N
ever look a gift horse in the mouth. Life is short, art long, opportunity fleeting, experience misleading, judgment difficult.
A few other half-baked quotations rattled around Ben’s head as he stared at Evie, who stood proud and tall by the desk. It would be hard to find anyone looking less seductive and willing for all her brazen words. She may as well have been discussing the weather or what to eat for supper.
Why had she changed her mind? He’d done nothing particularly charming this morning as far as he could recall.
Ben felt the slightest apprehension. When he’d suggested a brief affair with her up in the attics, he’d not been entirely serious. Putting a time limit on his frankly raging desire for Evangeline Ramsey was an exercise in futility. God knows he’d resisted thinking about her for years in anything but the grumpiest way—she’d broken his heart as thoroughly as she had smashed that teapot. He’d been resentful and hurt, but trying to convince himself he’d made a lucky escape had never truly taken root.
He was a fool for her. He was a fool, period.
And now she would break his heart all over again, because a few days with Evie were just not enough.
He would take what he could get, though—he was no hair-shirted monk. And if he could parlay days into weeks, he’d make his best effort. He’d made a career of being irresistible to the fairer sex, although up till now he’d thought Evie imperially impervious to his winning ways.
“Until Christmas.”
Evie nodded.
“Today is Friday. Christmas Day is Monday. That’s not even a full week.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
She thought him a beggar, did she? Was his sapheaded-ness so very obvious? She did tend to reduce him into an unmanly puddle, but he thought he’d concealed his want a bit better.
“I’m not sure your proposal is worth pursuing,” he said, trying to muster up what dignity he could. He was
not
some damn beggar.
She stiffened. “It was your idea. Are you so inconstant in your thoughts you have forgotten?”
“Perhaps you bewitched me.” There was no perhaps about it.
“I’m hardly the bewitching type.” She shrugged, aiming for dismissiveness. “Never mind then.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I thought we might negotiate a little.”
“There is nothing to negotiate! Either you’re interested or you’re not.”
He stood and leaned over the desk, still tall enough to look down on her. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. But two and a half days seems like a rather paltry amount, considering we’ll be working like madmen here all Saturday and have no time for anything but the damned paper. One cannot in good conscience even count Saturday, so we’re down to one and a half days. I have an engagement this evening, which gives us even less time even if I were to take you back into the storage closet right this minute. I wouldn’t feel right intruding in the Corrigans’ new lodgings, would you?”
“The—the storage closet?”
Her shock was amusing, but he’d fuck her on top of the desk if he had to.
“I agree it might not be entirely comfortable. Brooms and whatnot. You did say we could consider ourselves done for the day, though, in which case we can return to my home for a short afternoon of delight. Which leaves us Sunday.” Ben shook his head in regret. “No. It won’t do. Unless—”
“What?” she snapped.
“Let’s extend our idyll until the first of the new year. I’ll agree not to hold you to every single day if you find you have other obligations. But a few additional days will give us the flexibility we need to put this—whatever it is—behind us. We can make a resolution to that effect. Hell, I’ll even put it in writing.”
Ben expected her to argue, but instead she pulled out her chair and reached for the inkpot. In a furious few seconds she had scrawled out the basic terms of their bargain. Ben was pleased to read upside down that she’d put down January 1, 1821, as the end date, and he planned to hold her right until midnight. His heart kicked, his cock twitched, and the desk looked more inviting than ever.
But that was no way to begin what he hoped would be an affair that neither of them would want to end. Why couldn’t they continue to work and play together? Why couldn’t they m—
Good God, what was he thinking? He must be hungry. Light-headed. He’d almost allowed himself to contemplate a future with the most—
Clearly, he couldn’t think at all. For one part of his brain wanted to call her disastrous, the other desirable. Perhaps Evie was both, but one thing Ben knew—she was giving him a headache right now to match the pain in his unattended erection.
He covered her inky hand with his. “Let’s lock up. Now.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes so dark the pupils were indistinguishable from the ebony surrounding them. “You are my employer. Whatever you say.”
“Don’t play meek miss with me, Evie. I value you for your spirit.” And he wanted that spirit above him and below him as soon as he could flag down a jarvey.
