Chapter Twenty-Six
K itty could only blink at the raw need, the brutal power of his honesty. The way he looked at her had not changed since before she confessed. Everything was a whirlwind inside of her, but it no longer felt like it was going to sweep her away or toss her about or pull her under the water. “You don’t think less of me,” she said, awed.
“I think less of every single person in your life who allowed you to be in that position in the first place.”
“Oh.” She had not anticipated that.
“I won’t punish you for that,” he said. “But I will punish you for refusing to admit that you are beautiful. Resilient. If you want me to.”
“Yes, please.”
“You could at least pretend to act intimidated. A little bit sorry for disobeying me.” He bit her lower lip again, harder this time. “No one else dares, you know.”
But she wasn’t scared of him. And although admitting what she had done had not magically taken away the consequences of her choices, she did feel lighter, less murky inside, like a pond too overgrown to thrive. She felt seen. Accepted. Not alone.
It was powerful. Heady.
“Oh no,” she teased in a faintly mocking tone, all while rubbing against him. “The Devil’s got me now. Whatever shall I do?”
“Oh, that’s it,” he growled, dragging her arms above her head. He curled her fingers around the base of a tree. “You’re mine now. You hold on to this. Understand?
“Yes, Rhys.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Better, but you’re not fooling anyone.”
She arched against him again. He grabbed her hips, stilling her. The suddenness of it made her gasp. Made her moan. He kept her there even as he settled between her legs, widening them, teasing, promising. Slowly. Making her wait.
“I thought I told you to keep your hands on that tree?” he asked, deceptively mild.
“I…forgot?” She needed to touch him. Needed him to touch her. Now.
He looked down at her, at his most dominating and stern.
She loved it. She bloody well loved it.
And he knew it.
“Do you know something?” he said silkily. “I’m not sure I can trust you to follow orders.”
“Probably not,” she admitted happily. Probably a little too happily.
He unknotted his cravat and wound it around her wrists, securing them above her head to the tree. She was properly bound, just like a maiden sacrifice to the Devil. “Better,” he said when she tested the knot but could not get free. The gleam in his eyes was predatory. “Much better.”
And then he just sat back on his heels and let his gaze roam over her.
But not his hands. Or his mouth. Or his teeth.
“Rhys, please .”
He smiled as if she weren’t writhing in the grass, already begging for him when he had barely touched her. “Such pretty manners when you want something,” he said. “Tell me, firecracker. What is it you want?”
“You.”
“I’m right here.”
“Rhys, I swear to God I’m going to—”
A disapproving click of his tongue. A correction.
Infuriating.
She subsided, trying to be patient. The grass was touching the back of her legs but he wasn’t. It was touching her ankles, her arms. Her neck. But he wasn’t.
And he wouldn’t.
She swallowed back another demand.
He closed his hand around her calf, fingers warm and strong. “Good girl.” He stroked up her leg, thumb digging into the softness of her inner thigh. “You’ve carried everything for too long. This time I’m in charge.” He shoved her skirts higher, brushing her quim lightly. Again. And again. He bent his head to kiss along her collarbone, to dip his tongue under her bodice.
He moved lower and lower, his breath warm on her belly, stirring the hair below. He licked at her opening, then around her bud. He used the tip of his tongue, then the flat of it, applied more pressure, less pressure. Used his fingers to part her folds, slick with her need. There was a rhythm to his attention that she had not noticed until the pressure mounted inside her, sparking through her core. “ Rhys. ”
“Not yet.”
“But…” She couldn’t stop it, did not want to. Why would she want to?
“I said not yet.” He eased back, and she whimpered, chasing the sparks, the crest. “Didn’t I tell you not to interrupt me?” he asked with false regret. “Now I have to start all over again.”
“Rhys!”
“Hush.”
She was not going to survive this. It was torture.
It was perfect.
He continued to nibble and suck and lick up and down her body, to slide his fingers into her, first one then two, but always pulling back when she neared her climax—when her gasps tore from her, when she dug her fingers into his hair and he chuckled, clearly pleased. Another lick, a deeper thrust. And then he pulled her entire bud into his mouth and worked it gently, relentlessly. She bucked against his mouth. “Please. Please, please, please .” Was she begging? Demanding? She had no idea. “Please, Rhys.”
