One Wicked Sin (4 page)

“You were going to cheat me,” Ethan said. He grabbed her upper arms and held her still.

“Of course I was,” Lottie flashed. “You would be a fool to think I would do otherwise.” The anger bubbled up in her again. How many times had
she
been cheated, used and discarded? It had been her turn for a change.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Ethan said. She could feel tension in him, wound tight. The hands that held her were merciless. “Where is your loyalty?”

“I have already told you that I do not possess such a quality.”

“And now you have demonstrated it.” His tone was still level. “I do not think that you understand. As my mistress I expect you to be faithful to me, to show me a modicum of honesty and certainly not to try and rob me and run off.”

“Surely you did not trust me anyway?” Lottie said disdainfully.

“Naturally not.” He sounded dismissive. “But that does not mean I wished to be proved right.”

“And yet you are not even angry with me.” For some reason this enraged Lottie all the more, as though his refusal to be provoked meant that she had failed twice over.

“You mistake me,” Ethan said. “I
am
angry.” He raised a hand, eased back the hood of her cloak and tangled his fingers in her hair, bringing her face forward so that they were very close. She could feel the fury in him now, as elemental as fire. It was a shocking contrast when he kept his voice so steady.

“I don’t show my feelings very often,” he whispered. “You should bear that in mind if you wish to please me in the future.”

Lottie made an enraged sound. “Please you? I have no wish to please you! Surely you have realized that by now?”

“You are ungrateful.” He sounded amused. “I could have left you in that brothel servicing half of London.”

“Instead you bought me to service
you!
”

“I gave you a choice,” Ethan said. His words were
cool but the undertone was fierce. “I told you I did not want an unwilling mistress. You did not have to come with me.”

“Then I would not have had any money, would I?” Lottie said, furiously.

There was a pause and then Ethan laughed. “I do believe,” he said pleasantly, “that you are even more mercenary than I suspected.”

He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her hard. Lottie could sense the heated anger but beneath that was an equally turbulent desire. It fed both her fury and her need. In the brothel she had known that he wanted her and yet he had chosen not to take her. His control had baffled her where another man would simply have indulged his lust. Now though, Ethan’s control was slipping, ignited by an anger she sensed went far deeper than mere annoyance at her deceit. She could feel a fury in him that was dark and ungovernable and went as deep as his soul. It was no wonder that normally he kept so tight a grip on it.

Ethan slid his tongue along her lower lip, delving into her mouth, plunging inside to taste and plunder. It made her head spin. Only an hour before she had felt desolation at what had become of her. Now that misery and frustration fused into an anger so great it met and matched his. He ravaged her mouth and she kissed him back as fiercely and as furiously as he took her.

She moved to straddle him on the seat of the carriage. She could feel the long hard ridge of his erection against her thigh and she pressed down on him and heard him groan.

“This is what you
bought,
” she said against his
mouth. “See if you like it.” She bit him, not gently. He jerked back, swearing, then rolled her over on the seat so that she was beneath him now, her legs tangled in a waterfall of silk and lace petticoats, his weight holding her down. She lay panting, looking up at him. He was breathing as hard as she, and there was a dark, feral light in his eyes.

Ethan pushed the cloak off her shoulders and pulled down the bodice of her gown with a violent movement that almost ripped the flimsy material. He cupped one breast, taking her quickly into his mouth. Lottie squirmed. Desire flamed through her, shocking her with its heat and ferocity after so many months of cold, empty misery. She opened her body and her mind to its dark, demanding tide, her entire being burning up with anger and wild need.

Ethan bit down on her breast, more gently than she had bitten him, and she gasped as her body jolted with the mingled pain and pleasure of it. In response she tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair and pulled hard.

He swore again before returning his mouth to her breasts, covering them with tiny kisses that made her skin tighten and shiver, rosy pink from the torment of his lips, tongue and teeth. He slid one hand up her thigh and she reached for the band of his pantaloons, feverish to feel him inside her and put an end to this driving need for possession. It was fury and it was escape, but it was pleasure, too, as she felt the palm of his hand rough against the soft skin of her inner thigh and she arched, desperate to draw his touch to the very core of her.

The carriage jerked to a halt, almost throwing them
off the seat. Ethan caught Lottie close in his arms to prevent her from falling, and for a second she stared up at him, seeing in his face the same welter of emotion there that she felt inside, the fury, the confusion and the need. Then his expression turned blank and she wondered if she had imagined that flash of feeling.

“Where are we?” Lottie said. She felt confused and adrift. The anger and desire were ebbing swiftly now and the cold desolation rushing back to fill all the empty corners of her soul.

