Simply Irresistible (5 page)

“How am I ever going to get you dry?” he murmured, snapping the towel over the crown again, making the captain breathe hard through his nose. “Go sit in your chair.”

“At the table?”

“Yes, where else?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “We are about to dine.”

As Jason went to sit down, Peter crossed to the smaller of the sea chests pushed against the side of the bed. “Where's the key?”

“Around my neck.”

“A wise decision, considering the scandalous contents. Give it to me.”

He took the proffered key and returned to the red lacquered Oriental chest and opened it. He discovered what he needed in a black silk bag and turned back to the waiting captain.

“Put your hands on the armrests and keep them there.” He loosened the cord on the bag and allowed the narrow silken ropes to slide out onto his palm. “Widen your legs.”

He crouched in front of Jason and secured one of his ankles to the chair leg and then the other, using two separate ropes. Wrapping the rope around his shin and then behind each knee. “Lift your arse up an inch.” Jason did, and Peter wound the rope under each thigh twice and then brought the two ends together over his groin.

“Sit back down.”

Jason tensed as Peter tied two more ropes to the ends of the others, doubling their length. Crossing the knotted ends under Jason's balls, he brought them up and around his hips and over to the armrests, where he bound Jason's wrists to the wood.

“Do you like this?” Peter asked.

Jason nodded, his gaze directed downward to his bound limbs, his whole torso shivering. The ropes now crossed above and below his cock and trapped his hands onto the arms of the chair.

Peter crossed the silk cords over his lover's chest, pinning him to the back of the chair, and then slowly pulled hard on both of the ropes, rather like tightening a corset, until Jason couldn't move a muscle.

“That's better.” With the last of the rope, Peter encircled Jason's throat and tied the two ends together behind the high back of the chair.

“Can you move?”

“Not much,” Jason croaked.

“Then I‘ll have to feed you, won't I?”

Peter picked up the soup spoon and pulled his own chair as close to the captain's as he could.

“Open your mouth.”

With a helpless sound, Jason obliged, and Peter spooned some of the hot soup into his mouth and waited until his lover swallowed. He repeated the action several times, aware that every time he moved forward, he brushed against Jason's straining cock.

Jason groaned, spilling some of the soup, which went down his chin and onto his chest. Peter set the spoon down and considered his captive.

“I suppose I'll have to lick this off you.”

“God,
please
. . .”

Taking his time, Peter leaned forward and used just the tip of his tongue to lick off the splatters of soup. He ignored Jason's soft curses and pleas, concentrating on the taste of warm salted skin with a hint of oxtail soup.

He sampled his own soup, making Jason wait for him to continue, made him strain against the ropes.

“Are you still hungry?”

“Yes, Mr. Howard.”

He uncovered the plate of chicken and sauce and picked up a leg by the bone.

“Eat this.”

Jason tried to move his mouth fast enough to bite and chew at the meat without making a mess, but it was impossible, and soon his face and upper body were covered with drips of gravy, which, judging from his occasional wince, was still quite hot. Peter tasted the gravy himself and confirmed this as Jason attempted to lick his lips clean.

Standing up, Peter kissed Jason's sticky mouth and then bit and licked his way down his torso until he had taken in every drop of gravy except the ones low down on Jason's belly and thrusting cock.

“God . . .” Jason whispered. “More, please, take more of me.”

Peter rewarded him with a bite of his nipple that made him jerk against his bonds.

Resuming his seat, Peter calmly ate his way through a plate of chicken, watched avidly by his lover. The third covered dish contained dessert, which appeared to be stewed apples and cream. He dangled a piece of fruit close to Jason's lips, making him strain to reach it and lick off the cinnamon-flavored juices. He did it again, amused at how agile Jason's tongue was and imagining what the man could do to his cock.

He scooped up several slices of apple and laid them over the length of Jason's cock, watching as his lover's shaft thickened and pre-cum slid down from the tip to blend with the dripping sugary juices.

“Mmm . . .” he breathed out, inhaling the scent of aroused male and the sweetness of the fruit. “I'll wager you wish you could bend down and eat yourself, don't you? As you are tied to the chair, I suppose I'll have to do it for you.”

Peter took his time eating the fruit, savoring each bite and deliberate caress of the captain's rigid flesh, aware of Jason's tightening muscles as he strained against his rope, trying to bring his cock closer to Peter's mouth, begging him to take him inside and suck him off, let him come....

Eventually, Peter sat back and licked his lips and smiled at his captive.

“Cream?”

He picked up the jug and drizzled a stream of cream over Jason's tight stomach and over his cock. His lover was unable to keep still now, his arse writhing on the hard wooden seat, his cock impossibly hard and pulsing with need.

