Chapter Eighteen
K itty narrowed her eyes back at him. “We are going to be late.”
“That’s not asking me nicely,” he drawled.
“You’re very accustomed to getting your own way.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure it’s not good for you,” she said.
“And yet.”
The game shivered between them. The thread that seemed to bind her to him, her body to his presence. Despite it—or because of it—she shrugged and turned, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. “Then I suppose I shall visit Lord Tadworth on my own.”
He caught up to her in a single step. It did things to her ability to breathe normally.
“The hell you will.” So did that thrilling, unyielding tone.
“Well, if you’re not interested…” She fluttered her eyelashes.
He very deliberately leaned a palm against the door behind her, caging her in. Just a bit. Just enough. Every part of her longed to arch closer, or better yet, to press back against the door to see if he would follow. “Is this you asking me nicely?” he said, deep voice both soft and rough.
She lifted her chin defiantly, even as her heart picked up speed and her thigh muscles quivered. Something he could never know. His effect on her was already too powerful. Too dangerous. Too delicious. “If I said please and flattered your ego and told you were handsome, you’d die of boredom.”
“True.” His mouth quirked. “Are you saying I’m not handsome?”
She licked her lower lip. He tracked the movement, green eyes flaring hungrily. He was so close that she could see the flecks of silver in his irises. He had forest eyes. Oak-leaf eyes. “You’re passable, I suppose.”
He grinned. A true, amused grin. Not a sardonic smile, or a wry quirk of his perfect mouth. A grin . And it was devastating. His scent wrapped around her, amber and wood smoke. And then his voice followed, a rough caress over her skin. “Are you at least going to say please?”
He trailed his free hand up her arm, along her neckline, just a tease to raise the gooseflesh. It was successful.
Exceedingly successful.
And then he closed his fingers very carefully around the base of her throat and tipped her head back.
Every thought in her head incinerated.
He applied no pressure, no hint of menace. Only a light hold on her, as though she was precious. Delicate.
His.
It was a promise. A foretelling. A claiming.
She whimpered, heat building in her chest, between her legs, streaking down her spine. He smiled slowly, hungrily. “I’m going to make you make that sound again and again.”
She leaned forward until his fingertips dug into her flesh. If he didn’t kiss her, she might expire on the spot. He tightened his grip infinitesimally, only enough to pin her back to the door. She nearly growled in frustration. His tone was soft but demanding. Utterly in control.
Even as he gave her that same control.
“Just as soon as you say please.”
She felt wild with the need to have him touch her. To touch him . He made her feel things she had never felt before. And ever since their interrupted moment, she had been tense with need and want and unfulfilled desires. His breathing was harsh, not quite as polished as the rest of him appeared. It snapped whatever resembled restraint in her.
“Please,” she begged softly. “Please.”
“Thank God,” he murmured before yanking her forward. Their mouths met, tongues tangling, soft moans fueling the heat between them. The need to chase and be chased, the need to taste and be tasted. A hunger only he could sate.
He was already pulling up her skirts, using his boot to urge her feet apart, widening her stance. Opening her for his touch. He stroked up her inner thigh, slowly. “So soft.”
She squirmed, trying to get closer.
“What do you need, firecracker?” She reached for him blindly, but he pinned her again. “Say it.”
Their eyes met and there was a brief, brief moment where some unfathomable, unknowable fork in the road was taken.
“You.”
And then he was on his knees and pressing his mouth to her. Licking at her, flattening his tongue over her bud, sucking it into his mouth like a delicacy. She nearly screamed, her entire body quivering.
And then he pulled away. Again.
“Not here,” he said hoarsely.
“ Rhys. ” Why was he still pulling away, torturing her, making her wild? Did he want her to beg again? She would beg. Pleasure coiled too tightly in her center, denied a release.
He licked her again, as though he couldn’t help himself. Then he rose, eyes just wild enough to make her feel better.
“Not with everyone waiting for us on the other side of this door.” He kissed her again deeply, reverently. “I’m going to take my time with you.” The whisper tickled her ear and had her nipples tightening in anticipation. “I’m going to make you whimper my name and then I’m going to make you come until your legs give out.”
They might give out right here and now. Her knees were decidedly weak.
