Deeper in Sin (19 page)

She realized it was getting harder to move through the people.

They were all slowing down to look at Cary.

“Cary!” Saxonby had seen him and called out to him. The friends greeted each other, then two other tall men joined them. One had dark hair and brilliant green eyes and was introduced as the Duke of Greybrooke. The older had dark coffee-brown hair and flashing dark eyes, along with the longest, blackest eyelashes she'd ever seen. That was Sinclair. The man who had hosted the orgy.

They began to discuss the murder, and Cary described the attack on her. She was so afraid of Devars, she didn't even react to the horrible details.

Sophie moved around so she stood in the center of the group of men. She was surrounded by all four of the Wicked Dukes. Each duke was tall and broad-shouldered with a sculpted, handsome face and enough solid, beautiful muscles to make any woman swoon. With his golden hair and blue eyes and his almost boyish features, Cary was the most gorgeous of the four handsome men. Her savior. But would he be if Devars revealed she was a thief?

She peeked between Cary, who she stood close to, and Saxonby.

Oh God. Devars. He had stopped on Bond Street and was large enough to force others to walk around him. He stood near a store, and he appeared to be lighting a cheroot.

But with a sick feeling, she saw he was furtively watching the group of them. He took a step toward them. Her heart skipped so many beats, she got dizzy.

Then he stopped. Shook his head at her. Her eyes widened with shock—he was communicating with her. His lips mouthed something.

She believed it was,
Later.

She realized he was not willing to approach her when she was with four powerful dukes. They were discussing things about the murder of Sally Black. She heard only the end of their conversation. Saxonby was stating that he had investigated where Sally had lived and had spoken to her family, who lived in Hertfordshire, and had found no motive for her death.

Cary then introduced her. Both Saxonby and Greybrooke bowed to her, and she curtsied.

The Duke of Sinclair bowed over her hand and lifted her fingertips to his lips. The look in his eyes—it burned bright as an inferno. “It was a delight to make your acquaintance.”

She took a step closer to Cary.

Sinclair grinned. “Not to worry, my dear. You are remarkably lovely. But Cary is a good friend. And he is a better man than I. True, he was once as wicked as I am, but he's turned over a new leaf. You will find he is a most devoted protector.”

Cary was speaking to Greybrooke. The green-eyed duke glowed with joy, and she overheard a bit of their conversation and learned why. He was a brand-new father, delighted with his son.

Her heart panged. Samuel would have been just as happy to see his son, but he was killed before he could.

Did she wish she could be married to Samuel now? Did she wish things had been different? She couldn't imagine that now. Cary was busy talking with Greybrooke, who they called Grey. He wouldn't overhear what she asked Sinclair.

Impetuously, she asked the Duke of Sinclair, “But why did he change?”

“He was held as a prisoner of war.”

“But he was wicked before that, and he told me he had love affairs so he wouldn't be haunted by memories. But now he won't make love.” She knew she was blushing foolishly. As if Sinclair, the orgy host would be shocked. “He says his memories haunt him too much.”

“I don't know.”

“Or do you mean you won't tell me?”

“The truth is that I don't know. Grey and Sax were his closest friends. They might know.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Sinclair bowed again. “Call me Sin,” he said. Then he left, alighting into a carriage that displayed a coronet on the door. Grey and Sax had gone as well, so she couldn't ask them questions.

Caradon smiled at her. “Should I take you home?”

Sophie nodded. She knew what she must do.

14

“Would you pull down your trousers?”

Sophie knew she'd startled Cary—he had been lost in thought. Now his head jerked back, and he stared at her in surprise. “Sophie, what?”

“Would you open your trousers?”

“Sophie, I am not going to make love to you in the carriage.”

“That is fine. Because I want to make love to you.”

She was sitting beside him, which worked perfectly. Sophie leaned over and kissed the slight bulge in his trousers. He felt warm there. Against her lips, she felt the ridge in his trousers grow bigger.

She ran her lips along the ridge with soft, quick, teasing kisses. “You did this for me. Please let me do this to you. I very much want to try.”

Cary took a long, harsh breath. “Sophie, this is something that will give only me pleasure, not you.”

She shook her head. “That's not true. Because pleasing you and watching you feel arousal and delight is actually very pleasurable for me.” She stroked her fingers along the now large bulge. “Please?”

