Enslaved (23 page)

As if reading his thoughts, she pushed him back into the chair seat. Kneeling between his splayed legs, she busied herself with slipping off his shoes and stockings.
Ah, better.
He dropped back his head and closed his eyes, aware of everything she did, every move she made, every breath she exhaled. He’d been hard already and when her fingers closed about his cock, he thought he might flare into flame and be devoured into smoldering ash not unlike the house fire that had destroyed his family. She took her time with him, toying with his testicles, lifting each one in turn, fondling and suckling as though they were firm fruit. By the time she drew him inside her mouth, he was already on fire for her, entirely her slave.

Pulling back, she looked up at him with dark, intense eyes. “Pretend you’re inside me. I want you to fuck me in my mouth, Gavin, hard and deep, and after you’re done fucking me, I want you to stay inside my mouth and come.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can, because you’re letting me, because as much as you want to appear civilized and honorable and proper to the outside world, you’re still a man and having me go down on my knees for you, on my knees like a slave, excites you whether you admit it or not.”

“Have it your way.” He slid a hand into the fall of her hair and pulled her down to his groin. She didn’t fight him but went willingly, her nipples standing out hard as berries, her breasts rising and falling in time with each jagged, rushed breath. Parting her lips, she sucked him into her mouth, lapping at him with her tongue and then taking him all the way inside and milking him with the muscles of her throat. He thrust back and forth, inside and out, imagining her lips were her nether lips, that the warm wetness sheathing him was her pulsing vulva.

She pulled back to lick him, stroking the length of his shaft from base to tip and then back again. She nipped him. She sucked him. She teased and tortured him. Each time he thought he’d climbed pleasure’s pinnacle, that surely this time sweet release would be his, she coaxed him back to start the climb anew.

“Not yet, love, almost but not quite.” Her breath was a warm breeze against his shaft, her eyelashes the sweep of butterfly wings.

He sank hard fingers into her hair, loving her and hating her in equal measure. “What the devil are you doing to me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

She tilted her face up and smiled at him with lips that were wet and rosy. “Why, I told you, I’m Delilah.”

“You’re Daisy. You’re my Daisy.” He rose, caught her by the elbows, and brought her to her feet, erection spearing the distance between them.

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. That girl you knew is dead, long dead.”

“No, she’s not. She’s standing right her before me.”

“Why can’t you see it’s too late?” Her face crumpled and all at once tears spilled down her cheeks.

His balls ached, his cock ached, and as for his heart, it ached with an empty longing the likes of which he’d never known. “No, it’s not. Why can’t you see this isn’t the end? It’s only the beginning.”

His arms went about her, and he lifted her against his chest. One arm about her shoulders and the other braced beneath her knees, he said, “Where is your bedroom?”

He carried her through the flat to the very back. Daisy’s bedroom was scarcely larger than a closet and yet in his present state a suite at The Claridge couldn’t have suited him better. He laid her in the center of the narrow bed and came down atop her.

“For the rest of the night, we make love my way. Think of me as your master, if that helps you.”

She wrapped her hands about the headboard’s rusted metal bars and opened her legs around him. “I’ll be your slave, you know. I’ll be whatever you want me to be, do whatever you want to please you.”

He looked down at her sex, glistening pink and swollen, and sank two fingers inside her. She was slippery wet, and she smelled like heaven. He slowly withdrew and sat back on his heels, watching the shiver ripple through her, smearing his damp fingers across her mouth, getting harder still when she ran her tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting herself.

“You can hurt me if you want. I won’t mind.”

“I don’t ever want to hurt you again.” He entered her slowly, not because he didn’t think she was ready for him, but because he wanted to show her that despite everything she was still precious to him, still dear. And maybe, just maybe because he wanted to torture her a bit by making her wait, master her and make her his willing slave as the moment before he had been hers.

“More.” Shifting her hips, it was her turn to ask, to beg.

Loving it, he gave her another inch and then stopped, forcing himself to hold back, to hold on. “More?”

She bit her bottom lip. The knuckles of her hands gripping the bedposts were very white. “Yes, God,
yes.
”

He gave her another inch and stopped again. “I’ll give you more, as much as you want, but you’re going to have to ask. In fact, you’re going to have to beg for it.”