She had read about lovers who brought each other to the edge again and again, only to deny the final release. Stretching out the sensations, building toward the climax. She had never experienced it before. It was invigorating. Painful. Frustration. Amazing.
She hated it.
She loved it.
And because she had no intention of burning with need alone—and because she was desperate for one more forbidden touch—she stroked him once through his breeches, and then again, gripping tighter. He cursed, bucking into her hand. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, little firecracker.”
“Promise?”
His laugh was soft with just a hint of menace. “Oh, I promise.”
“When?” she taunted.
“Tonight.”
Kitty left the study knowing she was flushed, as pink as the inside of a seashell. She was half convinced Pan winked at her. She had never been so aware of her body, of her legs, of her quim swollen and fluttering with every step she took. She was grounded to every sensation. And yet oddly felt as though she might float away.
Devil followed behind her after a gratifying pause to adjust himself. She could see the fun in it, since she wasn’t suffering alone.
Yelena waited on a bench set under a mirror the length of a swimming pond. Shelby greeted Devil while Tom brushed sawdust off his beaver-crowned hat in a stunning dark green.
“What are you doing here?” Devil asked him. “I sent you down for ice for your eye.”
“I’m on my way.” Tom did not look the least bit intimidated by his brother. Interesting. He winked at Kitty again. “A pleasure, as always, Miss Caldecott.”
Devil’s eyes sharpened. “You two know each other?”
“We are old friends,” Tom said lightly, accepting a swan-headed walking stick from Shelby. His grin faded, turned serious. “She saved my life.”
Kitty shook her head. “Not really.”
“Absolutely you did.”
“Explain,” Devil said.
“Kitty was the one who threw paint at the blighters who followed me from…there.”
“That was you?” Devil asked softly. “I should have guessed.”
Tom smirked. “Barnabus still has gold paint in his hair.”
“Good,” Kitty said. “I hope it got up his nose too.”
They grinned at each other.
Devil groaned. “I’ve never known two people more prone to attracting trouble. London is not safe if you two are friendly.”
“London could do with a bit of shaking up,” Tom said dismissively. “We can’t let you have all the fun.”
“Oh, am I having fun?”
“The Devil always has fun.” Tom bowed smartly. “Miss Caldecott, do call on us anytime. I am much more entertaining than my brother.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“The hell you will,” Devil said mildly. “Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Tom waved a hand negligently. Devil gestured to a footman, who materialized like magic. He bowed and hurried after Tom. There was a dagger in his boot.
“Do you have everyone followed?” Kitty asked.
“Only when it’s necessary.” Devil scowled. “As to that, where the hell is Wulf?”
“He followed me very carefully,” Kitty assured him.
“Good.”
“About that.”
He accepted his own hat from Shelby. “You’re never going to convince me to let you jump headfirst into danger without an armed escort. When I’m not with you, they are.”
Something warm bloomed inside her chest. She tried to ignore it. “I was only going to say that they can hover just as effectively inside the shop when it’s raining. They’ll catch their death.”
“A little rain won’t hurt them.”
“Neither will a little dry,” she pointed out. “ And they have to let me give them tea.”
“It’s not a damn picnic.”
“I know you did not just curse in front of a lady,” Shelby said, disapproval all but shooting from him like darts.
“I don’t mind.” Kitty grinned. “I know he’s a little sensitive. His moods, you know.”
The workers in the vicinity froze, waiting for his reaction. Shelby was the first to break, and his laugh boomed like a cannon.
“ You are the real devil here,” Devil said. His expression stayed stern, disapproving. But his eyes glinted, faintly amused.
“I’ll stop teasing you if you give me a tour.” She was itching to see the rest of the pleasure hall.
Devil’s mouth was very close to her ear. “Perhaps I’ll tease you instead.”
“You already have.”
“Oh, just you wait, firecracker.” He laughed softly.
It took every ounce of self-control not to squirm. Not to press her thighs together.
“Lust is on the top floor,” he said as if he knew exactly how she was struggling. His half-smile was wicked, a flash of lightning. “Selene is in charge of the brothel.” Kitty remembered Selene from the Devil’s Night. She was stunning and clever and could easily run an empire. “We will just bust heads when necessary. And you’ve seen Pride, which is the entrance hall. Tom’s domain, memberships, guest lists, and the like.”
