Invitation to Ruin (20 page)

She spoke, her voice a gravelly entreaty that set the hairs
on his arms to prickling. “I am flattered you have come, Lord of Pain. I was not sure you’d desire me after so long.”

He kept his smile even, neither confirming his pleasure at seeing her nor denying it. He simply began to remove his jacket, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. Her masked face never left his as he undressed. “I would prefer less talk. I can think of more pleasurable things you could do with your mouth than talk.” He unbuttoned his trousers and let his erection spring free. “Come here.”

The leather of her boots crackled as she moved in sultry steps toward him. Her lush breasts swayed in time to her hips; her nipples had peaked into hard points at his words and the sight of his manhood. She moved to stand directly in front of him. Then she licked her lips. He grabbed the ends of the whip around her neck and roughly pulled her down, forcing her onto her knees before him.

“Take me, suck me, bite me.” Rothsay yanked her hair hard, forcing her face to his groin. “I want to feel it all.”

At the first lick of her tongue, his member surged against her face. Her mouth opened and slid down the full length of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and drove deeply into her throat. He could hear her gagging. He savored the sounds of her sucking him, but it was her first painful bite, her teeth sinking into his soft-hard flesh, that finally made him groan and shudder.

This is why he permitted himself to have her again and again. She was the only woman who knew how to give him the right amount of pain while sucking him dry—without turning him into a eunuch.

He gripped her hair harder and drove firmly into her mouth, his groin grinding her face. He loved the sound of her mixed cries of passion and her gagging. It drove his desire higher.

She knew what he would have planned for the evening. His arsenal of drugs would have him hard again within minutes. As her lips and tongue worked their magic, he pictured
her above him. He couldn’t wait for her to ride him with a cheroot between her lips, burning him when he least expected it. At the pictures forming before his eyes, he grabbed her head with two hands and drove deep down her throat. His seed spilled forth as she gagged and struggled to breathe.

He almost didn’t let her up. If she wasn’t so good at giving him pleasure, if she wasn’t a lady of the
ton
, he might very well have simply suffocated her with his cock. He’d done that before. It simply added to his pleasure. But tonight he wanted more—she was lucky. Tomorrow morning, by the time he’d finished with her, she wouldn’t feel so lucky. But she would have enjoyed herself. She was as twisted as he was—that is why she came back for more.

Rothsay let her go, and she fell backward in a heap on the floor gasping for breath.

His chest heaved with his ragged pants. “A most enjoyable performance, my dear. A good beginning to our evening.” He moved to sit in a chair to begin removing his boots and the rest of his clothing.

The woman sat up slowly and gave him a devastating smile. She crawled across the floor, the leather boots whooshing in the thick carpet. He watched her heavy breasts swing as she moved toward him on all fours. He couldn’t wait to get them in his mouth.

She helped him tug off his boots. “It is my pleasure to give you pleasure.” She hesitated before adding with a roguish smile, “One good turn deserves another, don’t you agree?”

He kept his face impassive, but inwardly he admired her chess-quality move. She was informing him she would let him use her body in whatever way he wished. His mind immediately filled with images perhaps even she would never comprehend. She expected something in return. Plus she had let him use her first. Giving him a taste of what she could do before playing her hand.

A strategy worthy of any man.

“You may be quite right, my dear.” He sat back in the chair and studied her as she came up to her knees and slid her
fingers up his thighs to grip his breeches and begin pulling them toward his ankles. “What is it you require of me?”

At his words, he felt her tremor of relief in the small fingers sliding on his legs. She must require help desperately to come to a man like him. Something illegal no doubt.

“I think you will find helping me would also bring you something your heart desires.”

“I have many desires, but I can satisfy them whenever I want. No one can stop me.”

“I know of one desire even you have been unable to fulfill.”

He raised a cool eyebrow. “You have me even more intrigued. Go on.”

“I need your expert help in removing an annoying obstacle.”

He stirred in the chair. His hand reached out to stroke her breasts. “That does not seem so onerous; there must be more.”

