You want something from me that I can't give you. Abigail wants something from you that you insist you can't give her, and I..."
"Could give her everything."
"James..." Peter looked away; anguish tightened his throat, making words impossible. James stepped closer.
"Listen to me. Abby loves you. We both know she would be far happier married to you. I can't change that without creating the kind of scandal we all want to avoid, but I can make it easier for you to be together."
"I don't understand."
James met his gaze, his brown eyes steady. "I want to go back to Jamaica. I want to see if I can find Mr. Hodges."
"Did you make this decision because of what I put you through tonight?"
"Not completely. I'd already decided to go and search for Robert. This evening merely convinced me I was right." James hesitated. "You didn't enjoy yourself tonight, did you?"
Peter shrugged. "It was interesting but it isn't really my preferred way to express myself sexually. I did it for you."
"I understand. Making love to Abby isn't my preferred way to express myself either."
Peter gathered his courage. "It is mine."
James smiled. "I know, and I think you should stay and enjoy each other."
"You are prepared to live like that?"
"Like what?"
"In a marriage when you know your wife loves another man?"
"Why not? Abby has to live with the knowledge that I love other men too."
Peter took James's shoulder in a punishing grip, his voice hoarse. "I will be good to her. You will never have to worry ever again."
"I hope so, and I still expect a place in your bed whenever I want it."
Peter held out his hand. "Done."
James shook it, his smile crooked. "Now all we have to do is convince Abby."
24
A bby paced the floor of her bedchamber, hugging her favorite woolen shawl to her chest. It was three o'clock in the morning and James still hadn't returned. She imagined him stretched out naked in bed with Peter, both of them laughing about her childish feminine demands for love and security and...damn them both to hell! She stopped in the middle of the hearth rug and glared at the clock.
James had obviously failed to achieve his aim or he would be home now. He was either too busy enjoying his last night with Peter to think about her or drinking to drown his sorrows. She almost hoped it was the latter. His stupid scheme to use sex to fool a man who had a mastery of the sexual arts was beyond absurd.
She set her jaw. Did she have to do everything herself? She hurried into her closet, located the male attire she'd worn during her madcap adventures with Peter and James and got dressed. Peter's house was only a few blocks away. She would find her way there and simply check where her husband was.
Of course, she could do more than that. If Peter was there, she was prepared to offer him anything if he'd stay. She tied a knot in the cravat and shoved her feet into the boots. Perhaps she was a fool but she'd risked everything once on this man and she was more than willing to do it again.
For her, love obviously wasn't meant to be simple and straightforward. If she wanted that, she should have let things with James remain the same. But she'd wanted more, hadn't she? And "more" meant experiencing a series of emotions she'd never believed possible. Was she willing to give all that up simply because Society said she should settle for less?
Abby tiptoed down the servants' stairs, paused in the deserted kitchen to catch her breath and headed out the back door. Above her, the sky was an inky black patchwork of stars and purple clouds. The full moon was bright enough to guide her footsteps.
Not that she could ever return to her unawakened state. It was too late for that. The only way was forward. James should know her well enough to understand she refused to settle for half measures. She ran up the basement steps and out into the street. Even if James was with Peter, at least they could sort this out together.
"I'll come back to your house," James announced. "We'll go and talk to Abby tomorrow together."
"Coward." Peter murmured as he fumbled for his front door key. A single candle burned in the hallway, its light flickered as James carefully shut the door.
"Agreed." James grinned at him. "I also need a bath. I stink of sex."
"And you think I'm going to wake my servants and ask them to start carrying up boiling cans of water, do you?"
"Not at all. I'll simply share your bath in the morning if I may."
"I'm sure it won't come to that. Now come along. I need some sleep if we are to deal with Abigail in the morning."
James followed him upstairs. Peter led him into the room next to his and lit the bedside candle from the one he carried.
"I think you have everything you need."
James touched his cheek. "What about you? Can't I have you?"
"I would've thought you had enough cock this evening."
