Amelia slid lower still, stopping at eye level with his groin and leaving a trail of moisture along his leg. The evidence that the mere sight of his body was enough to arouse her to slickness made his bollocks tighten, forcing a perfect bead of semen to grace the tip of his cock.
His lungs seized as she eyed it hungrily. Would she be so bold?
A heartbeat later the question was answered as her tongue darted out and licked the droplet away.
Colin exhaled harshly at the whiplash of pleasure.
She studied him with narrowed eyes, a look he had come to know well over the years. It was a calculated glance, one she gave when considering how to tackle a challenge he presented. He smiled, understanding that she never sought to best him, only to equal him and be his match.
“You never answered me before,” she said, circling the base of his cock with her thumb and forefinger. “Does a woman’s mouth feel so different from her quim?”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
“In many ways. A cunt hugs every inch of a cock. It expands and contracts in ripples, and it is as soft as the finest silk. In contrast, a woman’s mouth hugs through suction, not design. The pad of the tongue is textured and the muscle is agile. It can stroke like a finger, which stimulates the sensitive spot”—he pointed to the place on the underside of his cockhead—“here.”
“Which do you prefer?” Her grip slid upward, then down again, making his teeth clench.
“Both have unique pleasures.”
“That is not an answer,” she murmured, caressing him again.
“It is difficult to think when you are fondling me,” he managed.
She ceased and waited impatiently for him to gather his wits.
“My preference changes with my mood. There will be occasions when I will want to lose myself in you. I will want to hold you close and feel your body moving beneath mine. I will want to suck on your nipples and feast at your mouth. I will want to watch your face as you orgasm and hold you in the aftermath.”
As he spoke he felt her grow wetter, hotter against the flesh of his leg. His voice deepened in response. “At other times, I will want to be serviced. I will want to lose myself to the pleasure in a way I cannot when I must see to your needs as well. The sight of your supplication will satisfy the primitive male in me, while my surrender to your care will be complete. I will be helpless and open, completely at your mercy.”
The smile she gave him was impish. “I should like that.”
“You might, or you might not. Many women do not. They fail to see the power in the act. They feel demeaned and used. Others simply do not like the taste of a man’s seed.”
“Hmm . . .”
He knew that hum and its portent. She wanted to know which type of woman she would be. Sadly, they had run out of time.
“We must dress you and return you safely to your room before you are seen. When the hour is appropriate to protect your reputation, we will meet and I will bare myself to you—my face and my secrets.”
“I am not finished with you,” she complained with a seductive pout that hardened him to full, raging arousal.
“It will be with exquisite pleasure that I offer myself to your sexual experimentation, love,” he said hoarsely. “But such play requires time free of interruptions. We do not have the luxury tonight.”
“You speak of our future liaisons with such surety,” Amelia said, staring at his cock and resuming her ministrations.
Colin set his hand over hers and stilled her movements. “I cannot think otherwise and advise you not to either.”
“But you have not made your intentions known.”
Fueled by heady lust and burning possessiveness, he promised, “My intention is to tear down everything that stands between us. Then I want to woo you properly, with great fanfare. I want to dazzle you with extravagance, and lay the world at your feet.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “Then, when every recessed corner of your heart is filled with love for me, I will wed you.”
He loved her. He could not imagine never having her, not after this night. Yet he could make her no promises with a price on his head.
Despite this, at the pinnacle of the orgasm of his life, he had pressed against her womb and emptied his seed inside her. He no longer had any time. The clock was ticking.
Colin watched her lovely face and could not guess her thoughts. “Amelia?”
She laid her cheek upon his thigh. “Do not wait until life meets some inner criteria to seize the day,” she whispered. “I have learned that sometimes tomorrow never comes.”
Her melancholy cut him, and he held his arms out to her, groaning his pleasure when she draped her nude body over his. Sexual desire simmered into the more complicated need to cling to something precious, yet unsecured.
