Secrets of Sin (3 page)

Why did it even bother him? Everyone who married for convenience sought pleasure outside the marriage. It was almost expected.

Why did he feel that odd twinge in his chest, then? True, he’d married Emiline for practical reasons. But it wasn’t quite that simple. As soon as he realized he’d fallen for her, it became quite inconvenient.

“It was only a matter of time before she felt lonely enough to do it.” Connor’s low voice held a slight hint of reproach.

Only a matter of time
. The words echoed in his head. Damn it. If Connor only knew how badly she’d broken his heart. Leaving her had been the only way to make sure she wouldn’t take his soul as well.

As soon as he felt certain he’d rid his eyes of any sign of treacherous emotion, Reinier opened them again to linger on his friend. His teeth ground now, but he made sure his eyes remained blank.

She was his, whether he liked it or not. She was his, whether she liked it or not. She had no right to act like this. She wasn’t free. She wasn’t independent. She belonged to him. Emiline was his wife.

Reinier rubbed his chin in thought. He had pushed that part of his life aside for far too long. She was a pretty girl when he left. Naïve, yes. And eager to please him, that too. Demanding, yet oh-so-unchallenging. At least that was what he had eventually convinced himself of.

Of course, he was completely over that immature infatuation.

Reinier took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out in a rush and along with it the memories that had come to life.

Perhaps it was time he reminded her of her place. A submissive wife needed a dominant husband. He would show her her place in the world—in his world.

Instantly, his wicked mood was completely restored with the prospect of the task ahead. “Connor,” he said, his decision final, “I do think it is time I take the southern route. I appreciate you doing it for the last few years, but I feel like going to Ronde again myself.” His lips twitched into a sly smile. “I’ll set sail tomorrow morning, so that leaves two more days for you.”

Connor bowed his head as a sign he understood. They had played this particular game before, after all; Reinier would leave and Connor would follow in a few days. If that was really necessary. Quite honestly, Reinier expected it wouldn’t come to that. If she still was who she was, she’d be no match for his honed seductive skills. And speaking of which…

“Madame Poivre said she had someone special for us.”

He didn’t feel guilty about his “leisure” activities, not anymore. What he did here or elsewhere was something men in his position did, period. It was ridiculous that all of a sudden he’d think of it as something damnable.

“Someone special, you say?” Connor’s eyebrows rose with curiosity, distracting Reinier’s pensive mood and pointing it back in the right direction. “Where is she, anyway? I could do with a glass of port.”

At that, the double doors opened and Madame Poivre came in with a tray that held two glasses of the finest wine her excellent establishment offered to only its best of clients.

With her cloying perfume, the much-too-round and much-too-small matron of the maison close of St. George’s dressed a little too indecently for her age and for Reinier’s taste, wore a little too much rouge on her cheeks and lips, and hid her graying hair under an absurdly large turban that bobbed like a pecking robin whenever she moved her head. But Madame Poivre had exquisite taste in deciding whom she’d let work for her. Reinier had to grant her that.

Turning his head, Reinier smiled at her. “Please have a seat, madame, and tell us about this latest and oh-so-special acquisition of yours.” He accompanied his words with a graceful show of his hand, indicating she take the still-empty armchair.

“Ahh,” Madame Poivre set out and nodded.
“Certainement.”
Her acquired French heritage almost hid her cockney accent completely.

She placed the now-empty tray against the side of the third armchair, then sat down and leaned back, casually folding her legs. Obviously, she enjoyed the men’s attention and drew it out for her own sake. Finally, when she had arranged herself, she declared, “The young woman is completely inexperienced in this métier, messieurs.”

Connor turned to her and interrupted rudely, “But she is not a virgin, is she? If so, I won’t—”

“Oh, no, no!” Madame Poivre shook both her hands like the flopping wings of a butterfly, the turban on her head bouncing in tandem. “She isn’t all that innocent anymore. But she still needs some guidance as to what will be expected from ’er in the future.”

Reinier tilted his head in thought. “Why us, madame?”

Laughing, Madame Poivre’s elbows rested on the arms of the chair while she brought her fingertips together excitedly, as if applauding herself. “You seemed the right choice to introduce ’er to the ways of ’er new profession.”

Reinier raised both his eyebrows and looked at Connor, who, in turn, shrugged as a sign that he didn’t understand either.

“Messieurs.” Madame Poivre rolled her eyes. “I ’ave other girls ’oo ’ave already ’ad…shall we say…the pleasure of making your acquaintance? It was their ceaseless rhapsodizing that made me decide you should be the ones to educate ’er.”

Reinier laughed low, an understanding, knowing purr. Connor chuckled into his fist.

“I feel obliged to tell you, though,” Madame Poivre pointed out, “she is unattractively thin despite ’aving been ’ere for two weeks already. Moreover, she is unfashionably tall for a woman and ’er face is distorted with ghastly freckles.”

Connor sat up and leaned forward. “Freckles, you say?”

