The Devil to Pay (16 page)

Her eyes had adjusted fully to the gloom. Still, it took four tries before she was able to secure her rope to the drainpipe. That done, she shinnied slowly up, quietly hoisting herself along the side of the house. To Sidonie, the climb was no more difficult than working with sails, which she’d done on more than one occasion. Illness and desertion could take a toll on a crew, always inopportunely. Then “all hands on deck” would suddenly hold new meaning. Pierre had been open-minded, and glad for the help in a pinch. Sidonie had soon found herself familiar with calluses and trousers.

She peered up in the gloom and kept moving. The window was deep and of good size, thank God. And well used, too. It slid silently up with little effort. She threw one leg over the sill, and at once, the scent inside the room struck her. Tobacco and lime and the woodsy smell of soap. And underlying it all was the warm, earthy scent of male.
Of Devellyn.
She would have known it anywhere.

The thought disconcerted her, and her leg caught on the sill, jangling the bag round her waist. She paused just inside. It did not appear to be a large room. Sidonie tried to make out the sturdy, square pieces of furniture. On the opposite wall, a tall armoire. Beside it, some sort of chest or cabinet. Or was it a chair? No, too large. To her left, the vague outline of a bed draped in shadowy fabric. Then, opposite the foot of the bed, she saw it. A dressing table.

She went to it, hiked up her shirt, and swiftly untied the bag. She laid out the banknotes first. Then, one by one, she began to unwrap the other things and place them on the table.

Devellyn came suddenly awake to a sound he did not recognize. Someone was rummaging about in his room. Honeywell? Fenton? But he saw no candle. Even the one he’d been reading by had guttered. He lifted his head from the back of the chair, where he’d foolishly drifted off, and laid aside his magazine.
He was not alone.
Cool night air swirled through the room. The window. It should not have been open.

Silently, he eased his bare feet off the ottoman and leaned forward. At the foot of his bed, a slight figure loomed. Metal jangled softly on his dressing table.
A bloody thief?
Yes, and a young one, too, by the look of him.

By God, not again! Noiselessly, he rose to his feet. He wished to the devil he wasn’t wearing a white nightshirt. In the gloom, he could barely make out the slender figure pilfering his things.
A mere boy.
He’d likely break both his arms before the rascal realized what had got hold of him.

Devellyn was unsympathetic. He lunged, taking the lad down in the narrow space between the bed and dressing table. Something metallic clattered across the floor. The boy grunted when the marquess landed, but strangely, he made no other sound. Still, he was quick. And deadly silent. He kicked and flailed viciously, then gave Devellyn a good elbow to the ribs in a blind, backward shot.

“Umph!” grunted Devellyn. “Hold still, you thieving bastard!”

For an instant, they rolled and tumbled across the rug, arms and legs entwined, elbows flying. Devellyn slammed the lad’s head into the bed’s footboard. But the lad was tough. He cursed softly, and caught Devellyn this time with an elbow to the throat. Devellyn choked. The lad tried to drag himself across the carpet toward the open window, and bloody near made it.

Devellyn scrabbled after him, snatching one ankle. “By God, I’ll see you hanged!”

Another grunt, and the lad almost squirmed away, clawing his way along the carpet between the footboard and dressing table. Devellyn grabbed him round the ankle, then the knee, hauling him ruthlessly back inch by inch. When he had him, he rolled him over and slung a leg over the lad’s body, weighing him down.

For a few seconds, the thief fought like a tiger, clawing and scratching, and doing his best to squirm from beneath Devellyn. It was then he made a near-fatal mistake. He tried to knee Devellyn in the knackers.

“Why, you bloody, snot-nosed shite!” the marquess roared. He tried to grab the lad around the waist again, but the boy was onto that trick. He twisted violently, but he wasn’t fast enough. Devellyn caught him. But not by the waist.

“Well, damn me for a fool!” he said, his hand full of warm, plump breast.

The thief stopped wiggling and twisting. He—no,
she
—lay splayed beneath Devellyn’s body, panting for breath. Devellyn wasn’t even winded. He opened his mouth to bellow for Honeywell to bring a lamp when the thief cursed again. This time, something about the sound made Devellyn freeze.

“What the bloody hell?”

“Look ’ere, gov’,” whispered Ruby Black. “Let loose, awright? It ain’t wot yer thinkin’.”