Peter considered him for a moment and then gripped Jason's cock firmly around the base and yanked hard once, twice, three times until he started to climax, his come shooting out of his cock to mix in with the whiteness of the cream, his whole body arching against his bonds and almost rocking the chair off its legs.

“Peter!”

The suddenness of Peter's action had Jason shouting out in ecstasy as he kept coming. Before he'd even finished, Peter was untying him. “Get up, Jason; kneel on the canvas.”

The captain stumbled over to the square of canvas and fell down on his knees, his chest heaving, his long hair hanging down over his face, reminding Peter of Valentin. Pushing that thought away, he found what remained of the water in the jug and started to wash Jason.

By the time he'd finished, Jason was hard again and had his hands locked together at the small of his back, awaiting Peter's next command. With a sigh, Peter returned to the dining table, poured himself a glass of the rough red wine and drank it down in one.

“What is it?” Jason turned toward him. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, not at all; it's just—” Peter put his glass down. “I can't fuck you.”

“You most certainly can, Mr. Howard.”

“That's not what I meant. I know you would be willing, but I just can't do it.”

Jason came to sit cross-legged on the floor at Peter's feet. “I hate to pry, but is this because of Valentin?”

“No. Not this time.” Peter poured himself another glass of wine and offered one to Jason, who shook his head.

“Then some trouble with the Beechams?”

“You might say that.” Because they'd corresponded for years, Jason knew all about Peter's peculiar living arrangements. “It seems that I found it too hard to love a woman who was already married.”

“Even if her husband preferred men?”

“I wanted all of her. I wanted . . .” He sighed. “To be
everything
to her.”

“And she decided she loved her husband too much to give you that?”

“No, that she loved
me
too much to tie me to a woman stuck in a marriage that could never be ended except by death. She said I deserved more.”

“Ah . . .” Jason reached out and stroked Peter's knee. “She was right, wasn't she? You of all men deserve to be loved unreservedly.” He hesitated. “She must have understood you very well to know that she had to let you go.”

The glass of wine in Peter's hand suddenly blurred and he had to blink hard. “Yes, but leaving her has ripped my soul in half.” He looked down into Jason's sympathetic eyes. “And, although she is right, I still cannot think of anyone but her.”

“Then why take this voyage and leave her completely?”

“Because I am going to see her husband. I'm going to try to persuade him to come back with me.”

Jason's brows drew together. “For what purpose?”

“If we cannot be together, she deserves James's attention and regard. He cannot simply abandon her.” Peter shrugged. “Mayhap if I'm not involved, I can persuade him to stay with her long enough to give her another child and still the gossip. I cannot force him to stay with her forever.”

“Would she want him to?”

“Probably not. She loves him. Damnation, we all love each other in different ways. It makes everything bloody
impossible
.”

Jason rose and wrapped the drying cloth around his hips and took the chair opposite Peter. “Then perhaps if we can't fuck, we can drink ourselves into oblivion instead?”

Peter raised his glass and clinked it against Jason's. “Now that I can manage.”

Chapter 5

 

“What the devil happened here?”

Peter turned in a slow circle, aware of the sweat streaming down his back and the living, breathing hum of the tropical vegetation around him. The sun was overhead and beamed straight down, making it hard to focus. He'd asked the driver to stop the carriage at the blackened buildings as the sickly stench of burnt sugar and death surrounded him.

“There was a fire, sir.” The man pointed into the jungle. “We're already rebuilding the processing plant over there.”

“I can see that.” Peter used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Is the main house still intact?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then can you take us there?”

“Yes, sir.”

He rejoined Jason in the carriage, and they continued up the track toward a stone building with wide verandas and floor-to-ceiling windows that were open to the slight breeze. A servant came to open the carriage door, and they stepped down and into the hall of the house. Peter breathed a sigh of relief as they were enfolded in the shadows. It wasn't the first time he'd been to the West Indies, but he was always unprepared for the enormity of the heat and the sheer effort required to maintain even a thin veneer of civility. If he'd been stationed here, he would've discarded his formal clothing and walked around naked. Since his youth in a Turkish brothel, he'd always felt overdressed in English clothing.

“Mr. . . .
Howard
?”

Peter turned to see a man emerging from one of the rooms farther down the hall. He wore a white shirt open at the neck, displaying his tanned skin and buckskin breeches. Peter judged him to be in his early forties.

“Yes, I'm Mr. Howard, and this is Captain Jason Ford.”

“Good God, I didn't expect the news to travel so fast.” He paused. “Please come into my study and I'll tell you anything you need to know.”

Peter bowed. “I'd be delighted to speak to you, sir, but might I have the pleasure of knowing whom I am addressing?”

“I do apologize; I thought you knew. I'm Jeremiah Hodges, overseer and owner of Trade Winds.”