James stroked down the front of Peter's breeches. "But you haven't. You didn't fuck anybody. Let me touch you." He looked serious. "It might be for the last time."
"Liar. You'll be back."
James kissed him, the thrust of his tongue surprisingly sweet. "Let me."
Peter closed his eyes, allowed James to slide his hand inside his breeches and work on his already overstimulated cock. He moved with him, unbuttoned James's breeches so that he could feel the slick weight of James's erection rubbing against his own.
He groaned as wetness spurted out of his cock and coated James's fingers, making his job easier with every flex of his hand. He kicked off his breeches and boots and leaned back against the high side of the bed as James penetrated him with his tongue and his fingers.
"Let me love you, Peter."
James murmured close to his ear as he turned Peter to face the bed and moved behind him, the hard, hot heat of his cock sliding between Peter's buttocks. They both groaned as James entered him and started to move. His strokes long and controlled, one hand guiding Peter's hip, the other wrapped around his cock, urging him on.
Peter gave himself up to the sensations and turned his head so that James could kiss him. His climax built along with James's, and soon they were both panting and thrusting against each other in a desperate need for completion, for pleasure, for love.
Peter came first, his cum spurting out over James's pumping fist and soaking into the counterpane. James gave one last thrust and rammed into him, filled him until he could no longer move. They rested together, Peter wrapped in James's arms, their bodies in perfect alignment.
"Are you quite sure you need all that pain and humiliation as well, James?"
James chuckled as he withdrew after a last kiss on the nape of Peter's neck. "Unfortunately I do. Don't ever tell Mr. Hodges that I can make love like that."
Peter turned to study James. "Will you bring him to visit us, then?"
James shrugged. "If he wishes. I'm not sure I'll even find him again."
"You're sure that you want to try, though?"
"Aye. It's important to me." James smiled. "Now leave me to get some sleep, man. We have a busy day in the morning."
Peter went to him and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Thank you, James. Thank you for everything."
"Don't thank me yet. Let's wait to see what Abby has to say in the morning."
Peter picked up his clothes and headed back to his own room. God, he was tired. The evening at Madame's had gone on for far too long. He was both emotionally and physically drained. He needed his sleep and a clear head for the morning before he faced Abigail with his fragile hopes for their future together.
His room was in darkness, only the orange glow of the banked fire adding a tint of warmth to the black. He pulled back the bed covers, encountered skin much finer than his silk sheets and a scent he would never forget. He stepped back, struck a flint and used the spark to light a candle beside the bed.
"Abigail, what are you doing? Aren't you supposed to hate me?"
She sat bolt upright and stared at him, arms folded over her naked breasts.
"I do hate you. Where have you been? I've been waiting for hours and it took me a considerable amount of time to talk my way past Mr. Adams."
"I'm here now. What do you want?"
She faced him, her chin held high. "I refuse to let you leave me."
"You refuse?"
"It's quite simple. I'll talk to James. We can work something out together."
He fought a smile, awed by the mixture of bravery and desperation in her voice. Emotions he thought he had owned that last dreadful week. It seemed that none of them were prepared to give up their unique relationship without a fight.
"I was intending to leave tomorrow."
"Adams told me. I never thought of you as a coward."
"Perhaps I thought I was doing the best thing for everyone."
"For everyone but you, perhaps. What if I don't want to settle down and be the way I was? What if I want more and don't give a damn what the polite world thinks of me?" She shrugged. "It's not as if the ton knows much about me anyway. I'm already considered an eccentric country nobody."
Peter sighed. "But I wanted to visit my new family."
"There is nothing stopping you visiting them as long as you come right back and don't decide to move there or something equally ridiculous."
He fought a smile. "But I wanted to be the martyr. I wanted to give up everything for love."
Her expression changed, "Why, you..."
She threw herself at him, fists thumping into his chest. He twisted and allowed her to bear him down onto the bed. She loomed over him, her breast perilously close to his mouth.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No, ma'am, I would never do that."
