The Irish Devil (7 page)

“You gave your word. Now open it.” His harsh voice permitted no argument, all training gone from it until only a man’s hunger remained.

She gulped and obeyed, her fingers fumbling so much it seemed deliberate torture. His cock leaped out of his trousers when the last button parted, as hot and red as if he hadn’t ridden two women into exhaustion the previous night.

Viola stared as if she’d never seen an aroused man before, but she didn’t run even from equipment he knew to be larger than most men’s. Her tongue ran over her lips and she swallowed, a hot flush sweeping across her cheeks. She stayed still, shaking a little.

Willing, he’d call her. Eager, too…but ignorant.

Could Viola be an unawakened sensualist? The blessed saints knew she’d obeyed him sweetly, like a woman ready to yield control of that irritating discipline of planning the next move—in return for the freedom to feel without having to think. Perhaps she felt deference’s complex pleasure, the joy of service mixed with the power of having a man’s delight triggered by her touch.

Time to take her further. If she followed his lead eagerly, then the three months ahead could be better than any dream. William slowed his breathing until he forced his arousal back under control.

Then he lifted his hips. “Take my trousers and drawers off, sweetheart.”

“Yes, sir.” She took another deep breath and obeyed, slipping off his weapon belt and dusty high boots first, then placing the clothing on the desk. She settled onto her knees, waiting for his next instruction.

“Touch me again, sweetheart. Be certain to pay much attention to my cock.”

“Cock?”

So he’d have the fun of teaching her a new vocabulary, as well. He grinned. He stroked the pole rising from his groin, the flesh rippling under his firm grasp. “Cock.”

She blushed again. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of a woman’s rich musk in the air. She must be aroused under that respectable dress, thighs wet with her dew. Exultation roared in his veins, fired up by conquering a woman with only his voice and a few light touches.

She ran her hands lightly up his thighs, then explored another set of muscles and another, clearly enjoying the simple caresses. The last stroke found his pouch snug between her thumb and forefinger. She cupped it instinctively and William moaned. Triumph meant nothing to a man whose woman was fondling his balls.

The little hedonist kissed his cock.

He growled and his hips lifted, pushing himself against her mouth. If she didn’t start sucking him soon, he’d explode in her face like a young fool.

Viola glanced up at him. He stared at her, his hand stroking his chest in a similar pattern to what she’d used on his thighs. “More, dammit,” he snapped.

She smiled a purely feminine smile. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’d succeeded. He’d taken her past the boundaries of ignorance until she’d had her first taste of a woman’s power. Sherman could keep his march through Georgia; this Irish lad would rather know conquests like these.

“Yes, sir.” She kissed his cock again and again, her mouth moving up and down the hard length while her fingers gently cradled his balls.

“Lick it for me, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “And play with the tip. There’s a point, just under the head, where…Ah!” Her tongue found the spot, and he arched against the chair, his heart skipping a beat.
She’s here, she’s ours, she’s perfect,
his seed sang deep in his loins.

Viola’s other hand crept behind his balls to bring them forward for more attention. He shuddered, wondering vaguely why they hadn’t erupted yet. His head fell back, even as both hands stroked her braided hair. Next time, he’d have her sweep its silk over his groin.

The little temptress found the one irresistible touch, a circling lick on a single point, and he jerked. She tried it again and he growled. She purred against him, then set to work in earnest.

Would he survive her first lesson?

She licked him up and down his hard length, as his blood thundered under her increasingly sure strokes. Her hands played with him, while her tongue learned to swirl over him. Up, over, and down as he groaned and thrust himself at her for more.

Nothing mattered but this. If Morgan had shouted there was a fire in the powder wagon, he’d have stayed in his office just to feel Viola’s fingers working his cock like a musical instrument.

Soon the only sounds he heard were his rasping growls and her wet slurping as she worked to attend to all of him.

Then she managed to take all of his cockhead into her mouth. He howled at finally being contained in her hot, wet cavern.

She froze, startled.

His hands tightened on her head as his seed, contained for so long, boiled out of his balls and raced through his cock. He saw stars as he poured himself into her, his climax shaking him to the bone.

How the hell would he be able to let her walk away after three months?

Viola swallowed. His essence tasted slightly salty and almost pleasant. Her body ached with frustration but she was proud of herself, content to be the one who put that look of boneless pleasure on his face.

Donovan’s arms reached down. She squeaked as she allowed herself to be lifted and settled on his lap. Her head rested naturally against his shoulder.