She let go of the headboard and reached for him, fingers clawing his shoulders. “Please, God, please.”

She tried thrusting up against him, but he anchored her hips to the mattress with his hands, pinning her so she had no choice but to accept what he was willing to give or beg for more. And Gavin was determined to make her beg for it, every inch of it, until he was fully sheathed with the wet silk of her pulsing around him. Once he was, he stopped, stilled, and made her beg some more.

Arching against him, straining for release, she ground out, “Gavin, please. I’m dying. You’re
killing
me.”

“Too bloody bad.”

He went slowly, a measured glide in and out, reveling in the way her sweat pearled breasts lapped against his chest when their bodies met, the slapping sound putting him in mind of surf washing up against sandy beach. After each stroke he stopped, holding back until she pleaded with him, until the frustrated tears mingled with the perspiration gliding down her cheeks. Then and only then did he reach between them, his thumb going to the spot just above the place where they were joined. He flicked over the sensitive nub once, twice …

Daisy cried out, her inner muscles convulsing, her climax milking his member until he could wait no more. He thrust hard and deep, pouring himself into her.

“Oh, God. Oh, Daisy!”

They lay spoon-style on the bed, Gavin’s arm wrapped about her waist, Daisy’s back fitted against his chest and her buttocks pressed to his thighs. Lifting up on an elbow, he looked over at her and asked the one question whose uncertain answer kept him from complete happiness. “Did you love him?”

Daisy unwound her leg from his and stretched her arms out in front of her though he knew her body well enough by now to sense the tension in the movement. “Who?” That she paused at all confirmed she knew full well whom he meant.

“The father.”

He didn’t say “Freddie’s father” or “the child’s father” or even “her father.” Somehow it felt easier that way to keep things calm, detached, to steer clear of the terrible pain that stabbed through him every time he let himself think of Daisy bearing a child all alone. A child who wasn’t his.

“No,” she answered, sounding fully awake. “I never loved Pierre though at the time I tried telling myself I did. It scarcely matters now. He’s long gone.”

“Dead?” he offered, hoping he didn’t sound too bloodthirsty, too eager.

“Hardly, or at least I shouldn’t think so. He ran off with the contents of the company till and a curvy blonde from the chorus.”

“I see.” He tried not to sound too relieved—or too glad.

“Do you?”

He pressed a kiss to her fragrant hair and promised himself to keep her safe from here on as he hadn’t been able to do when they were young. “You made a youthful mistake, an indiscretion, if you will.”

She turned over to face him. Lifting her head from the pillow, she frowned. “My daughter may not have been conceived in love, but she has brought only love, only joy.”

What the Devil was she getting so worked up over? He thought he’d taken the news of the daughter pretty bloody well, all things considered. Most men would have run off like a shot. Instead it was Daisy who looked about to bolt from the bed.

He eased her back down. “I didn’t mean it as a reproach. I’m only trying to understand and, well, to make up for lost time.”

“Lost time, indeed.” She shifted away and gave him her back.

He laid his hand on her shoulder, the skin porcelain smooth and very soft, and asked, “Daisy, are you crying?”

She moved her head back and forth on the pillow, a mute denial that didn’t fool him for a minute. He reached down and caught a fat tear on the edge of his thumb. “Oh, Daisy, the very last thing I wanted to do was make you sad.”

Turning her head to the side, she said, “Freddie, she was supposed to be … that is to say … Damn it, Gav, she was supposed to be yours. I’d give anything to be able to go back in time and make her yours.” She brought her hands up to her face, the mattress rocking with the force of her sobbing.

Gently, very gently, he carried her hands down. “It’s not too late, sweetheart. We may not be able to go back in time but we can look forward to the future. I don’t care who Freddie’s father was. I only care that she’s yours. I want us to be a family.”

“Oh, Gav, do you mean it?”

“Must you even ask? You must know by now I’m in love with you. Our arrangement be damned, I don’t want to let you go in a month, and I don’t want to let Freddie go either. Promise me both of you will stay with me after the month is up?”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want, then, yes, I promise. We’ll stay.”