He licked her nipple, tried to bite and she jerked away. He simply turned his head and suckled on the other one. She moaned deep in her throat, allowed her body to rest against his, her wet core against his stomach. He threaded his fingers through her short hair and brought her head down to meet his, kissed her hard until she could no longer speak, only breathe.
He released her mouth, looked into her eyes. "I love you, Abigail. I don't want to leave you either."
She reared back. His cock sprang free and slid against her sex. "Then why didn't you say so?"
"Because I am a fool?"
Her satisfied sigh was balm to his soul.
"If only James listened as well as you do, my life would be so much easier."
"Actually James is an excellent listener. He has come up with a solution for our problems all by himself."
"James has?"
"If you approve, of course."
"Well, tell me then."
"He wishes to go back to Jamaica and find his Mr. Hodges. Valentin and I have plenty of ships that travel that route and he is welcome to take a trip on one of them. Of course, that leaves him with a dilemma. He doesn't wish you to think he has abandoned you."
"I assume that is where you step in."
"Exactly. As his good friend, I will guarantee to keep an eye on you while he is away traveling."
She stared at him for so long that he began to doubt himself.
"Abigail? Is something wrong?"
"Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely sure."
He smiled at her, hoped she saw his deep love and thankfulness for his second chance.
"It will take quite a long while to prepare for James's journey and find out any new information about Mr. Hodges. By the time he departs, hopefully you will be noticeably pregnant, and no one will think anything at all of our friendship after he leaves."
"Do you really think it might work?"
He took her hand, brought it to his lips. "If we all want it to, Abigail, and we love each other enough, why not?"
She bent forward, her hands cupping his face. "I do love you. I love James as well, but you are the one I would miss with all my soul."
He stared up at her, her face blurring as he fought his emotions. With one swift move, he rolled her beneath him and shoved his cock deep. Finesse deserted him as he pumped into her, determined to possess her at some instinctive level that demanded more than technique or artifice, just his body joined to hers in the most primitive way, his seed inside her, and the mark of his teeth on her skin. He groaned with each hard stroke and pounded into her welcoming flesh.
She didn't stop him. She simply wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on, nails digging into his flesh, her cries devoured by his mouth as he kissed her. This was what he wanted and needed, not money or power but a woman who welcomed him into her body and into her life, who held him like she would never let him go.
His cum gathered at the base of his thrusting cock and he rocked harder, undulated his hips against her pubic bone, ground himself against her clit. He shoved a hand into her hair, tried to stare into her face.
"Come with me, now."
His words ended in a growl as he climaxed, swiftly followed by hers. Her body gripped him with all the strength of an iron fist and milked him dry. He collapsed over her, his breathing ragged, his emotions scattered over the counterpane along with his heart. Would she have the strength to gather up his needs and love him anyway?
She kissed his ear, her lips warm on his flesh.
"I love you, Peter. We will work this out."
He closed his eyes, inhaled her scent and realized---he believed her.
EPILOGUE
Beecham Hall, Henham, EssexSeptember 1st, 1819
My dearest James,
Thank you for your latest letter. It seems you and Mr. Hodges are enjoying your partnership and that your business is also thriving. We look forward to seeing you both here for Christmas and hope that your insistence on discussing a divorce will not be allowed to spoil the festivities. Rest assured that despite your concerns, we are quite happy as we are.
We also expect the Sokorvskys. Peter and Valentin continue to baffle me with their complicated relationship, but Sara has become a good friend. Luckily, the Sokorvskys' child is of an age to play with ours.
Your son, William James, has decided that crawling is no longer stylish enough for a boy of his advanced age and has begun to walk, albeit with mixed results. Peter insists I tell you that William is no longer bald. He sports a full head of curly brown hair, which your mother swears makes him the image of you.
With fondest love,Abigail, Lady James Beechamand Mr. Peter Howard
P.S. Peter also insists I tell you that "his" grandfather says his hair was black until the age of five and to make of that what you will...
Turn the page for a touch ofHOT SILK,by Sharon Page!