He laughed gruffly. “Any man would think me insane if I turned you down.”

“Then don't.”

“But having you do that will likely bring forth memories I would rather forget.”

“Why? Can't you forget those things and just think of me? Please try.”

“All right,” he said huskily. With his gloved fingers, he undid the buttons of his trouser falls. He reached into his linens, and she saw the head push against the fabric, full and adorable. Then out it popped.

She pressed her lips to the dusky head. Heard him moan. How she loved that sound. She loved knowing he must feel the same thrill she did when he had touched his mouth to her private place.

She licked, running her tongue around the head and the firm ring that almost completely encircled it. He was so warm against her tongue. And his scent was rich and spicy.

She opened her mouth and took him deep inside.

She wanted to take him in to the hilt, but she couldn't. He was much too long. And too thick.

Now that she had him in her mouth, she didn't know quite what to do. He had licked her to ecstasy, but she could barely get her tongue to move around his enormous cock when it was filling her mouth.

His hand stroked her hair. Cupped her cheek. Then his hips moved, thrusting slightly into her mouth as he groaned.

He went too deep! She scrambled back, letting him all the way out.

He stopped. “Sorry, love. You're too new for that.”

But she understood. This must be much the same for him as making love. He needed to have the sensation of sliding in and out. “You mustn't move,” she said.

And she took him into her mouth again. She planted her hands on his hips to keep him steady. She sucked him deep into her mouth, then slid back. Over and over, she made the same motion. Her cheeks hollowed with the sucking sensation. Saliva coated him and dribbled from her lips.

But he watched her with his glowing blue eyes, and she could see lust and desire and pleasure in them.

He liked this.

But she'd thought that liking it meant he'd climax quickly.

It seemed he could last forever. And she couldn't.

Already her jaws were tired. And he was still rigid and big in her mouth. Bigger than when she'd started.

She had to stimulate him more. But how?

She stroked down in his linens, finding his ballocks. Those were sensitive. She cradled him, rubbing them with her thumb. She sucked on his cock—at least the top half of it—and gripped the hilt with her hand. She squeezed, suckled, toyed.

“Sophie, it's so good.”

Her fingers strayed beyond his balls, and she touched the bridge of skin there. She rubbed him, fascinated by the seam and the firm heat of his skin that she felt. Then her finger slid back farther, and she realized it was caught between his hard, hot cheeks.

“Not there,” he said roughly.

So she grasped his cock with both hands and bobbed fast and hard. She felt a terrible failure. He was moaning again, but how did she take him to—

“Sophie, stop. I'm going to come.”

If she stopped, he might stop. She wanted to give him an orgasm. She
had
to.

She sucked and sucked. All at once, his cock grew, and she felt a whooshing within it, under his skin, and his juices shot into her mouth. All of his seed. She swallowed in surprise. Then sucked more from him.

That made him howl, and his hips jerked up.

She kept sucking.

Then he gently drew her back off him.

He pulled her to him and kissed her. Heavens, she could still taste him on her lips, ripe and sensuous. He must be able to taste himself too.

When he let her go, after kissing her with wild ferocity, she felt rather dizzy. “Did you like it?” she asked breathlessly.

“You were spectacular.” He smiled, but it was a troubled one. What had happened?

He shook his head. “There can't be more than that, Sophie. It's not possible for me. But I don't want to leave you unsatisfied.”

“I'm just happy you liked it.” Thank heaven, he did.

He did up his falls, then he held out his arms. “You are so amazing, Sophie. You won't take no for an answer. And I almost believe you could heal me.”

“I can,” she murmured. But she said nothing more. She must do this slowly. She let him cradle her in his embrace and savored the kisses he brushed to her forehead. And then the carriage stopped, and she knew they'd arrived at her new home.

Cary and the other dukes had been her protection—Devars had not been willing to approach her when she was with them. Maybe Devars would leave her alone if he thought she belonged to Cary.

She had to make sure Cary wanted to keep her. And she was sure that if she could give him pleasure, he wouldn't want to let her go.

But then he said something that made her heart plummet.

“Sophie, love, don't get your hopes up too much.” Then he exited the carriage.

 

“Now to pleasure you.”

