The Seduction of Phaeton Black (35 page)

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Authors: Jillian Stone

BOOK: The Seduction of Phaeton Black
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“Perhaps I just know where I am needed.”
He nodded toward the ragged old carpetbag. “Deliver the orb to Pennyfields for me.”
“Time to go, Phaeton.”
An electrical charge shot through his body as a strange, yet familiar force carried him up into the air and flung him over the side of the gondola. He dangled for a moment, suspended in midair, before plunging downward.
Soaring through the airspace above the
Topaz
, he heard a scream. Quite sure it was America, he tucked in his arms and landed with a hard thwack on the billowing, unfurled sail of the mizzen mast. Sliding downward, he felt the raw burn of the canvas to his backside. The very ordinary force of gravity pulled him to earth. He cracked his skull on a yardarm and tumbled onto the deck. Rolling across slick mahogany planks, he came to a rather rude stop against the ship’s rails.
He shook his head to alleviate the ringing in his ears.
A shapely shadow formed overhead. “What a ridiculous stunt.”
The low-angle of the sun’s rays caused him to blink. “Ah yes, I’d recognize those fists on hips anywhere. Hello, my love.”
“Phaeton, you could have killed yourself with such dangerous acrobatics.”
Another thwack from up above. “Watch yourself.”
His traveling case hit the sail and landed with a wincing thunk on the deck beside them. The bag rattled.
“You brought Edvar?”
He smiled. “He missed you so. Begged me to chase after you. I didn’t have the heart to throw him off the airship alone. Thought I’d come along.” He experienced a most exhilarating sensation, a sudden lightness of being. “He’ll make a jolly good figurehead.”
“I shall put him to work—he’ll be assigned crow’s nest duty.” How he loved that openmouthed, sly hint of a smile. She reached out a hand.
He struggled to his feet and felt for broken bones.
“What are you trying to prove, Phaeton?” Dazzling and spirited, she stood before him, a strong breeze whipped strands of curls across her face.
“You are so beautiful when you are cross. Come here.” He pulled her against his body and turned her around within his arms. “Look.” He pointed upward. High above the airship banked a graceful turn, heading back toward them. The tall, dark, silhouetted figure waved. Phaeton lifted an arm.
He nuzzled her hair and inhaled the salty scent of sea air and America Jones. She leaned back against him. He kissed her temple and that little place behind her ear.
She shivered.
Sunset cast a golden light across her cheek. Vaguely aware of a reverberation in his chest, the oddest sensation rumbled up and escaped his mouth.
“Phaeton, you’re laughing.”
“Yes. I suppose I am.”
“You never laugh.”
The doctor’s voice drifted down from above. “Everything all right?” The airship hovered directly overhead, not ten feet above the mast.
“Good God, man. You could have waited to toss me into the wind.”
“Sorry, Phaeton, slight error in judgment. Didn’t expect you to fly over the side on the first try. I’d forgotten”—Exeter leaned over the rails as the airship lifted into the air—“those who claim they don’t believe in love fall the hardest.”
Phaeton Black and America Jones’s adventures
continue in
THE MOONSTONE AND MISS JONES
A Brava trade paperback on sale in October 2012.
 
Turn the page for a special excerpt!
 
