The Widow Wager (28 page)

Crispin stepped into the foyer and winced as he saw old Fletcher waiting there for him despite the ridiculously late hour.

“Good evening, Mr. Flynn,” he said as he took Crispin’s coat.

“Good morning is more like it,” Crispin said, glancing at the clock. Nearly three.

“Will you require your usual remedy?” Fletcher asked.

Crispin shook his head. “I am not drunk.”

The answer was as shocking to him as it seemed to be to his servant. After his horrible moment of confession to Gemma, he had left his brother’s party with every intention of finding the worst hell he could and drowning himself in cheap liquor. And he had tried.

But every time he went to lift a glass to his lips, he saw Gemma’s face. He saw the disappointment and pain in her fathomless gray eyes. And he couldn’t do it.

How he wished he could be angry with her and how she had disrupted his routine of wallowing and self-loathing. Her sunshine, her sweetness, her
everything
was changing him. When he had spent such a long time trying to punish himself rather than change.

“Go to sleep, Fletcher,” he said, waving the butler off. “God knows you’re too old for these hours.”

The butler made a sound that was somewhat like a laugh and shuffled down the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, Crispin let out a long sigh. After his performance tonight, he didn’t expect to find Gemma in his bed. She had likely locked herself in the attached quarters, locked
him
out.

He would deserve no less.

He trudged up the stairs one by one and stopped at his door. With another deep breath, he opened it and came to a sudden stop.

A cold, dark chamber was what he had expected. Instead, he found candles on every surface, the fire burning high, and standing beside his bed was Gemma.

Gemma in the most scandalous and sensual scrap of nothingness that he’d ever seen a lady wear. It was black and made her skin look like fine bone or ivory in the firelight. And it was lace, so her skin peeked out from beneath the fabric, including the pale pink hint of her hard nipples that he wanted to suck until she screamed his name.

Instead, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “What are you doing?”

She blushed. “Waiting for you. Is that not obvious?”

“There’s a great deal obvious when you wear that…that…”

“I bought it with my pin money when I ordered the ball gown. Do you like it?”

He could still hardly breathe. “It is beautiful. You are beautiful.” He stepped closer, unable to resist her siren song. “But what are you doing, Gemma?”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment he thought she might cry. Instead, when she looked at him, she met his gaze evenly, confidently.

“I’m waiting up to make love to my husband,” she said softly.

“Even after tonight?” he asked. “Even after what I told you, even after I ran and left you in what I assume was an awkward situation?”

She shrugged one shoulder, and her breasts strained against the lace. God, he could tear it open with his teeth and get to her.

“You don’t have to love me, Crispin,” she whispered, and now it was she who moved closer.

She reached for his hand, lifted it to press his palm against her cheek. She leaned into him, impossibly soft, impossibly beautiful. Improbably his.

“Gemma,” he murmured, almost lost even though there was a voice in him telling him how unfair this was.

She shook her head. “Just don’t shut me out.” Now she glided his hand lower, until he touched her breast and she shivered. “
That
would break my heart.”

He might have retorted or resisted, even though his cock swelled with need. She didn’t allow it. She lifted up on her tiptoes and cupped his neck, drawing him down for her kiss that was headier and more drugging than any spirit. And in that moment, he did exactly what he had been trying to do all night.

He forgot.

He forgot Alice. He forgot Gemma’s accusations that Alice wasn’t true. He forgot that he refused to let Gemma close. He forgot that he was a failure and a disappointment to everyone, including himself.

All that there was, all there ever would or could be, was Gemma. And her arms coming around him, and her body molding to him and the way she gently sucked his tongue and sent heated desire to his willing and ready cock.

She broke the kiss before he was fully swept away and stepped back. “Undress,” she whispered.

He did as she said, as swiftly as his shaking hands would allow, and smiled as her gaze dragged over him, her eyes still wide with wonder at his form.

“Thank you, Father,” she muttered as she pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him toward their bed, “for tricking such a well-formed man into becoming my husband.”

His eyes grew wide at her half-smile. Was she actually teasing him about the circumstances of their union? Playing with him in such a comfortable and erotic way?

He rather liked that, actually. This light that was suddenly in her eyes was something very special. And he never wanted to lose it. Never wanted to see it go out, even though he feared it would.

He fell back across the bed and shifted to half-sit by leaning on the pillows that had been fluffed against the headboard. She smiled down at him.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you ready?”

Her voice was so seductive he could have spent just by listening to her. Instead, he swallowed. “Oh, more than ready, Gemma.”

She crawled up beside him, sitting up on her knees as she took another long, heavy look at him. She licked her lips and his cock twitched in memory of when she had taken him in the carriage, drank him down, claimed him.

Her hand snaked out, tracing his thigh with her fingertips. Gliding higher to swirl over his hip. She met his gaze as she fisted him, stroking him once, then twice.

“Very ready,” she murmured. “I approve.”

“When did you become such a wanton?” he groaned as she stroked him again. He reached out to trace her cheek with his fingers and she looked up.

“When you told me it was safe to do so with you,” she whispered. “When you made my desires something not to fear, but to celebrate.” She leaned up, her mouth close to his. “Thank you, Crispin Flynn.”

Her lips descended and she claimed his mouth once more, her tongue dueling with his, her lips tasting like honey. He shut his eyes and surrendered to the sensation, giving over, at least for a while, his thoughts and troubles. They would be there in the morning.