Is’t possible that on so little acquaintance you should
like her? That but seeing you should love her? And loving
woo? And, wooing, she should grant?
And will you persevere to enjoy her?
—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
, Orlando,
As You Like It

C
avin awoke several days later feeling more refreshed and at peace than he could ever remember feeling. He turned over on his side to find Daisy awake and watching him. Hands tucked beneath her head, she looked like an angel in repose. His angel.

“It’s good between us, isn’t it?” she asked though the contented smile she wore told him she already knew what his answer would be.

“I’d say it’s very good. Better than very good, it’s a miracle, a dream-come-true.” He reached for her and laid his lips along her neck.

“That tickles.” Giggling, she made a show of pushing him away though she liked it, he could tell. “Besides, you’ll make me late for the dress rehearsal.” The following night would see the play’s debut.

“It might be worth it. I don’t have court this morning. I could send word to the office that I’ll be in late.”

She grinned. “My, my, Gavin, whatever has happened to you? It used to be I couldn’t lure you from work and now you want to do nothing but play. I believe I’ve created a monster.”

“You’ve happened to me. I may not be a monster exactly, but it’s fair to say you bring out the beast in me.” Rising up on all fours, he let out a mock roar and grabbed for her.

She pretended to fight him but she was all too willing to be subdued. He pinned her arms over her head and suddenly they stopped playing, stopped pretending, and looked deeply into one another’s eyes.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.” She’d yet to say the words back but the admission was coming soon, he could feel it. Once that final barrier was surmounted, there would be nothing left standing between them.

They made love, a tender coupling that brought them both to a quick, satisfying climax. Lying beneath him, Daisy ran gentle fingers over his shoulders, his buttocks, the backs of his thighs, telling him in every way but words how very much she loved him. A little while later she rolled onto her side, and he slapped her bottom with a light hand. He only meant the touch as a tease, but it put him in mind of that time when she insisted he spank her in earnest. Remembering the sight of her lovely white ass wearing only his handprints, he felt himself growing hard again.

“You’d best go on while I can still muster the will to let you leave.”

She hesitated, nibbling at her bottom lip as she always had when she was considering whether or not to tell him something. “Gavin, I’m nervous. I have the most dreadful case of stage fright. Just thinking about tomorrow night, I can feel my hands go clammy and my stomach turn over.”

Relieved, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Even after the past wonderful week, he still had moments when he feared she might yet walk away from him again, that he might yet lose her.

“Rubbish, you’re going to be brilliant. You are brilliant.” He pressed a kiss atop her head. “But if you don’t get a move on, you’re also going to be late for your dress rehearsal. Off with you now.”

“Oh, very well.” Giggling, she rolled away from him and tossed first one shapely long leg and then the other over the side of the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she looked back at him over the top of one creamy shoulder and smiled. “Has anyone told you you’re a hard taskmaster, Mr. St. Carmichael?”

“You’ve got half of it right. I am hard—I should say
very
hard—for one very sexy albeit truant actress.” He cast a significant glance downward to the erection tenting the sheet.

Wearing a wicked smile, she reached back and settled her palm over the bulge. “Promise you’ll save this for later?”

“You have my most solemn word on it. In fact, why don’t I call on you in your dressing room later and give you a good luck kiss before the rehearsal?”

“Only a kiss, Mr. Carmichael?” She affected a hurt look.

Suddenly his mood turned serious. Cupping her soft cheek, he said, “I’d give you anything you want, you know that, don’t you? You’ve only to ask.”

“I know, but for the time being, duty calls.” She made a face, but her eyes were sparkling, her face radiant, her whole self glowing, or so it seemed to him.

Unbeknown to Daisy, Gavin had awakened with the full intention of asking her to marry him. He intended to hold off on proposing until her debut as Rosalind was behind them, but now he found himself wondering why he should. Arguably, there was no cause for rushing to the altar, and yet he couldn’t shake an inexplicable sense of urgency. Besides, if he asked Daisy in advance of the performance, there would be reason for a double celebration in the theater’s Green Room the following night. Really, could one ever have too much happiness?

