Blood Fire (7 page)

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Authors: Sharon Page

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Blood Fire
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“You will have to leave now, miss.”
“Of course. But where has Lord Sutcliffe gone?” She asked the question without a quiver, as though it was her right to know.
“He left the building, miss. Mentioned he had a party to go to. One of his footmen was talking about it.”
“And the host would be . . . ?” she prompted.
“Don’t know. Wasn’t the sort of party ladies attend. Didn’t know they did things like that in the daytime, I didn’t.” The lad was trying to appear to be a stoic servant, but he blushed so red, his freckles seemed to leap off his face.
It had to be an orgy.
She had to find out where it was.
5
Erotic Fire
“I
will now prove that a woman can pleasure eight men at once.”
The Duke of Glencairn held up his hands as he made the statement to the gentlemen of the
ton
who packed his drawing room. Matthew heard laughter and mutterings of doubt wash over the crowd. He lifted his brandy snifter and took a long swallow.
“But first, gentlemen, there will be wagering.”
“Who’s the tart who is going to pleasure all these men?” yelled the Earl of Durbrooke.
Glencairn gave a wicked grin. “The courtesan with the most remarkable rack of tits in England. Harriet Bird.”
The gentlemen in the crowd hooted with delight. Matthew drained his drink.
Most men enjoyed the sight of the extremely bosomy Harriet without her clothes. Normally he did, even if he was only studying her so as to speculate on how such large breasts defied gravity.
All he could think of right now was Lady Octavia Grenville.
Embarrassed, he knew why he was here at Glencairn’s event. This party was intended for the truly depraved—the gentlemen who wanted to spend several days at an orgy. This particular one had been going on for three days straight, or so he’d been told.
He’d run here as an escape. He had needed time before he approached Lady Octavia. He had sent the flowers and intended to work up to making a proposal of marriage. Then she was there, in the lecture theater, and it had surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to pursue him again.
He knew he had to make that offer of marriage. And once he’d seen her, knowing he was on the brink of making a duty marriage, he’d panicked. A long time ago, he’d planned to wed for love. He’d wanted children. After his father’s suicide over an intense, unrequited love for a woman who was not his wife, Matthew hadn’t trusted in love anymore.
After Gregory’s death, he hadn’t been able to face the idea that he would someday have a family while his brother was lying in a coffin with a stake in his heart and his severed head stuffed with garlic.
“Good God, those things would smother you,” breathed a young man at his side.
Matthew jerked his gaze upward. Harriet Bird had emerged from behind a translucent screen. Her large breasts bounced and swayed as she moved seductively toward Glencairn.
Vaguely Matthew wondered what Harriet would do with eight men. In his loud baritone, His Grace asked for volunteers. Seven men were easily found. Then Glencairn looked to him.
“Sutcliffe, care to be the eighth? You are soon to leave for foreign shores. Perhaps you would care for a taste of an English tart before you leave?”
Then, across the crowded drawing room, Matthew caught a glimpse of a black lace veil. Lady Octavia? She’d hunted him here? Bloody hell. She’d told him she wanted nothing more to do with him. Yet here she was. Apparently his flowers had worked, and she forgave him.
He just hadn’t expected her to follow him.
He remembered Sebastien de Wynter’s smug grin when Matthew had sent the flowers. De Wynter thought he was trying to win Lady Octavia’s heart.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
He was just trying to ease her dislike. He certainly didn’t want any woman’s heart. Love had killed his father. He had loved his brother, and after Gregory’s death, he never wanted to know the pain of love again.
Would stubborn Octavia be satisfied with a duty marriage in which the husband and wife lived separate and distant lives? She would have to be. Whether she wanted love or not, she was not going to get it—he couldn’t give it. As soon as they were wed, he was leaving to hunt vampires. Their marriage might prove to be a very short one.
 
