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Authors: Maggie Robinson

BOOK: Master of Sin
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“My name is Rossiter,” he said, surging up into her. “Andrew Rossiter.” It seemed only fair that he introduce himself, too.
CHAPTER 15
A
ndrew lay on his back, spent. Gemma was still perched on top of him, her tiny body quaking. Her nipples had darkened, swollen from being tugged between his teeth and tongue. Her skin was the color of sherried cream in the firelight, flecked with bits of chocolate beauty marks. He had never felt so perfectly seated in any human being—it was as though this little brown sprite had been constructed bone by delicate bone just for him to wipe away the years of excess. Flushed with orgasm, she was so exquisite she took his breath away.
It took him a while to find his voice, and longer to find the right words. In his previous life, he would have assured his partner that he had never before experienced such ecstasy. Tonight, those words seemed truer than they ever had, but he dared not say them. He settled for neutral; she could interpret any meaning she chose.
“
That
was a surprise.”
She misunderstood him, looking embarrassed.
“You are wondering why I wasn't a virgin, aren't you?”
Blast
. If anyone was to feel guilt, it should be he. “No, not at all. I—”
She put a finger to his lips. “You told me all your secrets. Now let me tell you mine.”
Yes, he'd told her too much already and still hadn't repelled her. But she didn't know everything and never would—he could scarce remember all the dismal details himself. “It's none of my business, Gemma. I can hardly make accusations in my position.”
She smiled down impishly. “I rather like you in this position, Mr.
Rossiter
.” She had been paying attention. “You are exactly right where I want you to be.”
To punctuate her words, she contracted her muscles one last time. Andrew thought his head might explode.
“I will tell you about my wicked past, only it's not so awfully wicked. My stepbrother was the first. And only. His name was Franz.”
One lover. If Gemma asked for a list from him, he would be unable to recall half of the men and women he'd serviced, having deliberately blocked them from memory. She had no reason to be embarrassed—it was he who had the wicked past. But he'd revealed enough tonight and would volunteer no more.
Gemma relaxed on his lap, causing him one more slide of glory. His cock never wanted to leave her warmth, so he would lie and listen to her tale before he made her leave. Which he would. Had to.
“When my mother married Herr Birnbaum, I fell in love with him at once. I was stupid. Fifteen.” She sighed. “Girls at fifteen should be locked up.”
At fifteen, Andrew had fallen in love, too, or at least in lust. He and Nicky had carried on their clandestine relationship while they were at school and after, when Andrew went to live with him and Caro. That had been disaster for all three of them, ending in Nicky's death.
Would his usual tripartite nightmare come tonight after Gemma left his bed? He almost felt he deserved the torture.
She was waiting for him to say something, so he did.
“Did he force you?”
She rose up suddenly and wrapped her shawl around herself to shield her body from his gaze. His cock missed the hot honey of her, but his mind was glad she was talking. Moving away. They could not do this again. Ever. He pulled the sheet up, matching her in modesty.
She picked at a thread from her shawl, pulling until the fabric bunched. “Oh, no. I was quite willing. Insistent if you must know. You have just seen what happens when I make up my mind.” Her lips quirked. “I set my cap for him and hoped to become his bride. That's where I got the name Peartree, you see. It's my own little joke. Birnbaum means Peartree in German, not that I want to be married to Franz now. Heaven's no, not at all. But the name seemed nice and conventional and suitable for my new life as a governess.”
She lay back down beside him, still worrying the fraying thread of her shawl. “Anyway, after our parents found out—which they did with almost instant alacrity because we were horribly, foolishly indiscreet—Herr Birnbaum sent me to school back in England. I begged to come home, but he wouldn't let me, not even for Christmas. My stepfather had high hopes for his son, you see. It was one thing for him to marry my mother. No one knew what she was in Vienna, and he was so very proper and powerful he would have frozen anyone out had they ever criticized her for one second.
“But I was not good enough to marry his precious Franz. The bastard daughter of an Italian courtesan? Unthinkable. So they kept me away.”
Gemma, a courtesan's daughter? By God, she was telling the truth earlier. He'd paid it no mind. The two of them, children of sin.
The irony was not lost upon him. But he didn't dare laugh after what she had just done to him. He'd never in his life been so mastered.
He frowned. An expensive Italian courtesan was quite different from an Edinburgh streetwalker. He was still fathoms beneath her.
Andrew ripped his self-pitying thoughts away. He pictured a skinny, lonely girl in Bath, spending holidays with the headmistress and spinster teachers. “How old was Franz when he took your maidenhead?”
“Twenty-four.”
“But you were so much younger!” He was outraged for her. A decade at that age meant the difference between being a child and an adult. She'd made a choice, though. Andrew had not had the opportunity.
Gemma leveled her gold-flecked eyes at him. “I was the daughter of a whore, Andrew. I knew what I was about. I'd watched my mother seduce even the hardest of hearts. Sometimes she had to, to keep a roof over our heads. Quite frankly, I believe Mamma was a little proud of me for the first time, although she would never admit it and jeopardize her new marriage. I was always a bit of a disappointment to her. She was so very beautiful.”
He stilled her nervous hands. “As are you.”