“I do so love it when you beg,” he growled against her swollen, pulsing bud. “Come, Kitty. Now. ”
She had never followed orders in her life. She had never wanted to.
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
Whatever he did with his mouth sent her careering over the edge. Her climax washed through her so abruptly, so deeply, that it stole her breath, her ability to think. There were only the waves of sensations claiming her. Devil smiling against her most private parts. She jerked when he kissed her, she was that sensitive.
“Do you really want to know that I think of you?” he asked, reaching up to release the cravat that bound her.
She nodded mutely. She was boneless, wordless, floating.
“I think you’re too damned good to lie on the cold ground.”
He flipped her so suddenly that she squeaked a laugh. It was no surprise to her that Devil was incredibly skilled with his mouth and his hands and his entre sculpted, beautiful body. No surprise that he would pull pleasure from her like he was merely claiming something that already belonged to him. It wa s still a surprise, though, how much she enjoyed being with him. How they could grin at each other, even now, half naked and half spent in the back garden, her secrets and her body bared to the starlight.
She straddled him, her knees in the grass. His cock pushed at his breeches until she freed him, gripping him tight enough that he bucked in her hand. She dragged the tip between her folds, once twice.
“Are you teasing me, firecracker?” he asked between clenched teeth, gripping her hips.
“You deserve it.”
“Probably.”
He did deserve it. And she would happily oblige. Next time. Should there be a next time.
Please let there be a next time.
But he was so hard it looked painful, and she wanted to feel him inside of her right now . She rubbed against him just because she could, because it made his green eyes go glassy. And then she fit the tip of him inside of her and lowered, down, down, inch by glorious inch until he was swearing and she was moaning. She was stretched and filled; every thrust made her see stars.
He ran his hands up her ribcage and teased her breasts free over the top of her bodice. “Perfect,” he grunted. She felt positively wanton, in the most delicious way, her skirts pulled up, her dress pulled down, undulating over Devil, pulling him deeper until the sparks built again, pressure building and mounting, until her hips stuttered and he surged up, coming hard.
She fell forward, catching her breath, her thighs trembling. He pulled her down to his chest, running his fingers through her hair until she purred. “All right?”
“Better than all right,” she murmured. “You?”
“Better than all right.” He kissed her forehead. “You should go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” She shook her head, accidentally nuzzling his neck. Then she did it again because it made him tighten his arms around her.
The threads linking them together seemed stronger. Brighter.
She felt stronger. Brighter.
She felt beautiful.
Kitty did not fall asleep, but she drifted, the most comfortable she had ever been, until Devil shifted to clean them up. She protested, because he was so warm and solid beneath her. And then he promised her tea and cake and she begrudgingly slid off his chest. Very begrudgingly. He tucked her into his coat even though the night was not cold. Music drifted from some other house, blazing with light and people dancing. She preferred the dark secret corner tucked into the roses with the tea tray and the devil.
She inhaled the sweet aroma of bergamot and lavender and was well into her second cup before breaking the soft, companionable silence. “Devil?”
“Who?”
She smiled. “Rhys?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for the tea today.”
“What tea?”
“This tea. The exact same you had delivered to the shop.”
“I’m sure that wasn’t me.”
“Must have been my other fiancé.”
He scowled. “Stop that.”
“I am thinking of starting a collection.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“True. And I am rather busy.”
“Best leave it, then.”
“I suppose.” She heaved a false sigh and then grinned at him. “Is that strawberry cake?” He had brought a tray to her so they could eat among the rose petals.
“Of course.”
“It’s my favorite.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
He smiled. “You threatened to stab me just this afternoon if I took the last slice.”
“Oh. Right.” She licked strawberry jam off her thumb. “I’m not sorry.”
He watched her, throat working as he swallowed. “Neither am I,” he said hoarsely.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You might be the only one who dares.”
She knew that wasn’t true. Mayfair might tremble before him, but it wasn’t fear he inspired in the men of the house behind her. It was loyalty.
“I’ve never seen you gamble. Godric and Wulf sometimes play dice outside the shop to pass the time, and your brother talks about cards and horse racing. But you never do. And you didn’t play during the Devil’s Night, not once.”
“I don’t care for cards.” He shrugged. “Have more cake.”
“I’ve had a slice already.”
“Have another.”
She dipped her finger into the bowl of clotted cream and licked it off. He watched her. “Absolute devil,” he murmured appreciatively.