Understanding slammed into him. For an instant, Devellyn couldn’t think straight. Ruby’s lissome body was round and warm beneath his own. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he had no intention of letting her go. Especially not her breast. He squeezed it roughly.

In the darkness, she gasped. “Now, it ain’t wot you think,” she whispered again. “Let me up, awright?”

Devellyn snapped. “Why, you bald-faced, light-fingered little bitch!” he spat. “Of all the unmitigated gall—”

Ruby twisted impotently. “I didn’t nick nothin’,” she hissed. “Let me up, and I’ll be on me way.”

Devellyn tore the hat from her head, and slicked his hand over her hair, as if that might disprove what his aching, itching body already knew. It did not help. It was Ruby, right enough. But this time, her hair was drawn back tight, coiled up high like some prim, proper governess. Suddenly, he wished he could see its vivid sheen. But that thought merely served to heighten his anger. He fisted his hand in the coil of hair and forced her face into his.

“Let me go,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Oh, no, Ruby,” he answered. “You’ve the devil to pay this time, remember?”

“I brought yer goods back, gov. Let me go.”

But Devellyn had ceased, really, to hear her. His brain had seemingly disengaged. He heard only her breath panting in the darkness. Felt only the warm, full curves of her body. And there was the rage; that simmering anger and frustration which had boiled down to a sort of nasty black pitch in the bottom of his soul.

Suddenly, she tried to jerk free.

“Oh, no you don’t, darling,” he hissed, pressing his lips to her ear. “We’ve unfinished business, you and I.”

With all of his seventeen stone bearing down on her, Devellyn thrust one hand beneath her arse and lifted her hips against his cock. She squirmed desperately, a foolish thing to do. Devellyn felt the anger and lust course through him. He wanted a lamp. A candle.
Anything.
But he knew better. She was too fast. Too smart. So instead, he tightened his fingers in her hair, tilted back her head, and raked his teeth down her throat.

Ruby gasped, and writhed beneath him. But Devellyn’s nightshirt was already twisted around his waist from their wrestling match. Her desperation merely served to rub the fall of her trousers back and forth against his hardening cock.

Roughly, he massaged her breast, rolling it back and forth in his hand, then plucking at her nipple. She wore nothing beneath her coarse frieze shirt. He was sure of it. He wanted more. Wanted to touch her. Impatiently, he moved to jerk her shirt free, only to find it already loose.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Oh, don’t. Let me go.”

“Oh, no,” he hissed, skating one hand underneath the shirt, up her bare, shivering flesh. “I mean to take what I paid for, you hot-blooded little bitch.”

She trembled when he settled his bare hand over her breast. “I brought yer money back,” she insisted. “On that table.
Look.”

“And leave you to dive out the window again?” he whispered. “Not bloody likely.”

She whimpered beneath him as he inched his hand up her body, but her breath seized, and her nipple peaked hard as soon as his bare palm brushed it.

“You like that?” he rasped.

“No.”

“Liar,” said Devellyn.

“Please. I’m begging you.”

He chuckled, and lowered his mouth to hers. “Oh, Ruby, I do love to hear you beg,” he said. Then he kissed her roughly, opening his mouth wide over hers and thrusting deep on the first stroke.

He felt her exhale, felt her warm breath on his cheek, and then he felt her hips rise. Lust surged through him, stronger than ever. He drew his tongue from her mouth, and thrust again, shoving her head back against the floor.

Ruby squirmed, heightening his desire. Devellyn felt like he was going to explode. His hand went to the fall of her trousers, and roughly jerked. A button gave, flew off, and landed softly on the carpet. He kept kissing her, kissing her hard, and began pushing clumsily and urgently at her trousers. He had to have her. Had to be inside. He forced away the fear that she was not willing. The fact that they were on the floor, wedged between the table and bed. And, most importantly, that he had no clue who the hell she really was. He wasn’t about to slow down and ask.

Her baggy trousers gave way easily. Too easily. He set his hand flat on her belly, and felt her warm skin quiver as he skimmed down. Suddenly, he halted. “Good God Almighty,” he choked.

Nothing but her bare flesh lay beneath, soft and inviting. Devellyn tore his mouth from hers. “You don’t have a stitch on under here.”

Ruby twisted her face away. “Didn’t plan on ’aving me trousers off, did I?”

