Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (8 page)

L
illian’s breath caught as she stared, stunned, into tempestuous cocoa brown eyes. Her captive was now the conqueror, eager to exact revenge for her offenses. Shocked, she tried to push herself up, but he was a block of iron, pressing her deep into the feather mattress.

Snatching her wrists in his hand, he stretched them high above her head. She felt the wooden bedpost graze her knuckles, but it was too broad for her hands to grab. Her heart raced and her mouth dried to dust. His head slowly lowered, and a black lock of hair fell across his eyes. She winced, steeling herself for the punishment she knew she deserved.

His lips hovered over hers, and his warm breath wafted over her. The scent of almonds and Cognac teased. Suddenly his mouth was gone, and a surprising shaft of disappointment slashed through her.

Heat encased her nipple, burning through the thin fabric of her shift. She gasped, realizing that he had taken her breast full in his mouth. Her body shuddered with an unholy hunger she couldn’t place.

He looked up, passion burning in his dark gaze. “You’re the one who brought me here. Now it’s time to finish what you started.”

Icy shivers raced down her spine. This was not the way it was supposed to have happened. Not the way Fanny had promised it would go. She should have anticipated that Redford would not be played so easily. She should have known that she was toying with fire.

He pressed an open kiss to her throat, searing her skin with his tongue.

Her mouth went dry. Alarm swirled in her belly.

“Mr. Redford…” she started huskily, hating how her voice betrayed her.

“So formal,” he breathed. “The women who tie me up usually have the decency to use my Christian name.”

“You’ve done this before?” she cried, aghast.

“Haven’t you?” His husky voice rippled through her.

Heaven’s no. “Listen, Mr. Redford…”

“Yes,
my captor?
”

His words caused a hot ticklish sensation in her middle. Oh, dear.

“You have a request for me?” he purred, lifting her earlobe with his tongue. She felt his teeth nibble down on the soft flesh. She gasped. A shock rippled through her, straight to the heated joint between her legs.

“I am at your command,
my lady,
” he murmured,
the salutation coming off as anything but deferential. “Perhaps you wish for me to take your breast in my mouth again?”

As if heeding his words, her nipples lifted and hardened.

His eyes fixed on her nipples as they pushed up against the flimsy silk. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She felt his mouth on her nub, as if the thin rail did not exist. She bit her lip to contain a groan. Her body was betraying her, exposing the deep longings that had filled her lonely nights. She had never expected to know a man’s touch, to experience the feel of a man’s hard body pressing into her with desire. Her senses were unprepared for the limb-melting assault. And for the responding fire within her that yearned to be stoked.

Redford’s tongue circled her nipple with hot, languid strokes, smoldered her already overheated skin and causing the most unholy dampness between her thighs. Part of her mind cried to unleash her hunger. To stop being so restrained…so afraid of losing control.

From a young age she had learned to be careful, mindful of her every move for fear of raising Kane’s ire. That pattern followed her still. After breaking away from her stepfather, she’d guarded her every step in Society. It felt like every action in her life was measured, every move studied.
Chaos beckoned.
She longed simply to
let go.

A small groan hummed through his mouth, sending ripples of pleasure reverberating through her breast straight to her feminine core. Heat surged and her brain muddled to mush.

Her lips parted and she closed her eyes, surrendering to sensation. His hot, wet tongue. The arous
ing rub of his skin against hers. Wetness pooling between her thighs.

Her hips rocked. She moved beneath him as if riding to some unknown rhythm that he played on her breast.

Suddenly his mouth broke free and cold air stiffened her nipple even more.

“Or perhaps,” he breathed, hovering over her belly, “there’s some other place you’d like my mouth.”

Excitement whipped in her belly at his frank suggestion.

He pulled her arms down toward her head, and the tresses teased her fingers. With his knee he pushed her leg up to the side, her other imprisoned against his unmoving thigh. He pushed the night rail up around her waist. She felt suddenly exposed.

Cool air teased her open flesh and she trembled. Slowly, he lowered. His hot tongue flicked across her inner thigh and her hips bucked.

“Oh, God,” she cried out before she realized it.

“Not yet, my lady. There’s more.”

More? Lord help her.

His tongue slipped between the secret folds of her flesh, sending tremors shooting through her core. He slid up and down in her wetness, driving her to madness. Sensation soared. His mouth fixed on her hard nub and sucked. She cried out.

His head lifted. “You liked that?”

She was panting, her heart pounding. She felt like she was in a race, trying to catch up but not quite making it.

His tongue flicked across her womanhood and she gasped.