One woman was going to pleasure eight men? All at once?
Octavia could not believe what she’d heard. She stared at the group in the center of the room. Even the courtesan herself wore a look of uncertainty as the men approached the small daybed on which she sat. Each gentleman was taking off a different amount of clothing. Two were stripping entirely—they were shirtless, bootless, and working on the fastenings of their breeches.
Another had opened his trousers and appeared to be unwilling to remove any clothing at all. Two more had removed coats, waistcoats, and cravats.
Octavia looked at the woman, who was very bosomy and had long, red hair that fell to her bottom. The woman arranged herself provocatively on the divan. Her fingers stroked her nipples as one of the completely naked men stooped onto one knee before her. Heavens, her breasts were so big that one gentleman was supporting the right one with two hands while he was kissing the erect, doe-brown nipple—
“What are you doing here?”
The terse, masculine question startled Octavia. She turned and met Sutcliffe’s furious blue eyes.
Behind him, she saw the eight gentlemen climbing on the daybed—and on the courtesan. It was odd to see the hairy legs and bare bottoms of men she actually knew. It made her giggle. Giggles that threatened to take control and never stop.
Sutcliffe grasped her elbow and he stalked across the room, away from the spectacle on the daybed. He carted her with him. Once he had her close to one of the corners of the room, where they were on the edge of the crowd watching the spectacle, he growled, “Lady O, I thought after Vauxhall you had decided you never wanted to see me again. I hoped you would change your mind, but I never expected you to come here.”
“I had to.” She tried to stop walking, but he was pushing her so quickly her slippers were tripping across the floor. “I needed to see you again.” She felt a hot blush hit her cheeks under her veil. “I have to . . . um . . . go to bed with you again.”
He shook his head. “That’s what you want from me? Sex? Christ, why did you have to pursue me?” he muttered. “Why in blazes didn’t you just find a nice gentleman and marry him? Why are you tempting me again?”
“Because sex with you makes me well.”
That stopped him in his tracks. Men had turned to look at them, so he pressed her quickly against a nearby column and braced his arms on either side of her head. His back shielded her. To anyone in the room, it would look as if he were preparing to ravish her.
But to her, he frowned. “What are you talking about? You mean you enjoy—”
“No, I mean I got better after our night. I was healthy again by the very next day. And I stayed that way for days. It’s only now that I’ve started to get sick again.”
He bent very close to her, as though he were going to kiss her. Instead, he murmured, “Lady O, this is impossible.”
Heavens, he had a nickname for her?
“Sweeting,” he continued, “perhaps you just felt better because you had fun.”
“No. I was
truly
better. Before you, I could barely get out of bed. I was weak, and I couldn’t keep food down. But after we made love, I was like normal. There is no other explanation. Making love to you made me well. I want to know why it would be so.”
He gave a gruff laugh. He was so close the soft shudder of his chest brushed his coat across her bosom. And that soft caress made her shiver. “Well, I can’t tell you, my dear, because I can’t see how such a thing is possible.”
He moved one hand from the column and scratched his jaw. His chin was framed with dark stubble. “There is one phenomenon that would explain it. I’ve seen men recover from fevers that should have killed them. They were given potions that were innocuous, nothing more than flavored water, yet the men believed the concoctions were medicine. Even after drinking nothing but these false cures, they did battle the illness and survive. Believing that they had potent medicine was enough to cure them.”
She pushed up her veil. He was shielding her so no one could see her. “But I did not
believe
making love with you would heal me. I didn’t expect it would, so I wouldn’t have convinced myself it did. It just happened.”
“There’s one thing to do.” He bent to her throat. His fingers stroked there, and his lips came so close to her ear she moaned softly. Yet he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he said hoarsely, “We’ll have to try it again.”
Why had he said that? As a gentleman, he was supposed to marry her, not seduce her. But Lady O was pressed against the column, with her veil tossed back and her breasts lifting with her quick breaths. With her soft, shimmery lips, sparkling eyes, dewy skin, she looked like an iced cake presented on a silver dish.
It was as if he had never discovered until now, until he’d looked at Lady O, how beautiful a woman could be.
Matthew bent to her neck and nibbled her skin. She smelled of roses and soap. He wanted to seduce her here, against the column. He wanted to kiss and suckle her beautiful, pert breasts. Lift her skirts and find heaven between her legs.
She had the most beautiful mouth. Her lips were wide, but not full, yet they were incredibly expressive. When he watched her mouth, he couldn’t look away.
Even with Harriet moaning and shrieking, even with a wild carnal display taking place behind him, he was more entranced with Lady O’s mouth than with busty Harriet’s orgasm.
Never before had he met a woman he would call irresistible. At least, not before Lady O.
Matthew grasped her arm more roughly than he intended. “Octavia, I want to fuck you,” he murmured. “I would love to do it. Hell, I need to do it. But first—hell, for what I need to do, we cannot be here.”
They had to pass through the room to get to the door. Fortunately everyone was watching Harriet. She was bouncing on top of one man who lay on the chaise. Another gent was on top of her, obviously buried in her arse. Balanced on her elbows, she held two men’s shafts in her hands, played with another two cocks with her toes, and suckled the seventh man’s cock. The eight was straddling her back, pointing his cock toward her generous rump, and obviously intending to slide his prick beside that of the man already in her.
Once upon a time, Matthew would have been intrigued to watch. Humans invented a staggering number of sexual pleasures—learning what they would do was like finding a new species of animal. But right now, he had no interest at all.
He hustled Octavia around the back of the crowd, hoping she would not see what was happening on the daybed. He feared she could, especially when she gave a huge gasp.
He steered her to the front foyer. A sharp summons had her cloak brought to her. By the time he had her at the sidewalk, his carriage was rattling to a halt in the street.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I should take you home. I have no right to touch you, not now that I know who you are.”
Not until I propose marriage and you accept.
“But I—I want to feel well again. Please—I learned you are leaving England, so I won’t have many chances. But before you go, couldn’t we do it a few times? I want to feel strong again.
Please.
”
God, she was lovely. Unspeakably beautiful, with her lush, voluptuous mouth and hopeful blue eyes.
“We could begin in the carriage,” she said matter-of-factly. “Should we undress?”
“Not yet,” he said tersely. He was certain he could already smell the rich, erotic scent from between her legs, but given the layers of skirts how was it possible? She was unbelievably tempting. It was as if she had cast a magic spell over him.
“I’ll do it,” he said, “if you agree to marry me.”
 
“If I do
what?
”
Octavia stared at Sutcliffe as he stretched his long, lean form along the carriage seat. He rolled onto his back. “Sit on my face, Lady O.”
She gasped at his blunt words, yet understood what he wanted. She stood, crossed to him, but the carriage lurched in a rut.
Laughing he caught her. Releasing her hands, he lifted her skirts. As she swung her leg awkwardly across his chest, he let go of her skirts and pulled her quim onto his mouth.
She gaped down at him. “What are you doing? You asked me to marry you.”
“This is to convince you.”
Muslin and petticoats flopped over him, hiding him. But she felt everything he did. Gently, he tugged her nether curls with his lips. Just that light tug and the heat of his breath sent shivers everywhere.

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