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1
Before the start of the London Season, March of 1818
"T he choice is yours, my love. I want you---you know that. Meet me tonight, in the gallery. Don't wear your gown. Wear something easy to remove..."
Grace Hamilton knew she should be scandalized by Lord Wesley's proposition. She should refuse. But she had been trying to stay strong and good and proper for a week and she could not resist any longer.
"I do not know, my lord," she whispered. He stood behind her, away from the hot, sparkling chandeliers and the swirling crowd, in the shadows of the ballroom at Collingsworth, ancestral home of the Marquis of Rydermere. Lord Wesley's home and a place she had no right to be.
Grace stood by dark gallery doors, wearing a borrowed gown, terrified everyone would see her for the fraud she was.
His lordship rested his hands gently on her waist, his long fingers splayed to meet across her middle---she hadn't expected him to touch her yet and the contact stole her breath. "I will be waiting," he murmured, his voice a possessive growl. "If you aren't there at midnight, I will have to assuage my broken heart elsewhere."
How many other ladies here would accept his proposition? A wave of his hand and any number of women would beg to be kissed by him, would eagerly agree to meet him for sin. Dozens of women here wanted to marry him; their calculating eyes fixed on the prize---to become Marchioness of Rydermere.
This house teemed with lovely ladies of good birth, but Lord Wesley had singled her out, had pursued her ever since her arrival. From the first moment he had bent over her hand and let his lips play magic on her fingers through the thin muslin of her glove, she had been entranced. And each look he cast her way, each hot and intense glance, had assured her he felt the magic every bit as much as she.
Or was she wrong? What, after all, did she know about men in love?
"Midnight. By midnight," she teased, feigning a confidence she didn't feel, "you will know if I am coming or not."
His breath tickled her neck, a hot caress. "Wicked wench. I'll be there." He moved closer to her, leaving the shadows to press his body against hers. She both stiffened and melted as a hard ridge snuggled against her silk-clad bottom.
"I can't wait to grasp hold of this lush, fashionable arse---" With a groan, he ground his erection against her curves, setting her heart racing. "That, my golden nymph, is for you."
And then he was gone.
Grace snapped open her fan and beat it so feverishly the thin silk tore from the spokes. She'd never had a man do this to her before. Be so bold. Be so gruff and direct and lusty---
"What was my rascal of a brother saying to you? Oh, Grace, you aren't going to faint, are you? Your face is aflame."
Grace started guiltily as Lady Prudence joined her in the private corner. Her friend's closed fan rested against her lips, half hiding their firm line. "Did you let him coax you here?"
"No...I needed a rest," Grace lied.
Lying had never been her talent and she doubted Lady Prudence was fooled. Her friend gave a tip to her head so the candlelight caught the tiny diamonds and sapphires threaded through her dark hair. Lady Prudence was so lovely. It was astonishing to Grace that she had such a friend.
"Don't believe a word he says," Lady Prudence warned, her gray-blue eyes very solemn. She bent close to be heard clearly over the graceful melody of the waltz. "My brother is a scoundrel."
Couples twirled past, elegant and glittering beneath the glow of a thousand candles. Gentlemen's hands rested lightly on slender backs; ladies' gloved hands entwined with those of their partners. Skirts swirled around graceful ankles and coattails fluttered to give glimpses of muscular male bottoms.
Grace sighed. "Aren't most of the men we encounter scoundrels at heart? That is what makes them so interesting. But no gentleman would ever really behave as a scoundrel with me."
"For which you should be profoundly grateful." They were the same age, both eighteen, but Lady Prudence suddenly looked wise and mature. "You are so exceptionally beautiful, Grace, you will make a devastatingly successful marriage."
"Will I?" She was running out of time. Within a week or two, the fashionable world would all be in London. Her eldest sister Venetia was already in London, in a rented townhouse, drawing erotic art to save their family, and their mother was sick with worry.
And Grace could save them all. All she had to do was marry.
