Chapter 6
6
CHAPTER 6
“ A re you expected at home for dinner, my lord?” Cassandra asked. His fingers tightened around hers.
“I usually send round to Rowland if I intend to dine at home.” He dropped his head and put her in mind of a schoolboy answering his governess. She was not deceived. Her skin fairly hummed with the searing power of his primal possessive anger. He was not done with his need to express the fear and his inability to comprehend why she had gone to the Lamb and Flag.
“And when is the last time you spoke with Rowland?” She led him toward the door into the kitchens. “Or has it been so long you cannot recall what he looks like?”
“Tall man, thin with white hair and a disapproving visage that has been frightening children for years?”
She bumped his shoulder as he opened the door and allowed her to enter first. “He reserves that visage for you and would use it less if you would dine at home, sleep at home, and not have him constantly forced to respond to callers that he has no idea when you will be at home.” She removed her bonnet, which had fallen off to the side, and her cape. One of the kitchen maids took them from her and hung them on one of the pegs just inside the door.
“Talking about poor Rowland, are we?” Cook asked. She turned from the pot she stirred on one of the two Rumford stoves. “Sorry, my lord.” She bobbed a brief curtsy.
“No need,” Derek said. “Missus Collins has the right of it.”
“She usually does, my lord. “Will you be dining with Missus Collins tonight?” The various voices of those at work preparing food for the other four townhouses went quiet for a moment, but resumed their conversations with one glare from the formidable queen of the Grosvenor Street kitchens.
“He will.” Cassandra immediately adopted the attitude of command that had made it possible for her to run five houses with ruthless efficiency. “We have some business to discuss and some ledgers to go over. Is there a fire lit in Missus Kenton’s upstairs parlor?”
“Missus Kenton?” Molly, the maid, asked.
“She means Miss Fauchette, lass.” Cook rolled her eyes. “Yes, Missus Collins. Tall Rutherford lit the fire in there not an hour past.”
“Good. His lordship and I shall take our meal in there.” She marched toward the baize-covered door that led to the front of Number Five. “Shall we, Lord Framlingwood?”
“Would you be wanting anything special, my lord?” Cook asked. “You look to need more than some soup and bread. Too thin by half.” She looked him up and down like a haunch of pork.
“So long as pasties are not on the menu I daresay anything you prepare will be more than delicious.”
Cook blinked and then threw back her head and laughed. “No pasties,” she gasped when she’d finally stopped laughing. “And we’ll be using nothing but the stuffs that handsome young chef sent by, you can be sure of that. Will he be making more of those deliveries here himself?”
The kitchen maids and Molly giggled. Derek put a hand to his chest in mock dismay.
“I’m old, my lord, not yet dead. That Mister Charpentier is too handsome for any woman’s good. Go on with you. I’ll send your dinner up in an hour.”
Cassandra and Derek ascended the stairs to the first floor in complete silence. Even when he opened the door to Margot’s parlor he did not speak, only gestured with a sweep of his arm. She went in and settled onto the chaise longue angled before the fire. Rutherford had built up a good fire, and the December chill had been chased from the small but elegant room. Derek prowled around as if studying the new décor. Mister Kenton and Mister Bullock had done an admirable job. Cassandra quite liked the dark blue and bright gold colors and the elegant French style furnishings. Even the large, gilt, floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall behind her lent an air of refinement rather than ostentation to the room.
She took in the changes with appreciation, and all the while she was not distracted from the feral primitive force that hummed between her and Derek. With every bit of strength she had, she forced herself to look away from him. As dangerous as he was in this state her desire for him set the most sensitive parts of her body on simmer. She pressed her thighs together under the skirts of her simple gown to obliterate the heated moisture that had beset her cunny since he’d kissed her in the carriage.
The lack of conversation stretched until she decided not to bear his ridiculous, imperious behavior a moment more. “Derek, sit down, and we will discuss the reason for your ill humor like two sensible people.” She shifted on the chaise only to discover he now stood over her, his face a thundercloud and his fists clenched.
