Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella) (7 page)

He just had to lie there and enjoy.

His erection stirred against his belly. Never
had his cock been more rigid—it felt as straight, heavy and
inflexible as an iron bar. But unlike cold metal, it was hot and
pulsing. This was her, all her. He’d always known, in his heart,
she was the only woman for him. His perfect mate, his perfect love.
He no longer resented the ten years they’d been apart. It had made
her stronger, more fascinating, more desirable.

She was working her way down to his erection.
Her lips brushed his belly, cruised over his nether curls, and
approached his cock.

Lyan held his breath.

She had been beautiful as a brave, feisty
girl. But as a woman, one who had fought to protect her daughter
and build a career, she was the most remarkably gorgeous woman he
had ever seen.

Her tongue traced her lips, coating them with
moisture, and he groaned.

Then, she pressed her pursed lips to the
shaft of his cock. God, yes. Her wicked mouth slid up along his
flesh, stroked the throbbing veins, then she reached the head. It
was taut enough to burst. Fluid bubbled out of the tip, and Sally
ran her tongue over the tip, tasting him. Her lips parted, flowed
around the head. All the while, as she sucked hard enough to draw
in her cheeks, she stroked his shaft with clever fingers, cradled
his bollocks. Her fingers held him gently, caressed him like
silk.

She even slid her hands down to cup his
buttocks, which tugged his anus lightly. He’d never felt that
before, and it proved stunningly pleasurable.

Sally—Estelle—was amazing.

He’d called her Sally, because that was who
she had been to him. He’d done it to remind her, out of long-nursed
resentment and anger, what she’d done to him.

But she wasn’t Sally any longer.

She was a glowing star named Estelle. She
looked up at him, eyes half-hidden by her veil of thick,
whisky-amber hair. She glowed with delight at what she saw, which
must be the fact he was now her prisoner, now hers to command.

The former Bow Street Runner who had once
struck fear in the hearts of criminals had surrendered his heart.
He was besotted, enthralled, captivated. He belonged to her, no
matter what happened tonight. No matter what she said, he always
would.

She suckled hard. His every muscle clenched
as pleasure shot through him.

“Yes,” he growled. “God, yes.”

Her hot, delectable mouth worked all over his
cock, until he was weak limbed and unable to do much more than
groan. He clung to control, because he didn’t want to expend
himself now.

But Estelle released him from her mouth. “I’m
not doing this right, am I? I’m not giving you pleasure.”

“You are.” The poor sweet—his lack of orgasm
had given her doubt. She was such a remarkable blend of strength
and vulnerability. Perhaps he was the only man in England who knew
how sensual and uncertain she was behind the severe gown and
ruthlessly pinned hair; behind her no-nonsense, controlled
exterior.

Estelle was exactly like him. That was why
they had always been meant to be together.

Now, he had to reassure her. Make her
understand. He sat up, clasped her hands, drew her to him. Then he
flipped her over, so she lay on the bed. “It’s different for men.
Women can have many orgasms. Men can’t—at least not unless they
have a good rest in between bouts. I was fighting not to come, so I
could pleasure you more.”

“You were resisting pleasure?”

“It will make it all the more intense when I
do come.” He grinned. “I promise I have more skill, Estelle, and
much more self-control than I had that first night.”

Estelle stared at Lyan. Did he think he had
been lacking on that night they had shared ten years ago? “That
night…” Heavens, she would never forget that night. “You didn’t
seem in doubt of your skills then,” she pointed out.

“Bravado. I thought if I pretended I was a
great lover, you would be convinced.”

“You were—” Her voice caught, trembled,
failed. He had been a wonderful lover. He had been gentle, when he
could have been rough. He’d shown remarkable patience. It had been
a glorious exploration for both of them, filled with more giggling
and chuckling than she would have dreamed.

It had been close to this intimacy, but she
had held something back. It had been heaven, but she had been too
afraid to let herself believe she could have heaven.

She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the
rich, slightly sour, thoroughly intriguing taste of him. She had
loved returning the pleasure he had given her. Now she wanted to
give him something else. She had to let him know. Know how
wonderful he had been.