She looked down at the paper. “Are we making a mistake?”
“Don’t renege, my darling. But if you should change your mind, I’ll burn it.” He snatched it from the desk and jammed it into his pocket. He’d rather set himself on fire first than miss this opportunity.
“I’ll get my coat then.”
“Allow me.” In a trice, Ben had bundled her up and shut the door firmly behind him. The frigid air should have dampened his ardor, but instead he just wanted to wrap himself around Evie in the cab.
Which he did, heedless of shocking anyone who might see two gentlemen engaged in a frantic kiss. He could kiss Evie forever—they fit together so perfectly, their tongues in such harmony and with only the slightest bump of their noses at the very beginning before Ben angled himself properly. She tasted of peppermint and smelled like sandalwood. He dropped his gloves to the floor so he could cup her smooth, flushed cheek and the rough curls at the nape of her neck.
Once he’d tangled himself in midnight hair that fell down to her waist, imagining her clad in nothing else. Ben had seen only bits of her white skin then and bits of her now, but this afternoon would be a revelation. He longed to see the curve of her hip, the shadow of her navel, the wiry hair at her apex. He would brush it aside with his fingertips first thing when he finally got her into his bed and plunge his tongue into her folds, where she would not taste of peppermint but something darker and more elemental. He’d have her at his mercy, writhing and pleading, shattering for him and him alone. No other man should ever be blessed to see her as he would in fifteen or so minutes, damn the traffic on the busy thoroughfare.
But he’d make good use of the time, drugging her into acquiescence. She wasn’t objecting to anything now, was she? There was no hesitation as she clutched his shoulders and returned his kiss with anxious fervor. She was alive and eager, brushing against him, stroking his damnably thick greatcoat with animation. Evie was a fully participatory partner in this delicious bargain they’d made, wrapping her long limbs around him as best she could in the confines of the carriage.
Minutes now. He couldn’t carry her straight upstairs. Severson would have an apoplexy. Couldn’t bring her to his bedroom really, despite the fact that the bed was big enough for several energetic lovers—he didn’t entertain gentlemen in his sleeping quarters. The attic, while having a certain sentimental value, was ultimately uncomfortable. His small study, the site of their renewed acquaintance, would have to serve, at least for today. He’d have to think of somewhere better tomorrow, but right now he really couldn’t think at all.
How many couch cushions were there? They were both too tall to manage if they had to lie upon the short sofa—the study was too small to accommodate a larger piece of furniture. Just as his trousers were becoming too small to accommodate his manhood, Evie’s hand caressed his stones. He shuddered and deepened his kiss, wanting to swallow her up in all her frenzied splendor. If the driver didn’t get them home soon—
They both lurched forward as the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. The ever-efficient Callum would open the carriage door any second, and Evie was still half on Ben’s lap. He set her aside swiftly and straightened her cravat. Her lips were bruised, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes unfocused. There could be no surer proof of his seductive ability, or anything more damning before his observant servants.
“Pull yourself together,” he whispered. “And stop looking at me like that. Think of me at my most irritating. Or picture me kicking a puppy or an orphan.”
Evie opened her reddened lips, then snapped them shut. She reached down to pick up his gloves, and when she faced him again, he could feel the distance between them. Necessary to get through the gauntlet at Gray House, but disappointing all the same.
Callum’s earnest freckled face peered through the smudged window. He held the door while Evie stumbled out and Ben paid the driver, who gave him a smirk. Perhaps the man had eyes in the back of his head, or a hidden mirror, for Ben was certain he was aware of what had just transpired in his humble conveyance.
“It isn’t what you think,” Ben growled at him, overtipping.
“It’s none of my business what you and the young gentleman do, my lord, but not everyone is as understanding as I am. I’ve a boy in the navy, y’see. He’s told me a tale or two.”
“I’m not—he isn’t—” Why was he trying to explain himself on the street to a stranger? It really wasn’t much better that he was taking a gently bred woman into his house so he could thoroughly ravish her. He was a cur.
A cur with a wrinkled written agreement in his pocket whose terms he was anxious to fulfill.
“Good afternoon to you, then. Good luck to your son.”
“And to you, my lord. You’d best be more careful in the future.”