“If you don’t care for cards or dice, why a gaming hell? Why open the Seven Deadly Sins? Why bother with the biggest gaming hell London has ever dreamt of?”
“It’s not for me,” he said quietly.
“It’s not?”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “No. It’s for them.”
“Them? Ah. Macleod and Brutus and the brothers Winchester.”
“And Tom.”
“How?”
“When we came back to England, it was…an adjustment.”
She reached for his hand, and he turned his palm up to let her. It was as intimate as anything they had done to each other’s bodies. More.
“I had the estate, my title,” he continued. “But the other men had very little, mostly scars and nightmares. And my brother… Well, you’ve seen what it can be like for him.”
She nodded. “I’m going to buy more gold paint, the kind that burns.”
His mouth quirked. “The Sins is not just a place for them to work and support themselves. Especially with some of the injuries we collected between us.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s power.”
She thought of the women who came to the shop in the dead of night. The ones she sent to the Spinster Society or the house in Covent Garden. She thought of her sister, powerless and sold to someone like Portsmouth. “I understand.”
“Holding the bank for Devil’s Nights gave me access to secrets, as much as it made obscene amounts of money.”
“And the Sins will do the same?”
“For my men, it will. They will have employment and, better than that, power to protect themselves.”
“Your brother.”
“He was alone when I was gone,” he said tightly, jaw clenching. “He won’t be vulnerable like that again. No one will dare touch him, not when he’s a partner in the Sins.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I won the house on a wager.”
“Naturally. I would expect nothing less. From what I’ve already seen, it’s going to be brilliant.”
“The Ladies’ Association for Moral Standards do not hold the same opinion.”
Kitty snorted. “They really do need to take up a more enjoyable hobby. Decoupage. Or watercolors. Lawn bowls.”
“Agreed.”
“Who knew the Devil was such a champion?”
“Hush.”
Kitty grinned. “You can’t take a compliment any better than I can.”
“I am always ready to admit that I am clever and handsome, sweetheart.”
She snorted. “Admit you’re a good man.”
He nearly squirmed. She raised an eyebrow.
“Have more cake,” he muttered.
“I ate it all.”
“I’ll get you more.”
“See? A good man.”
He grumbled some more until the dew began to gather on the roses and the grass and he led them to his study for a warming draft of whiskey. Kitty sputtered around her mouthful. “This is just awful.”
“Philistine,” he said, but it was affectionate. Indulgent.
She wanted to eat it like that strawberry cake.
Dawn was starting to lighten the sky, a wash of pearly gray, a hint of pink. It would be daylight soon.
“We really need to get inside Portsmouth’s house again,” she said, loath to release the night and its dark and beautiful moments but knowing she must.
She had gone through all of the notes in the stolen volumes, most inked right on the page, which would no doubt have made Lord Tadworth scream incoherently. The messages between two very dear friends were like a second story overlaying the first. She knew their favorite scenes, their least favorite characters, the things they wanted to do with the duke. To the duke.
But she was no closer to finding out where Lady Caroline had gone, or if Miss Campbell had followed her, or even if their plan had been carried through. Caroline knew she needed to get away, but Kitty was no closer to finding out where she might be now.
“I assume Portsmouth has an army of men like you? Minus the fellow with the broken ankle, of course.”
“His men are nothing like mine,” Devil said dismissively, eyebrow arched.
“Of course not.” She had not known Godric and Wulf, Macleod, or Shelby long, but she was also offended on their behalf. “I was not implying otherwise.”
“And he’s arrogant. That will work to our advantage.”
Kitty shivered. “Please don’t underestimate him. He makes my skin crawl.”
“He’s not going to touch you,” Devil said, expression turning hard. “Nor your sister.”
The fact that he had mentioned her sister would have made her tumble into love with him right then and there. If she wasn’t already in love.
Oh, this was going to be a problem.
Devil did not look remotely concerned. Or like a man in love.
Because he wasn’t. This was a means to an end. She had blackmailed him into helping. She was briefly tempted to give him back his stolen vowel.
Briefly.
But her sister’s life was at stake, and she would not risk it over sentimentality. Devil would probably help her regardless, but she would be an idiot to rely on that. Her emotions were her own problem to deal with.
Blissfully unaware that she was tying herself up in knots, Devil set his glass down. The soft dawn light caught the whiskey, turning it to gold.
“I have an idea.”