He looked up, watching her. Sweat glistened on
his forehead. His breath was shallow. His gaze smoldered to near black with fiery passion. His mussed raven hair lay across his forehead, making him look wild, brutish with masculine strength. He was a warrior god,
a stranger
. Yet her body seemed to know him. Welcome him, even.

“Tell me you want me,” he urged.

It was true. She desired him. Hungrily. Desperately. She always had. For all of the convoluted reasons for this seduction, none of this would ever have happened if not for the simple fact that she desired him, like a starved woman beguiled by forbidden fruit. And now this. This unbridled passion. This beckoning desire to abandon control, to lose all restraint.
To capitulate to his passionate onslaught.
It was all too much to deny.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed, amazed by how easy it was.

“I want you too,” he murmured, pressing an open kiss to her inner thigh. The rough yearning in his voice sent her final trepidations flying off.

Bracing his hands alongside her, he moved up her body in a long, slithering stroke. He lay on top of her. His member, hard like granite, but searing like fire, pressed into her innermost thigh. He shifted. The head of his manhood pressed into her core, causing liquid fire to surge inside her. She heard herself moan.

“What is your command, my lady?” He pressed himself against her nub, rocking gently. Her hips rose to meet him. “You only get what you ask for.”

“Please,” she moaned.

“Please what?” His shaft slid in her wetness, slick with desire for him.

She shook her head. She couldn’t say it. She didn’t even know the words.

“Tell me where you want me to put it.”

Her heart slammed against her chest. She felt like she could cry from wanting him so badly.

“In…inside,” she whispered, her face burning with shame. But she did want him there. Needed him to fill her.

His manhood slid lower, edging near the entrance to her core.

She held her breath.

His hips bucked forward, ramming his shaft deep inside her, infiltrating her most delicate muscles. She screamed as her maidenhead tore. Shock rippled through her and she shuddered, closing her eyes to the truth of it. He was inside of her. Deep, full, stretching.

She was panting, fear and wonder surging through her. She had done it. She was an innocent no more.

“You conniving bitch!” His face was a mask of contained fury. “What schemes do you play?”

She caught her breath. “No schemes. You…wanted…proof…for Dillon—”

“This doesn’t prove a bloody thing!” He reared up on his elbows, glaring down at her.

His manhood shifted. A thrill shot through her, and she gasped. That’s when she realized that the pain was gone, just as Fanny had described.

She swallowed. “We need to talk about this…about Dillon…”

“Damned Beaumont. He’s not the one
swiving
you right now.”

She froze and blinked, an unseen pain slashing through her heart. She turned her head away, unable to endure the fury in his gaze. This was the most intimate connection she had ever had with anyone in her life, yet she felt his anger like a batter
ing ram, hammering at the invisible walls of her self-worth. The man looked like he reviled her. Mortification swept over her like a torrent. She felt none of the heat she had felt before, only coldness from deep in her heart. What they were doing was not
right.

“I only did this to prove…that Dillon…did not murder Lady Langham.”

“Bullocks!” He pulled out, slick and wet, leaving her cold.

He showed no discomfiture at his nakedness, standing bold and magnificent in the candlelight. He raked his hand through his dark hair, obviously troubled. He turned and leaned both arms on the back of the armchair, giving her his back. His shoulder muscles bunched with tension as his hands clenched and unclenched.

Apprehensive, she pulled the sheet over her, wondering what to do now.

He turned and she felt his wrath like a bonfire; she was paces away yet imagined that even her eyelashes singed.

“Tell me,” he demanded darkly. “Does Beaumont appreciate you whoring yourself out and giving it away for free?”

She swallowed, wanting the feather mattress to cleave open and engulf her whole. But that would not save her or Dillon. Ignoring the terrible shame shuddering through her, she focused on her purpose. “I was an innocent,” she whispered.

“A parlor trick, perchance?”

Anger overcame her humiliation. “Have you ever bedded an innocent before?”

His cheeks tinged, and a shadow passed through his eyes.

“So you know that I’m not lying,” she affirmed, wondering who he was thinking of.

“It proves nothing,” he growled.

“It proves that Dillon, the marquis, and I have never…”

“Which, some might argue, confirms why he sought entertainments elsewhere.”

“Devil take you, Redford!” Her anger built and she fed it, preferring to be outraged instead of humiliated. “He’s not capable—”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Dillon does not…Dillon is not…” How could she put the secret into words? Taking a deep breath, she muttered, “Dillon is uninterested in females.”

Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Black spy take me! He’s a backgammon player?”

“A what?”

“A sodomite.”

