Rory (3 page)

“I really shouldn’t,” she said, as though trying to convince herself otherwise. Even as she uttered the words, she rose up
and slid onto his length with an exquisite sigh that he answered with a deep-throated moan.

She circled her hips, and her inner muscles clamped tight around him. He was too weak to do much, but there was little need since she was doing fine without any effort from him.

He noted the slender wedding band on her left hand and saw the way she kept glancing at the door. Should he be concerned that her husband might walk in, he wondered, the thought vanishing a second later when she leaned down, her tits in his face.

The thin material of her gown provided little barrier to the firm mounds of her breasts, and he sat up slightly and circled the pebbled nipple with his tongue, wetting the gown in the process. She would have to change before returning to her duties. He blew on one peak and then the other, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his shoulder the slight movement caused.

The exertion may not have been wise. Yet, he could already anticipate the long, blissful nap ahead of him that always came on the heels of sex. Given his current condition, he would no doubt sleep like the dead.

She continued glancing at the door. He had grown to enjoy this game too much, of trying to outwit husbands and lovers.

Lord help his soul, for he might very well burn in hell for all his transgressions.

However, this current transgression was becoming downright boring. His companion was far too concerned about who might walk through the door, to take the lead, and at this rate, it would take an eternity to reach climax.

Mustering as much strength as possible given his injury, he flipped her onto her back and took the dominant position. She gasped and gripped the headboard with both hands, and he slid into her once more. The time for gentle fucking was over. Her breasts bobbed as he rammed into her, his strokes long and steady.

“Ummmm,” she said on a moan, meeting him thrust for thrust, her previous preoccupation with the door forgotten as she bit her lip, arched her hips, and cried out as she came.

When the last tremor subsided, she fought to catch her breath, but he wasn’t done yet. He went up on his knees and, lifting her legs straight in the air, achieved maximum penetration. Her eyes widened, and he knew she started to climb toward climax again as she licked her lips and focused on his cock sliding in and out of her. He helped her along by playing with her clit, and soon she was urging him on with heated, quite naughty words.

He waited until she came again, and then, never one to be careless, he pulled out of her quivering sex and released his cream onto her belly.

The door creaked opened and the maid beneath him let out a gasp. Rory, hand still on cock, frowned as his gaze caught and held the pretty little maid who worked for his brother and his wife.

Shannon.

Had it been her sweet voice he had heard before?

She stood in the doorway, her hand on the knob, frozen. Her mouth formed an O, and she blinked a couple of times, her gaze shifting between Rory and the maid, and then back again. It wasn’t until the maid scrambled off the bed did Shannon slam the door shut. He heard her steps rushing down the hallway a second later.

He looked about the room with its pale silk wallpaper and expensive furnishings. “This is my brother’s house,” he said, but it really wasn’t a question as much as a confirmation. His brother had recently brought his wife the new home on the River Thames.

The maid pushed her skirts down and rushed toward the
door. “Yes, this is your brother’s home.” She sounded agitated with him, like he had forced her.

“He isn’t here?”

“No, he is not, but he has been alerted as to your condition. Your parents, too, my lord.”

Oh God. He could already envision his mother’s response to the news, running the gamut from shock to fear to anger, but anger would not come until she had seen him with her own eyes.

“I must go, my lord.” She stopped for a moment, glanced over her shoulder, her eyes pleading. “I need this job, my lord. I pray that you will not say anything to your brother.”

“A gentleman never tells,” he replied. Though she might just want to speak to the maid who’d caught them red-handed.

S
hannon started walking down the hallway, anxious to be as far away from Rory’s chamber as she could get. What on earth could Candice be thinking? She was married, for God’s sake, and to a handsome footman. Her husband was a good decade older than her, but she herself had told Shannon that she desperately loved Frank.

Shannon had made it to the end of the hallway and had one foot on the stairs when the door to the guest chamber opened.

“Shannon, please wait!”

Shannon stopped and, taking a deep breath, turned to face the other servant. She really wished she hadn’t. The material of Candice’s bodice was wet, in perfectly formed circles around each nipple, and the taut peaks strained against the uniform.

Candice’s gaze followed Shannon’s, and when she looked down, her eyes widened. With a horrified groan, she brought her arms to her chest. “Oh my God, what you must think of me.”

Shannon lifted her gaze. “You are married, Candice. What could
you
be thinking?”

“I-I could not help myself. He is … just so lovely.”

That was true, but to throw all caution to the wind and have sex in the same house where one’s husband worked? It was wrong in so many ways.

“I asked you to watch him while I had lunch, Candice. I did not think it was too much to ask and that you would–end up doing
that.”

“Please do not say a word to anyone, Shannon. If Frank were to find out, he would kill him.”

Or Rory would kill Frank, more like it. Word amongst the staff was that the man Rory had dueled with had been fatally wounded–a perfect shot between the eyes, and that had been after the other man had taken the first shot. If the young baron was such an accurate shot under duress, then Lord help the man who faced him when he was uninjured.

“I will not say a word, I promise,” Shannon said, meaning it. She wanted to forget what she had seen in that chamber but knew it would be easier said than done. The image was burned into her mind for all eternity.

“Well, I need to change my gown and return to my duties. Thank you, Shannon. If you should need anything, anything at all, let me know.”

Diverting her gaze, Shannon nodded and headed back down the hall, stopping at the linen closet for new bedding. She usually called for her brother to help move Rory, for he was too heavy to move by herself. However, the patient was obviously well enough to move about without assistance. He could just get off the bed while she made it.