Sophie sat on her new bed, legs curled beneath her, naked. She was sitting there as Cary had instructed, and at his words, she quivered with anticipation.

“I brought these for you, love.” Cary wore his trousers and shirt, and he moved to the bedside table. She suddenly noticed that a box, which was closed with a gold lock, sat there.

Cary took a key from a small pocket in his trousers. He opened the lock. She had walked over on her knees to see. “What are they?”

He took one out, and she giggled in surprise. “It's shaped like your—”

“It's a toy you can use to pleasure yourself, Sophie.”

“You mean, I put that in me instead of having you inside?”

“Yes.”

“Is it safe?”

“Of course, angel.” He withdrew something else. A small glass vial that contained a golden fluid. He poured a little on the head of the wand and smoothed it on. “To lubricate,” he explained.

He held it up and put it in her hands. She studied it. “It's quite like yours, isn't it? Heavens, did you model for it?”

His brows shot up. “No, angel. I assume the sculptor wanted to model an ideal cock.”

“Then yours is ideal.” She knew she was blushing fiercely. She held it in her hands. “See, my fingers barely meet around it, just like with you.” Her thumb stroked over cool, glittering green stones in the ivory base. “These are not emeralds, are they?”

“They are. They remind me of your lovely eyes. Now, let me show you what to do.”

At his command, she lay on the bed and opened her legs.

He teased the head of the ivory cock over her cunny lips and the sensitive nub. “Your clit enjoys caresses,” he said. “Play with it, and you can give yourself a climax whenever you want.”

Slick with the oil, the wand slid easily into her cunny an inch. She gasped at the sensation. Slowly, he thrust it deeper. She moved in rhythm with him. Until the wand was all the way inside her.

Then he stroked her clit as he thrust it in her. He watched her as he pleasured her—

Oh God, she reached her peak swiftly. Intently. Her hands clutched at her sheets. She had to scream, as the orgasm sent her soaring.

She floated back to earth. He withdrew the toy. Then he cleaned her gently with his handkerchief.

“See, love, you don't even need me.”

That made her panic. “But you are going to be my protector, aren't you?”

“Of course. And I like to watch you come.”

After he left her to go to his home, Sophie went to her bed. She wore her nightdress and her robe. She undid the belt of her robe, preparing to go to sleep.

But she was worried. Learning how to pleasure herself was not what she wanted. She needed to work on healing Cary. She must find out what tormented him.

She had met all of his friends. They had been together since they were boys at Eton. Surely, they must know what had happened to Cary.

She just had to find the Wicked Dukes. And make one of them give her the truth—and reveal Caradon's secret.

 

The next morning, she did something very daring. She looked up the address of the Duke of Saxonby in the London street directory. Then she went to his grand house on South Audley Street.

To her surprise, when she was escorted to the duke's study, she found herself face-to-face with all the Wicked Dukes.

Including Cary.

15

 

—From an unfinished manuscript entitled
A Courtesan Confesses
by Anonymous

 

 

She stood surrounded by dark wood paneling, paintings of horses, books, and the scent of cigar smoke while Cary stared at her, dumbfounded. “Sophie, what are you doing here?” He looked swiftly at Saxonby, frowning. “Have you been pursuing Miss Ashley, Sax?”

“No, no,” she cried. “I came here on my own. He's never even spoken to me—well, other than when we were introduced.” She blushed. She would have to tell the truth. “I wanted to learn more about your past, and I thought your friends could help me.”

“Did you indeed?” Cary asked.

He must be furious. But then he shook his head. “You are a sweetheart, Sophie. But alas, even my friends know little about me.”

“Oh.” Her heart fell.

“Would you care for a drink, Miss Ashley?” Saxonby offered. “A glass of sherry? We are all about to have brandies and discuss what Cary has learned.”

She agreed, amazed they intended to include her.

Minutes later, she was seated in a comfortable wing chair, a delicate glass containing sherry in her hand. The men were seated with balloon-shaped glasses of brandy.

Cary sat in the wing chair beside hers. He gave her a smile, then continued with his explanation. “Both Halwell and Stratham were interested in Sophie and thwarted by me. From talking to the other Cyprians, I learned both men had also tried to acquire Sally Black but were rebuffed when she chose Viscount Willington. They are brutal men who like to mete out pain and punishment to their sex partners. There is a veritable stable of other suspects—a quarter of the gentlemen of the peerage were at both events. Those are the two who appear to have an ax to grind. And therefore a motive.”

