The Secrets of a Scoundrel (18 page)

“On the other hand, they couldn’t send snipers out to kill me if they knew I had one of our own in custody somewhere.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Oh, dear. So, you . . . used your best friend as a hostage?”

Nick nodded. “Hell, I saved his life. I figured it would not be too much trouble if I allowed him to save mine.”

“And how did he react to being held prisoner?” she asked in a dubious tone.

“Eh, he didn’t even realize it most of the time. He was wounded, out of commission for several weeks. He just thought I was looking after him—and I was.” Nick heaved a sigh, staring at the floor for a second. “It was only a couple of months. I just needed to get some funds together so I could start a new life elsewhere, under a new identity. Far, far away.”

“Oh, Nick.”

“When Trevor finally started getting stronger and asking why we weren’t headed back for England, that’s when the trouble started. Because at that point, I actually had to lock him up. Several times we came to blows when he tried to escape. The man can fight,” he said.

“So that’s why the graybeards put you in that cell.”

“Oh, no, darling, it gets much worse.”

“Go on.”

“As I said, I needed funds. And I do have a rather particular set of skills. That woman, Madame Angelique . . .”

“Ah, the female version of Hugh Lowell, I believe you said?”

“Yes. Let’s just say I went to work for her. I needed money. She was getting death threats. I took care of them for her.”

“Oh,” she said with a small gulp.

“When you take a job as a hired assassin, they don’t usually tell you up front who you’re supposed to kill. At first, they only tell you where and when, and then, in due time, once you get there, the target is revealed.”

She was silent.

“Angelique set it up for me. I didn’t know who the target was, honestly. I had no idea. As soon as I found out, of course, I refused. Even though backing out of something like that usually means you’re dead.”

“Who was the target?”

He held his breath, dreading her reaction. “The Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and paled.

“Somebody set me up to frame the entire Order. The charge was to have been that the Order had nurtured a conspiracy plotting to overthrow the government.”

“My God,” she whispered.

“They used me—or nearly so—to try to incriminate the whole organization. Fortunately, Beauchamp was working the same problem from another angle, and so we ended by teaming up to stop the
real
conspiracy. We managed to expose them and take them down. If it hadn’t been for our friendship, and how much we trust each other even in a situation like that, we’d all have been destroyed.”

“Is that when you ended up taking a bullet for the Regent?”

“Yes. God’s truth, I wished at the time that it had killed me. Facing my friends after what I’d done was harder than dying. At least I didn’t have to face your father. Virgil was already dead by the time all this took place.”

She nodded, taking it all in. “So instead of gaining your freedom and the new life you longed for, you ended up in that cell.”

“I deserved it. Believe me, I’m not complaining. They could have hanged me. Might have done, too, but Beau and even Trevor himself spoke on my behalf. As did the Regent.”

“Trevor forgave you, then?”

“I told you he was too good-hearted,” Nick said wryly, then he shrugged, relaxing a little as he saw she had not fled the room in disgust of him. “Besides, it actually bore good results in his life.”

“How’s that?”

“If I had not, er, detained him, he’d have rushed back to London to be reunited with his former fiancée. That woman was all wrong for him. Instead, he missed his chance with her—she had given him up for dead and married a new beau. As a result, Trevor found a new girl, ended up married to the right one for him, a pastor’s daughter. I haven’t met her yet, but apparently this Grace woman is just as virtuous and sensible as he.”

She cast him a wan smile.

“So, you see, at least some good came of what I did,” he said wryly. “Still, it’s hard to live with. Knowing how I failed.”

“Nick. You’re not the only person in the world who’s ever done anything wrong, you know. We’ve all done terrible things.”

“Not you?”

“Yes, even me,” she whispered.

“Like what?”

She was silent as she licked her lips, betraying a hint of apprehension. “Well, if it’s to be a night of trading secrets . . .”

Nick waited, his brow furrowed as he studied her. She lowered her head for a second. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze, looked him frankly in the eyes, and said: “I killed my husband.”

Chapter 13

N
ick held stock-still. “Come again?”

