Not Quite A Gentleman

roughly down over her hips, then simply lifted her and kicked the material aside, leaving her clad in only her stockings and ankle-high riding boots. With his breaths pumping from his lungs like a bellows, he snagged one hand under her thigh and lifted her leg against his hip while his other hand skimmed down her bare back, over her round buttocks, then lower, to stroke the plump folds of her sex. That she was already wet for him snapped the last vestiges of his control.

Kissing her deeply, he slipped two fingers into her moist heat, his tongue stroking her in the same smooth rhythm as his fingers stroked inside her body. Her arms tightened around his neck and she strained against him. He broke off their kiss, relentlessly stroking her body, and watched her pleasure overtake her while she pulsed around his fingers.

The instant the tremors subsided, he scooped her up in his arms and sat her on top of her discarded gown. Dropping to his knees between her splayed thighs, he yanked open his breeches with impatient, unsteady hands, and freed his erection. Now, damn it. He needed her now. Sitting back on his heels, he grasped her hips and settled her over him, astride his thighs. She clasped his shoulders and slid down as he thrust upward. He tried to go slow, to savor the exquisite glide into her velvety heat, the erotic pull of her tight passage gripping him, but slow was beyond him. Clenching her hips in a viselike hold, he gritted his teeth and thrust, hard, fast, beads of sweat forming on his brow. And just like his thrusts, his release came upon him hard and fast. With a guttural groan that sounded more like pain than pleasure, he withdrew and crushed her against him, his face buried in the warm fragrant valley between her breasts. The instant the passion-induced fog cleared from his brain, guilt smacked him. Damn it, what the hell had come over him? He never lost control like that. He’d taken her without a thought to her pleasure. He lifted his head, fully prepared to apologize and beg her pardon, but found her looking at him with a flushed, sated, slumberous expression.

“Oh… my,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Just when I think I’ve finally discovered what you do best, you prove me wrong.”

Relieved that she’d found as much pleasure as he, he dropped a kiss on her nose. “You still haven’t discovered it.”

“Oh… my,” she whispered again. She glanced down at her naked breasts pressed to his chest. “I’m guessing that friends don’t do this, either?”

“Are we friends, Victoria?” He tossed out the question lightly, but found himself tensing, awaiting her reply.

“I like to think so.”

“Well, in that case, I guess friends do do this.”

“Hmmm. How long do you suppose it would take friends to do this again?”

He smiled. “Let’s find out.”

Twenty

If Today’s Modern Woman is in a situation where she must end a love affair, the best way is to make a clean, fast break. Of course, this is more easily accomplished if her heart isn’t involved.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Late that night, Nathan paced the confines of his bedchamber. When he approached the fireplace, he glared at the mantel clock. Less than a minute had past since he’d last glowered at the enamel timepiece, which meant that not only did his most potent frown not make time pass any quicker, but that he still had to suffer through another quarter hour for midnight to arrive. Until he left his bedchamber and joined Victoria in hers.

Swiping his hands through his hair, he strode back toward the window, the silk of his robe flapping against his bare legs. What the hell had he been thinking, agreeing to wait until midnight to go to her? He’d retired twenty minutes ago, leaving Victoria, Lady Delia, and his father in the drawing room. It had taken him all of ten minutes to undress, wash, and don his robe. And so he’d commenced pacing, frustrated at his lack of sangfroid, as he’d always considered himself a very patient man. But there was nothing patient about the need, the want, to be near her, touching her, that clawed at him.

He paused at the window and looked down at the gardens bathed in a silvery glow of moonlight. He was about to turn away when a movement below caught his eye. As he watched, a dark clad figure carrying a sack emerged from the shadows and moved stealthily across the lawn toward the dense forest. For an instant the moon shone directly on the figure and Nathan froze in recognition. Seconds later the darkness swallowed the furtive form, and Nathan, mind spinning with questions, stared at the spot where he’d disappeared.

What the hell was Colin up to?

There was no point giving chase-he’d never find his brother in the forest in the dark. But that didn’t mean he didn’t intend to look for answers. Grabbing the oil lamp from his end table, he exited his bedchamber and headed down the corridor. When he reached Colin’s bedchamber, he entered, closing the door behind him.

Raising the lamp, he walked slowly around the darkened room, surveying the area through narrowed eyes. Little had changed since he’d last seen the room three years ago. The same cherrywood furniture, the same dark green patterned Axminster carpet and heavy velvet drapes. At first glance everything seemed in perfect order, but upon close inspection, he noticed the fringe on one end of the hearth rug was mussed, something the maid would not have left uncorrected.

He approached the round mahogany table near the wardrobe, where a decanter of brandy and a crystal snifter rested on a silver tray. Lifting the snifter to his nose, Nathan inhaled. The scent of potent liquor lingered in the glass. Holding the glass up to the light, he noted the drops of pale gold still in the bottom. A quick bracer for the dash across the lawn, Colin?

Crossing to the French windows, Nathan noted with a grim smile that they were locked from the inside. “But you’re an expert at locking doors from the other side,” he murmured. “And unlocking them, for that matter, as I suspect you didn’t waltz in the front door and come up the stairs.”

He opened the doors and stepped onto the balcony. Walking to the stone balustrade, he raised the lantern and minutely examined the stone. Directly in the center of the railing he found what he was looking for-bits of rope fiber. “Now I know how you got in-but what were you looking for?”

Lowering the lamp, his gaze swept the stone balcony and halted on the pale object near his feet. He crouched down and picked up the folded ivory vellum. A sense of dread rushed through him as he slowly unfolded the paper, hoping he wouldn’t see what he suspected he would. Seconds later his worst suspicions were confirmed.

It was the fake letter and map he’d drawn. The same fake letter and map that had been stolen from him.

Bloody hell. Filled with foreboding, he hurried back to his own bedchamber. After entering the room, he went immediately to the wardrobe and pulled out the pair of riding boots in the far corner. Grabbing the heel of the left boot, he gave a deft twist then felt in the hidden compartment. As he’d suspected, it was empty.

* * *

“The letter and map have been stolen,” Nathan said the instant he closed the door to Victoria’s bedchamber behind him. “Our grid map as well.”

Victoria stared at his sternly set features, her heart sinking in dismay at the news. “When?”

“Must have been during dinner this evening.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I should have suspected, should have considered he’d do this, but I didn’t want to believe he’d be so foolish.”

“Who?”

Victoria went still at the tortured look in his eyes. “Colin,” he said, his voice laced with anguish. “He was here. Tonight. I saw him on the lawn, heading toward the forest. When I searched his bedchamber, I found this.”

She took the vellum he held out to her and frowned at the unfamiliar words and drawing. “What is this?”

“It’s the fake note and map that was stolen from us.”