The sexual connection they shared had deepened to include intimacy on all planes, not only the physical. These days after they made love, Daisy seemed content to spend long, languorous hours letting him simply hold her. Holding invariably led to more lovemaking, not that he was complaining. Stroking the arch of her elegant spine, brushing kisses over her smooth shoulder, the sensitive spot below her shell-shaped ear, the perfect pink palm of her slender hand was the closest he’d come to touching heaven while still on earth. He couldn’t get enough of her and he was coming to suspect he never would. But then satiety was an overrated state. So long as their passions matched, why bother with sleeping?

Over the past few days, she confided her dreams for Freddie. Like most mothers who’d grown up doing without, Daisy was determined her child would never struggle as she had done. For his part, Gavin was growing exceedingly fond of the little girl and not only because she was Daisy’s. Inquisitive, energetic, and full of good-natured mischief, Freddie was a picture-perfect little girl. Over the past week, he felt as if the three of them were fast becoming a family. He fancied Freddie was more than ready to accept him as a father.

For his part, he was becoming so attached to her that for long stretches of time he found himself forgetting he wasn’t her real father. He was more than prepared to legally adopt Freddie and give her the protection of his name. The latter proposal he meant to hold off on making until after Daisy said yes. He wanted Daisy to marry him for himself, not for the privileges he could shower on her child.

Before he approached her, however, there was someone whom honor mandated he speak to first. Though he and his grandfather had been at odds the whole of his adult life, he didn’t want the old man to learn of his plans by reading the wedding announcement. Tyrant though he was, Maximilian St. John deserved the courtesy of a face-to-face appraisal of Gavin’s plans. Rather than heading directly to the theater to deliver the promised good luck kiss, he sent a message around to his grandfather asking him to join him for lunch at his club at 12:30.

The dining room of the Garrick was filling up when Gavin entered at precisely 12:15 that afternoon. Even though he was early, he wasn’t really surprised to find his grandfather already seated at one of the cloth-covered side tables. Frowning down at his pocket watch, he looked up as Gavin approached.

They shook hands, and Gavin took his seat. “Grandfather, it was good of you to come on such short notice.”

Maximilian snapped the engraved casing on the timepiece closed and slipped it back into his vest pocket before answering, “Your invitation came as something of a surprise. What is the trouble?”

Tamping down his annoyance—must something always be the matter?—Gavin signaled the waiter and they ordered sherries. Turning back to the table, he said, “There is no trouble, Grandfather. Quite the contrary, I asked you here to share some happy news. I wanted you to hear it directly from me.”

Maximilian’s craggy countenance softened. “You landed the Stonebridge account? Good show! I knew you’d bring it in if only you’d stop taking on every milksop charity case and set your mind to it.”

Gavin felt his earlier good humor souring. True to form, his grandfather was incapable of thinking of anything but work and, of course, only the profitable clients counted as worthy of his notice. “My news is of a personal nature.”

The light in Maximilian’s eyes dimmed. “I see.”

Gavin rather doubted he did but forged ahead anyway. “I’ve decided to marry.”

“Why, Gavin, that is jolly good news. Isabel will make you an admirable wife. Her father has been a friend of mine since our Harrow days.”

The waiter returned with their drinks and two menus. They gave them a perfunctory glance and then ordered the oxtail soup and turbot in brown butter.

Gavin took a sip of sherry and set the glass aside. “I’m not marrying Isabel Duncan.”

Good manners precluded his adding he’d sooner spend the rest of his days rotting in a monk’s cell than sign up for marriage with a mean-spirited shrew like Isabel. He’d never been fond of her but knowing how she called out the Vigilance Committee on Daisy, he couldn’t abide the sight of her.

His grandfather hoisted a heavy brow and regarded him. “If not Isabel, then who?”

Gavin girded himself. He knew full well his grandfather’s poor opinion of anyone in the theatrical profession and that Daisy had started her career in music halls would paint a dark portrait of her. Still, she was his choice and his grandfather would simply have to grow accustomed to the idea.

“Miss Daisy Lake.”

“The actress you’re keeping?” Maximillian’s jaw dropped and his gaze widened as if Gavin had just admitted she carried syphilis or the plague.”