“That night was spectacular,” she assured
him, looking up into his eyes. A slow smile curved his lips. He had
never looked more handsome, and her heart ached. “You have nothing
to regret about your skills. Right now and that night, you made
me…you gave me a…”

“I made you come, I think.” His smile turned
into a cheeky grin. “I’ve found another thing that frightens
courageous Sal. Saying the word ‘orgasm.’”

A fiery flush raced over her cheeks. As he
saw it, Lyan’s eyes gentled and his face held such tenderness, it
took her breath away.

Softly, his lips touched hers. It was like a
jolt of intense electricity.

“I’ve dreamed every night of how I would
pleasure you, Sal.” He bent to her nipples, teasing and suckling
them. His hands slid down and as he stroked her quim, he skillfully
tweaked one aroused nipple and sucked the other.

After her orgasm, her cunny and her nipples
were intensely sensitive.
God, yes.
He had said those words.
She wanted to cry “yes” as well. How she wanted to encourage him
and tell him how good it was with one simple word.
Yes.

But she didn’t dare say it. That dangerous
word.

Then Lyan slid inside her, burying his
erection deep, and his mouth never stopped tormenting and
pleasuring hers, not for a moment.

She kissed him as they moved together,
frantic, wild, just as they had when they were young, blessedly
young, and in love, and she had yearned to believe it would be
easier to face the world if the two of them were together.

In the end, she’d panicked and fled. She
wasn’t going to do that now.

She licked his neck. Claimed his mouth.
Nibbled his ear. Bit his shoulder. Because if she didn’t keep
thrusting up to him and touching him and tasting him, she would
think of what she’d lost. She’d burst into tears that might never
stop…

His lips pulled back. She almost tumbled into
the depths of his wild, hot green eyes. “Stop thinking, Estelle.
Just love me. For right now, this is love. Savor it.”

Then he captured her mouth, as if afraid she
might argue. But she couldn’t anymore. His thrusts changed and each
one pressed his groin against her most sensitive place, the little
clit, now swollen and aching. The place that could subdue a woman’s
mind—

She came again, climaxed, surrendered to a
pleasure she couldn’t begin to control. She burst into a thousand
shimmering pieces. She flowed like liquid gold. She soared.

He cried out hoarsely in a climax, and his
shout of pleasure sent her heart spinning up to heaven.

As she fell back to earth, to their hot,
disordered bed, Estelle was aware of Lyan’s arms around her. He had
moved off her, but his embrace held her captive.

“I want to ensure,” he said sleepily, “you
don’t run away again.”

* * *

You could marry him and make love with him
every night. You could have a partner in pleasure and life. Rose
could have the one thing you never had and never will have. A
father.

She couldn’t marry him. He was going to be an
earl. She was a shopkeeper who wanted to forge an independent
life.

Estelle sat up. Lyan was not doing a very
good job as jailer. His long, large body was still snuggled beside
to her. But his arm was slack with sleep and rested on her hip.

She needed to think. She needed air. The room
smelled of sex and pleasure and was so hot it made her dizzy. As
soundlessly as she could, Estelle put on her nightgown and her
cloak. While Lyan breathed steadily, she slipped out of the room,
then hared down the stairs, and ran outside to the yard.

She wasn’t going to run away. No, this time
she had to refuse Lyan to his face. She felt as though she were a
gown that was stitched up all wrong. All the pieces were where they
should be, but she could never be right until she was taken apart
and made all over again. Yet she didn’t have the courage to pick
her stitches away.

She drew in a deep breath of cold spring air.
Bracing, but even several puffs weren’t making things clearer. She
swung her arms and paced over the hard, uneven mud in the yard.

A carriage stood near the inn. At first,
she’d assumed it was empty. But there was a light within,
illuminating a girl’s face. A girl pressed against the carriage
window glass, staring at her.

It was the face of the young woman who had
come to her last night. It was Lyan’s sister, Laura. There was only
one reason for Laura Foxton to be in a carriage in a coaching inn
on the road to Scotland.

Estelle hitched up the hem of her cloak and
ran across the yard.