“Sensible? Sensible?” He dropped onto the chaise next to her and seized her elbows in a tight, desperate clasp. “What would you know of sensible, Cassandra? You were in one of the worst taverns in London. Alone. With some mad villainess willing to hire cutthroats and murderers to find out which of my mistresses is a murderess. What part of that was even remotely sensible?”
She wrapped her hands around his forearms and shook him gently. “I am not the sort of woman who attracts the attention you fear. Especially dressed like this. I was never in any danger, and my foray into the less savory parts of London was worth the information I was able to gather.”
“Not the sort—” He stood and lifted her to her feet. His expression of outrage might have been comical to others, but she recognized how foreign the feeling was to him simply by the flat, black sheen of his dark blue eyes. He spun her around to face the mirror with the chaise longue between them and the unforgiving reflection. He stood behind her, one arm around her just beneath her breasts and one hand stroking the side of her face.
“You are exquisite,” he whispered into her ear before he took the lobe between his teeth and nipped hard. “Your skin is flawless and soft as rose petals. Your eyes change colors with your every mood. Your body is temptation itself.” Before she could stop him, he unbuttoned the row of buttons down the bodice of her gown and unfastened her stays. He pulled the bodice and stays down to her waist and untied the ribbon of her chemise to lift her breasts free and cup them in his hands. “You are perfection, my love. Don’t you know that?”
Cassandra gasped and rested her head against his chest as he thumbed and tweaked her nipples to the point they ached as twin points of fire shooting down to her quim. He drew the tender flesh at the side of her neck into his mouth and suckled hard.
“Open your eyes. Look at yourself. Look.”
She had no choice but to do as he said. Who was the woman in the mirror? The wanton, hungry creature who reveled in his touch and pushed her breasts into his teasing, tempting fingers.
“Raise your skirts,” he growled into her ear. “Look at your beautiful cunny, wet and ready for me.”
Without coherent thought, she grasped her skirts in her hands and rolled them higher and higher until she was bared to the mirror from the waist down. Her sensible stockings and shoes did nothing to deny the obvious desire between her thighs. Derek’s grip on one breast tightened as his other hand slid down to draw one finger between her nether lips, up and down, dipping into her quim every few strokes. She bucked against his hand in search of the sensations he promised in his touch. It was not enough. She would never have enough of this man. Never. He was never meant to be hers, but now, in this moment, she would take everything he offered and never have regrets.
“What do you want, my beauty?” he whispered, as he continued to tease her cunny and caress her breast. “Look in the mirror and see the passionate siren I see. What do you want?”
“I want you, Derek,” she nearly sobbed. Her entire body throbbed. The sight of the two of them in such a wicked, alluring pose excited her to the point she hardly recognized the flush-faced woman in his arms.
“You want me to what? Say it, Cassandra. I am at your command. Tell me what you need.”
“Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” Her voice was not her own, raw and replete with desire.
He lifted her up and placed her on her hands and knees on the chaise. He gathered her gown into a sash at her waist. Braced on her hands she gazed at the mirror and watched him unbutton his falls and free his cock behind her. He caressed her buttocks with his powerful hands, squeezed and pinched. Then he stroked her quim with his fingers, pushing one and then another inside her. She pushed back and arched her back to find relief.
Derek took his cock in hand and slid the thick hard member back and forth, hitting her most sensitive spot once, twice. Her body shuddered. He grasped her buttocks and slowly pushed his cock into her throbbing cunny. Once he was fully inside he leaned forward to breathe into her ear. “Do not look away. Watch. Watch me fuck you. Watch yourself come.” He pulled out halfway and stroked back inside once more. She flexed her hips back to try and keep him inside her body. In a few strokes he established a rhythm deep in her body, and she matched that rhythm.
She forced herself to watch in the mirror as he held her buttocks in his hands and thrust into her quim over and over again. Her arms began to shake. The woven silk of the chaise ground into her knees. She threw her head back and gasped for breath. The room was filled with the musk of desire and the sounds of his hips slapping against her buttocks. His guttural cries melded with her gasps and moans.
“More,” she cried. “Faster. Please. More.”