“That’s my girl,” he praised softly. She blushed, acutely aware of his chest rubbing her. She wanted more, something to trigger her own satisfaction, but couldn’t speak of it. Her pleasure wasn’t part of the bargain, only his.

His strong fingers tilted her chin up. It was harder to meet his eyes, a man she’d just handled so intimately, than to ask to be his mistress.

“You did well, Viola. I’m very proud of you.” He smiled at her and her foolish heart leaped. He was still treating her as a person, not just a possession good only for sensual purposes.

Then Donovan kissed her. Relieved by his acceptance, she opened to him and found herself swept away. He took her mouth expertly, licking and nibbling and sucking, until all she could do was moan and hold on. His tongue played with hers, then moved deeper.

She realized he could taste both himself and her. That thought made the fire between her legs burst into raging life. She shuddered and clung to him, sobbing as he kissed her.

“Darling Viola,” he murmured. “Are you hungry?”

His hand slid under her dress.

“You’re wet, sweetheart. And aching. Open wider for me so I can feel you.”

“Please, I shouldn’t.”

He cupped her breast. She almost shrieked at the jolt that lanced from her nipple to her core.

“Now, sweetheart.” His voice was inflexible.

She whimpered as she spread her legs. His knowing fingers slid inside her drawers and she writhed, arching her back to move closer.

“Take your own pleasure, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

He caressed her folds, evoking a gush of cream. Every bit of bone and flesh merged into a yearning for completion.

“I can’t. I’ve never, not with anyone else. I mean…” Her head fell back against his shoulder as his hand became more demanding.

“Your body has the knack of it, sweetheart. Give yourself over. That’s my sweet lady,” he crooned.

Viola had no words, only animal sounds, to answer him as his voice and hands lured her on. At that moment, she cared not whether his mouth muffled her or not.

Then Donovan found the little bud only she’d known before. He pressed it hard and rapture shot through her veins. She sobbed a stronger pleasure than she’d ever known as she bucked and writhed against him.

Forever seemed to pass before she could think again, lying there in his arms with his cock hot and hard against her rump. Every muscle in her body was boneless with delight, like a praline still warm from the stove. Her lack of sleep caught up with her in pleasure’s aftermath until movement seemed impossible.

Yawning, she wondered what else he enjoyed doing with women.

W
illiam smoothed a vagrant strand of Viola’s moonbeam hair off her brow. Damn, she had yielded sweetly. What to do next? His cock ached again as it clamored to fill her now, immediately. He bit the image back, willing himself back to discipline.

Viola mumbled something under her breath and shifted. Calico rubbed his groin as her delectable rump found another part of him to torment.

“Viola,” he rumbled, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “Sweetheart, it’s time to…”

A delicate snore glided into the room. Her head turned and came to rest against his shoulder, where her breath ruffled the soft flannel.

William began to laugh softly at himself. She was asleep. In all his fantasies, he’d never imagined this end to their first encounter. She must be exhausted since she’d probably worked late the night before.

He was flattered he’d overwhelmed her, pleased she trusted him this far, and frustrated beyond measure. His cock seemed a burning brand of need. William took one slow breath after another until he could think again.

Sweet Jesus, she’d been desperate. Penniless, homeless, bereft of her family.

The look on her face when she’d come to the depot, a thin veil of polite determination over bone-deep agony, reminded him of his father’s funeral when he, too, had been homeless and alone, desperate to find an alternative.

William stood by the graveside, barely aware of the pouring rain. His suit was fresh bought from a ragpicker, but so old that its cuffs were shiny from long use. His shoes pinched his feet and built more blisters atop the ones formed on the long walk from Cobh behind the coffin. The cap atop his head did little to keep his hair dry.

Mother, Maeve, and Caitlin slept in this churchyard. Da had spent hard cash to bring Baby Séamas’s tiny corpse here from the field where he’d been born, died, and been buried. So here Da would rest, too, which had cost every penny of their meager savings, the money planned for a start in the New World.

Finally, the priest finished the ceremony and tossed mud clods over the coffin. William crossed himself and left quickly. Cobh was no place to set roots but it was better than this village.

He said a quick prayer when he passed his old playmates’ cottage. Kevin, Donal, and their family lay dead inside, the cottage walled up by their father to provide privacy as they finally died of starvation. A few sheep lifted their heads as he passed, then returned to grazing on the quarter acre that had once provided for a family of nine. According to the law, people living on such a large farm wouldn’t need public relief.

Three days later, after hard walking on muddy roads and sleeping in abandoned barns, William found himself outside Cobh’s main train station, watching a bevy of well-dressed and well-fed English stream past.