She shoved her breasts fully into his hands. “I need a woman disposed of. A lady of the
ton.”

He tweaked her hardened nipple. “A nobody is easy to dispose of. A woman of the
ton
is something else. Questions will be asked. A thorough investigation will be undertaken. Why would I be interested in risking the gallows? Even your skills are not worth that.”

She smiled, the evil within escaping as her lips parted. “Because she is about to marry the Earl of Wickham.”

He squeezed her nipple hard until she cried out in pain. Rothsay’s breath caught in his throat. His stomach churned and his bile rose at the mention of Wickham’s name. Wickham had sworn to him he’d never marry and father children. Like everything about the Earl, it was a falsehood. Wickham—he choked on the name. The one man who Philip had called friend. The one man who had turned his back on him. The one man he wanted to destroy—to bring to his knees. To inflict so much pain Wickham would never recover.

Now the woman on her knees before him handed him a weapon, but he’d not let her think she’d given him anything
of interest. He did not like the fact she knew him even this well.

He sat up and pushed her out of his way. Rising to his feet, he kicked the trousers away that pooled at his ankles and stood staring down at her.

“Don’t play with me, Cassandra.” It was a measure of how unsettled he’d become. They never used real names.

On her knees, she walked to him and stroked his bare thighs. “I’m not playing. He was found in a compromising position with my cousin, Melissa Goodly, thinking he was in my bed. He has to marry her, but he does not want her. He told me he’d never bed her. It’s obvious why. A frightened virgin would not interest a man with Wickham’s appetite.”

Rothsay knew exactly why Wickham would never bed a woman he was married to. He was terrified of siring the next Earl. God the man was pathetic.

Melissa Goodly, the woman with Wickham at the slave auction. The way Wickham had pushed her into the carriage before he could get a good look at her told Rothsay all he needed to know. The Earl felt something for her.

So Wickham still did not plan to have children. Philip’s adrenaline surged. Here was his Achilles’ heel. He almost burst with … could it be happiness? He’d never experienced that emotion before, and it was hard to recognize the senses reeling around his body.

He looked down on Cassandra, pretending contempt. He let it enter his stare. “Why would you be concerned at that? What is it you want?”

“I want Anthony for myself.” Her skilled hand moved to fondle and squeeze his balls, making him groan in delicious pain. “I want him as my husband.”

“Mmm … you mean you want his money.”

She gasped.

He unwound the whip from around her neck and trailed it down over her breasts. “When will you learn, Cassandra dear? I know everything.”

She tried to hide her flash of annoyance, but he caught it. This pleased him. She was more vicious when she was angry.

“I also want a real man in my bed, not some elderly fat lump that cannot pleasure me.”

“Yes, you like to play rough. You’d likely kill an older gent. I wonder exactly how your husband died.” He used the ends of the lash to tickle her taut nipples. “I think I can safely say I am thrilled at the information you have brought me.”

“So, you will help me?”

“Leave everything to me.” His shaft began to harden at the thought of taking his revenge on his longtime enemy. Not only that, he would also thwart Cassandra’s plans. That gave him immense pleasure. His erection grew, lengthened, and hardened. He had no intention of stopping the wedding. His revenge would be all the sweeter once they were married.

He pulled Cassandra to her feet and bent her forward, placing her hands on the table in front of them. He brought the lash down firmly on her bare buttocks before forcing the whip handle between her legs and spreading them wide.

With no ceremony, he took her from behind, driving deep into her hot, wet sheath. “God you’re so tight.” She let out a moan of pleasure. He murmured, “Let me show you how grateful I am at the news you have brought me tonight.” As she pressed her bottom more firmly against his groin, he brought the whip down hard on her back—the tassels made to sting, not mark, her flesh. She arched back up and gave a cry of ecstasy. He kept whipping her as he withdrew and slammed back into her.

He was suddenly glad he’d taken such a high dose of his wonder drug. He wanted to make this night last forever … imagining the slut he was whipping belonged to his dear old friend Anthony.