Her cheeks flamed and her jaw worked. “I-I suppose. I don’t ask many questions. It is none of my affair.” She swallowed. “Dillon never would have had this great love affair that the Solicitor General claims. He hardly even knew Lady Langham; he most certainly did not care enough about her to kill her. He is innocent. But no one knows the truth of it.
Except for you.
”

“Devil take it! You deceived me. Drugged and trussed me. And now you expect me to work for you?”

“This is not about me. It’s about saving an innocent man.”

His eyes blazed black with anger. He strode across the room to the wardrobe, all golden pale skin over rippling muscles. Yanking open the door, he snatched out clothing, tossing items to the floor.

“Now you understand—”

“All I understand is that you are a fraud. You lie, deceive. And Lord only knows why, but I don’t give a plumb’s uncle.”

She rolled onto her knees, hugging the sheet to her breast. “I would not lie about this! It would destroy Dillon’s family—”

“So instead you stoop to kidnapping? To unwanted sexual advances?”

Her cheeks flamed. “It seemed the only way to show you that you were wrong, to get you to assume Dillon’s defense—”

“A cobweb pretense,” he sneered.

“I would not have done these things otherwise!”

“The only thing more pathetic than a charlatan is one who deludes herself into believing her own lies.” He snatched a coat and turned to the door. It rattled, still locked. Dropping the garment, he grabbed the knob with two hands and yanked. Wood splintered, and the door flew into a far wall with a loud bang that made the furniture rattle.

Bare as a Greek god, he strode out the threshold, not once looking back.

“T
he cad,” Fanny intoned, giving Lillian’s shoulders a little squeeze. They sat side by side at the scene of the crime, draped in silken sheets and gloom. “He is a scurrilous dog, a lout of the worst order.”

“Calling him names does not make it better, Fanny,” Lillian countered, hugging the pillow on her lap. “Especially since he is not in the wrong. We deceived him, drugged him, tethered him and tricked him. How could we have expected him to act otherwise?”

“But you did not do it to him. I did.”

“I might not have tied the bindings, but I certainly abetted your offenses. Moreover I—”

“They were not offenses. Hell, most men would have paid mightily for the pleasure of such sport, and with a virgin no less.”

“Nicholas Redford is not most men.”

“I gather.” She scowled. “I still don’t understand what was so terrible—”

“We tried to take away his choices, Fanny. His choice about bedding me. About helping Dillon. I attempted to exploit his principles. As if I could force him to do my bidding by playing fast and loose with his code of honor. It’s despicable.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lillian. You were only trying to do what’s right.”

Guilt, sorrow and shame swept over Lillian like a torrent. And she had brought it all upon herself. “Was I?”

Leaning back, Fanny eyed her skeptically. “You can never convince me that you acted with evil purpose. It’s not in you.”

“It was deuced convenient that the man I needed to bed for Dillon’s sake was the one I happened to have been dreaming about for almost a year.” She shook her head, overwhelmed by her folly. “I’m beginning to think that he was right. I forsook my morality under the pretense of good intentions.”

“What the blazes are you talking about?”

Lillian struggled to put her disgrace into words. “My innocence was like this invisible shield that helped protect me whenever I came across the likes of Lady Furgesen or Mrs. Bute—”

“They’re just uppity matrons who haven’t—”

“They are pillars of Society, Fanny, and they may be right about me. I might have been playing the part of a hedonistic lightskirt who had thrown away her respectability on a whim, but now I am her. I am ruined. A debauchee in truth, no longer just in rumor.”

“Nonsense! You are no seductress. Hell, you were more scared than a rabbit in bowshot.”

“Not so frightened that I could not go through with it.”

“He had you pinned. He is much larger—”

“Stop it, Fanny. The man had me begging for more.”

Her grin was wicked. “It was that good, eh? Wish to God I could’ve traded places with you tonight. I was downstairs playing piquet with Mr. Stanley and lost a crown sterling.”

“At least you can win it back,” Lillian grumbled, but she felt a smidgen better. Fanny always did have a way of making light of a wretched fix.

Fanny patted her hand. “Don’t you fret about your maidenhead. You didn’t need it anyway. You’ve sworn never to wed.”

Lillian plucked at the silken sheet. “Still…”

“Have you changed your mind about that now?”

“Most decidedly not. We have worked too hard to keep me out from under Kane’s thumb. I am not about to suffer under another man’s dominion.”

“Not all men are like Kane.”

“We have been over this ground before, Fanny. Even if I married as well as, say, Dillon, a cage will not suit me, no matter how gilded.”

“So where is the harm in losing your maidenhood? Now, at least, you sampled something you never expected—a taste of passion.”

“But at what cost? Even if some part of coupling wasn’t terrible—”

Fanny snorted.

“All right. It felt good.”