The girl was alone in the carriage, and she
drew back as Estelle wrenched open the door. “What are you doing,
Miss Foxton?” she demanded. “Eloping?”

“I—” Laura tipped up her chin, a gesture
filled with girlish defiance. “Yes.”

“Where is my daughter Rose? Is she still at
your home?”

Laura nodded swiftly. “Oh yes, she is still
there, and she is very safe.”

“Well, what of your brother? It will break
his heart if he finds out you’ve run away.”

Pressed back against the velvet seat, the
dark-haired girl glared mulishly. “I’ll return after I’m wed and
see him. I’m not running away forever. You have no right to tell me
what to do. Or tell me what my brother feels. He left me a note
before he left last night. In it, he told me who you are. The woman
who broke his heart!”

Estelle fought the guilt she knew Laura had
wanted to provoke. “He doesn’t need another broken heart then, does
he? He is here, in this inn. Why not tell him what you want? Why
not marry with his blessing?”

“He won’t give me his blessing. I am in
love
. I won’t turn back now.”

Estelle clasped the girl’s hand. “If you are
happy, then I wish you a lifetime of happiness. But understand that
it is not too late to turn back. It never is.”

She left Laura then, hurrying back across the
muddy yard. It was so easy to give advice she would never take.
Lyan was offering her the chance to turn back, yet old fears still
commanded her. She was afraid to change, afraid to take the risk of
opening her heart, afraid to give up what she’d fought to achieve.
It still felt safer to say no.

This was what Laura was doing. She was taking
the route that felt safe to her. Rather than confront her brother,
she was hiding from him. She was running away.

It might feel like the easiest choice, the
safest one, the best. It was the
wrong
one.

Estelle reached the bedroom and slipped in
the door. Lyan still slept. He lay on his stomach and the sheets
had fallen down to expose his bare back. Estelle dropped her cloak
and sat down beside him. Her nightdress was half open, slipping off
her shoulders. What did she do—slip back into bed with him and
betray him by letting Laura escape to Gretna? Or wake him up and
betray a young girl who yearned to find love?

She touched his shoulder. Shook him
gently.

Click.

Behind her, the door’s latch had opened and
she spun around.
Laura.
She expected to see the girl in the
doorway, but instead she breathed in the choking scent of a
smoldering cheroot at the same instant her gaze locked on the dark
eyes of a strange man.

She had locked the door. After she’d come in,
she’d locked the door by instinct.

The black-haired man winked at her. He wore a
gray greatcoat and polished black boots. The cheroot was clamped in
his teeth, and his large body filled the doorway, blocking her
escape. An amused smirk twisted his lips. Then she saw it. The
almost extinct firelight glimmered along the muzzle of a pistol
held near his leg.

“Who are you?” she demanded, fighting to hide
fear.

Lyan stirred. “Wha—?”

“I take it you are Madame Desjardins,” the
man said. His glittering eyes mocked her. “I see Lyan has been
mixing business with pleasure. Well, I have business to do myself.
In the name of Lord Cavell. Which means, unfortunately, I will have
to get rid of you first.”

The pistol swung up to point at her
chest.

Estelle stared at the muzzle, frozen, her
heart pounding in wild terror. She expected to hear the roar of the
shot and be blown off her feet. Instead, she saw a look of pleasure
leap to the man’s eyes. He was enjoying her torment.

She drew on all the bravado she’d clung to
when she’d been growing up in the stews. “I will pay you more,” she
said, confident and cool. “I will pay you far more to leave us
alive.”

His finger paused on the trigger. “I doubt
that. I can’t leave Lyan alive—he’d hunt me to the ends of the
earth. But you…” His gaze moved suggestively over her.

“I have a lot of money,” she purred. “I can
give you ten thousand pounds.” She couldn’t.
Couldn’t.
But
she prayed he would be intrigued enough to keep his attention on
her, to give Lyan more time—

Lyan launched off the edge of the bed. His
body plowed into the man, his hand slammed the pistol. The weapon
exploded with smoke and a flash and the stench of burnt powder.

For a frozen second, Estelle expected to see
Lyan—or herself—collapse. Then she saw feathers drift into the air.
The victim of the shot was the bed.