Chapter 9
9
CHAPTER 9
D erek took a long sip of his brandy and stared at his chamber door. Cassandra was not coming. They’d dined together hours ago, parted to bathe and wait for the house to settle. She’d been garrulous at dinner, teasing and moving from topic to topic. At times their conversation was as always, open and intense on subjects like CB’s dispensary in Seven Dials and the new lives of the mistresses. However, when he’d tried to discuss Lady Camilla’s plan for different members of their Grosvenor Street family to visit the homes of the three people who had possession of the plants in question Cassandra had flitted off on another idea or had simply flirted with him.
Not that he minded her in a flirtatious mood. Beneath his quilted velvet banyan his cock was hard enough to pound nails. She’d done that dressed in her drab housekeeper’s gown and pinafore. Should she actually arrive in his chamber in her nightclothes he’d likely spend like a schoolboy the minute she stepped through the door. As if he’d summoned her with his thoughts, the door latch lifted and she slipped quietly into the room, turning the lock behind her.
Dear God, she was glorious. She wore a simple wool dressing gown which she shrugged out of and dropped to the floor. Her hair was braided in one long braid draped over her shoulder and hanging to her hip. Her night rail was of the sheerest muslin. He noticed at once the fullness of her breasts, the dark circles of her nipples and the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. The outline of her body drawn exquisitely by the light of the fire in the hearth and the lamps on the mantle begged for his touch, for his hands to caress every warm, soft inch.
He rose slowly from his chair before the hearth. “Cassandra.” His voice sounded raw and low to his ears. She came to him, framed his face in her hands and kissed him, a slow gently lingering kiss that seemed to go on forever. She paused to take a breath and then kissed him again, more intently this time. He slipped his tongue over her lips and stroked her tongue with his own. She hummed a low moan and wrapped her arms around his neck. He clasped her hips and drew her against him as he back toward his chair and sat down. She draped her body over him, her knees resting on the chair between his legs.
As she rained kisses over his face and down his neck, Derek opened her night rail and drew the garment down to her waist. He cupped her breasts and dragged his tongue from her mouth, down her throat and down the cleft of those dark rose-tipped ivory globes. When he seized one hard nipple between his teeth, Cassandra gasped and threw back her head. He suckled hard, all the while massaging her other breast. She held his head to her, her fingers threaded through his hair.
He moved his lips to her other breast and allowed his hand to caress down her body until he pressed the muslin fabric between her legs against her already wet cunny. After only a few strokes she rode his fingers fast and hard and in moments shuddered with an inarticulate cry. She rested her forehead against his shoulder. “I have needed that all day,” she said softly. He chuckled and nipped at the side of her neck.
“You can have that any time you wish, my love. You have but to ask.” She stilled and then sighed as she braced her hands on his shoulders and gazed down at him. Her face was nearly unreadable, but he saw a sadness there along with desire. She pushed to her feet and shimmied out of her night rail to stand naked before him. With a few flicks of her fingers, she untied the ribbon and shook out her hair, letting it fall all around her. She reached for the belt of his banyan, untied it, and spread the garment open all the way down to his ankles.
His cock sprang up like a saluting soldier. Cassandra smiled her siren’s smile. The minx knew all too well what she did to him. She knelt between his legs and grasped his cock to stroke his length once, twice. Derek groaned and gripped the arms of the chair. When she took him into her mouth he nearly jumped from the chair. She drew on him hard and then licked her way from the bottom of his throbbing cock to the tip. She licked and sucked, and he began to pump in time with the bobbing of her head. Eyes closed tightly, Derek saw stars and struggled to breathe.
Finally, he clutched her elbows, rested on his thighs and pulled her up and away. His cock left her mouth with a pop, and she pouted as if he’d deprived her of a sweet. He stood and swept her into his arms. When they reached the huge curtained bed, she pulled back the bed curtains and dragged the counterpane and sheets back as he lowered her to the bed. He shucked his robe and climbed into the bed over her. He lowered his head to kiss her. Suddenly she pressed her hand to his mouth and glanced from side to side.