He did as she commanded, and for a moment, she feared she would fall from the chaise to the floor. The tension wound inside her tighter and tighter. She glanced at the mirror. Derek, his head thrown back and the muscles in his neck flexed, called her name between groans. She bit her bottom lip and thrust back, her quim hungry for the fullness of his cock and the places he stroked that sent waves of pleasure through her body.
She wanted this sensation to go on forever, but almost at that thought her nipples tightened and her body quaked with soul-shattering explosions of heat and light. She shouted his name and nearly collapsed. He held her hips and continue to thrust until her body screamed with pleasurable, tender pain that made her shiver. He thrust several more times and groaned her name as a rush of liquid heat suffused her quim. She subsided onto the chaise and he draped his body over hers, still joined to her.
The fire crackled in the hearth and sent a few loud sparks up the chimney. The wind rattled the windows behind the heavy brocade curtains. Derek clasped her hands, his fingers entwined with hers. They gasped in time with each other until they could finally breathe slowly and evenly together. Cassandra did not know how long they lay motionless on the chaise. He was warm and sweet, and each kiss he placed on her neck and cheek sent a thrill of sensation meandering through her.
“I suppose we should put ourselves to rights so as not to shock the servants when they bring dinner,” he murmured after a while. He sat up slowly and wrapped an arm around her waist to help her do the same. She glanced over her shoulder. Her hair did not appear too disorganized, at least not in her reflection in the mirror. Derek’s hair, however, was most definitely not in his usual neat and proper state. She began to smooth his hair as he pulled her chemise up and tied the ribbon. Cassandra gasped when he bent to draw a still sensitive nipple into his mouth over the thin muslin of her chemise and draw hard.
“The servants will be here any minute.” She caressed his forehead as if to push him away but held him in place for a few minutes. He finally released her and set to putting her clothes in order. She reached down to tuck his cock into his breeches and rebuttoned his falls. He kissed her with a gentle softness that made her want to weep.
“To be continued?” he asked as they sat back and perused each other’s clothing for signs of what they’d just done.
“That depends.” She did her best to see through the soft cloud of passion that still surrounded them. She had stolen these moments with him. They would end soon enough, but she had to solve the mystery of the madwoman. All of their lives likely depended upon identifying her. Without Derek’s stubborn, manly interference.
He appeared taken aback. “Name your terms,” he finally said with a slightly chagrinned smile.
“We are all involved in trying to identify the person who hired Elias Shell. Lady Jane and Saida have found three houses here in Mayfair with orangeries that have purchased and now house the oleander that poisoned Shell and the Tolumnia triquetra orchid which is the scent on the letter you were sent at the wedding breakfast.”
“Do Col and Sythe know this?”
“They do by now. As do all of the mistresses and their husbands.”
“There is no need for any of you to—” Cassandra touched her fingers to his lips.
“Plans are already in motion to have someone visit each of the three houses under the guise of a perfectly harmless event.” They both jumped at the scratch on the door. Derek immediately moved to the chair across from the chaise. “Come in, Rutherford.”
Young Rutherford and Tall Rutherford backed into the room with a rolling cart laden with an assortment of covered dishes and a table suitable for two people to dine. They went to work quickly, setting the table and placing the covered dishes upon the clean white linen tablecloth.
“Would you care to tell me who these various someone’s are who will be going into the house of a person who has suborned murder and mayhem in my life for the last several months, Missus Collins?” Derek unfolded his serviette and placed the crisp linen in his lap.
“Telling him about Lady Camilla’s plan, are you?” Young Rutherford asked.
“Does everyone in my employ know about this plan save for me?” Derek asked. “When do any of you have time to do anything else, pray tell?”
His respite from worrying about everyone else was apparently over. Of course, she’d never imagined herself capable of changing him, but she had hoped…
“I haven’t told him the details, Rutherford. Thank you very much.” She glared at the footman meaningfully.
“He ain’t likely to be happy when he hears,” Tall Rutherford said. “Is he? Shite!”
Cassandra covered her face with her hand as Young Rutherford elbowed his brother.
Shite indeed!