Devil had given him the power to close the door in the faces of those who would close every door in his. It was brilliant. Perceptive.
“Envy and Gluttony are nearly finished.” He led her up the stairs. “And this is Greed.”
Greed took up the entire floor, with rows of card tables and billiard tables, three roulette wheels, and a sharp-eyed man keeping an eye on the proceedings. The excitement was palpable—the entire building thrummed with it. The pause before the storm broke.
Sloth was a series of rooms with luxurious carpets, soft chairs, even beds piled high with pillows. Candles burned and a silver carafe of coffee waited on a low table, more chairs clustered together where drinks would be served. “A place to rest, a moment between floors,” Devil explained. “But it needs something.”
Kitty tilted her head. “It needs books.”
He paused, then nodded. “Of course it does.”
“Naughty ones.”
“Naturally. You are brilliant, Miss Caldecott.”
Oil lamps had been lit, and they lent a softness to the dark and dramatic décor. The red stained glass, the gilded scrollwork, the pediments in the shape of leaping goats. Mayfair called Rhys the devil, and he had obliged. Perhaps it ought to make her nervous, but it was quite the opposite. She had read too many stories where the monster was not the real monster. And where the darkness held only pleasure.
This line of thought was not exactly quelling the electricity running through her.
She skirted around a tin of paint that shimmered like silver and coveted it deeply. No detail was too small to matter. It was obvious in the care taken from the ceiling to the floor. “This place is magnificent, Rhys. Even Vauxhall does not compare.”
“Vauxhall probably has not had the threats we’ve already received.”
“No to worry. I can teach you how to duck a flying cabbage.”
“It’s always best to have an expert on hand.”
“I’ve counted six sins,” she pointed out. “Where is Wrath?”
“In the lowest level. The boxing rings are already set up. Not nearly as fine as the rest of it.”
“I want to see it.” She squeezed his arm. “You should be proud of this, you know.”
“It’s a pleasure hall.”
“It’s a safe place for your men,” she said. She could see that much, even if she did not know the story that bound them.
“With a brothel on the top floor and Wrath on the lowest level because it’s easier to clean away the blood?”
“Safe places don’t all look the same,” she said.
“Aye, Devil,” the sharp-eyed man from the gaming floor said from behind them. “Introduce her to Granny Brutus.”
“That sounds lovely. Who is Granny Brutus?”
Devil sighed. “Miss Caldecott, may I present MacLeod.”
“How do you, Mr. MacLeod?” She had always assumed someone like Devil led a solitary life, but she was clearly mistaken. There were workers everywhere, of course, but other men who looked to him for direction. With respect, not just fear.
“Just MacLeod,” he said, Scottish accent thick as butter on toast. She could not remember the last time she’d had fresh butter. “There’s only one of me left, you ken?”
“Suitably mysterious for an assassin.”
Devil raised his brows. “He’s not an assassin.”
“He works for you, doesn’t he? And assassin sounds much fiercer than… What’s your actual title?”
MacLeod grinned. “I don’t have one.”
“Pain in my ass,” Devil supplied.
“I keep him alive,” MacLeod countered.
“Well done, you.” Kitty nodded. “I imagine it is a full-time occupation.”
“People do tend to react somewhat violently to his presence.”
“It’s the scowl.”
“I don’t scowl,” Devil muttered. Scowling.
Kitty was suddenly enjoying herself immensely. Especially when he almost smiled. His almost-smile was her favorite. Even though she should not even have a favorite.
He led her back to Pride, with its mirrors reflecting dozens of Devils back at her, each more mysterious than the last. “Let’s get this visit over with,” he grumbled. “Tadworth and his bloody toads.”
“Oh dear, are you afraid of toads?” Kitty pushed because it was the most fun she had all week. And because she was still considering biting all along the muscles of his shoulders. His hips. His thighs.
“No.”
“Ah,” she said, innocence floating off her like dandelion fluff. “Is it your arm? Does it pain you very much?” She knew it didn’t—he had gripped her with too much delicious strength in the study. “If you are too weak to accompany me, I do understand.”
“Just get in the carriage, firecracker,” he growled.
She giggled all the way down the walkway.
And she was quite sure she had never giggled a day in her life.