“These are my pillows.” She picked up a few of the small decorative pillows piled at the head of the bed. He’d forgotten they were hidden under the counterpane. He rested her forehead against her sternum and breathed in her alluring scent.
“Yes.” He fought the urge to fall on her like a savage animal. He wanted her more than his next breath. Every nerve sizzled and every muscle tightened in anticipation of joining his body to hers.
“How did my missing pillows end up in your possession?” He opened his eyes and raised his head to meet her gaze. Her eyes shone with passion, but the tiny smile playing about her lips told him she was doing this deliberately. He shook his head, unable to answer her.
“You took my pillows.”
“Yes,” he said in a hoarse, rough voice.
“To Grosvenor Square.”
“Yes.” He lowered his cock to brush against her damp nether lips. She shivered.
“Why?” She brushed one small pillow against his face.
“I…I sleep better with them.” She dropped the pillow and drew the backs of her fingers across his cheek.
“Derek?”
“Yes?” She raised her knees and opened herself to him.
“I need you. Now.”
“Thank God.” He slid his cock into her quim and groaned so hard his body shook. She wrapped her legs around him and crossed her ankles at the small of his back. She thrust upward, seating him more deeply inside her. Derek had to draw in a long, deep breath to steady himself, so urgent was his need to spend. Cassandra wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades. Never had she been so frantic, so wild in her desire for him.
“Now, my lord,” she nearly growled, her mouth so close to his ear, her hot breath sent a shudder down his spine. “Fuck me, now.” He opened his eyes wide and met her gaze. Some primitive wave passed between them. Derek withdrew slowly and thrust again, hard and swiftly. She arched her back and tightened her legs around him.
Something snapped within him and after a few clumsy pumps they set a fast and furious rhythm that stole his breath. He could neither gasp nor groan only grunt in loud bursts as their bodies came together. Her cries were short and raw as she met him stroke for stroke and scratched his back in an effort to urge him one and draw him closer. His skin burned. The knocking of the heavy bed against the wall held testament to the force of their loving. The scent of sweat, musk, and her intoxicating feminine arousal surrounded them.
The world shrank to the place where their bodies met, parted, and met again. He’d never loved like this. He feared he never would again. He wanted to remember, yet every ounce of his being concentrated on pleasing this woman, on increasing her passionate cries, on both of them flying into the lightning storm they’d ignited. The power of his release simmered in his bollocks and filled his cock with the painful pleasure he always found with Cassandra. Her entire body shook as she screamed his name and spasms of passion seized her again and again. Derek roared and arched his back brutally as he spent into her again and again.
They collapsed onto the bed, he too weak to roll away from her. She seemed not to care as she continued to hold him with her arms and legs. She stroked his back and murmured his name. Her kisses, hot and open-mouthed against his neck, sent shards of fire through him. He fumbled to draw the covers over them. His chest heaved as he recovered the ability to breathe.
“What,” he gasped, “was that?”
“If I must tell you, we did a poor job of it.”
He laughed. “I should say not. I believe we made a better job of loving than has been made in centuries.”
“Oh, dear. Now I have made you insufferable.” She pinched his nipple and nipped his shoulder. He finally rolled to the side but pulled her nearly half across his body.
“Was I not always insufferable?”
She placed her palm against the place where his heart still pounded. “Never when speaking of yourself. You are only insufferable when you insist on locking those you care for in cages to keep them safe.”
He sighed. “Would it be so terrible to be kept safe by me, Cassandra?”
She propped herself up on his chest and looked into his eyes. “Is that an offer, my lord?”
“Stop my lording me. I love to hear my name on your lips.”
“In private, at least.” Her tone had a bitter edge. “I have asked you for no offer, Derek. I don’t want that between us.”
“You would not have to work. Nor would you be in danger or ever have to suffer doubt or fear again.”
“Doubt and fear are part of life. I have faced both and done well for myself.”
“And you have been alone. Is that what you want?” He asked her these questions because these were the things that plagued him every time her face, her name, her voice came to mind. She would leave him, and he did not know what his life would be without her.
“There is a difference between being alone and being one’s own person.”