Dawn approached, but neither was capable of releasing the other.
Chapter 12
I
t was a knock that woke her. At first groggy with the remnants of sleep, Maria took a moment to recognize her surroundings. Then the memories of the day before and the long, sleepless night rushed back in a deluge. She sat up abruptly, tossed back the covers, and rushed to the door.
“Christopher!” With joy, she flung herself into her husband’s arms, and he crushed her to him, lifting her feet from the floor and stepping into the room.
“How did you find me so quickly?” she asked, as he kicked the portal closed behind him.
“It would have been quicker, damn you, if you had stayed in one of my inns and not this hovel! Why the devil are you here?”
“Simon insisted.” She had tried to suggest they use one of the many homes Christopher owned across the entire length and breadth of the country. They were not grand. They were small cottages, inhabited by those who lived off pensions provided by St. John. The homes were safe, comfortable, and usually located in quiet corners where few questions were asked and fewer visitors came by. Nicknamed “inns” for both the accurate description of the service provided and also for the anonymity afforded by so generic a name, they were responsible for saving many lives.
“Damn him, too,” Christopher said. Then he took her mouth, his head tilting to fit his lips to hers.
When she was limp and breathless, he muttered, “Vexing wench. Why must you torment me by being so troublesome?”
“This is not my doing!” she protested, tossing his hat aside.
“Damned if it isn’t.” He carried her to the bed and tossed her upon it, his gaze heating at the sight of her clad in only a chemise. Shrugging out of his fawn-colored coat, he said, “If you had not indulged Amelia in her fancy, we would not be taxed with chasing her, and I would not have spent the frigid night in a carriage.”
“She would have gone alone, I know it.” Maria crawled beneath the covers.
Christopher rebuilt the fire. Then he discarded his waistcoat, removed his boots, and climbed into bed with her, wearing his breeches and shirtsleeves.
“Tell me how you found me with such haste,” she said, curling into his side.
“When Sam returned with the news of where you had gone, he mentioned Quinn. I sent men to find his lodgings, and when they discovered where he was staying, they found his valet packing. I followed him and he led me here.”
Frowning, Maria lifted her head. “How is that possible? We had no notion that we would be staying at this establishment until we chanced upon it.”
“Quinn must have known. His valet and the abigail of his French companion came directly to this place. You did say he insisted.”
“He insisted we stay near the road.” But, now that she thought of it, she remembered that it was Simon who’d begged that they take shelter at the first inn they came to just before Reading. She had protested the sorry appearance of the lodging, but he had complained of a sore arse and growling stomach.
“I do not understand.” She sat up and faced her reclining spouse. “Our meeting in the shop was unplanned, I am certain of it. Even if I were wrong about that, there was no way for Simon to know Amelia would run off as she did.”
“But, if he knew who Amelia was chasing and where the man might be headed . . .” Christopher’s words faded, leaving her to draw her own conclusions.
“He told me they were already intent on a holiday, yet you say his valet and belongings were not yet ready. Why the ruse? Why pretend to help me, when he had his own motives for following?”
“We will have to ask him those questions in a few hours, when we rise.”
“A few hours?!”
He yawned and tugged her back into his arms. “His room is guarded, and the hour is still relatively early. I sent riders ahead to follow the trail. There is nothing pressing that cannot wait the duration of a much-needed nap. I require some sleep this morn or I will be useless the rest of the day. Besides—and you must forgive me for pointing this out—you do not look rested either.”
Maria settled into her husband’s embrace with lingering reluctance. She was a woman who acted swiftly. Doing so had kept her alive. “I cannot sleep well without you near,” she confessed.
He hugged her tighter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It pleases me to hear that.”
“I must have become accustomed to your snoring.”
His head lifted. “I do not snore!”
“How would you know? You are asleep when you do it.”
“Someone would have mentioned it to me before now,” he argued.
“Perhaps you exhausted them so that they slept right through it.”