She shook his words away. “I am nothing like her, nothing at all.” Her hands trembled and he held them tighter. “My stepfather wanted me to stay at school, to teach. He offered Miss Meredith quite a bit of money to have her keep me, but I was not suited. I left a year ago when I turned twenty-one. Miss Meredith said she had no lessons left to teach me and didn't dare turn me loose on the other pupils for fear I would corrupt them. I went back to Vienna, vowing to be good. But then our parents were killed in a carriage accident. Franz took me to bed again the night of their funeral. I thought we would marry.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “The usual sort of thing. I worshipped him like a panting puppy, but he just used me. He told me—he told me a few months ago he'd never really cared for me, but I was handy at fifteen and handy now. I wasted years of my life pining for him.” She tugged her hands away and knotted the shawl. “He's engaged to someone now, a perfect little blonde fraulein from a good family with a big dowry. I couldn't hang around waiting for the wedding, so I sold some of my mother's jewelry and went to London. To see my real father.”
“Who is he?”
She bit a lip. “The Earl of Barrowdown.”
The same name of her previous employer? Before he could question her, she hurried on. “My mother was his mistress for many years, but when she became pregnant, he suddenly found his moral compass and threw her out. He has a wife and real children and has never claimed me. Needless to say, he was not at all sympathetic to my situation when I told him what Franz had done. Like mother, like daughter, he said. Told me it was a pity I didn't share her looks because it would be hard going for me as a whore.”
Her bottom lashes were tipped with tears, but her stubborn jaw was set. “So I forged his reference. Said I was governess to his grandchildren—he's quite old now, you know. Miss Meredith helped me, bless her. Lord Christie was very impressed.”
If Andrew was ever in Vienna, he'd make a special visit to Franz Birnbaum to knock out a few teeth. The Earl of Barrowdown would be next.
“You little liar.” Andrew swept his thumb across her cheekbone. She leaned into his palm and shut her eyes.
“It takes one to know one.”
“I've never claimed to be honest. But you—I don't even know your name, except it's not Miss Peartree.”
“Gemma Anna Bassano.”
“And yet you are so very English. How did you manage it?”
“I grew up in London, remember? My mother found other men to keep her after I was born and made sure she was never caught with child again. We even lived on Jane Street for a time. You've heard of it?”
Andrew nodded but said nothing. He knew it well. Jane Street was the most notorious street in London, where only the most exclusive mistresses were kept. Gemma's mother must have been very accomplished, but he doubted she was anywhere near as perfect as her daughter.
“We traveled, too, when Napoleon was not at our heels. My mother met Herr Birnbaum at a spa in the Tyrol. Good hunting ground, she said, and she was right. Even after he discovered her past, he was smitten. My mother was—oh, I can't even describe her. Full of life and joy. Short like I am, but her figure was superb, even at forty. Every man fell in love with her. Herr Birnbaum didn't stand a chance.”
“Franz must have been jealous.”
“Yes, he was. Franz was his father's golden boy. Literally. He was tall and blond and the center of his father's universe until my mother came into the picture. He resented her, and he didn't even know about her background, though I think he suspected. Even if I had not been determined to sleep with him, he would have found a way on his own. To get some sort of revenge despoiling the virgin daughter of his unwanted stepmother. I wanted so very much to be despoiled, though,” she said, wistful.
“It was just sex. It meant nothing,” Andrew said. He'd told himself that tale for decades.
She looked up at him. “I know that now. I know what it means to lo—to care about someone.”
Love
? She didn't mean it. Couldn't. But she was nestled in his arms, her hair a satin fall of burnt umber and gold, her slender body pressed against his, her lips bruised from kisses and truth.
She felt too perfect in his bed. He had to get rid of her.
“Did you hear me, Andrew? I almost just said I love you. Please say something back, even if it's to tell me you're putting me on the next boat.”
He pulled away. “I'm putting you on the next boat. I cannot love anybody, Gemma. I'm not made that way.”
“Nonsense. You love Marc. You saved his life.”
“That's different! And some might say I'm depriving him of his heritage. He could be a duke.” He ran a hand through his hair, desperate now to get her off the bed and out of the room. Out of his life.
She smoothed his hair down. “Your curls are growing in. What a curse you have—such male beauty. You probably think I lo—care about you only because of your appearance.”
She was “almost” saying it again. For most of his life, Andrew had been an attractive, charming chameleon, adapting to whatever role was required. Surely he could become someone unattractive, uncharming. A lizard of the first order. He slipped on the mask. “You don't love me, Gemma. We've just been stuck here. Trapped, with no one to talk to and nowhere to go. You're bored, just like I am. It's only natural that this nonsense has happened between us.”
“Define ‘this nonsense.' ”
“The fucking,” Andrew said brutally. “It's been a long time without for a man like me. I could have fucked Mrs. MacLaren as she bent over to sweep the hearth just as well. As your stepbrother said, you were handy.”
“Don't do this, Andrew,” she whispered.
“Gemma, Gemma. I told you before I fucked you who I was. You went into this with your eyes wide open. And your mouth. And your cunt.” What else could he say to drive her away so he wouldn't have to see the shock and pity on her face? “I
do
want you on the next boat, Gemma. I'll write you a reference, though. Maybe your next employer will think you're a good fuck. I've had better.”
She looked at him. Scornful, not hurt. She wasn't running from the room or cursing at him for his cruelty. “Now who is the liar? You won't get rid of me so easily, Andrew. You don't fool me for a minute.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She stood up, regal in her shawl. “You need me. Your son needs me.”
“I'll get somebody else for Marc. I've always planned to.”
“I won't go. I told you that weeks ago, and now I'm even more sure.”
“Why? Because I made you come? That's what I do, Gemma. I make
everybody
come. It was just sex. It meant absolutely nothing.”
“We'll see. Pleasant dreams, Andrew. I'll see you in the morning.”
Before he could argue, she shut the door behind her.
Bloody hell.
What was wrong with the girl? He'd been a perfect prick. Insolent. Contemptuous. He'd taken her and then thrown her away. She didn't seem to know it.

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