They followed him down to the study. He closed the door after ordering refreshments and held out his hand.

“Owner?”
Peter shared a guarded glance with Captain Ford. “Then where is Lord Beecham, and what is his position here now?”

“Oh good Lord, you don't know, do you? The news must have reached England after you left.”

“Know what?” Peter asked.

“James is dead. He died in the fire at the sugar mill.”

Shock stilled Peter's tongue as he tried to absorb Jeremiah's words. “James Beecham is
dead
?”

“Aye. There was a terrible fire. James went back into the blaze to try to save more of the workers.” Jeremiah's mouth twisted. “It was already too late for those poor souls, but James refused to give up.”

“And paid the price for his bravery,” Peter murmured and sank down into the nearest chair. “Dear God, Abigail is going to be devastated. . . .” He looked up at Jeremiah. “You sent the news to her?”

“About three weeks ago, right after the funeral.” His mouth twisted again. “We had to bury him quickly. There isn't much time for the niceties in this climate.”

“I understand. I also wish to offer you my personal condolences, Mr. Hodges. I know James loved you very much.”

Tears filled the other man's eyes. “Thank you for that, Mr. Howard. It has been hard, not being able to acknowledge how I feel about his loss. He was my perfect match.”

Peter took a deep breath. “May we stay with you until our ship is provisioned and ready to set sail back to England?”

“Of course, Mr. Howard. I would appreciate the company.” Mr. Hodges regained some of his composure. “I have heard much about you from James.”

“And I would love to hear about you, Mr. Hodges. James said you understood him better than anyone else in the world.”

Jeremiah glanced down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “I knew what he needed, and I wasn't afraid to give it to him.”

Beside Peter, Jason shifted in his seat and stared covertly at Jeremiah. Despite his sadness, Peter risked a smile. “You would like Mr. Hodges, I think, Jason. He enjoys taming a man.”

“Indeed.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a tea tray and other cooler beverages, which Peter and Jason accepted with gratitude. Peter couldn't imagine a world without James Beecham in it. He remembered the first time James had accosted him at the pleasure house, and the last time, when he'd had to admit to James that he wasn't the right man to master him.

It was then James had set out to find the only man who had dominated him to his complete sexual satisfaction, and had stayed with him for the last three years, abandoning his home, his country and his responsibilities. Responsibilities that Peter had been more than willing to assume, seeing as it meant he got to stay with Abigail.

He drank a glass of cold tea sweetened with some unknown fruit. Would James have chosen differently if he'd known what lay ahead? Peter doubted it. James's joy in submitting to Hodges's brutal regime had been obvious. He dragged his attention back to the conversation and realized that Jason was saying all that was necessary.

Would Abigail know by now that James was dead? And if she did, how had she reacted to the news? Had she yearned to comfort Peter as much as he wanted to comfort her, or had she not thought of him at all?

“Mr. Howard?”

“Yes, Mr. Hodges?”

“Tomorrow I can take you down to the English churchyard to see where James is buried.”

“I would like that.” Peter rose to his feet, and Jason followed. “Would it be possible for me to rest for a while? I fear I am not quite used to the extremes of this climate yet.” And he wanted to be alone to grieve. He was certain that Mr. Hodges would understand that.

“Certainly, Mr. Howard. I'll take you both upstairs to your rooms.”

 

 

The next morning, Peter joined Jeremiah in his study and met Mr. Campion, who handled the legal issues associated with the estate. Peter only had a short time to leaf through the documents Mr. Campion presented to him before the man had to leave for another appointment. It was enough for him to have a shrewd idea of what had gone on.

When Jeremiah closed the door, Peter looked up from his position behind the desk and contemplated the other man.

“May I be frank with you, sir?”

“Of course, and please call me Jeremiah. What is troubling you?”

Peter sat back. “When did James decide to cede the property entirely to you?”

“It was a few months ago apparently, when he rewrote his will. Why?”

“Did he inform Lady Beecham of his intentions?”

“I believe he did. We had letters from both Mr. Bell and Lady Beecham acknowledging receipt of the change and their acceptance.” Jeremiah frowned. “Were you not informed of this? I thought you were James's land agent.”

“I was, but I resigned a few months ago. It was probably about the time James contacted his wife with the news.” Peter took off his spectacles. “Why did he do it?”

“Give me the property?”

“Don't pretend not to understand me, Jeremiah. You had James by the balls, quite literally. Did you force him to sign away his rights to this plantation?”

“Not at all. He . . . wanted to give me something tangible. Something that belonged to me if—” He hesitated.

Peter carried on speaking. “If he went back to England or if something happened to him?”

“I'm not quite sure.”

“Come now, Jeremiah. You knew the way James's mind worked better than anyone. Why did he suddenly decide to deed you the property? Was he intending to leave you?”

