Simply Shameless (23 page)

"God..."

He moaned as she swallowed him down her throat and held him there. With a shaking hand, he reached down to caress her hair, to hold her right where he needed her at the dark center of his desire. She started to suck, long hard pulls on his willing flesh that made him even harder and bigger. He planted his feet on the bed so that he could raise his hips into each stroke.

Helene cupped his balls, drawing them up against the base of his cock to brush against her pursed lips. Her fingers stroked him from arse to shaft and circled his balls in an endless pattern of bliss. Her thumb lingered by his puckered hole, pressed and retreated in a tantalizing rhythm that drove him mad.

"Yes, touch me there. Do it."

Helene sucked harder, and he closed his eyes more fully to appreciate the sensations. Her thumb slipped inside him, going farther with every stroke, creating a new sense of raw need until he was ready to plead for her never to stop.

"Please..." He heard himself begging, but for what he couldn't say, as all the physical feelings coalesced into one driving need to come as hard and as fast as he could. He climaxed, felt his cum shoot out of him in an endless hot stream down Helene's throat.

When he finished shuddering, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her over him. He kissed her cheek and nuzzled at her throat. She sighed and kissed him back, relaxed like a cat despite his lack of lovemaking. He slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the cream bed hangings.

"Helene?" he whispered.

"Mmm?"

"When he forced me ..."

"Anne's lover?"

"I got hard."

"So?"

"Even though he buggered me, I got hard enough to come for him."

Helene came up on one elbow and stared down at him. Her long blond hair tickled his face. "You cannot control everything, Philip. Sometimes I climaxed when I was with a man who was just using me. It doesn't mean you enjoyed it."

He stared at her. "Are you sure? Doesn't that make me as perverted as him?"

"Because your body reacted as it should to sex? We are all designed to procreate, n'est-cepas} Our creator tried to make it a pleasurable experience, despite us. Why else would we keep doing it?"

Philip frowned. Trust a Frenchwoman to be so pragmatic about the mechanics of love. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Then think about it now while you sleep."

Even as he struggled to do that, his body betrayed him and sent him spiraling down into blessed unconsciousness.

Chapter Eighteen

1 have some news for you."

"About Marguerite?"

Helene dropped her pen and stared up at George, hope at war with fear in her breast.

George grinned as he took off his hat and gloves and tossed them on her desk.

"It's good news, I think. She and her husband were seen at Calais yesterday, purchasing passage to Dover."

"She is coming to England? Perhaps she will agree to meet with me here."

George shrugged and sat down. "I don't know about that. She doesn't even know your real address, does she?"

Helene stood up and paced the length of the room. "Yes, she does. I told her everything when she was eighteen, including my real address if she ever needed to contact me." She pressed her fingers to her temple in an attempt to soothe the sudden pounding. "I have wondered if my revelations caused her to behave so out of character and run away."

George considered her. "You might have shocked her, but I doubt she'd react by running away with the first man who asked her to marry him."

"You don't know Marguerite. She is something of a romantic." Helene sighed. "Perhaps she thought being married would protect her from further contact with me."

George chuckled. "Then she doesn't know you very well, does she? I'll wager you'll move heaven and earth to get her back."

"That is true, George." She patted his shoulder. "I truly appreciate your help."

"Do you wish to go to Dover or wait until we get more information? I can have her followed for you. It's not as if they are trying to hide."

Helene paused. "I want to go to Dover. I can at least inquire at the posting inns if she is staying there." She sighed. "But how can I go with you when I'm pledged to stay here with Philip?"

George's gaze sharpened. "I've been meaning to ask you about that. What on earth were you doing with him at the theater? I thought you hated going out in society?"

"That's not entirely true. I just hated being escorted by foolish young men."

He frowned. "If you'd asked me, I would've taken you—or am I too foolish as well?"

She removed her hand from his shoulder. "Of course you aren't, but you are married and you know how I feel about that."