She ground the toe of her slipper into the gleaming parquet floor and gripped her fan until the splintered spokes bit through her gloves. All she had to do was capture a titled man and she could keep her family from the workhouse. She could return her mother to the world that had cast her out.
Since Grace had turned thirteen, her plan had been direct and simple. She would marry a title. She would make things right. Everyone had told her she was lovely, that she would grow to be a great beauty. She had overheard the secret conversations, when matrons had told her mother how valuable her beauty would be.
"Grace, I am serious." Lady Prudence gripped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. The silk of Grace's gown---one of Lady Prudence's that she had bought but later decided she did not like---shimmered around her legs. "Do not believe a word my brother says," Lady Prudence warned. "There is not a young woman on this estate that he has not...had intimacies with."
"I know." And Grace did. She knew she was a fool to imagine that Lord Wesley, a wealthy heir, a devastatingly handsome man, would want to marry a nobody like her. But she knew, even after only a week, that she could not bear to settle for anything less. It was not his title she wanted---it was him. The man.
Grace tapped her lips with her torn fan. She wanted it all. Could she not only marry well, but also marry a man she loved and desired? Or was she simply hoping for too much, when her family's security was at stake?
Prudence had adopted a motherly air. "There are many gentlemen who are already besotted with you, Grace. Lord Ornsbrook, who is a viscount, and a wealthy one, is a thoroughly respectable catch. Pelworth hangs on your every word, and he is an earl!"
Grace swallowed hard. Either man should be perfect: young, reasonably attractive, and tongue-tied around her, which should be a good sign.
Prudence pointed with her fan at a lanky blond man laughing his way through the dance set. "Even Sir Randolph Thomas, over there. He possesses a fortune! Yes, he's an atrocious dancer, but, really, a woman never dances with her husband."
"Prudence, no---"
"Or Lord Wynsome. Such a suitable name. He melts every woman's heart. And he's heir to the Earl of Warren. He's delicious, isn't he? I'm certain he would take one look at you and---"
"Stop!" Grace cried. The Earl of Warren was her grandfather---her mother's father. He had thrown her mother out and barred all of them from his house. Lady Prudence, of course, knew not of that. Like everyone else, Prudence believed the lies Grace had carefully cultivated---the lie learned by her and her sisters. Her mother was respectably married, her father, a sea captain who was away, far across the world, hoping to make his fortune. But that father was her mother's fictitious creation.
She would never dare tell anyone that she was Lord Warren's illegitimate granddaughter and that her father was really Rodesson, the famous and scandalous artist of erotica. Or that her eldest and talented sister was the one now painting the erotic works that bore Rodesson's name.
Lord Wynsome had no idea she was, in fact, a cousin to him. There was no way he would guess, but it was still her greatest fear that he somehow would, that he would expose the truth to Lady Prudence.
Prudence was her entry to the ton, to the world of rich and titled and delicious gentlemen---
She couldn't dare risk Prudence's friendship. And, in truth, she dearly loved her friend.
"But, still, there are more," Prudence said cheerfully. "Over there---" She stopped abruptly. "Oh good heavens, what is he doing here?"
Grace never heard that tone of voice from Prudence. Low, serious...fearful. Surprised, she strained to look.
A gentleman stood at the entrance to the ballroom---he towered head and shoulders above the crowd. He must have been over six and a half feet in height. And his hair---it was a wild mane of dark blond that streamed past his shoulders, unruly and wild. She knew, by instinct, that it suited the man.
He gave an enormous grin, which revealed deep dimples framing his handsome mouth and brilliant white teeth. Several servants were trying to push him out. With his arms crossed over his huge chest, he appeared to be an immovable wall.
The butler hastened up to the fray, but the mysterious guest merely amiably punched the servant in the shoulder.
Laughing, openly amused, the gentleman refused to budge. To Grace's shock, she saw his head turn and his gaze slide over the crowd. Toward her. She was staring, but so was everyone else. There was no reason he should feel her curious gaze out of the hundreds of others.