“Good?”

“Fine. It was fantastic.”

“Earth-shattering?”

Lillian blinked. “Why, that’s a very good description.”

“Blast, if I do not get a man in my bed soon I might as well close shop and become a nun.”

Their eyes locked, and they burst out laughing. Lillian laughed so hard that tears burned her eyes. Suddenly it did not seem so funny any longer, and a sob escaped from her throat.

“There, there, dear.” Fanny hugged her. “What’s done cannot be undone.”

“Why do I feel so awful?” Lillian sniveled. “I mean, I never expected him to hold any affection for me, but to feel so wretchedly—”

“Ill-used?”

“Yes. But that’s not right. That must have been how he felt. Right? I’m confused.”

“For women sex is a strange brew, Lillian. One can never quite know how it will make you feel, especially when it’s over.”

“If it feels like this, then I never want to do that dastardly deed again.”

“Rubbish. It’s usually wonderful. Besides, the first time is typically the worst.”

“Really? Was it for you?”

“Well…” She winced. “My situation was not exactly like yours….”

“Whose is?” Lillian scoffed, wiping her eyes. “So what happened when you did it for the first time?”

“After my first time I wanted to shout to the rooftops with joy, thinking that I had passed a major milestone on my way to living happily ever after. As if the sex was the highway I needed to cross to get there! Harrumph! I pictured myself in a nice
house, a lovely husband, babes around me…” Waving her hand, her lip curled. “What a cock-a-hoop pipe dream! Dickey Atwater had no intention of marrying me or any other woman unless he was being held down with a boot at his back and a noose over his head.”

“Did you love him?”

“I was fifteen at the time and hardly knew what I liked for breakfast.”

“How dreadful.”

“It was not so terrible.” Fanny shrugged. “My father sent me packing, ashamed of my wanton behavior. My mother slipped seven farthings in my pocket, all she could spare, and I started walking. After about a day and a half and only a farthing left, I came across an old barn with people drifting in and out. It was late, dark already, and I was beginning to get cold. I used my last coin to get inside, and had to beg at that. It was a theatrical production. Christopher Marlowe’s
Tamburlaine.
”

“Providence?”

“Divine intervention.” Fanny sighed, staring off. “Looking back, I can say judiciously that it was a mediocre performance, not the best that Mr. Lowell’s Traveling Troupe of Players had to offer. But back then, I thought it was heaven on earth. I hung about until the troupe was finished and then introduced myself to Mr. Lowell. By midmorning, Fanny Figbottom was born.”

“So it all turned out for the good.”

“Some good, some bad. But life’s like yesterday’s soup. You just have to make sure that there’s enough spice to keep it entertaining.”

Lillian nodded, feeling somewhat improved. “My only consolation is that with Redford not helping
with Dillon’s defense, now at least I do not have to see him. Lord, I pray that I never have to lay eyes on the blasted man again.”

“How do you think that Dillon will take it?”

“After the last round in court, retaining Redford was the only thing keeping his spirits afloat.”

“Are you going to tell him what you did?”

“Heavens no! He would be appalled. I will just explain that I failed to secure Redford’s aid.” Lillian rubbed her eyes. “He will be crushed.”

“Well, Lillian, no one can say that you didn’t give up your golden treasure trying.”

“Very funny.” She looked up. “I don’t suppose that I can convince you to come with me to Newgate Prison?”

“I must draw the line at hostage taking, Lillian. A woman can only do so much.”

Lillian sighed, having expected this answer. “It is not so terrible. Dillon is quartered in the warden’s house. Thankfully Mr. Newman will stop at nothing to further his efforts to make money.”

“It’s a very old practice of letting out a portion of the warden’s residence, and by a fiction treating it as an element of the other side of the prison where most prisoners are housed. All above board.” Fanny nodded sagely. “And you couldn’t pay enough money to drag me there.”

“Then I suppose I’m on my own.” Lillian squared her shoulders. “It is time to stop crying over spilled milk and move on.” Now, if only her spirits would rise to match that idea.

“Good show.” Fanny waved her fist. “A bath, some new clothes, some warm cocoa, and you will be fit as a fiddle.”

“Thanks, Fanny.”

“What are friends for?”

Despite her intentions, Lillian could not seem to gather up enough energy to actually move off the bed.

After a moment, Fanny bit her lip. “Speaking of moving on…I know that you do not wish to address this, Lillian. But it might not be such a bad idea to have a plan. In case something happens to Dillon.”

“What would you have me do? I cannot bear to think about a future in two short weeks where Dillon is dead. It’s too awful.”

“Well, let us work this through together. Shall we?”