Honestly, she should have had Candice do the honors, since she had helped soil the sheets.

Straightening her spine, she tried not to think of Rory and the maid, or the way his hand had stroked his thick manhood as the white substance had pumped onto Candice’s stomach.

With a steadying breath, Shannon opened the door to find her patient sitting up in bed, the sheets pulled to his waist. She tried not to focus on his powerful body, but instead set the clean linens on a nearby table. “I would like to change the sheets now. Perhaps you would like me to call for a bath?”

He nodded and slid off the bed, pulled the top sheet with him, and tied it at his waist. Walking toward the window, he stared out. “I did not even realize I was at my brother’s home,” he said wistfully, his hand moving to his bandaged shoulder.

The room smelled like him–a mixture of musk, sandalwood, and a hint of what Shannon realized must be sex. Once again she tried to forget the image of Rory and Candice with her legs straight up in the air as he made love to her, or the sounds of their mingling sighs as they climaxed together.

As the minutes ticked by, she focused all her energy on her task, anxious to be as far away from the rakehell as possible. She would tell Cook that he was up and needing more nourishment. Perhaps she could send Zachary with Rory’s dinner. Let him feed himself.

“It is good to see you again, Shannon,” he said, and she glanced up from putting a case on the pillow.

“And you as well, my lord. I hope you are feeling better.”

His lips quirked the slightest bit. He had obviously noted the sarcasm in her voice. “The other maid said that my brother has been told of my condition. Have you heard when he will be home?”

“No, but I am sure he will return as soon as possible.”

The wicked images of him with Candice fell away. She sensed a sadness about him. She could not help but wonder if that sadness didn’t stem from his brother’s absence. Family ties had a way of creeping into a person’s subconscious when least expected.

His teeth brushed along his bottom lip as he turned from the window.

“Are you hungry, my lord? I can ask Cook to make you soup. Does that sound all right?”

He nodded, and she noticed how pale he had become, that there was even a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Her heart gave a jolt as he gripped hold of the window casing. “You must sit,” she said, moving toward him, grabbing his arm.

Before she could stop herself, she put a hand to his forehead. “Good gracious, you are so warm.”

Taking a deep breath, he then released it. “I do not feel well.”

Her pulse leapt at the declaration. Did he have a fever? “Come, you must lie down.”

“I would like that bath first, if you do not mind.”

“It will take a while to prepare it. In the meantime, as your main caregiver, I must insist you stay off your feet.”

His lips curved slightly. “You are my main caregiver?”

She met his gaze directly. “Yes, I have been.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“A few days.”

“And you have bathed me in that time?”

She knew that tone. Could see the look in his eye, and everything within her screamed “danger.” She cleared her suddenly tight throat. “With a rag and water.”

“Then I really do need that bath.”

“Very well. If you insist.”

“I do. And do you know how to read?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. How soon he had gone from vulnerable patient to roguish charmer.

“Of course I can read,” she said in a tone that implied the question was silly. She knew that many servants were uneducated, so he would probably assume she was no different. “What do you wish me to read?”

“Byron, perhaps? Or Shelley?”

Of course he would like Byron. The two shared so many similar characteristics, after all. “I shall check your brother’s library and see what I can find.”

“Thank you, Shannon. You are far too kind.”

She liked his voice, and the way he said her name. He was so beautiful it was difficult not to stare. It was one thing to look at him when he was sleeping and unaware, but when he was staring at her so intently, and right after she’d seen him perform the most intimate of acts, it felt strange.

So disturbingly strange she looked away.

“I will see to your dinner now. That is, if you’ll be all right without me. Perhaps I should call for someone to watch over you?”

He walked toward her, the sheet hanging dangerously low where he’d tied it at his waist. She held her breath, just waiting for it to drop.

He was two steps away from her when he wavered on his feet. Shannon reached out to settle him and would have ended up on her bottom if it weren’t for the bed. Her breath left her in a rush as his full weight landed on top of her. Every solid inch of his powerful body covered her. She pushed against his shoulder, but he didn’t budge.

Oh, for God’s sake.

“My lord,” she said urgently, pushing against him, but he didn’t move. However, she felt the hard ridge of his cock pressing into her belly.

Much to her horror, the blood in her veins simmered, pooling low in her groin. Even her nipples tightened. Her nose was buried in his neck and she inhaled deeply. Thank goodness reality came in the way of a familiar scent. Jasmine. Candice’s perfume.

“Rory!” she said, her voice firm, trying without success to squeeze out from beneath him.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and he stared down at her, his brows furrowing as though he were trying to figure out how she had gotten there.

She shifted, and the sides of his mouth lifted in a scandalously handsome smile. Was it her imagination, or had his manhood become even harder? He made a moaning sound, and his long hair tickled her shoulder and face. Why did she suddenly feel the desire to bury her head in those tresses?

“What happened?” he asked, his gaze fastening on her lips.

Oh dear.

“You lost consciousness,” she said, her face turning hot. “I tried to steady you … but we fell onto the bed, and I have tried without success to move you. I have been trying to wake you.” Dear God, she was babbling like an idiot.

He laughed under his breath.

What the hell? “It is not funny. You are not well. You are pale and sweaty, and I fear a fever might have taken hold. For your information, fevers could be deadly in this situation.” Now why had she said that?

Was it her imagination, or had he shifted his hips and applied more pressure on her nether regions? Yes, there was no denying the hard-as-stone ridge of his manhood resting snug against her mound.