The three other men considered. Then Sin said, “The attack on Sophie was well planned. Sorry, love, for bringing it up, but we want to catch this bastard. You're implying that Stratham arranged for it after you and he argued over Miss Ashley at my event.”

“It's possible.”

“But why attach the murder of pretty Sally Black to you? Stratham had no reason to resent you and want revenge at that point. Halwell did.”

“Stratham and I were both in love with Grey's sister, Jacinta,” Cary said.

Sophie stiffened. She hadn't known about that. Was he still in love with Greybrooke's sister? Was the duke's sister someone Cary had wanted to marry but couldn't because of his memories?

“And you both lost out to Winterhaven. I would have thought Stratham would have lashed out at Winterhaven if that were his motive.”

“True,” Cary admitted. “It does not sound likely.”

Greybrooke's sister had married someone else. Had that broken Cary's heart? He could still be in love with her, even if she belonged to someone else.

Sophie's heart gave a foolish jolt of pain as if it had cracked.

She was only ever going to be his mistress. She
knew
that.

She wanted him to heal—and that meant he would marry. But if he were pining for Lady Winterhaven, would he ever marry?

Was it a way she could keep him for a long time, if she could find the secret to helping him? Even if she didn't ever have his heart, she could have him.

“I need to corner both rats in one of their filthy holes,” Cary said. “I intend to do it tonight. Down near the docks. A house on Horton Street.”

“Number four?” Sin asked.

“Figures you would know it.” Cary grinned. He turned to her. “I'm taking you home, angel. Then I have to go out.”

Sophie set down her sherry. “I wish to go with you.”

“I am not bringing you to this place. It makes an orgy look tame.”

Cary took her home and put her up to bed even though it was morning. Sophie hadn't learned his secret, but she did know she was right. Something had happened to him when he had been a child.

“Don't go yet,” she whispered. “I want to make you climax.”

“Sophie”—he raked his hand through his hair—“you want to come, love, and I'm happy to oblige. But I've got too much on my mind to find ecstasy.”

He opened the bedside table drawer and drew out one of the wands. Then he tossed it onto the bed, along with the vial of oil for moistening it.

With his elegant hands, he stripped off his clothing. All his clothing. He bore scars on his body from the war, but he was so muscular and beautiful.

She watched, breathless, as he rubbed oil along the ivory wand. Then he lay back on the bed and said, “Come over here.”

She did. She had already undressed. Now she moved in front of him, naked with confidence.

They were getting closer to his being able to make love. She was sure of it.

He had let her pleasure him with her mouth. He had then shown her ecstasy when he'd used the wand on her. He'd told her he was teaching her how to pleasure herself, but she was sure she could coax him into more.

She climbed onto the bed.

He cupped her bottom and moved her so she straddled his chest.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He didn't answer. He just showed her. He slid the slick wand inside her, moving it with long, slow thrusts. Sophie moaned. She felt her clit swell and tighten with arousal.

Cary began moving the wand quickly. Then he pulled her forward and lifted his head, and he flicked his tongue over her clit.

She climaxed almost instantly. But he kept pleasuring her. She rode the wand and each movement brought her clit against his tongue.
Oh! Oh!

She burst again, seeing stars.

Gently, he drew the wand out of her. Then she sat down on him and took his mouth in a passionate kiss.

He broke the kiss and rolled over so she landed on the bed.

He got up and went over to where his clothes were strewn on the floor. Firelight gleamed along his lean, muscled body.

“I have to go now, angel.”

“Well, I'm going too. We are in this together.”

He bent and retrieved his drawers. She had a magnificent view of his tight buttocks. The small dimples at the small of his back. And the hollow way his haunches indented. He half turned. The sharp lines of his hipbones were undeniably sensual.

She slid out of the bed too and padded over to him. Naked.

She liked to be naked, bathed in the warmth of the fire. Naked with him.

He shook his head. “You are not coming to this damned place.”

Lightly, she touched his bare back. “You act like you are going to face something terrible. What happens at this place?”