Jeremiah's gaze flashed black. “No, sir. He damn well was not.”

“Then did he intend to heed his wife's request and come back to England to give her the opportunity to have another child? Did you perhaps object, and insist he give you some security in case he didn't return?”

“You are mistaken.” A muscle flicked in the man's cheek. “I
told
James he should return to England to see his wife. I
expected
him to return to me eventually.”

Peter stared hard at Jeremiah's resolute expression. He had a sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't yet put his finger on what it was.

“It's all been very convenient for you, hasn't it? James dies unexpectedly and you inherit a plantation, making you king of all you survey.”

Jeremiah came out of his chair and planted his hands on the corners of the desk. “You are implying that I somehow arranged all of this for my benefit. I can assure you that I'd give the whole bloody place to the dogs if I could just have James back.”

There was a note of anguish in his voice that made Peter relax his guard slightly.

“I'm sorry to have to question you like this, but James was also my friend, and I owe it to his wife to offer her a full and true account of what happened to him.”

“I understand that.” Jeremiah raked a hand through his thick black hair. “I didn't ask him to give me the damn plantation or make us equal owners. I only accepted a share because he begged me to do so. As to the rest, he went behind my back and arranged it all with Mr. Campion, presenting me with a fait accompli.”

“That isn't like James.”

“Aye.” Jeremiah shook his head. “I thought I knew him. When I protested at his generosity, he laughed and told me that he loved me, and that I should just accept the gift. He wanted us to be equals. Then, after he . . . died, and the will was read, I discovered he'd left his remaining shares in the place to me as well.” He sighed. “I knew there would be talk about what he had done, but he obviously didn't care.”

“And he died suddenly and unexpectedly in his prime just months after he'd made a new will.” Peter paused. “Are you worried that the authorities will investigate his death further?”

“What authorities?” Jeremiah shrugged his powerful shoulders. “We're at the end of the world here. James had every single member of the council and government eating out of his hand.” He snorted. “Most of them cosigned his new will.”

“He certainly could be charming when he wanted to be.”

Jeremiah's smile was fleeting. “Especially when he begged on his knees.” He looked up at Peter. “Are you going to advise Lady Beecham to contest the will?”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“Because in some ways it would make everything easier. Being here with all my memories of James is harder to bear than I thought it would be. If Lady Beecham regained control of the plantation I would gladly yield my place to someone else.”

“And what would you do then?”

“Travel the world?” Jeremiah shrugged. “I have no ties now. My family doesn't acknowledge me, and I have no wish to reconnect with them.”

“You sound like me,” Peter murmured.

“I believe James said Lady Beecham is in love with you, Mr. Howard. She will need you even more now.”

“Or she might not.” Peter smiled. “I hate to disappoint you, Jeremiah, but I don't think Lady Beecham would dream of taking your home and your livelihood away from you. She knows how much James loved you, and she would be grateful that you were with him right up until the end.”

“James said she was a remarkable woman.”

“She is.” Peter pushed away from the desk and stood up. “And now we have all that settled, perhaps you might care to show Captain Ford and me around the plantation? I'm sure Lady Beecham would be interested in hearing a firsthand account of the property.”

Jeremiah chuckled as Peter stripped off his coat and cravat and left them on the back of the chair.

“James said you hated wearing formal clothes.”

“He was correct. Growing up in a brothel made most clothing unnecessary. I've never gotten used to all the layers.” He went through the door Jeremiah held open for him. “Perhaps you might care to find Captain Ford and make sure he is ready to accompany us? I believe he was writing letters in the library.”

“I would be happy to do that. Captain Ford is a very interesting man.”

“He is, and one who takes instruction extremely well.”

“Indeed.”

“You should order him to do something for you, just so you can see how conscientiously he obeys his superiors.”

“Perhaps I might do that.”

Peter paused to look across at Jeremiah. “James has been gone for a while now. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you filled your well again, so to speak.”

“I'm sure he would not, but I'm not certain my heart would be in it.”

“Then forget I mentioned it.” Peter smiled. “I just wanted to make it clear that the opportunity might be available.”

 

 

 

Peter dipped his pen in the ink and contemplated the letter he was trying to compose to Valentin. If his instincts were correct, he had to assume that Val had stepped in to help Abigail manage her affairs. Whether she would accept his aid was debatable, but he had confidence that Val, with Sara supporting him, would persuade Abby to accept his help regardless of her feelings for Peter.

If her prime desire was to protect young Jamie's position, a peer such as Valentin would be the perfect sponsor for the boy. And as Val was his shipping partner and Jamie was his godson, no one would remark about the old connection between him and Abby either, which would please Abby greatly. Or he hoped it would.