“It’s true. I am responsible for his death.”

“I thought you said he died in the Peninsular War. A fever hit the army camp.”

“On the face of it, that’s true. But he never even should have been there. He wasn’t a soldier. I drove him to it, you see. I couldn’t stop comparing him to you . . . and the others. All my father’s dashing, handsome, fearless secret agents. I came to hate the sight of him. Isn’t that horrible? Remember, I was forced to marry him to avoid a scandal, after I had gone out of my way to steal him from the debutante bullying my friend.”

He nodded, remembering what she had told him.

She shook her head and looked away. “I disparaged him, even insulted his manhood, until one day he came home and threw it in my face that he had bought a commission in the cavalry. He was going to war, he said, and
then
I would respect him. And now my son will never know his father.”

She lowered her head again with a pained look, avoiding his gaze. “That, too, my dear Lord Forrester, is very hard to live with.”

He leaned closer, filled with the urge to comfort her. “Seems we’ve both been through it.”

“Yes, we have.”

When she glanced up warily and met his gaze, Nick cupped her cheek in his palm and bent forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. His heart pounded as he ended the kiss, though he did not release her face from his gentle hold. “I saw your husband’s portrait back at Deepwood,” he murmured, unable to help himself. “Forgive me, but the man in that picture wasn’t good enough for you. It sounds to me like you were trapped in a prison of your own, just as I was.”

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding, her eyes closed as she nestled her cheek against his hand.

He kissed her brow. “You fought against your cage. Because you have a warrior’s blood in your veins.”

“It doesn’t excuse the way I treated that poor man in my immaturity. I was petty and cruel—”

“He wasn’t strong enough to handle you,” he corrected her in a husky whisper. “I’d never let you get away with that if you were mine.”

She gazed into his eyes. “If I were yours, there’d be no need.” She leaned forward and suddenly kissed him.

Nick held very still as she pressed her lips to his, tasting him in searching speculation. Once more, he fought with all he had to hold himself back. The temptation nearly overpowered him.

He could have no doubt of her intent as she cupped his jaw and brushed her satin lips longingly against his, teasing him. “Do you know what I want for dessert, hmm?”

His pulse pounded as an idle smile passed over his lips. Her touch felt so good it was nearly painful. “The macaroons weren’t enough for you?”

“Not nearly.”

“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured breathlessly as she toyed with his hair.

“We both want it.”

“Yes. But some of us don’t deserve it.”

She kissed his cheek. “Don’t deserve to be happy?”

He stopped her, grasping her arm firmly to force her back a small distance, making her meet his serious gaze. “I’m not some perfect knight, Virginia. You know that now. If you’re still caught up in girlish daydreams about me, once the truth sinks in, you’re going to hate me. You might even hate yourself if we do this. I’m a bad man.”

“I’m not afraid,” she answered, staring into his eyes. “I know what you are. I also know what you’ve sacrificed. You’ve given everything,” she whispered. “Until you had nothing left to give. Oh, Nick. I know it’s dangerous to love you, but the only way I’ll hate myself is if I don’t take the chance.”

Her words intoxicated and slightly terrified him.
Love me?
He told himself she only meant that one, most dangerous word in the physical sense, surely.

Whether or not this was true, resisting her was futile. The gentle stroking of her fingertips down his cheek crumbled his resolve.

Overwhelming attraction pulled him to her like a planet swallowed up in her field of gravity. Enslaved. Passion gusted through him, a fire taking hold. Irrevocably drawn, he tilted his head as his lips approached hers. “So you like a gamble, too, then, do you?”

“You’re worth the risk,” she breathed.

He doubted it. Indeed, he was slightly bewildered. He still wasn’t sure what all of this was . . . what her sleeping with him meant. Had he gone from being her prisoner to one of her “gentleman friends,” or was she merely playing out a fantasy, sampling him just for the adventure of it?

He could not say. Everything in him feared what this could lead to, but when she licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss, he lost the fight. Sensuality glowed in her cobalt eyes, beckoning him, and he was helplessly seduced.

