Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) (11 page)

Betsy Popham was touching his cock
. He could not have dreamed this any better. She fisted her small hand around the flared head, dark with passion, then slid up the base to tangle in the crisp hairs. Her head bent, her cheek touching the head first, then those lips, then the heat of her mouth.

“Stop!” he begged.

She pulled back, his cock popping from her mouth.

He shook his head. “Oh, God, Betsy, I cannot stand it. If you suckle me again I shall come all over your face.” He trembled at the delicious notion. His voice had lowered to a rumble.

“A trifling thing like that? I wouldn’t mind.”

“I want to pleasure you,” he whispered.

“I like this,” she said. “I really do. And you’ll be ready again soon enough.”

“Oh. I—” He supposed she was right, though he had not been tested in quite some time.

Her lips wore that secretive, powerful feminine smile experienced lovers knew. “May I continue?”

He took a step backward and all but fell into his armchair. “Please,” he rasped.

Her mouth took him to the root. His head fell back on the chair and his body arched. “Oh, God.” He forced his eyes open to feast upon the magnificent sight of Betsy, her reddened lips moving on his cock, her roughened fingers on the more delicate flesh of his thighs. His hands went into her hair, releasing the scents of shampoo and dinner and sunshine. He pumped into her mouth, unable to help himself, and lost himself as she took him to the back of her throat and swallowed everything he had to offer her.

Long moments passed, and he found that his head leaned on the chair again. His hand still rested on the back of her head, but she’d moved her cheek to his thigh. Weary now, he found her arm and pulled her into his lap. His fingers found the slit in her drawers. While his throat felt tortured, desperate for water, the feeling of her slippery, wet folds was enough to make him salivate.

“That did excite you,” he whispered. “Oh, Betsy, you’re magnificent.” He stroked between her folds, searching for her pearl, already hard and ready for his touch. Circling her there with his thumb, dipping inside her channel with his fingers, he made her writhe and gasp. She had more control than he, eagerly accepting his mouth on hers while she hitched her hips back and forth along his fingers. When she came, he took her cry of completion into his mouth, loving the way she shattered against him. And he hadn’t even managed to undress her. Not a lover with a lot of finesse, but they’d certainly enjoyed each other.

The thought of her pleasure had his cock stirring again, restored his strength. She didn’t protest as he picked her up and took her to his bed, lay her on the coverlet, her head on a pillow. He stripped off her damp underclothes until she stretched naked across his white bed, rosy with health and lusty appetite. Then he hooked his hands behind her knees and drew her legs apart. She didn’t say a word, just watched as he knelt between her legs. His cock, damp from her mouth and his passionate reaction to her ministrations, notched into her smoothly. He slid into her, feeling as if he returned home. But her body, as he leaned over and nuzzled her neck, smelled and tasted so differently from any of the few other women he’d known. She was salty from their earlier exuberance in the warm night, sweet from her bakery job. And there was something beneath, fresh and vital, healthy and young. All of her, perfect and sensual and meant to be loved, physically and often.

Her hips surged against his, working her body along his cock, grinding the top of her slit against his pelvis. This girl knew how to find her own satisfaction and wasn’t shy about the climb. He loved it. Her hands went to his hips, then lower, digging her fingers into his cheeks, urging him harder and faster.

“It’s hot in here,” she gasped.

“We’re making it hotter.”

She licked his neck and chuckled low, then ended on a gasp as he changed angles slightly. “More.”

“Oh, Betsy,” he whispered, finding her mouth again. He worked hard for his pleasure and hers, and when she clenched tightly around him and began to spasm, he lost himself in the muscular grip around his cock, spending completely. His hands loosened and her legs dropped bonelessly to the bed. He lay atop her, breathing hard, thinking of nothing, satisfied in a way he hadn’t been for nearly two years.

A couple of minutes went by and her hands went to his shoulders. He understood the signal to remove himself to another part of the mattress and rolled off her, gasping like a beached fish, too hot to even pull her close.

The ending might not have been romantic, but the start? The middle? He smiled sleepily and patted her hip. “Sin is a beautiful thing.”

She made a noise that wasn’t quite a word and rolled onto her belly. He rubbed his cheek into the pillow and stroked a lock of her hair that drifted past his shoulder, then fell asleep.

Betsy woke in her bed the next morning, feeling sticky and sore in unexpected places. Sun shone in through curtains that hadn’t been closed properly, and she heard cheerful birdsong in the tree outside the window. She sat up abruptly, her head spinning, and pulled her legs tightly together, then tucked her face into her hands. She hadn’t even managed four nights in her handsome manager’s house without falling into bed with him. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been with a man for four years, or that he was only her second lover. She was still a slattern. Did she bring her messy life on herself? How did she ever think she’d be able to marry a good man if she did such things? She’d find herself on the streets without a character.

The only response she could make to her own stupidity was to go. If Greggory remembered to pay her today—and he should, unless there were more murders or violence—she would look for ladies’ chambers immediately. Throughout the day nearly every newspaper in London would be left in the tearoom. She’d snatch them all up and look for notices. If nothing presented itself, she’d walk around tomorrow until she found a place. Greggory had said she could take the day off and she would do so.