A few paces away from William, one of Cobh’s better known procuresses, Mrs. Mulligan, constantly scanned the young arrivals, looking for someone she could trick into becoming a prostitute. She’d approached William once, even though he was taller than most, but he’d promptly refused. He’d never succeed in that trade, since he had no taste for other men.

He wished he, too, had passage out of town. He’d tickled trout once on the journey and eaten at soup kitchens twice. But his stomach still pressed against his backbone like a reminder of his chances without Da: none.

If Da hadn’t swallowed his scruples after the girls died and turned to the family’s old trade of forgery, they’d both have been six feet under the green sod five years ago. Instead they’d made their way here to Cobh and a pretense of life, in which Da forged and drank to escape the memories and William did his best to protect them both.

Now he needed money. He wasn’t handy enough at forgery to earn a living. He was no hand at stealing and there were few legal jobs available, even for those with skills. Besides, Red Niall had made it very clear he wanted William as an enforcer. He’d allow no other role on his turf.

William had seen too many loved ones die, come too close himself to dying, for any illusions about the price of survival. Still, he’d linger as long as possible in the sunshine before he became a hired killer.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Black Kevin driving a hansom cab and his brothers close at hand? Probably looking for a pigeon to pluck. Black Kevin, or Kevin Dubh in his native Gaelic, had earned that name for his heart, not his coloring, and had no known interest in honest work.

A fashionably dressed young brunette, with perhaps a score of years, came out of the station and hesitated, looking around. Mrs. Mulligan stepped forward hopefully, ready to spin her usual web of false concern.

Another woman, wearing the sober black of a prosperous shopkeeper’s wife and followed by a tall manservant, raked Mrs. Mulligan with a glacial stare and brushed by her. No fool, Mrs. Mulligan retreated into a doorway’s shadow.

The soberly dressed woman immediately approached the brunette and was recognized.

She seemed familiar to William and he studied her closely. Tall, golden-haired, strong nose and jaw. She had to be someone he’d known from his childhood. With that height, could she be Lady Irene, the mistress of Lyonsgate? But why would an aristocrat dress as a bourgeois or accost a woman at a train station?

The two women spoke, the younger one pretending reluctance for a few minutes before agreeing. Then the three left together, boarding a respectable carriage with two strong men on the box.

Black Kevin promptly whipped up his horse and followed them, his brothers leaping into the cab at the last moment.

William hesitated for an instant. It was none of his affair what Black Kevin did, and wise men avoided tangling with that spawn of Satan. But Lady Irene, who’d kept her tenants safe from the Famine, deserved help if anyone did.

He ran across the street, dodging traffic. “James, boyo, give me a ride in your cab!”

“And why would I be giving you anything?” James retorted, as the last travelers passed by his exceptionally shabby hansom.

“To spike Black Kevin’s guns,” William said softly.

James stared at him for an instant, then nodded. “Done.”

William jumped aboard and they were off, barely managing to stay within sight of Black Kevin. The chase ended in a less than polite neighborhood near the docks, where the respectable carriage waited in front of a small, closed ship’s chandlery.

James drove directly past the chandlery and William saw Black Kevin’s hansom standing empty in the lane next door. No one in Cobh would be fool enough to harm it.

The narrow street turned sharply a few buildings later and James stopped as soon as they were out of sight.

“This is as much as I can do for you, boyo.”

William jumped down and looked back up, with a quick touch to his cap. “My thanks to you.”

“May the good saints protect you, boyo.” And James was off. Moments later, William was atop a roof, quietly working his way toward whatever mischief Black Kevin was brewing.

A woman screamed, “Help! Murder!” She was wasting her breath; no one in this district cared about another death.

He spotted the two grooms, lying unmoving inside the carriage, and guarded now by Mickey, Black Kevin’s youngest brother. The men were probably still alive, since they were bound. No hope they’d be of help to him, though.

William slipped onto the shop’s roof silently, ducked to avoid a broken window large enough for a bull, and found a very small, grimy window to look through. The scene inside on the second floor was as bad as he’d feared.

Black Kevin paced the room, gesticulating with his knife, as he issued orders in barely intelligible English. His brother Red Padraig leaned against the doorway, grinning as he listened and idly kicking the manservant trussed up at his feet.

The two women were bound to the bed’s iron headboard, the young one dressed only in underclothes from the waist up. “I didn’t ask for them,” she bleated, indicating the two thugs. “This was supposed to be my fantasy!”

“Hush, child,” Lady Irene soothed. “As for you, sir, you forget yourself. Release us immediately and you won’t be arrested.”

