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This was why he was here, why he had lied to Corinne’s staff and intimated that they were lovers so they would cease trying to turn him away.
It was the way she felt in his arms, the rightness of it. He owned a favored knife that had a similar appeal to him. The hilt fit into his palm as if it were made for him alone. Yes, the edges were sharp and he had injured himself occasionally in the caring of it, but it was worth the effort to own such a unique and valuable piece.
And then there was the way Corinne responded to him, even in slumber. The way his touch and voice penetrated through the shell around her. As if some part of her knew that he would fit her just as well.
Edward felt her heartbeat slow against his chest and his own followed suit. Soon, they were breathing in unison, their hearts beating as one.
His eyes closed and he slept.
Simon smiled as Lynette’s fingers drifted through the pelt on his chest. She was tucked against his side, her leg tossed over his thigh, dangerously near his cock. The feel of her silken limbs tangled so intimately with his kept his prick hard and aching. If tonight had not been her first for sex, he would have been at her again by now. As it was, he was biding his time. His end goal was too important to ruin for mere impatience.
He had been staring into the grate, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped around her bare shoulders. Now, he looked down at her and felt a familiar knotting of his gut. Her hair was in glorious disarray, part of it restrained by pins, other parts sticking out wildly owing to the fervency of her desire.
How devastating she was in the heights of passion, unabashed and shameless, begging for his cock as if she would die without it. Not as a separate and interchangeable device of pleasure, but because of him alone. Out of all the women whose beds he had shared, he was positive only Lynette wanted Simon Quinn and not merely any available lover of sufficient skill and attractiveness.
Having met the vicomtess, he knew some of the censure Lynette would face, he understood the future she could have and the value of her maidenhead to her future husband. She had forsaken a lifetime of breeding and training for one night with him. It humbled him that she thought he was worth such a price.
“Why were your accounts seized?” she asked, glancing up at him.
“Extortion,” he said dryly, his hand caressing the downy softness of her shoulder. “I resigned and they did not want to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“So you are a slave then,” she said, anger lacing her tone.
“In a fashion, but only temporarily.”
“What do they want you to do?” Lynette sat up and tucked the sheet modestly beneath her arms. Her lithe legs were curled beneath her and visible, creating a seductive montage for his eyes.
“Our friend, Lysette Rousseau, is up to mischief again. She is consorting with a Revolutionist and there is a need to know why.”
“They could find no one else?”
“Apparently not.” He thought a moment, then asked, “Does that surname sound familiar to you?”
“Rousseau? Not in an extraordinary fashion. Why?”
“Nothing. Just exploring a suspicion.”
Her fingers rubbed along the ribbon-edged hem of the linen. “Are you expected to seduce her?”
“It was suggested,” he murmured, watching her carefully.
Her pretty mouth thinned. “You won’t, of course.”
Simon grinned. “Of course.”
“Are you being serious?” she asked crossly, eyeing his humor with an adorable scowl.
“Are you being jealous?”
She looked piqued for a moment, then chagrined. “Will you tell me how you know her?”
He patted his chest with his hand. “If you come lie against me again, I might be persuaded.”
Lynette did as he asked. He tugged the sheet away so that nothing came between his skin and hers. Her breasts were a soft pillow against his chest, the curls between her legs a teasing tickle against his thigh. He had never truly absorbed such delights before, not to this degree. Every cell in his body was acutely attuned to every facet of her.
“Recently,” he began, wrapping his arms around her, “Mademoiselle Rousseau accompanied me on a journey to England. She claimed to be searching for the perpetrator of a crime and the main suspect was an associate of mine whom I knew to be innocent.”
“Did you find him?”
“Yes, and all ended well, but it was revealed that Lysette’s purpose was not the hunt for my friend at all. It was another search entirely. She failed, but it was a lesson learned for me. I watched the woman stab a man to death and callously betray a comrade in an effort to save her own skin.”
“Oh . . .” Her head rested more heavily against him.
“What is it, a thiasce?” he murmured, feeling her mood alter.
“She does not sound anything at all like my sister. She sounds like a monster.”
Simon clutched her closer to him, giving her what little comfort he could. “In her defense, at times she seems to loathe herself and the man she killed was not a good one. The venom with which she attacked him also suggested that he had harmed her in some way in the past. There was no glee in her when she acted, only fury such as I have rarely seen in a woman.”
Lynette shuddered. “I cannot imagine killing anyone.”
“I hope you never have to. Regardless of the reasons for doing so, the taking of a life is not something one forgets.”
Her head tilted back, revealing wide China-blue eyes. “Have you ever taken a life?”
“Regrettably, yes.” He flinched when she did, fearing that her adoration of him would change and doubting he could bear it.
“A large number?”
“More than a few.”
She was silent for so long, he wondered if she was thinking of a way to extricate herself and depart. Instead she said, “Thank you for your honesty.”
“Thank you for not running away.”
An ivory shoulder rose in an elegant shrug. “I can see they haunt you.”
“Can you?” he asked hoarsely, riveted by a sense of vulnerability, of being naked in far more than body.
“Yes, it is in your eyes.” She touched his brow with a cool hand. “I know you would not have done what you did if not forced to by necessity.”
Catching her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm. “I am laid low by your faith.”
He treasured her generosity, treasured her. Her steadfast belief in the goodness of his character—based only upon his treatment of her—altered everything. She knew his hands had blood on them, yet she trusted that he would act so decisively only by necessity. She did not judge or disparage, his already negligible assets were not further diminished. She did not color his future with the sins of his past.
“I am not the only open book in this bed,” she said, smiling. “I can read you as well.”
“Oh?” His brows rose. “What are you reading now?”
“You are mad for me,” she pronounced, without a drop of humility.
Simon laughed. “You are incorrigible.”
“You should have known that when I allowed you to kiss me.”
“Allowed?” His grin widened. “Darling, you hadn’t the wherewithal to stop me. You were clay in my hands.”
“I suppose you are just irresistible?” She snorted.
He rolled and pinned her beneath him, enjoying the view of her pale hair and skin against the burgundy and dark woods of his bed. “Resist me, then,” he challenged.
“That would be a bit difficult with you mashing me into the mattress.”
“Mashing?” He lifted hastily.
“Well, you are a big man.”
“The better to please you with,” he purred, punctuating his claim with a nudging of his bone-hard prick into her thigh. He nuzzled his nose against hers. “You would not want a smaller man, a thiasce.”
“Are you talking about your cock?”
He laughed at her obvious astonishment.
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sp; Lynette pushed on his shoulder. “I am serious, Simon! Does size vary greatly in that area?”