She drummed on her temples with her fingers. Not
Greggory
. Mr. Redcake. Oh, she must not let this happen again. What a fool. Hadn’t she learned from her disaster with the former Ewan Hales? She wasn’t meant to reach above herself. If she was ever to find a husband, she needed to learn to flirt with suppliers, small businessmen like butchers, the sort that weren’t too good for her and might be happy to have a wife who could bring in income until the babies started coming.

A nice life. Not a dream she could never have, like a fancy modern house on Kensington Church Walk and four servants. Her only defense was not to allow it to happen again.

The new maid entered with a fresh basin of water, something she desperately needed, then hovered in the doorway. “Should I bring you a tea tray, miss?”

“No, no. We’re just here temporarily. No need to fuss,” Betsy said.

The maid curtseyed and left the room. Betsy stood, feeling like a new foal, and tottered over to the basin to attempt a thorough washing. She wouldn’t let herself think of the glorious night that had passed, only the reason she had fled upstairs in the wee hours. Loving Greggory wasn’t safe, wasn’t a future.

Greggory paced in front of the unlit fireplace in the parlor before dinner. Both Betsy and Ralph appeared at the last moment. His darling girl looked pale. She’d been subdued at work, only animating momentarily when he handed over her pay envelope. Ralph looked similarly beaten, but he thought he’d heard singing on the stairs in the wee hours, and he suspected Ralph’s monthly chess game involved quite a bit of drinking.

At dinner, Betsy pushed food around on her plate, not eating much. Nervous, Greggory suspected. And why not? She wouldn’t want either of them to hint about what they had done the night before. She and Ralph lived respectable lives, despite Mrs. Popham’s nefarious deeds. Ralph was a religious man. He needed to make this right.

After the pudding course, he cleared his throat. “Mr. Popham, might I have a word?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Redcake.”

Betsy compressed her lips into a tight, social smile. He nodded, attempting to reassure her. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”

“I set those magazines I mentioned to you out in the parlor,” Greggory said. “So you could have a look at them, or take them upstairs. They are all yours.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She clasped her hands together and left the room.

Her father didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, thankfully.

“Have we overstayed our welcome?” Ralph asked in a diffident manner, once his daughter had left. “I was paid today, so we can look for rooms tomorrow.”

“No, not at all. Besides, you won’t be able to find anything worthy until you can save up more than one week’s pay,” Greggory said.

“Between the two of us we will. Betsy makes excellent money for a young woman.”

“Yes, there are few positions like hers, to be certain,” he agreed. “However, I wanted to speak to you about something else, something more personal.”

“I see, or rather, I do not.” Ralph’s cheeks went pink. “Did I sing last night? I’m terribly sorry.”

“Not at all,” Greggory reassured him. “I am glad you had a bit of fun. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten how, between the cares of work and my children.”

“It is most difficult to lose a wife,” Ralph said, taking a sip of his brandy, then another.

“Yes.” Greggory toyed with his own crystal glass, watching it catch the light from the chandelier, still lit with candles as his late wife had preferred. Silly habit; he needed to have it converted to electric.

“Mind you, a bad wife is worse than none at all. Just hire a housekeeper, I say, rather than marry badly. Or raise up a daughter properly.”

“That is it, precisely. You’ve raised your daughter beautifully, Mr. Popham, and with your permission, I’d like to court her.”

Ralph frowned into his half-empty glass. “You would? Betsy?”

“Yes. I’ve respected her for years of course. But her attentions to the children have made me realize that she has value in the domestic sphere as well. She seems comfortable here.” Thoughts of her kneeling on his bedroom carpet, her mouth on him, flitted through his mind, were quickly suppressed.

“I see. Such an honor you bestow on her. We were respectable people in Bristol before of course. But nothing like the Redcakes.”

“We’re a manufacturing family,” Greggory said. “My uncle altered the family fortunes, but my side of the family isn’t nearly so grand. And this house belonged to my late wife’s family.”

“You do not think Betsy would be uncomfortable being raised so high?”

“Her friendship with my cousin, Lady Hatbrook, speaks for itself in that regard. And she’d never have achieved such a rare professional position if she didn’t have excellent skills with fashionable society. No, I think she’ll do very well.”

“As a second wife,” Ralph said. “You do need a wife, sir. With the babies and a demanding work life. I quite agree. And here is my daughter, already in your house, young and pretty and very accomplished in, if not the usual lady’s arts, a number of ways that suit a man like you.”

Again Greggory had a flash of sensual memory, her rosy limbs on his lap, her mouth pressed against his. “Undeniably,” he murmured.

“Of course you have my permission,” Ralph said heartily, lifting his glass to his lips and draining the contents. “My only concern for her sake is Lord Judah, your equivalent at the flagship branch. His wife is niece to an earl, you know. I’d speak to him before you make your wishes known to Betsy. He will know if the family found the match unsuitable for a man in your position.”

“I own my business and no one can tell me what to do,” Greggory said levelly, “but I appreciate what you are saying. Lady Judah must be comfortable with entertaining my wife. They worked together for a time, so I think it is perfectly all right, but I will have a word with him.”

Ralph smiled and refilled his glass from the decanter Greggory had brought to the table. “Excellent news. Have I ever told you about the time Sir Bartley suggested I court your cousin, now Lady Hatbrook?”