Black Kevin snorted derisively. “Who’s going to arrest Padraig and me? Nobody’ll give a damn about three more dead on this street.”

The young woman wailed like a banshee at this.

“Silence, bitch. Or you’ll be the one doing the bowing and scraping,” he snarled, and sliced one of her chemise’s shoulder straps. It flopped forward, barely preserving her modesty, and she cried louder.

The manservant tried to roll toward Black Kevin. Red Padraig kicked him back against the wall, where the man gasped for breath.

Black Kevin started to laugh as he tossed his knife from one hand to the other. “What shall I take next?”

A growl vibrated in William’s throat. He slid back from his hiding place and silently headed toward the broken window. He’d have to rely on stealth and speed in the coming fight, given the difference in strength between himself and Black Kevin’s kin.

Silently, he checked the dirk up his right sleeve, carried by his grandfather in the ’97 Rising, and the cut-down saber under his coat, little bigger than one of the new American Bowie knives. Then he quietly slipped into the building.

He crossed the grimy sitting room and came up behind Red Padraig, whose attention was riveted on the hysterical women in the other room. William jumped the stout bully, throttling him with his forearm. A quick slash of his dirk opened the man’s jugular.

Over Red Padraig’s shoulder, William saw the young woman scream and kick as Black Kevin tossed up her skirts and began to unbutton his pants.

Lady Irene shouted, “They’ll hang you for this,” and desperately tried to cover the other woman.

The blackguard roared with laughter, his attention totally focused on his female prey.

Somehow keeping himself from rushing, William slid the lifeless body to the floor outside the bedroom.

Some animal instinct must have finally warned Black Kevin of danger. He turned toward the door, snarling at the interruption. But the trussed manservant on the floor lashed out his feet and managed to trip the enemy.

William seized the heaven-sent opening and swept the saber through the villain’s throat.

Black Kevin stayed upright for an endless moment as horrified realization dawned in his eyes, then crumpled into a disjointed heap on the floor. The servant jerked out of the way as Black Kevin’s head came to rest against the wall.

The half-dressed woman fainted, her body sliding down the headboard. Lady Irene gasped and hid her face.

Silence finally filled the room.

William crossed himself automatically and yanked a curtain down to veil the corpse. Ladies weren’t accustomed to a slum’s everyday sights. He cut the manservant’s bonds then went to rescue the young lady.

“Irene, my love,” the man choked as he freed Lady Irene with Black Kevin’s knife.

“Jocelyn, my darling,” she sobbed. They clung together, shaking and kissing passionately.

William cleaned his weapons, then turned to leave. It was none of his affair if Lady Irene’s lover was a servant. Rescuing those two grooms from Black Kevin’s remaining brother was more important.

“Wait, lad. I’m coming with you.”

William measured Jocelyn with his eyes, then nodded at Black Kevin’s big knife clutched in the man’s hand. “You know how to use that?”

“I’ve fenced with sabers in England and on the Continent.”

“Right then. But be as silent as possible.”

Just then, a call reached them from outside. “Kevin, can I come in now? You said I could have the tall one first.”

Jocelyn growled almost soundlessly. William glanced at him, then indicated the stairs. They went down into the deserted shop, taking up positions on either side of the door.

The doorknob rattled. “Bloody hell, Padraig, if you’re on her now, I’ll crack your head in.”

The door opened, and Mickey, a man close to William’s age, marched in, still whining. “Kevin, you promised her to…”

Jocelyn sprang upon him before he finished the sentence. The following fight was savage but brief while William waited, ready to intervene if necessary. But the manservant was a better fighter than he’d expected. He easily blocked the other’s first wild lunge and ran the big knife through the thug’s heart. Mickey was dead in an instant.

Jocelyn stepped back carefully, his hand over his mouth, then ran outside to retch. William’s mouth twitched sympathetically. Killing a man was always hard and this was likely Jocelyn’s first.

“Lad.” Lady Irene stood at the foot of the stairs. She was pale and trembling, her hands clasped tightly. Still, she’d recovered her self-possession remarkably fast, as she always had in his father’s tales.

“My lady.” He took off his cap and bowed, as he’d learned in earliest childhood.

“My thanks, lad. You undoubtedly saved our virtue and our lives.”

“I am honored to have been of service to you, my lady.” Instinctively, William used the genteel English accent he’d mimicked as a child. “Is the other lady recovering?”

Lady Irene nodded absently but continued to scrutinize William. “Miss Whittington wished for some privacy while she used the facilities. Are there any remaining villains outside?”