Nicola Cornick - One Wicked Sin

She moved to straddle him on the seat of the carriage. She could feel the long hard ridge of his erection against her thigh and she pressed down on him and heard him groan.

“This is what you bought,” she said against his mouth. “See if you like it.” She bit him, not gently. He jerked back, swearing, then rolled her over on the seat so that she was beneath him now, her legs tangled in a waterfall of silk and lace petticoats, his weight holding her down. She lay panting, looking up at him. He was breathing as hard as she, and there was a dark, feral light in his eyes.

Ethan pushed the cloak off her shoulders and pulled down the bodice of her gown with a violent movement that almost ripped the flimsy material. He cupped one breast, taking her quickly into his mouth. Lottie squirmed. Desire flamed through her, shocking her with its heat and ferocity after so many months of cold, empty misery. She opened her body and her mind to its dark, demanding tide, her entire being burning up with anger and wild need.

Ethan bit down on her breast, more gently than she had bitten him, and she gasped as her body jolted with the mingled pain and pleasure of it. In response she tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair and pulled hard.

He swore again before returning his mouth to her breasts, covering them with tiny kisses that made her skin tighten and shiver, rosy pink from the torment of his lips, tongue and teeth. He slid one hand up her thigh and she reached for the band of his pantaloons, feverish to feel him inside her and put an end to this driving need for possession. It was fury and it was escape, but it was pleasure, too, as she felt the palm of his hand rough against the soft skin of her inner thigh and she arched, desperate to draw his touch to the very core of her.

The carriage jerked to a halt, almost throwing them off the seat. Ethan caught Lottie close in his arms to prevent her from falling, and for a second she stared up at him, seeing in his face the same welter of emotion there that she felt inside, the fury, the confusion and the need. Then his expression turned blank and she wondered if she had imagined that flash of feeling.

“Where are we?” Lottie said. She felt confused and adrift. The anger and desire were ebbing swiftly now and the cold desolation rushing back to fill all the empty corners of her soul.

“We are at Limmer’s Hotel,” Ethan said. “I stay here when I am in town.” He shifted, straightening, and Lottie sat up, smoothing down her gown with hands that shook slightly. Another minute, she thought, another second, and he would have been inside her. She had wanted it, wanted him, with so fierce a hunger it had stolen her breath. So why did she now feel so cheap and sad and worthless?

She drew the cloak about her tightly as though trying to drive out the cold.

“Limmer’s?” she said. “How very disreputable.”

She saw Ethan smile. “How very appropriate.”

He swung open the door of the hackney carriage and jumped down, threw some coins and a word of thanks to the coachman and turned to help Lottie down the steps. As she moved toward the doorway of the hotel he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“A moment,” he said softly. He looked her over, straightening the cloak with a gesture she found oddly touching, pulling the hood up over her disordered hair. His hand touched her cheek in a brief caress. She could not be sure whether it was accident or design but it sent a quiver of sensation right through her body. She searched his face for another glimpse of that elusive emotion she was sure she had seen before but there was no sign of it.

“That was not bad,” Ethan said. He spoke lightly, mockingly. “Perhaps I shall get my money’s worth after all.”

And in that moment Lottie knew never to expect tenderness from Ethan Ryder. She berated herself for seeking it, hoping for it. This was about sex and money, nothing more. That was the cornerstone of her new life. And she had best not forget it.

ETHAN WONDERED if he was destined to spend the rest of the evening and very possibly the foreseeable future feeling angry; angry with Lottie, angry with himself and angry with the two of them in combination. It seemed more than likely.

He had been absolutely furious to discover that Lottie had attempted to steal and run away from him. Such treachery should have amused him, bearing out as it did his assessment that she had no integrity. But instead of amusement he had been possessed by a red-hot rage that had been as inexplicable as it had been out of character. It had been sufficient to make him lose control, to want to possess Lottie with an angry desire that had been fueled by her equally uninhibited response. He was a man who never lost control, least of all with a woman, and this had been unprecedented. Choosing a mistress, sleeping with her, should have been the simple part of his plan. Instead it was mysteriously turning into the most complicated aspect.

And now he was furious for an entirely different reason. The fierce lovemaking with Lottie, which had almost reached its culmination in a hackney carriage of all places, had left him feeling shaken and disturbed. Neither were reactions that he associated with making love to a woman. He was not accustomed to being at the mercy of his own passion and he did not care for the feeling. The unwelcome emotion had been enough to make him want to put some distance between them.

Lottie had not replied to him but had swept ahead of him through the doorway and into the dingy interior of Limmer’s Hotel. She carried herself with dignity and Ethan was forcibly reminded of the fact that no matter her current ruin and disgrace, Lottie Palliser was descended from a very old and aristocratic family indeed.

He followed her inside. Lottie’s arrival was causing considerable interest in the dark and dirty entrance hall. Several sporting gentlemen—for Limmer’s was known as a haunt of the hunting squirearchy—were ogling her and even the pale desk clerk had a gleam of excitement in his eyes. Lottie was looking about her with haughty disdain. Ethan was startled to realize that in her velvet cloak with her hair peeping from beneath the hood and her face bare of cosmetics she looked more like a young ingenue than the veteran of many scandalous love affairs.

As he watched, a slim gentleman in the buff breeches and navy coat that was the uniform of the 1st regiment of Napoleon’s Carabiniers stepped forward to bow to Lottie with languid elegance.

“Enchanté, madame,” he said. “Colonel Jacques Le Prevost at your service.” Turning to Ethan he raised his fair brows expressively and continued in French: “My God, St. Severin, I thought you were visiting Madame Tong’s Temple of Venus to find your mistress, not Almack’s Assembly Rooms!”

Before Ethan could respond, Lottie had smiled prettily at Le Prevost and replied, in perfect French. “You mistake, monsieur, I am fresh from the whorehouse not the schoolroom.”

Le Prevost choked. “Madame!” He recovered himself and his hazel eyes lit with appreciative laughter. “All that, a sense of humor and perfect French, too? You are a fortunate man, St. Severin.” His gaze narrowed speculatively on Lottie. “Perhaps Wantage will not prove so tedious a posting after all.”

“You will have to make your own entertainment,” Ethan said, taking Lottie’s arm. “Jacques was previously on parole in Reading,” he murmured to her. “It is where all the richest and most influential French officers are sent and the society there is good. He is less than impressed to be sent to Wantage’s rural backwater.”

“I am becoming more resigned to my fate by the moment,” Le Prevost said, slapping Ethan on the back. “You had best take your English rose away, my friend, before her jealous countrymen snatch her back.” He made another elegant bow to Lottie. “Your servant, madame. I shall look forward to knowing you better.”