"I do, and it continues to irritate me." George stood up. "And did you enjoy your evening?"

"I certainly enjoyed the opera. My companion behaved himself quite adequately as well."

"You've succumbed to his hidden charms, have you?"

Helene frowned. "There is no need to use that tone with me. I'm not your wife."

He stiffened. "That was uncalled for."

"I'm sorry, George, but I don't have time to deal with your issues with Philip. I must find Marguerite."

He stared at her, his face expressionless. "If I may be so bold, why are you 'pledged' to Philip Ross?"

Helene focused on putting away her pen and daily journal, unwilling to meet George's gaze. She knew he wouldn't take her revelations well and decided to be economical with the truth.

"We reached a stalemate over the question of the shares, so I made a bargain with him.

He has to survive thirty days working with me at the pleasure house. If he fails, I get the shares back."

George considered her, his mouth a hard line. "And it didn't occur to you to inform me of your plans? I am your business partner as well."

"It happened quite suddenly, George, when you were away in Brighton."

"Looking after your children."

Helene prayed for patience. "Yes, and I appreciate that more than I can tell you."

He turned abruptly to face the door. "Ah, here is Mr. Ross. Perhaps you should tell him your news, seeing as you are now so close." He bowed. "Unfortunately, I'm unable to accompany you anyway. I have a meeting with the bank. Send me a message if you need me."

Philip inclined his head a scant inch as George nodded brusquely and slipped past him.

His inquiring gaze met He-lene's.

"What news is that?"

Helene sat down. "Where have you been? It is almost ten o'clock."

His eyebrows rose. "I told you. Viscount Harcourt-DeVere asked me to meet with him at his house."

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten."

He eyed her carefully as he settled into the chair George had just vacated.

"The viscount told me something very interesting about the beginnings of the pleasure house."

"Really?" Helene fussed with the remaining items on her desk as she tried to think of a way to tell Philip she needed to go to Dover without arousing his suspicions.

"He told me that Lord George wasn't the only person you helped rescue from the Bastille.

In fact, he said you were quite the heroine."

"Scarcely that." She tried to smile. "He is prone to exaggerating my importance."

He held her gaze. "I sincerely doubt it. In fact, your business was funded by some of those grateful persons. Why did you allow me to think you slept your way into acquiring the pleasure house?"

"I didn't, Philip. That was entirely your suggestion."

"But you let me believe it."

"I do not have to justify myself to every man I meet."

"You relish being described as a whore, then?"

She shrugged. "To most people, I'll always be a whore, regardless of my motives. Those who bother to get to know me know the truth."

"What an incredibly arrogant assumption."

His eyes glittered as he continued to stare at her. Why was he so angry? She really didn't have time for this. She needed to find Marguerite.

"Philip, is there a reason for this conversation?"

"What in the devil is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not sure why you are annoyed, but I don't really have time to discuss it."

His expression was now thunderous, reminding her remarkably of George earlier.

"I intended to express my admiration for you and offer my apologies for my asinine assumptions. But, please, don't let me waste your valuable time."

Helene slammed her hand down on the desk. "Will you please listen to me?"

He glared right back at her. "I thought I was. You are the one who appears to be having difficulty concentrating."

"I have to go to Dover."

"When?"

"As soon as I can arrange it."

He stood up. "I can take you in my curricle."

She bit her lip. "Couldn't you just lend me your curricle and stay here?"

"No." His smile was deliberately confrontational. "I'm supposed to be your shadow, remember? And I certainly wouldn't trust you with my horses."

"You're supposed to be learning about the pleasure house. Perhaps you should stay and take charge for the day."

"No, thank you. I'd rather come with you."

She glared at him in frustration. He didn't even flinch, just continued to stand there, wasting even more precious time.

"Come with me if you must." Helene tossed her head as she hurried for the door. "I'll go and get my bonnet and pelisse and meet you in the hall."