“Thank you for your concern.” He stepped onto the curb, where Callum was waiting with Evie. Severson stood sentry at the door, letting all the cold air of London in. “Mr. Ramsey and I will be working in my study all afternoon and are not to be disturbed for any reason save the house burning down.”
“Will you not be wanting a luncheon, my lord?” Severson asked as he divested Evie of her coat and hat while Callum tended to him.
Evie shook her head almost imperceptibly. Good. He could not wait either to wade through a cutlet and a glass of wine. To be sure he was hungry, but for nothing but Evangeline Ramsey.
“No, thank you. We’ve too much to get settled today.”
“May I remind your lordship you have an early dinner with your mother at Lady Applegate’s?”
“Yes, I’m aware, which is why I cannot waste any more time talking. No interruptions. None.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Ben frogmarched Evie to the back of his house and into the little private library. His hand shook as he turned the key in the lock, and not from the cold. Evie was as far away as she could be, standing in front of the green velvet-curtained window that looked out into the small back garden, her back rigid. Gone was the supple, wild woman from the carriage, and Ben mourned the loss.
“Evie.” His voice was rough with longing.
She turned and lifted an eyebrow. “What’s your pleasure, my lord?”
“You. You are my pleasure.” And he walked across the room to make it true.
E
vie’s jacket fell to the floor. His hands were still shaking as he slipped the cufflinks from her narrow wrists and dropped them to the desk. She stood resolutely still, her dark eyes searching his face as he removed each article of clothing. Her neckcloth was child’s play to unknot—he should teach her a more elaborate design to ensure she remain a fashionable young sprig. Odd that she would be considered old for a woman, but as a male, she appeared quite youthful.
He’d best not think of her as old. Somehow he had no doubt she could divine his thoughts and she’d have his head before he got her out of her smalls.
If Evie did know what he was thinking, she would know that he was as nervous as an untried lad fearful of being caught on the landing with the chambermaid. This was not their first time alone together, but it was the first time Ben would see her in her smooth, marble-white entirety—not just a thin slice of skin here and there as they fell upon each other in haste. He could be deliberate. Slow. Make her ache for him as much as he ached for her.
A muscle jumped at her throat, and he bent to nip it. She swallowed a cry and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. He captured that next for a quick kiss, then placed her arm at her side so he could continue to unwrap the present he’d lusted after for so long.
He toyed with a tarnished button on her waistcoat and watched the rise and fall of her chest. Evie was making an obvious effort to remain calm, but her breaths betrayed her. Slipping the button from its prison, he tugged up the linen shirt from her trousers. Her skin was warm, soft, womanly despite her attempt to deceive. No man would be fooled at this point—she felt as tender as an angel. He moved up her torso to the strips of fabric she used to bind her exquisite breasts—those gentle raspberry-tipped swells that suited her so perfectly. Suited him, too. Other women might have more up top, but she needed not an extra inch to compel completely.
He’d best stop thinking of other women, not that anyone compared to his Evie. She was the love of his youth. She was the l—
Dear God
. What sort of spell had she cast over him? This was Evie. Difficult. Demanding. Ink-stained.
And so very dear to him.
Ben had to kiss her to prove it, and so he did. She melted into his chest, and he was once again reminded that they were both still wearing too many clothes. If he lost sight of his objective, he’d find himself tangled in wool on the carpet once again and today’s chance would be lost. They didn’t have many days in their bargain to begin with—he couldn’t waste an hour being precipitous and deprive himself of everything he’d dreamed of for much of the past decade. So he stole his lips from hers and set her back. She looked dreamy herself—her eyes unfocused, her cheeks pale, her mouth stained. If he tapped her with a finger, he had no doubt she’d sway to the floor where he could have his wicked way with her.
But no. Concentrate. There was the waistcoat to shrug from her shoulders, the shirt to unfasten and pull over her head. The bandages covering her breasts needed to be untied and unwound, her nipples awakened by his kisses. Her sandalwood scent filled his senses. Never would he be satisfied with insipid violets or rosewater again. He worshipped her with his mouth until she swayed in fact and he caught her just in time.
“Ben—”
Her voice was husky with need, deeper than the one she used to pretend to be Mr. Ramsey. Honeyed with an edge of desperation. He’d never heard anything sweeter.