 
“What can one say about you, Mister Black? You are part devil and angel.” The bold beauty stepped closer. Hair, a honeyed shade of brown, lovely aquiline nose, and those eyes sparkled like gemstones—green, he thought. No blue.
No green. The color of the seas off Crete.
Phaeton took another leisurely perusal of the young lady’s wares. For the sparest of moments, he thought about warning off the intriguing girl. That was before his gaze lowered to her bosom. “I’d have to say largely devil.”
Her pale hand swept over the buttons of his trousers. Brazen chit! Delicate fingers found what they searched for. “Largely, indeed.” Her touch was light and fleeting, but the very notion she dared such public foreplay cheered him greatly. Apparently, it also amused the naughty little vixen. Those astonishing aquamarine eyes traced the bulge in his pants. “Rumor has it you are made of wicked wood and when you play the seducer you are so very, very ...”
A clearing of his throat ended in a grin. “Shocking?”
Her faraway glance about the room returned to him. “Sublime.”
He quirked a brow, gaze steady. “Are we discussing length and breadth or technique?”
“Not sure.” The wily minx tossed a wink over her shoulder and flounced away. “But I mean to find out.” He watched the bob and sway of her bustle as she wove her retreat between chattering passengers.
They were nearing the dinner hour. The ship’s salon swelled with first-class passengers swilling aperitifs. Phaeton drew in a breath, and exhaled slowly. Miss Georgiana Ryder turned out to be a most charming ingénue with a saucy, hoyden-like quality about her. Quite irresistible. And her siblings Velvet and Flurey, a delightful sisterly trio—each one as lovely as the next. He scanned the salon and found Velvet standing among a cluster of oglers. Her gleaming dark eyes and sultry pout beckoned without words. He met her gaze and lingered for a brief flirtation before he caught a blur of Flurey. The fey, dancing wisp of a girl instantly distracted. Phaeton watched the youngest sibling flutter about the room, much like a hummingbird hovers and flits from daisy to delphinium.
“Are you enjoying the voyage, Mister Black?”
“My return trip to London grows more diverting by the hour.” Phaeton tore his eyes off the pretty chit and nodded a polite bow to the young lady’s mother. “Mrs. Ryder.” He formed something he hoped resembled a pleasant expression. “Most especially since I have been fortunate enough make acquaintance with you and your family.”
If truth be told, he found the cloying mother barely tolerable and Mr. Ryder, the stout man slurping sherry in the corner, to be a degenerate troll who conducted himself as more of a procurer than a father anxious to see his daughters well-spoken for. In point of fact, the entire family was odd. For one thing, they were inexplicably interested in him.
He had dressed early for dinner and entered the main salon in hopes of finding a tumbler full of whiskey. The Ryder clan, which included the mister, missus and assorted lovelies, had singled him out from a number of wealthy, titled gentleman aboard the RMS
Empress of Asia
. He considered the obvious question, why? And decided it could wait for later.
Yes, the voyage home was going to be interesting. The ocean journey that had once been tedious and despairing, quite suddenly brimmed with intrigue. Phaeton nodded perfunctorily to the mother’s ramblings, as the woman found it an unnecessary bother to either pause or think between sentences.
He perused the room looking for his evening’s distraction, Georgiana. The young lady’s mother might indeed be a harpy in disguise and the father no better than a common pimp, but the eldest daughter? The bewitching dream of a young woman stood between two heavily whiskered gents whose eyes never left her astonishing assets.
Phaeton took another look for himself. There was nothing overly voluptuous or buxom about any part of her. It’s just that all parts of her were so very ... luscious. Aware of his attention she turned and made eye contact across the crowded salon. Gazes locked, the little vixen opened her mouth ever so slightly. A pink tongue swept the underside of a prettily peaked upper lip. The room, for a second, collapsed in size around them. The gesture caused a number of his vital organs to rush a surge of blood to his favorite extremity.
Phaeton tipped his glass for a last swallow.
A white-gloved servant entered the salon and rang a melodious set of chimes. The dinner bell. Another man, liveried in a brass-buttoned jacket, opened a double set of doors. Georgiana turned to leave, but not in the direction of the dining room.
Somewhat absently, Phaeton took in the fancy laces and bright colored silks of the fashionably attired as they drifted into supper. He set his empty on a silver tray and wound his way past a blur of beau monde, in the opposite direction of sustenance. This evening his appetites lay elsewhere.
Phaeton stepped through the hatch onto the promenade deck. The night was clear and warm with a bit of moisture in the air. A sparkling carpet of stars spread across the sky above head. He strolled toward the front of the ship and thought about a cigar, and then thought better of it.
He found her standing near the starboard bow. Phaeton could have pressed close, but instead, kept some distance between them. She turned and struck a pretty pose with her back to the rail.
They were alone. He did know how he knew this, for he made no inspection of the deck. And frankly he did not care. Her gown rippled with the breeze.
“Lift your skirt.”
She tilted her head and rolled her eyes in the prettiest fashion. Not a refusal, mind, more of a flirtation. Her hand caressed a curve of hip and lifted her skirt enough to expose a dainty turn of ankle. His arousal was prodigious, and still, he held back and trifled with her.
He used two fingers to gesture upward. Inch by inch, her skirt and petticoats rose. A delightful show of calf. A pretty knee. A silk-flowered garter. And above the top of her hose, a hint of peach-colored flesh.
With only a small measure of control left, Phaeton closed the distance between them. He pressed her against the ship’s rail. Not too hard. Certainly not as hard as his burgeoning need. “Georgiana?”
“Mr. Black?” Droplets of perspiration, like tiny diamonds, sparkled across her nose and cheeks.
“Please, call me Phaeton.” He kissed the bridge of her nose and tasted salt—and a whiff of something spicy. The stubble of his beard brushed her cheekbone as he worked his way toward an earlobe and reached under her skirts. A shudder ran through her body and her head rolled back. “Kiss me, Phaeton.”