“Cassandra, I—” She sat up, a mythical creature with her body glistening from the sweat of their loving, her eyes bright with the intelligence and fire that awed and frightened him, and her hair spilling down her body and his.
“I will not be your mistress, Derek. I will not share your bed with a ghost who dictates how you treat me from her grave. I don’t need you to keep me. I need you to love me enough to allow me to live my life with you, not for you like some precious possession under glass.” She started to leave the bed. He grasped her hand.
“I do you know. Love you.” Even as he said the words they struck Derek like blows to the chest. He loved her. How long had he gone without this feeling in his life? He was afraid to consider.
“I know you think you do.” She smiled and shook her head. “You have not yet sorted out what love is, and if you continue to believe love means holding someone so close you need never fear losing them, that is all you will do.”
His heart staggered in his chest. He pulled her gently back down beside him. “Am I losing you, Cassandra? Have you decided—”
“Hush. I have decided nothing.” Something about the way she spoke struck him. She’d always spoken so frankly with him when they spoke of life and love. This time, he was not so certain. “Sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow, and perhaps you do as well.”
“You are determined then. To go through with this plan tomorrow night.”
“Go to sleep, Derek. I shall want a repeat performance from you before morning forces me to return to my cold bed.” He kissed her, dragged his lips slowly across hers and settled in to tease, taste and devour her mouth.
“I promise,” he said when he finally had to draw breath and could stare into her green eyes. “Your bed will never be cold again.”
“Promises made in the throes of passion never last. Speak to me in the cold light of day, after tomorrow night. I will listen to anything you have to say once tomorrow night is done.” She kissed him sweetly and tucked herself against his side, her body warm and comforting.
However, whilst her body offered comfort, her words did not, and Derek did not sleep.
By dawn she’d drifted quietly from his chamber, turning back once halfway down the corridor to wave and give him a saucy wink. He’d actually enjoyed two more bouts of pleasure before she’d donned her clothes and dragged herself from his arms. They had not spoken of Lady Camilla’s plan again, only of inconsequential things. Things the world might see as inconsequential. More and more to him his conversations with Cassandra filled his soul as much as her sensual nature sated his body. When had she become so vital to his days and nights?
“She will be perfectly safe,” CB said, that evening as he and Derek stood on the first-floor landing and watched Nathaniel help Cassandra into her heavy wool cape. “My aunt’s plan is for them to simply mingle with the guests in the guise of serving them and listen for information that will identify which of these three households harbors Shell’s vengeful employer.”
Derek glanced at his friend and scowled before he returned his gaze to Cassandra as she went out the front door of Number Five without looking back. He fought the sick sensation in the pit of his belly. With a negligent wave of his arm, he indicated CB should join him as he walked down the corridor to the study. Once inside CB subsided into one of the comfortable chairs before the desk. Derek poured them each a brandy and handed CB one glass before he dropped into his own chair and took a long draught of his own.
“Sophia is perfectly safe,” Derek said. “Norcross is with her at the Nortons’s musicale. Your Aunt Camilla is perfectly safe as she has Obadiah, Dickie, George, and her reputation to keep her safe. No blackmailer in their right mind would dare touch Lady Camilla.”
“Too true,” CB said with a grin. “And don’t forget she is positively lethal with a hatpin.”
“How could I forget? I still have scars.” Derek had to smile ruefully. He knew what they were up to in sending Lionel Carrington-Bowles to discuss the situation with him. The man was serving as a nanny to keep Derek out of the fray.
“Missus Collins is not alone, Framlingwood. The other Rutherfords are guarding the Grosvenor Street ladies, but Young Rutherford is serving as a footman with Nathaniel’s catering service at Viscount Daily’s ball just as she is serving in the kitchens. This Viscount Daily is said to be a dull stick. I doubt there will be any trouble at this affair. And Dickie is not with Lady Camilla. He is with your Missus Collins.”
“She is not my—Dickie is with her, not Lady Camilla?”
“He insisted. He is quite fond of Missus Collins, and I suspect he is keeping more than a few of your secrets. Would you care to enlighten me?”