As if she sensed his surrender, her ardor ratcheted higher and her hands slid up to steady herself on his shoulders. She moved. He didn’t open his eyes or break their kiss, but he felt her move to straddle him. The lace of her gown tangled around them, soft, but not as soft as her thighs as she positioned herself.

He felt her humid heat teasing him, but she didn’t slide down just yet. Instead she arched higher, continuing to kiss him as she moved her hands to massage his chest.

“Mmmm.” The sound came deep from her throat. Her lips barely moved far enough from his so she could whisper, “I meant to seduce you far better than this.”

“I’m hard as steel, Gemma. I don’t think you could do more,” he chuckled, still keeping his eyes closed. “I’m yours do with as you please.”

She tensed, and now he did look at her. Her expression was suddenly very tight and her lips thin and pale. She gave him a smile.

“I may take you up on that,” she said, her voice shaking a little before she maneuvered herself a bit.

His mind emptied as her slit stroked over him and then he was inside of her, filling her in slow inches until he was fully seated inside her hungry body. She draped her arms around his shoulders again and held perfectly still with a sigh of pleasure.

He tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear and smoothed the back of his hand down her cheek. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and met his eyes, and what he saw there shocked him. Such softness in her expression, such deep connection that he felt from her, from himself. It was almost as if she…cared for him. More than cared for him. Felt for him something he had vowed never to feel again.

But she couldn’t love him. That was a crazy notion.

One she swept away when she began to rock over him. Her hips rolled, her breath became gasps and he could do nothing but grunt in pleasure as her body gripped him, slid over him, building his release with every thrust.

Her breasts bounced, practically in his face, and he chuckled as he reached up to tug the lace down and reveal one perfect globe. He leaned in and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

With a cry of pleasure, her thrusts increased. Her body tightened over him, bringing him an answering pleasure that was greater than any he’d ever known with any woman. He watched her face as he swirled his tongue over her, watched the pure bliss their joining created. Felt it echoed in his own aching body. He suckled her harder, harder and with a scream she came. Her hips jerked over him, her moans and sighs louder and more musical than ever.

“You make that seem easy,” she panted as she went limp over him.

He removed his mouth from her breast and laughed. “Then let me do it again.”

She watched as his hand slid across her chest to tug away the lace a second time. “Crispin,” she whispered, a needy plea for his pleasure.

He was more than willing to grant it. He brushed a thumb over her opposite nipple, teasing the hard tip as her breath became shorter once more. “Tonight, with you in that ball gown, there were times I pictured doing just this. Pulling the bodice down and suckling you.”

Her hips began to flex, this time the movements slower as she rode over him in smooth, steady waves. “Right in front of everyone?” she asked.

He heard the shock, but also the excitement in her voice. Interesting. He truly might have to take her Marcus’s club one night. Let her see. Be seen. Be had in one of the club’s naughtiest rooms.

He thrust up hard with the thought, and she cried out. Good, she was close.

“With everyone watching,” he murmured, then ducked his head to trace just the tip of his tongue over her nipple.

She sighed, tilting her head back and arching her back to give him more access to her. He took it greedily, sucking her hard, swirling his tongue around her, loving how her thrusts became erratic, her cries louder and stronger. Finally, she began to buck again, coming, and he could no longer hold back. With his own guttural cry, his seed burst free, merging with her juices, granting them both release as she collapsed over him.

He lowered her to his side, separating their bodies with a moan they mutually shared. Then he tucked her against him and held her, smoothing her hair as their breath slowed and finally matched in cadence.

He looked down at her. Her eyes were droopy, sleep was eminent, but she smiled up at him regardless. That open smile he had come to like so much, come to look for to sooth his mind.

But after the ball, after the confrontation, he knew how unfair this all was. He might have brought Gemma pleasure tonight, but only after he had hurt her deeply.

Only after he hurt himself, too.

And that couldn’t go on, even if he wanted to live in this fantasy world where only they existed.

Alone.

That was how Gemma had woken up. That was how she had taken a mostly uneaten breakfast. And that was what she was as she rode in her carriage across what felt like a very long few miles to her destination.

Oh, her maid was in the vehicle with her, of course, but even Kate’s company couldn’t make her shake the feeling that she was all alone in the world in some way. That she had lost something.

Crispin had said nothing, not even waken her, when he rose and left her in their bed. He hadn’t left her a message with the servants to tell her his whereabouts. He had merely disappeared. She’d almost expected to find money on the bed stand, like she was a lightskirt. Hadn’t he once thought that was what she was, the first morning he found her in that same bed?

And here she thought so much had changed.

“Are you well, Mrs. Flynn?” Kate asked, her tone wary and low.

Gemma jerked her gaze to her maid. “Of course, why?”

“You just have a look about you and you’ve been very quiet all morning.”

Gemma shrugged, hoping she seemed more blasé about what she was doing than she felt. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you mind if I ask, ma’am, where we’re going? This isn’t the way to your father’s or to any of the homes of Mr. Flynn’s relations. Nor to the seamstress or the milliner or anyplace else I can think of. And you refused to allow Miss Mary to join us when she asked.”

Gemma lifted her chin. “We are making a call to a stranger, Kate,” she said. “No one either of us has called on before.”

Her maid looked confused. “Ah, I see,” she said slowly. “And…and what kind of business do you have with her?”

“Him,” Gemma corrected softly. “And it is very personal business, indeed.”

She’d spent hours contemplating what she was about to do, how badly it could go wrong. She and Crispin were just overcoming a scandal and this moment she was in, this decision she could still undo, could destroy that.