“We are at Limmer’s Hotel,” Ethan said. “I stay here when I am in town.” He shifted, straightening, and Lottie sat up, smoothing down her gown with hands that shook slightly. Another minute, she thought, another second, and he would have been inside her. She had wanted it, wanted him, with so fierce a hunger it had stolen her breath. So why did she now feel so cheap and sad and worthless?

She drew the cloak about her tightly as though trying to drive out the cold.

“Limmer’s?” she said. “How very disreputable.”

She saw Ethan smile. “How very appropriate.”

He swung open the door of the hackney carriage and jumped down, threw some coins and a word of thanks to the coachman and turned to help Lottie down the steps. As she moved toward the doorway of the hotel he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“A moment,” he said softly. He looked her over, straightening the cloak with a gesture she found oddly touching, pulling the hood up over her disordered hair. His hand touched her cheek in a brief caress. She could not be sure whether it was accident or design but it
sent a quiver of sensation right through her body. She searched his face for another glimpse of that elusive emotion she was sure she had seen before but there was no sign of it.

“That was not bad,” Ethan said. He spoke lightly, mockingly. “Perhaps I shall get my money’s worth after all.”

And in that moment Lottie knew never to expect tenderness from Ethan Ryder. She berated herself for seeking it, hoping for it. This was about sex and money, nothing more. That was the cornerstone of her new life. And she had best not forget it.

E
THAN WONDERED
if he was destined to spend the rest of the evening and very possibly the foreseeable future feeling angry; angry with Lottie, angry with himself and angry with the two of them in combination. It seemed more than likely.

He had been absolutely furious to discover that Lottie had attempted to steal and run away from him. Such treachery should have amused him, bearing out as it did his assessment that she had no integrity. But instead of amusement he had been possessed by a red-hot rage that had been as inexplicable as it had been out of character. It had been sufficient to make him lose control, to want to possess Lottie with an angry desire that had been fueled by her equally uninhibited response. He was a man who never lost control, least of all with a woman, and this had been unprecedented. Choosing a mistress, sleeping with her, should have been the simple part of his plan. Instead it was mysteriously turning into the most complicated aspect.

And now he was furious for an entirely different reason. The fierce lovemaking with Lottie, which had almost reached its culmination in a hackney carriage of all places, had left him feeling shaken and disturbed. Neither were reactions that he associated with making love to a woman. He was not accustomed to being at
the mercy of his own passion and he did not care for the feeling. The unwelcome emotion had been enough to make him want to put some distance between them.

Lottie had not replied to him but had swept ahead of him through the doorway and into the dingy interior of Limmer’s Hotel. She carried herself with dignity and Ethan was forcibly reminded of the fact that no matter her current ruin and disgrace, Lottie Palliser was descended from a very old and aristocratic family indeed.

He followed her inside. Lottie’s arrival was causing considerable interest in the dark and dirty entrance hall. Several sporting gentlemen—for Limmer’s was known as a haunt of the hunting squirearchy—were ogling her and even the pale desk clerk had a gleam of excitement in his eyes. Lottie was looking about her with haughty disdain. Ethan was startled to realize that in her velvet cloak with her hair peeping from beneath the hood and her face bare of cosmetics she looked more like a young ingenue than the veteran of many scandalous love affairs.

As he watched, a slim gentleman in the buff breeches and navy coat that was the uniform of the 1st regiment of Napoleon’s Carabiniers stepped forward to bow to Lottie with languid elegance. “
Enchanté, madame,
” he said. “Colonel Jacques Le Prevost at your service.” Turning to Ethan he raised his fair brows expressively and continued in French: “My God, St. Severin, I thought you were visiting Madame Tong’s Temple of Venus to find your mistress, not Almack’s Assembly Rooms!”

Before Ethan could respond, Lottie had smiled
prettily at Le Prevost and replied, in perfect French. “You mistake, monsieur, I am fresh from the whorehouse not the schoolroom.”

Le Prevost choked. “Madame!” He recovered himself and his hazel eyes lit with appreciative laughter. “All that, a sense of humor and perfect French, too? You are a fortunate man, St. Severin.” His gaze narrowed speculatively on Lottie. “Perhaps Wantage will not prove so tedious a posting after all.”

“You will have to make your own entertainment,” Ethan said, taking Lottie’s arm. “Jacques was previously on parole in Reading,” he murmured to her. “It is where all the richest and most influential French officers are sent and the society there is good. He is less than impressed to be sent to Wantage’s rural backwater.”