“Hush. Let me love you.”
She nodded, her lashes tipped with tears. By God he was good at this—he’d honed his skills for just this moment, to bring Evie with him to a place that belonged only to them. His tongue circled the hardened tip of her breast, then he suckled, drawing her deep inside. Ben wanted to devour her one fragrant, delicious inch at a time.
She was no longer still, but swept her fingers through his hair, holding him close. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t taste enough, could not ever be limited to mere days of this. He’d have to find a way to—
“Ah!
Please
.”
Yes. He wanted to please her in every way imaginable. The first step would be to rid her of those buff breeches and lick into her heaven. She was helping even now by clumsily dealing with her falls. His hand cupped her mons as he continued to kiss her perfect breasts—she hadn’t been wearing smalls after all, the naughty wench. One finger told him she was already hot and wet for what was to come even as she shivered.
“Are you cold?” His servants always fed a modest fire in the grate in his study. It was wasteful but damn welcome.
She nodded again. Of course she was. Her bare skin was pebbled beneath his palms. Without thinking he lifted her to the couch before the fire and regretfully covered her with the soft old Scottish plaid that had been draped on the arm. He turned his attention to the fire, tossing a heaping shovelful of coal onto the hearth and stirring it all to brighter life. In the meantime, Evie kicked off her boots and slid off her pants and stockings, all the while keeping the blanket tucked under her chin and robbing him of the sight of her.
“I promise you’ll be warm in a minute.” He was blazing with heat himself, burning. It was time to get rid of his own clothes, which he did with alacrity. Evie’s eyes flashed wide from her perch on the sofa, and she slowly dropped the plaid from her shoulders.
My God but she was lovely, her chin lifted to expose her long neck. The breasts he’d kissed to berry-ripeness peaked invitingly. Her curls were as disordered as his thoughts, black tufts satin-soft between his fingers as he bent to kiss her again. Her lips parted, and he was lost.
Somehow he managed to scoop her to the floor, arranging the sofa cushions and blanket into a haphazard pallet before the fire. She nestled into the pile rather brazenly as though she knew he wanted to see her every angle. She was lithe, too lean, really—how he’d like to feed her sugared dates or some rare delicacy to sweeten her from the inside out. The ivory of her thighs contrasted with the ebony of her nether hair, but he sought yet another color—the ruby-pink of her womanly folds. He parted her limbs, watching her face as he did so, waiting for permission to satisfy his craving. Evie blinked once in surprise, then gave a tentative smile. How could she not know she possessed him utterly? He would show her the only way he knew.
She jolted as his tongue swept along her seam, his hands covering her dense curls. She opened to him, her long legs relaxing on the pillows. Ben buried himself as deep as he could go, all the while pressing his thumb against the jewel of flesh at her apex. He was patient, diligent, and was soon rewarded by her helpless shudders and too-quiet cries. She was afraid of discovery.
One day he’d see to it that she could scream the roof down.
But today he would move up her exquisite body and cover her mouth gratefully for one quick kiss, sink himself into her sublime femininity, surround himself with her hot liquid glory, rise above her as their eyes met in elemental understanding. There was no shyness or pretense between them now, just the mutual agreement that she was his woman and he was her man. This was what they were made for, what was meant to be after the years of self-denial and bickering. Their bargain might be of finite duration, but by God, Ben would use every moment of time with her to change her mind.
He could spill himself inside her and trap her, but he wanted Evie on her own terms. No coercion. No compromise. He was close now to doing the wrong thing for them both, and with an agonizing stab of conscience, pulled himself from her and spent onto her belly, gripping her tight, kissing away the silver tear coursing down her cheek.
He remembered their first time, when she’d cried after he’d taken her innocence. Ben had been stricken with guilt as only a virginal lummox could be, but she’d assured him the tears were happy ones, that she’d discovered a pleasure she hadn’t known existed. Had she just been flattering him? It was practically unheard of for a female virgin to enjoy her first time, although Lord knows he had. Ben had never felt so powerful. Yet he’d been vulnerable too, anxious to please her.