Growling, he rolled and pinned her beneath him. She blinked up at him with mock innocence. No one dared to tease the fearsome pirate, except for her. Goading his ire was a delicious temptation she could not resist, because the more she agitated him, the more sexually focused he became.
“If you need exhausting, madam,” he bit out, reaching between them to unfasten his breeches, “I am more than capable of managing that task.”
“You said you were useless and required a nap.”
He shoved up the hem of her chemise and cupped her sex in his hand. Instantly, she was wet for him. Hot and creamy with desire. She moaned as he stroked her, and he smiled arrogantly, pulling away to position his cock.
“Does this feel useless to you?” he purred, pushing the hard length into her.
“Oh, Christopher,” she breathed, awash in heated delight. After nearly six years of marriage, her ardor for him had not lessened one bit. “I love you so. Please don’t fall asleep before I come . . .”
“You will pay for that,” he said in a voice slurred with pleasure.
He made certain she did. And it was wonderful.
Colin was rinsing off his razor when a stray noise caught his attention and arrested his movements. He listened carefully, his nerves already stretched by the upcoming confrontation.
Amelia had returned to her chamber some time ago, but he doubted she slept. She was too curious, too impatient by nature. Knowing her as well as he did, he imagined she paced her room and glanced repeatedly at the clock, counting down the minutes to the time when he would reveal his identity to her.
There.
It came again. The perceptible sound of scratching at the door.
Setting his blade on the washstand, he grabbed a cloth and was drying his face when his valet opened the door. Jacques entered bearing a grim expression.
“Miss Benbridge has been found,
mon ami
.
”
Colin stilled. “By whom?”
“Riders this morning. They spoke with the giant who came with her and then turned about.”
Heaving out his breath, Colin nodded. “Did you arrange the private dining room as I requested?”
“Mais oui.”
“Thank you. I will be down in a moment.”
The door shut with a quiet click, and Colin hastened his toilette. He had promised Amelia an explanation, and he intended to give it to her without interruption.
Nodding to his valet, he presented his back and shrugged into the coat he had selected that morning. It was a striking garment, reminiscent of a male peacock’s beautiful plumage. The cost of the intricately embroidered ensemble, which included breeches and silver-threaded waistcoat, was obvious. The Colin Mitchell who Amelia remembered so fondly would never have been able to purchase clothing so expensive. He wore it now as an outward display of his rise in the world. His dream of becoming a man capable of affording her was now a reality, and he wanted her to see that straightaway.
Suitably attired and inwardly certain, Colin left his bedchamber and took the stairs to the main room. It took only a moment to find the large man who had accompanied Amelia. The giant sat with his back to the wall and his eyes trained on his surroundings. As Colin approached him, the man’s gaze sharpened with examining intensity.
“Good morning,” Colin greeted, coming to a halt directly before the table.
“Morning,” came the deep, rumbling reply. “I am Count Montoya.”
“I gathered as much.”
“There is much I need to explain to her. Will you give me the time and opportunity to do so?”
The man pursed his lips and leaned back his chair. “What do you ’ave in mind?”
“I have reserved the private dining room. I will keep the door ajar, but I beg you to remain outside.”
The man pushed to his feet, towering over Colin’s not inconsiderable height. “That will suit both me and my blade.”
Colin nodded and stepped aside, but as the giant moved to pass him, he said, “Please give her this.”
He handed over the items in his hand. After a brief pause, they were taken from him. Colin waited until Amelia’s guard had ascended the stairs; then he moved to the private dining room and mentally prepared for the most difficult conversation of his life.
The moment Maria entered the main room of the inn, Simon knew he was in trouble. She bore the glow of a woman well fucked, but if that had not given away the end of his gambit, her change of clothes would have. Confirmation came when Christopher St. John entered the space a few steps behind his wife.
“What a lovely way to begin the day,” Lysette said with laughter in her voice. Much as he usually detested her enjoyment of drama, today it was a relief after her odd behavior the night before.