“I am becoming more resigned to my fate by the moment,” Le Prevost said, slapping Ethan on the back. “You had best take your English rose away, my friend, before her jealous countrymen snatch her back.” He made another elegant bow to Lottie. “Your servant,
madame.
I shall look forward to knowing you better.”

“I did not realize that you spoke such good French,” Ethan said, as he and Lottie turned the stair. “Were you a studious child?”

“That seems unlikely, doesn’t it,” Lottie said. “No, I was no bluestocking. In fact my governess, Miss Snook, despaired of me. But my grandmother was French and my mother spoke to us a great deal in that language so I learned almost despite myself.”

“Us?”

“My brother, Theo, and I.” Lottie hesitated and Ethan saw a shadow touch her eyes. “He is…away.”

Ethan took a guess. “Fighting the French?”

He saw her mouth turn down at the corners. “Yes. I have not heard from him in months. I am not sure…” Her voice trailed away and he knew what she meant.

I am not sure if he is even still alive….

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged. Her expression was bright and hard and she looked uncaring, but Ethan was starting to know her a little now. He knew this was one of the things that hurt her. Matters might have been very different had her brother been present to help her when she needed him.

“It is of no consequence,” she said lightly. They walked slowly along the upstairs corridor. It was dark and quiet here, but from the floor below wafted the scents of food and the roar of the racing crowd.

Lottie cast him a sideways glance. “How did you learn
your
French?” she asked.

Ethan smiled. “I had to learn quickly when I joined Napoleon’s cavalry otherwise I would have been cantering left when everyone else was galloping right.” He shook his head ruefully. “I did not have your facility with languages, though. I found it ridiculously hard. If I had not had such a talent with horses I think they would have thrown me out on my ear.”

“How old were you?” Lottie said.

“Seventeen,” Ethan said. “I was fifteen when I ran away from home, seventeen when I joined the
Grande Armée
.” He squared his shoulders. He could still see the youth he had been, brash and tough—or so he had
thought—already hardened by experience and yet still a boy underneath, and a scared one at that.

“Very young,” Lottie said, echoing his thoughts. “I was wed at seventeen,” she added quietly.

Their eyes met and once again Ethan felt that disturbing tug of affinity between them. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and behind it an overwhelming urge to take Lottie and hold her tightly and lose himself in her so that the world and its intolerable conflicts might be held at bay a little longer. He hesitated a moment, a part of him rebelling against his need for her, rejecting the intimacy. But his instincts could not be denied. He took a step toward her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She made a soft sound as his mouth touched hers, though whether it was from pleasure, surrender or something else he could not be sure. Her lips were as plush and smooth as the richest satin and he wanted to plunder them, but he held back, exerting control, wooing where he wanted simply to take. He felt hesitation behind her response. She seemed shy, almost innocent. It was such a contrast with the almost-feral passion she had shown in the carriage. Yet there was nothing feigned about her uncertainty. Once more she was the vulnerable woman he had glimpsed amidst the brazen setting of Mrs. Tong’s Temple of Venus.

He drew her into his room, closed the door quietly and stood with his back to it, looking at her. The hood had fallen back on her tousled brown curls. She looked young and pale and ravishing. How was it possible for such a hardened wanton to look so very appealing?
Why did he even care? The desire in him kindled to a deeper, hotter wanting. He had to have her now.

“Now, where were we?” he said.

F
OR THE LIFE OF HER
, Lottie could not repress a little shiver. Ethan saw it and paused, his eyes narrowing on her.

“What is it?” he said. “In the carriage—”

“I know!” Lottie burst out. She could not help herself. She was too anxious to keep quiet and pretend to a sexual sophistication she no longer possessed. She knew he wanted an accomplished mistress. He had said as much when they had descended from the carriage. A pity, then, that he had bought a fake.

“I was furious with you in the carriage,” she said. She glanced at him from under her lashes. He was watching her closely, and she could see from the heated intent in his eyes that he wanted her—but he was very still, very controlled, concentrating on her words rather than her body. She felt a tiny breath of relief that he was not a man to pounce on her, force himself on her, as some had tried to do.

“It was good to be angry,” she said. “It meant that I was not thinking. But now I am no longer angry and I cannot…” She made a little, hopeless gesture. “The truth is that I have lost my confidence, my lord. Every time I see a bed now it makes me feel nervous rather than amorous. And I don’t think it’s funny!” she added, seeing that Ethan was laughing at her. Suddenly she wanted to cry. Torn between laughter and tears, furious with herself, she scrubbed viciously at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Ethan shook his head, the wicked smile still curving his lips. “Of course not,” he soothed. “Of course it is not amusing.” His lips twitched. “I had no idea you were so conventional, though. I had thought your amorous adventures must have taken place in vastly more exciting places than a mere bed.”