“You don't need to know.”

“How can it make an orgy look tame?”

His eyes searched hers. Pale blue and beautiful but filled with some distant pain. He was trying to hold something in—and failing. “Some people like pain with their sex.”

She remembered Stratham's threats—or promises?—of what he would do to her. “How can anyone do that?”

“People are strange animals when it comes to sex. There is nothing more perverse and twisted than the human mind.”

“You are not like that.”

He straightened, pulling up his linen drawers, then his trousers. He looked down to fasten them. Under his breath he muttered, “You would be surprised.”

Then she heard his last words to himself as he walked out of the bedroom and left her.

Low, so it was barely a murmur, he muttered, “At this place, I will likely remember all the hellish memories I want to forget.”

She looked out her window and watched him go to his carriage.

She didn't care what he said—after what she'd overheard him say, she had to go too.

 

All she had was the address, No. 4 Horton Street. Sophie had no idea where it would lead....

Her carriage arrived at an old, dark building on the shore of the Thames. Fetid smells made her nose curl. Tall masts were silhouetted against the silver of moonlight.

She looked at the stone building. Really, any woman would be foolish to walk in there. But it was the address she had—she must do it.

There was only one lit window.

Another carriage arrived. Sophie hung back and watched.

A couple stepped out.

They wore dark cloaks, their hoods up, covering their heads. The door opened, and another cloaked man—in the dark rough brown of a monk's cloak, with a rope around the waist—urged them in through the door. As soon as they passed within, the door shut with a clang.

Whatever this place was, people wanted not to be seen going inside.

Sophie had worn her cloak, for the spring nights were cold. She pulled up her hood to look like the others.

She walked up toward the door.

“What are you doing here?”

It was Cary. He wore a cloak and had pulled up the hood, but moonlight glinted on his eyes. “I told you to keep away,” he growled.

“I was attacked by someone in my own room. I've already faced grave danger.”

“This place will carve a hole in your soul. One you will never fix.”

“You're afraid for my innocence? Your Grace, don't you see that doesn't matter anymore?”

“Don't you see that it does?” He pushed back his hood so she could fully see his irate expression. “If I send you away, it won't work, will it? You will come back.”

“You can't tell me this place will ruin me and not expect me to want to see it.”

“For any other woman, I might think she would listen. And have a sense of self-preservation. But not you. You are the most stubborn, impetuous woman I've met.”

Those were not good attributes. “If I hadn't been stubborn, my family would have starved.”

Sophie turned to the door. She let out a small scream. A dark figure stood there—

It was the door monk.

Cary's deep voice played against her ear. “You can't think of a good thing caused by being impetuous.”

“I met you. So don't be so certain you are right. I met you, and that has been the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.”

He let out a ragged breath. “At first I thought you were trouble. Now I see the same is true for me. I am trouble for you. But you are my chance at redemption, Sophie.”

“From what? What happened to you?” This was the first time he had put it that way. As if he had done something for which he needed redemption. That was why he was rescuing her?

He didn't answer, just propelled her toward the entrance.

The monk put his hands together in a gesture of prayer. He bowed to both her and Cary, and pointed a long, bony finger toward the now open door.

“Good lord, we
are
walking into hell,” she whispered as they stepped inside. They were in a cavernous space lit by six torches on the walls. The light danced and writhed on the water. Magnified and echoing, the lap of water against stone filled her ears.

They stood on a stone walkway. It ran around three sides of the building. The middle was only water. The end of the building had large doors, and windows in the roof let in light from the moonlit sky.

“We go to the doors on the end.” The space echoed Cary's deep, soft voice. “Follow the walkway.”

She balked. “I'll fall off that.”

“You won't. I promise.” Cary put his hand firmly on her hip. Just having him touch her gave her the courage she needed. Carefully, she made her way along.

A slippery bit. Her foot skidded—

Cary caught her and set her down on her feet.

“You're strong.”

“That's battle. If you don't have the strength to fight, you don't survive.”

They'd reached the end, and Cary rapped on the door.

“This is like a Minerva Press novel.” Sophie gasped. “I expect to find a deformed monk waiting around the next bend to kidnap me.”

Then she realized he knew to rap three times sharply on the door. How had he known that? It could mean he knew this place, that he had been here before.