“I would not. I am not certain Dickie being with her makes me worry more or less.”
“He does have that effect on situations,” CB said with a grin.
“I asked Nathaniel not to let her go with him,” Derek confessed as he finished off his brandy. “She has no sense of the danger she may be in simply by looking after my mistresses.”
“She has more sense of danger than either you or I. Her life has not been an easy one. You with your need to keep her safe is not helping. A woman like Cassandra Collins will not take well to chains.”
“I love her, dammit. How is that a chain?”
“That is perhaps the strongest chain of all. You will have to decide if your fear of losing her is more important to you than your fear of never having her at all.”
“You don’t understand. She won’t be my mistress. And if I make her my wife…” Derek shook his head and went to refill his brandy glass. CB studied him in that annoying enigmatic way he had.
“If you make her your wife and lose her, you do not know how you will go on? You’re a damned fool, Framlingwood. A fucking damned fool.”
“Harsh.” Derek resumed his seat and sipped his brandy, studying CB over the rim of his glass.
“You have the right to declare your love publicly, to marry the woman you love and to have a life with her, a life no one will look askance at, or at least not much. You will not hang for wanting to join your life to hers.” He slammed his empty glass onto the desk. “You are wasting this gift that you have finally found, yes, I say finally. Your love for Celeste was a boy’s love for the first woman he claimed as his own. I have watched you with Missus Collins and her with you. I recognize the love you have because I have that love in my life now. You know what you have and have allowed that knowledge to frighten you witless apparently.”
“A fucking damned fool and witless,” Derek murmured as CB’s words sank into his mind.
“Yes. I would sell my soul to be able to tell the world what Nathaniel and I have. Here you are wasting love at the price of fear.” He snorted derisively. “Coward.”
“Here now—”
“Framlingwood!” The study door burst open so suddenly Derek and CB leapt from their chairs ready to defend themselves.
Archer Colwyn strode into the room with a strikingly beautiful young woman in tow and Tall Rutherford right behind him. She was dressed in the simple garments of a shopgirl or perhaps a seamstress. Her skin was a rich golden brown and her black hair peeking from beneath her cap bore the tight curls of one of Caribbean descent. Her black eyes were wide, not with fear, but perhaps confusion and hesitation.
“Where is Missus Collins?” Colwyn asked. “Please tell me you dissuaded her from going tonight.”
“She is with Nathaniel at Viscount Daily’s Christmas ball. What the devil is wrong, Col?” CB beat Derek to the questions he wanted to ask. Colwyn led the young woman further into the room.
“Gentlemen, meet Bathsheba Rushton. She is the daughter of one Roger Rushton, the father who tried to rape her when she was but twelve years old.”
CB and Derek gazed at the young woman who merely nodded her head.
“Who the devil is Roger Rushton?” Derek asked.
“The man your Missus Collins murdered,” Colwyn stated. “Six years ago, in Jamaica.”
“She did it to save me,” the young woman cried. “He would have taken what he wanted if she had not, and then he would have killed me. He always killed the girls he took. She is a good woman, my lords. The finest. Please don’t—” She clutched Colwyn’s arm. Her eyes watered as she pleaded.
“She will never come to harm,” Derek declared. “Not by our hands or anyone else’s.” His head was spinning. He sorted through the questions and facts that raced by him like runaway horses. She’d lied to him. Kept so many secrets. “Jesus, Col, she is the one the blackmailer was after. All this time we thought…Why didn’t she tell me? She had to know—”
“You can ask her if we manage to save her. You two come with me. Miss Rushton, Rutherford here is going to take you down to the kitchens, make certain you have a meal, and watch over you until we return. Yes?”
“Yes, my lord,” she and the footman said together.
“Save her? Save her from what?” Derek’s sense of dread, which had been building for days now became a roaring conflagration.
“From Roger Rushton’s mother,” Col said. “Mary Rushton-Coates.”
Derek and CB stared at him, both equally confused.
“My grandmother,” Bathsheba said, head held high. “The woman who made my father a monster who deserved to die. She is the Dowager Viscountess Daily.”