In the Arms of a Marquess(44)

He set Samuel to guard outside the library door and made his way to the other end of the house. Lady Nathans reclined in the drawing room, alone, where according to Ben’s servants she had been every night until late. Waiting for him or some other lucky fellow.

“Your husband, it seems,” he leaned his shoulder against the doorpost, “has some trouble holding his liquor.”

She barely batted a lash. “But you haven’t, apparently, my lord?” She unfolded herself from the sofa with feline sinuousness, assessing him from brow to toe. Appreciation shone in her narrow emerald gaze, and clear intentionality. “How convenient for you.”

He laid aside his regret. For the moment. “For both of us, my lady.”

She moved toward him, a studied provocatrice.

“He mentioned something before he dropped off.” Ben mimicked intimacy with his tone. “A matter preying upon his mind lately concerning his partner.”

She halted inches away, the unmistakable scents of Parisian perfume and promiscuous female twining in his nostrils.

“Oh, no, that is impossible. My husband hasn’t any mind upon which a matter might prey.” She slid the tip of her tongue along the berry-red curve of her lower lip.

“You are harsh on him, I think.” He allowed his gaze to dip to her bosom covered by a thin gown more suited to London than the countryside.

“But, you see, he is rather harsh on me.” She tilted her chin up, her chestnut curls glistening in the candlelight. “In one particularly unpleasant manner.”

“What manner is that?”

She traced a fingertip along the lapel of his coat to his waist. “He has no idea how to please a woman.” She paused and her tongue darted out again to moisten her lips. “Carnally.”

Her actions and words roused nothing in him, neither desire nor surprise. Women like Priscilla Nathans had always spoken to him in this manner, as though he understood bestial nature better than civility.

“Pity for him,” he murmured.

“Pity for me,” she replied, her fingers descending. “Until this moment.” She cupped his groin.

Ben reached down and smoothly lifted her hand away.

“This moment would no doubt be better enjoyed in a more private location, my lady.”

Her bosom rose upon a breath, her jeweled eyes glistening with triumph.

“Abigail Carmichael said you could not be enticed these days, but I told her I could move you.”

Not yet. Not even the slightest bit. Dear God, he was out of practice. But he had always been able to perform upon demand. Like the trained animal they imagined him to be.

“Let us see about that, shall we?” he replied.

She pressed her breast to his arm as they ascended the stairs. The corridor stretched dark save for a lamp set at the far end. She opened her bedchamber door. Within, coals simmered upon the grate, a pair of candles illuminating the bed table. The maid had recently visited; they would not be disturbed. But suddenly Ben could not wait to complete his task, and the blatant appetite in the woman’s eyes told him he might rush matters without forfeiting his goal.

“Tell me,” he said just above her lips, “of the nature of your husband’s partnership with Marcus Crispin.”

Her eyes narrowed. She took his hand and placed it upon her breast. Her lashes fluttered.

“What do you wish to know, my lord?”

Relief skidded through him. She understood the game. He stroked and she smiled in victory.

“What motive would a man have to blackmail Crispin?”

She guided his hand to cool, smooth skin above her bodice, then beneath the garments.

“But one, I should say.” She tilted her head back and her eyes slitted. Ben gave her what she desired, but his mind went to Octavia’s soft skin beneath his hands, her wide, needy gaze, and his body stirred in response. Finally.

“What is that?” Imagining Octavia while touching another woman turned his stomach. He withdrew his hand, gripped the coquette’s waist and bent to set his mouth upon her neck. By any standard Priscilla Nathans was stunning. That should suffice.

“A ship,” she breathed, sliding her hand low once more. “A cargo. Always the same.”

“The same?”

“As two years ago.” She grasped his cock.

His jaw tightened. “Illegal goods?”

“What else? Come inside now.” Her voice was thick with desire. “Now.” She drew him within. The door clicked shut and she reached to lock it.

“No.”

Her fingers paused upon the key. Her thin brows lifted. He moved behind her, covered her hand on the lock, and rounded her waist.

“I must know what cargo.” He stroked up to the heavy swell of her breast, barely brushing it. “Exactly.”

“And you will not remain unless I tell you.” She had probably been playing this game for years already. “What if I don’t know?”

“Then you will learn it.”

“If I do?”

He moved around her to the door, allowing a lazy look in his eyes as he scanned her body.

“Then, my dear Lady Nathans, you will have what Lady Carmichael does not.”

Her eyes glittered, her breaths fast. Ben stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind him. Leaning back against the wall, he inhaled a shuddering breath and willed his stomach to cease churning.