Polite decorum decreed she should look away, but she could not stop watching him. His skin was golden bronze, close in color to his luxurious hair. He was obviously a man who exposed his body to the sun. Even bathed in the light of a chandelier, he stood too far away to reveal the color of those penetrating eyes, but she guessed they would be blue.
A silly fancy. She forced her gaze to move demurely away. But she was still aware of him; it was as though the music had stopped and the dancers had whirled away into the night, and there was no one in the ballroom but the handsome stranger and her.
The strangest sensation gripped her, along with a heat that threatened to set her skin on fire.
She'd desired Lord Wesley, but she'd felt nothing like this---
Every forbidden erotic picture, every one of her father Rodesson's erotic drawings---those she'd secretly looked at---spilled through her heated mind.
She wanted this man, this powerful, compelling stranger. She wanted to know what it would be like to lie underneath him and part her legs and take him inside her. She wanted to know how his skin would taste to her lips and her tongue. To know if he would be rigid and big and if he would fill her completely and make her scream in pleasure. She wanted to see him naked, taste him naked, and make love to him until they were both sweaty and senseless---
He was staring at her.
Grace felt it. Felt an answering fire rush over her skin.
Preposterous! How could he even see her? But she glanced up, enthralled by the moment, knowing their gazes would lock---
Or was he looking at Prudence? Wouldn't that make more sense?
He was not looking at either of them. Abruptly he turned on his heel and strode out through the gilt and ivory doors.
Her fan was in tatters beneath her fingers and her heart felt two sizes too big for her chest. Her throat was tight and dry. Her drawers were indecently wet.
She had to know. It was like a sudden addiction. "Who was that?" she cried.
"My half brother." Prudence's voice shook with...anger? Fear? An emotion Grace could not quite define.
"You have a half brother?"
"He's a bastard," Prudence continued, her voice contemptuous, using a word she should not. "My father's by-blow. His first-born child, in fact, and my father is stupidly fond of him."
Grace shook at the revulsion on her friend's face. She was a bastard. Would Prudence feel the same way about her if she knew the truth?
Suddenly Grace felt as though she stood on a tightrope, balancing over a pit of wolves. No, this was the ton. Not wolves---mocking jackals with slavering jaws.
"He should be hung," Prudence spat. "He's a highwayman. Can you believe he is so bold as to come to this house? He's probably robbed half the people here! And he was a pirate. Why the British navy did not kill him, I cannot imagine. He's a murderer, a scoundrel, and..." Prudence took a shaky breath.
Grace moved forward, startled by tears in her friend's eyes.
"And our father loves him best!" Prudence cried and stamped her foot.
Grace hugged her friend. "Of course not!"
Prudence pulled out of the hug, shaking. "He does. His mother was a love affair, ours a duty marriage. Of course, he loves dashing Devlin Sharpe. But I hate him."
"Why? Because of what he is?" Grace could hardly believe she wanted to press this. Why should she want to hear about the horrors of being recognized as a bastard?
"He murdered the man I loved. If I wouldn't hang for it, I'd grab one of my father's pistols right now and shoot him where he stands."
Grace blinked. "How could he murder a man and escape punishment?"
Prudence balled her hands into fists, and Grace heard her fan snap. "I cannot tell you what happened. Not even you, my dear friend."
She reached out and stroked Prudence's arm as her friend turned red-rimmed eyes to her and asked, "Do I look awful? I have to dance with Lord Wynsome next."
"You look fine." But a chill washed over Grace as she watched Prudence stroll away. Prudence's movements were controlled, precise, and lovely, belying her emotional outburst. If her illegitimate half brother had murdered the man she loved, how could he have dared walk into the house?
And even after hearing what a beast he was, she still ached between her legs. She was still flushed and anxious with desire.
She was supposed to meet Lord Wesley at midnight...After feeling all that mad, delirious passion and hunger and need.
She couldn't bear to stand in this crowded, overheated ballroom one moment longer. She needed to escape.
APHRODISIA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2008 by Kate Pearce
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 0-7582-4185-2