He hoped she was pleased today—he had considerably more finesse now, and knew enough to bring her to orgasm again with his hand as he cradled her to him, their bodies slick with heat. Wave after wave took her, and he didn’t stop until he thought she couldn’t bear anymore. Eyes closed now, her black lashes fluttered against flushed cheeks. Her lips were plump and strawberry-hued, her tongue darting out to capture the last of his kiss. If Ben were to be struck blind in the next minute, his last sight on earth would be absolute perfection.
There was no need to say anything. They lay before the fire, awash in delicious exhaustion. Evie’s body thrummed against his, her pulse racing, her hips bucking with aftershocks as his fingers remained firmly at her center. She made no effort to brush him away, and in truth he could barely move a muscle.
When he was a little boy, he’d ventured out into a winter storm in Scotland. He’d been flattened by the wind into a snowbank and couldn’t stand upright until he thought he’d freeze to death. He’d been outdoors probably only for a few minutes, but his helplessness seemed to last forever. Severson had found him and returned him to his safe bed before his arguing parents had even noticed he was missing, and he’d lain immobile until morning, his limbs leaden. The lassitude Ben experienced now was similar, if the reason for it much more pleasant. He was warm and eminently comfortable curled up with Evie, the thin winter sunlight dappling her fair skin. She sighed and stretched into him, her short curls tickling his neck.
“I wish—”
Shut up, you fool
. Her elfin hair was lovely as it was. What woman welcomed criticism of her appearance? But how beautiful she’d be with black silken hair to her waist.
She stirred. “Wish what?”
“Nothing. For more time today. I’m a dutiful son, you know. My mother remains at Lady Applegate’s and I promised to look in on them.”
“I should go home to my father as well.”
He cupped her chin. “Not yet, Evie. I want to look at you. Do you realize for all our encounters this is the first time I’ve seen all of you?”
She bit a lip. “And what do you think, my lord?”
“I think you are magnificent. In or out of breeches.”
The flash of her dark eyes told him she didn’t quite believe it. True, she was not his usual buxom fare, although he’d long preferred brunettes. Something about opposites attracting, he supposed. A man’s mistress should conform to certain society standards, but a man’s wife—
She’d ensorcelled him. His brain was pudding. He wasn’t going to marry Evangeline Ramsey unless he wanted to be at the brink of murder or suicide on a daily basis.
But to fuck her—
He frowned. What they had just done wasn’t quite so cold or crude.
Or simple. Ben had a feeling he’d just complicated his dedicatedly uncomplicated life.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I can die happy now.”
“Don’t be silly, Ben.”
“Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy yourself?” His hand moved up her slender body to cover one diamond-hard nipple. “Your body tells me otherwise.”
“Arrogant ass.”
“I’ll not argue with you now. I’m too happy.”
“And I’m too hot.” She made a weak attempt to push him away, but he only gathered her closer.
“What time shall I call for you tomorrow?”
“The paper—”
“We’ll run off the damn paper. Starting at the crack of dawn if you wish. But afterward, you’re mine.”
“You said we weren’t counting Saturday.”
“I’m sure we can squeeze in a couple of hours.” To prove it, he squeezed her bottom, the shameless man.
“Then I should go home to my father. I’ve neglected him frightfully of late.”
“Fine. Invite me for tea.”
“What?”
“Tea. You know. Hot water. Leaves. Toss the two in a pot and hope for the best. I’m not particular about my sandwiches, although I loathe fish paste. Shall we say four o’clock? I shall have washed off the sweat by then.”
“You can’t come to my house!” she hissed. “My servants will know what’s going on.”
“I’ll bribe that wretched little maid of yours again. I have no doubt she’s got a price. And the nurse likes me. I could tell.”
Evie smacked his chest. “You are impossible.”
“Frequently,” he agreed. “But we might have a moment or two of privacy among the teacups. I promise I won’t take too long.”
“That does not sound propitious.”
“I promise
you
won’t take too long either. I know what I’m about now.”
“Insufferable, pompous—”
He ended her diatribe with a gentle yet demanding kiss. She had no choice but to succumb, for as he’d said, he knew what he was about. And he had just enough time to show her how thorough he could be in a limited amount of time before he needed to present himself to his mother and her invalid friend.