T
he wedding took place early on Friday morning in Lord Wickham’s rose garden with the local bishop residing. Images of what they’d done in this very garden made Melissa’s heart thud in anticipation.

She couldn’t wait to do it again.

There was an odd assortment of guests in attendance. The special license Anthony had obtained eliminated the necessity of reading the bands, yet most of London knew of the wedding and had jostled for invitations.

The ceremony was a solemn, swift affair, certainly not even remotely like the cherished ideal of her dreams. The groom in particular did not radiate happiness. He looked pale, as if he were about to be sick. The entire event seemed unreal to Melissa. She felt like an observer rather than the glowing bride.

She smoothed down the skirts of her high-waisted wedding gown. The soft ivory satin with a tulle overskirt shot with silver threads complemented the groom’s superbly tailored blue coat, the silver matching the color of his eyes.

She could scarcely believe this was happening to her. After bearing the brunt of Christopher’s rages at her refusal to marry a suitor of his choosing, a man who would ease his debts, here she was, repeating vows to love, honor, and obey the Lord of Wicked. A man she was completely infatuated with and already a little in love with.

She glanced covertly up at Anthony standing beside her. The sun glinted off his jet-black locks, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes. His face was hard and unsmiling. That he did not wish to marry her was humiliatingly obvious to everyone present. Melissa was thankful they’d come to some understanding. Although he did not love her, he did not hate her, either.

So far, the main point in Anthony’s favor was his obvious desire for her. Without that, it would have been almost impossible for her to demonstrate her feelings and to shower him with love. There had to be something to base the relationship on. Knowing he wanted her in his bed, coupled with the fact he stirred all her senses, had been the deciding factor.

When it came time to declare her vows, she did so with unfettered passion. With all her heart she hoped love would blossom. Without love she’d once again be nothing more than a woman owned by a man, a wife to take care of and nothing more. Not really wanted and never loved.

Only she would know how much Anthony really needed her.

If she could ignite his passions, ignite them until he couldn’t get enough of her, then she might stand a chance to make this a real marriage, a love marriage, a marriage to be proud of.

She wanted a family. A family of her own. A family where she truly felt she belonged.

With an unsteady breath, Melissa studied the immaculately groomed fingers of the large hand clasping her own. She knew the visceral images swirling in her mind were wicked when they were declaring themselves before God, but she couldn’t wait to feel his fingers on her bare skin.

The only dart of unease piercing her outward calm was thinking this marriage was still not to his liking—not one tiny bit.

   After all the guests had departed, Anthony walked into the drawing room, steeling himself against the rush of desire when he saw—his wife. He almost made a direct beeline to her side but checked himself. It wouldn’t be wise to spend too much time with her.

He hesitated on the threshold wondering where to sit. Cassandra was still vying to become his mistress even though her cousin was now his wife. He’d promised Melissa not to indulge, and he meant to keep that promise. He owed her that at least.

The large room became deathly quiet at his entry. It had been a long day, and everyone looked a little weary.

His mother, seated next to Melissa, paused in her conversation. A shiver of dread raced from his neck, along his arms, and down to his fingers. God knows what stories his mother was filling Melissa’s head with. If Melissa was not pleased with her situation, she’d be even more distraught after his mother informed her of all the family’s darkest secrets.

Halting close to the threshold, Anthony surveyed the cast in this marriage travesty. Baron Norrington, Melissa’s brother, looked extremely smug. So he should; he’d fleeced Anthony out of twenty thousand pounds. Christopher was in for a shock if he thought Anthony would hand over any more. If the Baron gambled away Anthony’s generous marriage settlement, he could rot in one of London’s workhouses for all Anthony cared.

Anthony had very deep pockets. The increase in world commerce meant the Wickham fortune had not diminished when Anthony put a halt to his father’s slave-trading venture, switching to wool and coal. In fact, he’d managed to quadruple the family money not merely by increasing his trading business but by making sound investments. He had no intention of throwing his money away on Christopher Goodly.