Lillian shrugged.

“You have one year until the money comes in. You need to be in London to claim it. That does not mean that you cannot travel abroad in the interim.”

“Yes, traveling about on the war-torn continent sounds lovely, Fanny. Can’t you just see it? Me running madly as Napoleon’s cavalry nips at my heels.”

“It was your original plan once you claimed your fortune.”

“Well, matters have taken a turn around the bend, now, haven’t they?”

“It has always been your dream to go to Italy.”

Images of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Roman ruins, the canals of Venice flashed through her mind. “The books probably overstate it.”

“Don’t be so glum. I am sure that it’s divine. Imagine, being swept off your feet by a gorgeous Italian blade. Love in Venice…”

“Love is a disease I intend never to catch.”

Fanny’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean that!”

“It wasted away my mother as effectively as any
ailment could. She pined for the bastard who spawned me until the day she died. And did he care? Did he even once contact her? Did he ever want to know about me? Obviously he was not so stricken.”

“Stricken? Love is the fruit of life’s feast. The cream in every pudding.”

“And your great love turned out so well?”

“It never died, I tell you. Even though my beloved Ned is gone, I cherish him still.”

“But if he was alive and you,
heaven forbid,
deceased, would he feel the same?”

“Of course. He loved me well.”

“I do not doubt your feelings, but do men succumb as strongly? Are their feelings steadfast? Or do they simply lose interest like a stallion that moves on to the next mare?”

“I will admit that many men stray, but there are plenty who remain faithful.”

“Out of happiness or laziness or simply having no choice?”

Raising her hand to her heart, Fanny shook her head. “I cannot believe what a cynic you are about the greatest emotion a person can experience.”

“Is that how men view it, do you think?”

“I suppose…”

“Or are men more interested in the next young stunner with a big bosom or curvy bottom to pass by?”

“My father adored my mother even though her hips widened with every child. My grandfather was the same with my grandmother, who was by no stretch a beauty. And my many uncles with their wives, at that.” Her gaze grew wistful. “The men in my family knew how to love well.”

“Did your father love you well when he set you out on the street?” Lillian wished the words back in her mouth the moment she had said them.

But Fanny did not seem injured, instead answering seriously, “He regretted it all of his days, Lillian. My mother told me that he had expected to find me in the quarry where I used to hide when I was a young child. But in the morning, I was not there. He searched the roads for two weeks before giving up.”

Lillian pressed her hand to her mouth, aghast. “He thought you were dead?”

“That I had succumbed to a highwayman or some such. He was wracked by guilt over it.”

“Did he ever know what happened to you?”

Fanny shook her head, her face dropping with sadness. “I used to dream of returning to my village, dressed in a gown more expensive than ten pigs, wearing fine jewels, riding in a fancy carriage…I wanted to see the look on my father’s face, make him eat crow….”

“But?” Lillian asked, fascinated. This was a window into a side of Fanny that Lillian had never seen.

“By the time I finally got around to contacting my mother, he was gone.”

“Is she still alive?”

“No. I suppose birthing and caring for all of those children was a bit too much for her.” Exhaling loudly, Fanny straightened. “What about you, Lillian? Don’t you wish to have children of your own?”

Lillian swallowed hard, thinking of the babies she would never bear. “In denying marriage, I forfeit any right I have to bring a child into my life.”

“But do you wish for children?”

Lillian sat, mute, unable to lie or endure stating the truth.

“I, personally, do not,” Fanny declared, laying her hand to her generous bosom. “I suppose I am too self-centered to be responsible for another living being.”

“I challenge that. You mother me like a hen does chicks. You help me when I need it, let me bend your ear—”

“Drug and truss your bedmates…”

Lillian’s lips lifted. “You are the only friend that I would trust for such a delicate task.” She frowned. “Seriously, Fanny, any child would be blessed to have you as their mother.”

“I suppose that I might not be so bad at it.” Fanny sniffed noisily. “But I’m too old. I would rather come visit you and your brood.”

“How old are you, anyway?” It was a perpetual question, yet to be answered. Between her dyed hair and face paints, Fanny almost seemed ageless.

“None of your bloody nosey business. And don’t change the subject. We are talking about you and babies. Haven’t you ever even considered it?”

Lillian toyed with a feather from the pillow. “Growing up, as a game, I would try to envision how my children might look. Would they have Grandmother’s aristocratic nose? Grandfather’s bushy brows?”

“Only if it’s a boy. Otherwise, we must call someone to thread that nasty brow. What else?”

Lillian shrugged. “It does not signify. They were the imaginings of a head-in-the-clouds young girl Fanny. I am no longer that silly child.”