It was still drizzling when they set off. Luckily she'd put on her warmest pelisse and fur-lined boots. Philip had also draped a thick rug over her knees and raised the roof of the curricle to afford them some protection. To her surprise, he was supremely confident at the reins, even in the maddening London traffic.

He glanced down at her as they finally abandoned the chaos of the city and headed out onto the more open areas of the Dover Road. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat in a steady pattern onto his knees. She'd left a hurried note for the twins and their chaperone and sent one to George to ask him to forward any new information to the Mermaid coaching inn in Dover where she hoped to stay.

"Are you all right, Helene?"

"Yes, thank you." She tried to smile. "I appreciate your help."

He snorted, his keen gaze already back on his horses and the road. "Not that I'd noticed."

"I am grateful. You didn't ask for details; you just took me at my word that I needed to go."

"I'm still expecting an explanation. I was just concentrating on getting us out of the city before I asked."

She sighed. "Do I have to tell you everything?" He didn't immediately reply as his gloved hands shifted on the reins to steer the horses around a large pothole. She stared out at the gray, clouded sky. "Could you at least wait until we arrive in Dover?"

"I can wait that long."

Helene let out her breath. If there was no trace of Marguerite and her husband in Dover, she wouldn't have to say anything to Philip at all. She cast him a quick glance; well, perhaps she would, but at least she could decide exactly what she could get away with.

The sun appeared briefly through the massed clouds, illuminating the harshness of the early winter landscape. She couldn't help but remember her last journey with Philip—the coach accident that had changed her life, their passionate encounter at the snowbound inn. She gave a sudden reluctant laugh.

"Let's hope it doesn't snow."

"You are worried about being trapped in another inn with me?"

"Non, this time I wouldn't be so frightened."

"You were frightened of me?"

"Not of you." She leaned closer as the curricle tipped to the right and caught a faint hint of cigar smoke and sandalwood, felt his arm muscles bunch beneath his coat as he fought the reins. "I was frightened of how you made me feel."

"I believe I felt the same," he said slowly. "Neither of us was equipped to deal with such a grand passion at that age, were we?"

She bit her lip. "I've always believed that a person has to stick by the choices they make, but sometimes I wish I'd known then what I know now."

"And what is that?"

"That grand passion does not come along very often."

She lapsed into silence as they approached a tollgate, waited while Philip tossed the gatekeeper some coins, and they moved on. The rain stopped and bright sunshine struggled through the few remaining clouds. He used his whip on his horses, upping the pace, making Helene seek a safer handhold.

He glanced down at her. "Make yourself comfortable, madame. We still have a long way to go."

It was dark by the time the horses clattered into the cobbled stable yard of the Mermaid Inn. Helene's teeth were chattering, and her feet felt like blocks of ice. Apart from a red nose, Philip seemed remarkably well. He jumped down from the curricle with all the agility of a man who'd been for a drive in the park rather than a bone-grinding journey of eighty miles.

He didn't bother to hand Helene out of the curricle. He just picked her up, strode to the door, kicked it open, and deposited her on the tattered rug within.

"Landlord!"

His imperious shout bounced off the low plaster ceilings and drilled through Helene's head. She glared at him as he went back outside to converse with the ostler. The curricle was driven away, and by the time Philip rejoined her, the landlord was bowing to them both. Helene opened her mouth, only to be forestalled by Philip.

"We need a room for the night. Can you accommodate us?"

"Yes, indeed, sir. Please come this way."

Helene traipsed up the narrow staircase and allowed him to show her into a charming room facing the front of the house. The landlord lit the fire and chatted to Philip about the weather while promising a good dinner before the hour was up.

With a sigh, she took off her bonnet and gloves and sank into the nearest chair. She pressed one hand to her aching head.

Philip gave her a sharp glance. "My good man, perhaps you could also provide my wife with a hot brick for her feet and maybe something for her headache."

At once the landlord stopped talking and bowed his way out of the door, promising all sorts of delights in but the blink of an eye.