He cupped his hand around her nape and kissed her, slow and hard, his whole body throbbing with need.

It had been so very long.

C
aught up in his kiss, Gin thrilled to the touch of his hands sliding around her waist, savoring her curves. She was already emboldened by wine, but his soft groan of pleasure inflamed her senses. She moved more firmly onto his lap, astraddle him; resting her elbows on his broad shoulders, she tangled her fingers in his silky, raven hair. Then she pulled his head back a little so she could kiss his neck and throat, and began untying his cravat.

Her fingers trembled with excitement. This was a dream come true. Nick Forrester in her bed. Paris. Together on a mission fraught with danger and excitement, and all night long to give their passions free rein.

He sat relatively still, his eyes closed, letting her do as she liked with him, hers for the taking. When she had done away with his cravat, she kissed her way back up over the stern angle of his jaw, roughened by his day’s beard. His chest was heaving with want as she cupped his cheek gently and claimed his mouth once more, wantonly parting his lips with her tongue. She delved into the wine-flavored cove of his mouth to taste him more deeply while her busy fingers parted the V of his shirt.

She stroked his tongue eagerly with her own as her roaming fingertips discovered the sweet, beguiling notch between his rugged collarbones, a tiny spot of vulnerability.

Then her touch ventured downward while she went on kissing him. She dipped her fingers slyly inside the recesses of his loose white shirt to touch his beautiful body, marveling at the warm, sculpted chest that had inspired her lust since that day in the hot-springs cave.

Nick, meanwhile, ran his big, capable hands smoothly up and down her back, caressing her. His palms slid without opposition over the slippery surface of her satin dressing gown. Then his hands moved to her hair, playing with it as he kissed her.

She could feel his fascination in his touch. With all the time he had spent in that cell—and before that, on the run from the Order, fearing for his life—who knew how long it had been since he had savored the texture of a woman’s hair. She wondered ever so briefly about his former lovers. Had there ever been any especially important women to him in his life? Had any of them ever reached his guarded heart?

Could she?

She let the wistful question go when his hand trailed down from her tresses to her breast. He stopped kissing her, as though he had just forgotten how.

She smiled sensually against his mouth when she heard his whispered groan. “Is this really happening, or am I asleep?”

“Shall I pinch you, my lord?” With her hand still tucked inside his shirt, she pinched his nipple lightly in response.

He let out a throaty laugh. “You are such a naughty little baggage,” he said in a dreamy purr.

With an arch smile, she gave his lower lip a little love bite in response. “Always happy to help.”

He dragged his eyes open, heavy-lidded with desire, and gazed at her. His pupils were as black as the night sea, but their usual fiery expression—soulful, tortured, brooding—had changed to a glow of pleasure.

She was delighted by the change. “What is it, darling?” she prompted in a whisper.

He just shook his head, fixing her with a wary look of wonder.

“Relax,” she breathed, and as she pressed a gentler sort of kiss to his lips, he reached for the cloth belt of her robe.

He untied it, parting the edges of her dressing gown like he was unwrapping a present. She supposed he was. But this night was also a gift to herself, the long-awaited culmination of a dream. She hoped she didn’t regret it.

But how could she, when she felt how tenderly he stroked her chest? How delicately he moved the strap of her negligee aside and explored her shoulder, as if he had never touched a woman before.

She remembered how rough and rude he had been on the docks that night outside the Topaz Room.
Wicked boy,
she thought. He had certainly been trying to teach her a lesson that night, put her in her place. He was so different now. It seemed tonight he’d let his guard down for her. It was an opportunity she did not intend to waste—and a small, private triumph in itself that she knew she’d always treasure in her memory.

Having bared her breast, he cupped it in his hand with the most heavenly touch; he stopped kissing her again, as though all his marveling attention was focused on the curve and the weight and texture of the soft flesh in his hand. Increasingly restless with desire, Gin tilted her head back with a small groan, feeling that her body had been made for this moment. For him. She licked her lips and groaned aloud when he squeezed her swollen nipple softly. “You are beautiful,” he uttered, as if the words were wrenched from his very soul.