He came toward her and eased the cloak from her shoulders. His hands were warm on her bare skin. He stroked her upper arms gently, as though she were a skittish animal. It was comforting. Lottie started to relax, allowing herself to be quieted.

“As I see it, we have two alternatives,” Ethan continued softly. “Either we can make each other angry again—which should be all too easy to do given our somewhat volatile relationship—or…” He paused. “I can help you try to overcome your aversion to beds as furniture and to regain your confidence. What do you say?”

Lottie’s heart was suddenly racing again. Her breath hitched in her throat. There was no escape. She knew there was not. She had taken his money and now she would have to pay his price. Even so, her lack of confidence flaying her, she sought excuses.

“I am not certain,” she said, “that you are the right person to help me.”

Ethan looked quizzical. “You think my technique will be inadequate?”

“No,” Lottie said, smiling despite herself. “How like a man! I think your technique is
too
good. I need someone who is not too skillful or experienced so that they don’t expect too much or become impatient with me—”

“No you don’t.” Ethan was caressing her again in
gentle strokes, up her bare arms, down again. It was extremely pleasant and distracted Lottie from all her worries. “You need me,” he continued. “You need to be seduced.”

Seduced.
The word hung in the air between them. It sounded tempting. Lottie shivered a little with nerves and anticipation.

“You see this as a challenge,” she said.

Ethan smiled. “Perhaps there is an element of that in it,” he said. His smile faded. His gaze keen and hard rested on her. “Make no mistake, Lottie,” he said. “I bought a mistress and now I want what I have paid for.” Heat kindled in his eyes. He ran one finger down the curve of her arm, making her shiver. “To have to work for the pleasure is quite exciting,” he added. “If you had planned this as a harlot’s trick you could not have read me better. I hate a conquest to be too easy.”

Another shiver rippled down Lottie’s spine, awareness mingled with apprehension. “How ridiculous,” she said, a little unsteadily, “to need to seduce your mistress. It isn’t too late,” she added quickly, as Ethan bent his head to feather a kiss across her collarbone. “You could find another mistress. One you do not need to coax like a virgin.”

“It is far too late for that,” Ethan said. He pressed a kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat. She could feel him smiling. Lottie’s pulse raced. She knew Ethan would feel it beating like a trapped bird against his lips. She felt a little faint.

Ethan released her and stepped back, holding her lightly by the wrists, looking at her. Suddenly Lottie hated the fact that she was standing there in the garish,
tasteless gown that had been the first thing she had grabbed to escape Mrs. Tong’s whorehouse. The dress screamed harlotry like a street seller. She stiffened and Ethan released her and gave her a questioning look. There was a smile still in his blue eyes but behind it a flame burned, and she recognized it for desire and felt her wayward heart flutter.

“It is all right.” He spoke gently. Somehow—how was it possible?—he had read her mind and sensed her distress at the tawdry gown. “We can get rid of it.”

Lottie’s lips curved into a shaky smile. “How practical you are.”

He smiled back. “It is a pleasure to be of help.”

He brushed his hands down her arms, from her shoulders to her elbows, and the dress, running true to form, fell off her like an empty shell. She wore no stays for she had dressed in haste. She heard Ethan’s breath hitch as his gaze fell to her shift. It was her own, a sheer and delicate scrap of silk defiance in the face of Mrs. Tong’s vulgarity and so fine that her nipples showed like a shadow through the material. It also molded the voluptuous roundness of her breasts. Though she was not a tall woman she was built with generous curves and as she had aged she had despaired of the way that all of those curves had sagged slightly as though they were getting tired. She supposed that she could hardly blame her breasts for drooping a little; she was fairly weary of life herself at times.

Yet Ethan did not seem to dislike the fullness of her figure for he was smiling and the sharp light of desire in his eyes ignited further.

“Delicious,” he said softly, and Lottie felt a ripple
of awareness course through her. She waited for him to remove her shift, but instead he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, slow and sure, his lips moving against hers with the gentlest of persuasion until she parted for him and answered him hesitantly, their breath mingling, the touch of his tongue soft against hers. She felt the surge of response in him, the triumph and the need to possess, and for a moment she felt afraid again before he reined in his reaction and drew back. He was breathing a little harder and she could sense the impatience in him and yet he mastered it with iron control.