Simon heaved a resigned sigh and pushed to his feet.
“Good morning,” he greeted, bowing to the striking couple. The combination of St. John’s golden coloring and Maria’s Spanish blood was an attractive one.
“Quinn,” St. John said.
“Simon,” Maria murmured. She lowered into the chair her husband held out for her and linked her hands primly atop the table. “You know the identity of the man behind the mask. Who is he?”
Resuming his seat, Simon said, “He is Count Reynaldo Montoya. He was in my employ for several years.”
“Was?”
the pirate asked. “No longer?”
Simon related the events with Cartland.
“Dear God,” Maria breathed, her dark eyes wide with horror. “When Amelia said the man was in danger, I never imagined it would be to this degree. Why did you not tell me? Why the lie?”
“It is complicated, Maria,” he said, hating that he had betrayed the trust she bestowed so rarely. “I am not at liberty to divulge Montoya’s secrets. He has saved my life many times over. I owe him at least my silence.”
“What of my sister?” she cried. “You know how much she means to me. To know that she was at risk and not warn me . . .” Her voice broke. “I believed you and I were closer than that.”
St. John reached over and clasped his wife’s hand. The gesture of comfort pained Simon deeply. Out of all the women in the world, Maria was the dearest to him.
“I wanted to help you find her and then send her to safety with you,” Simon said, “leaving Montoya and I to finish this business.”
Maria’s gaze narrowed in her fury. It radiated from her, belying the girlish image created by her delicate floral gown. “You should have told me, Simon. If I had known, I would have managed the situation far differently.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You would have tasked dozens of men with the search, which would have alerted Cartland and put her at greater risk.”
“You do not know that!” she argued.
“I know
him
. He worked for me. I know all his strengths. Finding lost people and items is his forte. Lackeys scouring the countryside would attract the attention of a simpleton, and Cartland is far from that!”
It was the pirate’s raspy drawl that cut through the building tension. “How do you signify, Mademoiselle Rousseau?”
Lysette waved one delicate hand carelessly. “I am the judge.”
“And the executioner, if need be,” Simon grumbled.
St. John’s brows rose. “Fascinating.”
Maria pushed back from the table and stood. Simon and St. John stood as well.
“I have wasted enough time here,” she snapped. “I must find Amelia before anyone else does.”
“Allow me to come with you,” Simon asked. “I can help.”
“You have helped quite enough, thank you!”
“Lysette witnessed three riders making inquiries in the dead of night.” Simon’s tone was grim. “You need all the assistance you can muster. Amelia’s safety lies within your purview, but Cartland and Montoya lie within mine.”
“And mine,” Lysette interjected. “I do not understand why we do not contact the man you work for here in England. He would seem to be an untapped, valuable resource.”
“St. John likely has a larger, more reliable web of associates,” Simon argued. “One more swiftly galvanized into action.”
“Maria.” St. John set his hand at the small of her back. “Quinn knows the appearances of both men. We do not. We would be blind without him.”
She looked at Simon again. “Why does Montoya wear the mask?”
Careful to keep his face impassive, Simon used the excuse that Colin gave him. “He wore the mask for the masquerade. Later, he wore it to make it more difficult for Miss Benbridge to pursue him. He did not want to jeopardize her. He cares for her.”
Maria lifted her hand to stem anything else he might say.
“We have an added complication,” the pirate said. All eyes turned to him. “Lord Ware may follow.”
“You jest!” Maria cried.
“Who is Lord Ware?” Lysette asked.
“Bloody hell,” Simon muttered. “The last thing we require is the injury of a peer.”
“He asked to accompany me,” St. John said grimly. “But the departure of Quinn’s valet made waiting impossible. Still, he asked for direction, and while I was deliberately vague in hopes that he would reconsider, he may prove more tenacious than other men of his station.”
Maria exhaled sharply. “Even more reason to keep moving, then.”