She somehow managed to lift her eyelids to gaze at him and immediately thought,
So are you.
But she already knew he didn’t want to hear it. Nothing could be permitted to break the spell that had gathered around them and encircled the bed in this deepening enchantment.

With a shrug, she let her dressing gown slip off her shoulders. The satin whispered to the floor. The night air was cool against her bared arms, but her skin blazed with desire.

She helped Nick pull off his black jacket. Got rid of the untied cravat hanging around his neck. Feverishly unbuttoned the black waistcoat he still wore, and shoved it off his shoulders with a growing desperation pounding in her blood.

Their lips barely grazed in a panting kiss as he threw his shed garments aside. Gin pulled his shirt free of his trouser waist, then he paused to lift the shirt off over his head.

A happy little sigh of admiration escaped her at his sculpted male beauty. He smiled and lowered his head ruefully—which only delighted her more. How could such a dangerous man be so adorable? she wondered. She shook her head, mystified, as she gazed at him, then he started kissing her again.

Inspired by his sculpted muscles and velveteen skin, Gin became a woman on a mission. While his heated kiss trailed down her neck, and his fingers plied the hem of her floor-length peignoir, slowly hitching it up over her thighs, she unfastened his black trousers and freed him. She sighed with anticipation as she trailed her fingers up the hot, silken sides of his shaft in a teasing caress. He shuddered when she wrapped her hand around it and vigorously squeezed, then took up a no-nonsense rhythm, stroking, pleasuring him.

Time had lost all meaning, but it seemed barely minutes had passed when he shifted her forward onto his lap, his hands shaking as he gripped her around the waist.

Gin’s heart thundered with her yearning for him.

Bracing the balls of her bare feet on the floor, she rose from his lap, kissing him hungrily as she guided him to the dew-slicked threshold of her passage. Then she took him in, inch by hard, velvet inch, lowering herself, and gasping with pleasure at his penetration.

They fit together perfectly—though he was wonderfully large. Her body opened to accommodate him.

“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into his steely shoulders as she settled fully onto his lap, savoring him so deep inside her.

He kissed her shoulder and breathed some utterance, incoherent in his thrall. His motions were gentle as he held her on his lap, but with their bodies joined, she could feel every inch of him throbbing. He was a thunderstorm of hard, needy lust, trying with all his might not to break.

“Quit holding back.” She barely mouthed the words at his ear, they were so soft. Yet they made him groan.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped.

“You won’t,” she promised, petting his head for a moment, pressing a dazed kiss to his brow, rooting for him to let go.

She loved a storm. Always had, since her youth. She used to sneak outside when one hit and throw her arms up to the sky, spinning in the rain as it drenched her face, her hair. Admittedly, she had never flung herself into one so powerful before.

Maybe it was madness to bait him, but she wanted to give herself to him. She had no regrets. Anyway, it was too late now. He was deep inside her, there on the edge of the bed. She sat astride him, and it felt more right than anything she had ever known.

Nick had his eyes closed and a rapturous look on his face as he pulled her closer, fixing her more firmly on his member. He could not even speak.

She could see he was absorbed in sheer sensation as he took hold of her hips and began to rock her. She let him move her as he willed, happy to comply; she joined his churning motion as he took his pleasure of her. He gripped her buttocks harder; she set her knees on the bed. After a time, she slowly pushed him down on his back.

Her hair fell forward, hiding them together in a veil of secrecy as she lowered her head to kiss him again and again. She stroked his bare chest as she rode him, but within moments, he’d had more than he could bear. He thrust her roughly onto her back and mounted her, his hard body sweating and heaving, crushing her deliciously under his weight.

She wrapped her legs around him in total surrender as he took her, until, all of a sudden, he gasped out, “I’m sorry, I can’t hold back.” The words tore from him, ragged with passion and shame. “I need you—”

“It’s all right,” she breathed with more tenderness than he was capable of noticing at the moment. “Come to me,” she whispered, arching her back to brush her breasts against his muscled chest.