He lowered his gaze her mouth. “And if I kiss you, what is my reward?” He enjoyed the playful squint in her eyes and saucy turn to her cheek almost more than her words.
“What do you desire?”
He dropped his hands below her bustle and cupped her buttocks. “Your pantalettes off.” He rubbed gently, as softly as a balmy breeze off the East China Sea. She wrapped a limber leg around him. Good girl.
The corners of her mouth lifted. “And I shall see your saber snuggly sheathed.”
He found the ribbon on her lacey undergarment and pulled. Silk fabric slipped over a rounded cheek, exposing a lovely derriere. Firm with just the right amount of jiggle. He moved in between her thighs and slipped the tips of his fingers along the sensitive inside flesh of her limbs. She spread her legs wider.
Phaeton smiled. He didn’t even have to ask.
He caught a tell-tale flash of scarlet in her eyes and caught his breath. Just a ripple of color but even a hint of suspicion was bad enough. He lifted silk pantalettes and retied the bow. “Arousing to see you again, Georgiana, or I should say Mademoiselle Gorgós?” He stepped away.
Something slightly reptilian materialized before him. Her flesh took on a pale and curiously ethereal form, as deep crimson swirled behind midnight blue eyes. Her dress unraveled to lay bare high-set breasts and rounded hips. A gossamer of silk snaked over her nude form, entwining itself around voluptuous curves.
“Ah, so there you are.” Somewhat wistfully, one side of his lip curled upward.
Fully formed, she was feline and serpentine all at once. Her skin glistened with pearl-sized, translucent scales that rippled with every rise and fall of breath. A new, darker gaze traveled the length of his frame, admiring, exploring. She grabbed hold of his lapels and pressed him back against the ship’s rails. Every fiber of this female entity appeared to quake with anticipation. Sweeping aside her meandering skirt she pressed his hand to her mound of Venus, but his fingers retreated. In fact, his arm jerked backward. Awkward, even for Phaeton.
Regretfully, he stepped away. “Not that my soul is worth saving, but I make it a point never to lie with otherworldly creatures.” His tsk was more of a sigh. “You might have saved this for later—crawled into my berth for a suffocating climax?”
A fierce wave of energy knocked him down and he slid along the polished wood deck. Before he could lift his head she swarmed over him, thrusting herself against his manly parts. He groaned. “Such a naughty succubus.” Between caresses, this night creature would attempt to mount, then strangle him. There was nothing left to do but feign a struggle.
At some point he would need to be released from her sexual alchemy. But not ... immediately. He rather enjoyed this part of the macabre dance. There would soon come a delightful, helpless paralysis, and he would chance a moment or two of pleasure before those invisible bonds began their choke hold.
Georgiana was becoming decidedly less attractive. Bulbous eyes, wide and unblinking, swiveled up and down his torso. Within the saucerlike orbs, irises contracted into vertical slits.
The buttons on his trousers loosed. “Dangerous play, love.”
Phaeton looked down as his cock sprung to life. It couldn’t hurt to ask. “Might the pretty succubus swallow the dragon?”
Her answer came in the form of a pink tongue covered in shimmering scales and a long hiss. Soon, she would genuflect on his chest. Bearing down, the she-devil would squeeze with all her considerable might and crush the air out of his lungs, the life from his body.
The scaled tongue lengthened and tickled his earlobe. Plump, moist lips nibbled at his neck as elongated fingers wrapped around his shaft. Good God, he ached for release.
The vixen’s luscious mouth uttered a deep, throaty sigh and moved lower. “Cocks up, Mr. Black.”
“Mm-m, the pleasure is mine—” Phaeton reached into thin air.
“Got nothing to do with your pleasure, sir. They’re comin’ fer ye. Shake a leg now and be quick about it. We made Port o’ London last night.”
His eyelids flew open. The blurry visage of an old sea dog squinted down at him. Phaeton jerked awake at the sight of the grey-bearded geezer. “Crew sez they lost their share at cards last evening.”
Phaeton rubbed his eyes.
His
tête-à-tête
with a night terror had been a stimulating hallucination—while it lasted. He blinked again, and brought a wild bristle of chin hairs into focus. “Good God. That you, Mr. Grubb?” He barely recognized the croak in his own voice.
Rummy old Joe Grubb flattened weathered lips into a thin line. “Claim ye cheated ’em.”
Despite the blistering hangover, Phaeton vaguely remembered a card game as well as a good deal of grog guzzling. “Preposterous.” Lifting his pounding head, he reached down to scratch his crotch. A rat chewed on a trouser button.
Phaeton hurled himself out of his hammock. “Bloody hell.” He caught a swinging section of knotted rope, and managed to remain upright. The rodent skittered away into the deeper shadows of the crew’s quarters. Listing to one side, he called after the creature. “Georgiana?”
He ventured a squint about his surroundings. “Where am I?” This was no luxury ocean liner but a rat hole in the bowels of a seagoing vessel. A number of men slept in the hammocks strung about the hold. He was aboard a cargo ship. But not the
Topaz
. And what had happened to America Jones?
He recalled making port in Shanghai, a few screeching arguments and a long pointed weapon tossed at him. On further consideration—he shook his head—he was quite certain, the altercation between he and America had not been the cause of their separation. Again, Phaeton tried to shake the whiskey fog from his brain.
The gruff old seabird poked him in the rib. “Crew sez ye could see through their cards.” One good eye circled about. “As if by magic.”
A blast of rotten breath sent Phaeton backward. “Possibly, but—”
Something surly and imposing stepped through the hatch, tossing a cutlass back and forth between clenched hands. Good God. The brute-sized sailor did seem familiar. Phaeton struggled to recall last evening through a cloud of smoke and amber spirits.
“Now see here—” He straightened up and backed away from the angry seaman. “Let me assure you, I have no peculiar ability at cards, luck of the draw—” A broad swipe of sword took out several hammocks, which fell onto a cold damp floor. He grimaced. “Stroke of bad luck, wot?”

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