“She’s an actress and she’s absolutely brilliant. In fact, she’s landed the lead of Rosalind in
As You Like It
at Drury Lane, quite a feat for a newcomer.”

“If this is meant to be a joke, Gavin, and I dearly hope it is, then I must say it’s in very poor taste.”

The waiter returned and set down their soup. When he asked if they wished for rolls with their meal, they both turned to him and barked “no” in unison. Looking between them, he murmured “Very good, then” and hurried away.

They left the soup to grow cold and regarded one another. The thunderous expression on St. John’s face had cowed Gavin many times as a boy, but he was a man now and instead of the familiar gut twisting terror, he felt his own answering anger escalating apace. “I assure you it’s no joke, Grandfather. I love Daisy and she loves me.”

“Keep her as your mistress if you must, but for God’s sake, Gavin, don’t fling your future away on a dance hall doxy.”

Gavin gripped the table’s edge. Over the years, he fantasized about hitting his grandfather on more than one occasion, but never before had he come so close to doing so as he was now. “Like my mother flung hers away on an under-gardener, you mean?”

Max St. Claire’s rheumy gaze flared. “Mind where you tread, boy.”

His jaw clenching, Gavin ground out, “I’m not a boy. I’m a man.”

The fish course arrived. The waiter hesitated and then bent to clear away the soup, but Gavin’s grandfather waved him off with a rough hand. “Since you have the poor taste to bring up your mother’s indiscretion, you should know I’ll not sit by and watch history repeat itself. If I must, I’ll cut you off without a farthing.”

A moment of silence fell as the two men sat back and took each other’s measure. Grappling for self-control, Gavin was the first to break the stony silence. “You should know, sir, I invited you here as a courtesy only.

With or without your blessing, I mean to make Daisy my wife. As for your money, both it and you can go directly to the Devil for all I care.”

Maximilian’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “I wouldn’t be so hasty to consign either it or me to Hades, were I you. These days a pretty young actress with half a wit about her might have her pick of any number of wealthy protectors, titled ones even. You may find your Daisy considerably less eager to wed a struggling barrister than the heir to a sizeable fortune. On the other hand, if you paused long enough to employ that famous brain of yours, you’d see you can have your cake and eat it, too. Marry as duty dictates, Gavin, and you can still keep your canary on the side and in high style.”

“The crassness of that suggestion, Grandfather, only goes to prove how little you know of Daisy’s character—or of mine, for that matter. She’s not like that. She’s warm and loving and bold and brilliant and a wonderful mother to her daughter, Freddie.”

They were drawing stares from the occupants of the adjacent tables. There was really no point in going on. Gavin scraped back his chair and rose.

“If you had managed to put aside your prejudices all those years ago, your daughter and son-in-law and granddaughter would have had no need to live in a fire trap of a tenement house. They would all be alive today. Now, answer me this, Grandfather. Which of us is the greater fool?” Throwing his napkin down, Gavin turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Sitting alone at the table, Maximilian felt the trembling he struggled to hold in check during the argument take over. He reached out a shaking hand for the glass of water and, with difficulty, brought the rim to his lips. Swallowing, he set it back down but not before spilling a liberal amount on the white table cloth. The waiter came around to clean it up, and feeling feeble and old, Maximilian took the opportunity to leave before he invited further disgrace. In public he might muster the appearance of an avenging Old Testament patriarch, but the truth was he was crushed. If he made good on his threat to disinherit Gavin, both the money and law firm would pass to the son of a cousin. The St. John line would be a good as dead. Beyond that, over the past decade and a half he’d come to love this strange young man whose blue eyes and poet’s soul brought back his dear Lucy. The very last thing he wanted was another rift in the family. He’d disowned his daughter and, as a result, his darling girl had lost her life. Though he’d never admit it, he bore the blame for her death and that of her baby daughter and, yes, her Irish husband, as his personal cross every day of his life for the past fifteen years. He was simply too bloody old to weather that cataclysmic a heartache again. Stopping at the coatroom to retrieve his hat and walking stick, he swore to himself he wouldn’t lose Gavin, too, and certainly not to some strumpet only after his fortune.