But Devellyn was in no mood to talk. Instead, he jerked her shirt higher, baring both her breasts. He set his hands on her shoulders and held her down. His mouth nuzzled the sweet, hard tip of her nipple. Ruby’s warm scent enveloped him. He inhaled it deeply, then sucked her areola into his mouth and bit.

Ruby gasped, and her hips came up to meet him again in a sweet, involuntary motion. Oh, yes. Her body wanted him, even if her mind did not. For long moments he sucked and nipped at her as she struggled beneath his weight. His teeth were more rough than gentle. His harsh beard abraded her tender flesh, he knew. But Devellyn seemed unable to gentle his motions. He was half-afraid if he slowed down, he’d think better of what he was doing.

But Ruby no longer felt so reluctant. Her hips kept rising to meet his. Her breath was coming in fast, desperate pants. Still suckling her, he shoved her pants down with one hand. It was a bad, awkward job, but he had to be inside. His cock was as hot and hard as an anvil. His head was swimming in the scent of her. He eased his hand down her belly, and didn’t stop. Her heated flesh left him aching. He slid one finger into her curls, then deeper, plunging it into the warm, damp heat.

Ruby called out, a soft, thready cry. She was wet. Beyond wet. She was begging. Hot and inviting, her taut sheath pulling at his finger. Devellyn was shocked. He eased his finger back and forth, and Ruby groaned, her head going back as if in invitation. “Oh, God,” she moaned.

He turned his face into her neck, and bit lightly at the soft flesh beneath her ear. “You want me,” he growled. “Say it, Ruby.”

“No.”

“Tell me you want it, Ruby.”

In the darkness she laughed, soft and bitter. “My
body
wants you,” she whispered, suddenly sounding unlike herself. “Go on, then. Do it, Devellyn. Get it over with.”

Devellyn shook off a sudden flash of uncertainty. “That’s good enough for me.”

Roughly then, he pushed her legs wide with his knee. He shoved his cock between her legs so that he could ease it back and forth through the slick, wet warmth. Beneath him, Ruby began to shake. Her breath began to ratchet up. Good Lord, she was as hungry for it as he was.

Devellyn couldn’t wait. He held her down by both shoulders, and somehow managed to shove deep on one thrust.

Beneath him, Ruby screamed, but it was a short, soft sound. A sound of shock, he thought. But not pain. Still clutching at her, he drew out, and drove in again. For long moments, he pumped himself rhythmically inside her, with little thought to her comfort or need. It did not matter.
This
was what he had wanted. What he had dreamt of. What he burned for. The world spun away. He gave himself up to the hunger and let Ruby draw him down and down, into some sort of sensual abyss.

He set his face to the turn of her neck and drew in her clean, plain scent again. “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.”

The hoarse whispers were his, he realized. She was warm, almost perspiring beneath him now, and her hips kept rising to take him. For a moment, his mind cleared, and he thought of stopping. This was wrong. Wasn’t it?

He must have hesitated in midthrust. Ruby’s leg came round his waist, dragging him back down. “Don’t stop,” she choked. “Not—not
now.”

At some point, he must have released her hands. They were all over him, warm and urgent, stroking his body through the nightshirt. Then they found his buttocks, bare beneath his shirt, and urged him to go harder. Faster. Desire blinded him. They became like animals, frantic and hungry, clawing at one another, desperately seeking release.

“Yes,”
she groaned, as if the word was torn from her chest. Then she drew his face to hers, bit his lip until he tasted blood, then forced her tongue inside his mouth, urging him on. Something inside him flew to her, melded to her, as beneath him, she kept rising to take his thrusts.

Devellyn closed his eyes, and prayed never to lose her again. He didn’t mean to let her out of this room, ever. He’d never had sex like this in his life; never known a woman who could match him, but good God, this one did. Stroke for stroke, she met him. He pushed her hands high over her head, holding her down to take his thrusting hips. He drove and drove, so hard he could feel his knees burning from the carpet. Her soft, sharp sighs came faster. Her fingers dug into his flesh. God, she was close. Devellyn let go of one hand, and cupped the side of her face in his palm.

“Come for me, love,” he crooned, then he kissed her, slow and deep, gentler now.

She was crying, he thought. He tasted salt and tears. Her sharp sighs had become little cries of pleasure.

“That’s it, love, that’s it,” he answered. “Let yourself come to me.”

Another cry, and her breath was sawing back and forth in her chest. “Oh, yes,” she pleaded. “Yes, oh, like that…like that…”