Reinier hid his smile in his handkerchief as he watched him. He already knew the Irishman could be quickly and easily charmed by blond, flaxen, golden straw or even tawny hair as long as it came with a lovely face. Personally, he couldn’t care less. Reinier failed to imagine how a woman with such a fair complexion could have ended up here, in a whorehouse in the Caribbean Sea, but he, too, did not think freckles could be classified as a “distortion.” For Connor, it was probably quite the contrary.

Madame Poivre sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

Perhaps it was time Reinier scattered Madame Poivre’s worries about the woman’s “unattractiveness.” He knew she’d be appealing. Madame Poivre had a good eye for beauty, after all. Therefore, Reinier stated dryly, “I do believe freckles pose no hindrance to our performance.”

“Certainly not,” Connor chuckled.

Madame Poivre sighed with relief and bowed her head gratefully.

“So,” Reinier concluded, “we are to be the ones to give her her first lesson in licentiousness?”

Madame Poivre bit her lower lip to swallow the mischievous grin crawling up her round face. “Do you feel up to it?”

M
adame Poivre was swaying her broad hips more than usual. Reinier could tell because he was right behind her when she was showing them up the stairs. Something was on her mind, something exciting, something besides money. He would have liked to wonder some more, but she opened the door to the best suite on the second floor and, stepping aside, murmured a low,
“Amusez-vous, messieurs.”

Reinier stepped inside and let his coat fall over the one chair in the room. Hearing Connor sucking in his breath, he turned. His friend had stopped short, eyes fixated on the woman standing by the windows. Reinier pivoted to see what had Connor so captivated.

Her exceptionally long, strawberry blond hair fell down her sides like an exotic veil. Her hair was straight, as straight as her back when she heard the door close, and she slowly lifted her chin to meet their gazes. She wore a flimsy white dressing gown over a matching corset that was cut below her breasts. The long undergarments emphasized her slim calves and delicate ankles.

Reinier felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. She was tall and thin, but nevertheless beautiful. A rare jewel to be sure. Not as rare as turquoise…The thought of her had his expression turn to stone, so he reined in his wandering mind.

She was pale, which only emphasized the dark green quality of her eyes. And as Madame Poivre had pointed out, freckles were lavishly strewn over her features and décolleté. Although her lips were broad and a little too thin for Reinier’s taste, they seemed created for luscious pleasures. She was beautiful, indeed. She was a very beautiful whore.

Turning back to Connor, Reinier saw that his friend seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. He looked spellbound, almost frozen in place.

As realization dawned on Reinier, his eyes briefly widened and he felt a knowing, albeit sad, smile on his lips. He’d been there. Reinier knew only too well how it felt when instant attraction hit and rattled a man like lightning.

The poor boy. Somehow Reinier had a strong feeling that this was a woman the Irishman wouldn’t be able to easily walk away from.

Tilting his head in thought, Reinier licked his lips slowly. After all their adventures before and after his marriage, Reinier had not thought it could ever happen to Connor. He could only hope he would have far better luck with it than Reinier had ever had.

His gaze was locked with Connor’s as the Irishman shook himself out of his trance, his eyebrows puckering in a whimsical way. Reinier ignored Connor’s quizzical look and crossed the room to sit on the bed. Casually, he leaned back, bracing himself against the mattress. He was not going to start the game this time. If Connor was, indeed, feeling what Reinier thought he was, he would have to decide the next step to take.

That instant, when both men were looking at her, she cleared her throat, lowered her gaze, and self-consciously tried to cover herself. “Gentlemen,” she began tentatively and quietly, “I have been instructed on what you expect. So, what would you have me do?”

A fleeting glance at Connor told Reinier that he was too hypnotized by her smoky voice to react, so Reinier drawled, “Patience. We have all afternoon and half of the night for this.” Reinier paused before he added, “At least I do. I believe my friend can stay even longer.”

If it was possible, she blanched even more at those words, swallowed, and looked down. Finally, Connor found his way out of his stupor, threw his coat carelessly on top of Reinier’s, and stalked toward her. Moving around her, he eyed her from all sides. His sapphire eyes glittered with appreciative sparkles. Subtly leaning forward as if he was trying to catch the scent of her hair, Connor closed his eyes. “Tell us your name.” His words were barely more than a whisper.

Instead of answering, instead of maybe even giving them a false name, she only shook her head. Just as well.

Then Reinier saw her shudder and he couldn’t help feeling a little bit for her. She was frightened to death. But there was no need to be. He knew that if Connor still wanted this, they would both skillfully seduce her. It was an art they had perfected a long time ago.

Connor walked around until he stood right in front of her. “Are you cold?”

He captured her hands in his. Reinier noticed she wanted to pull away but apparently thought better of it.

“Come. Sit down,” Connor offered, guiding her to the bed until she had no choice but to perch on the edge beside Reinier. The Irishman sat down on the other side of her, gently massaging her hands in his. “I am Connor. And this is Reinier.”

So, it was to be the both of them? Inwardly, Reinier was surprised at Connor’s choice. But maybe it was better this way.

She refused to look at either of them. Instead, her eyes were fixated on a spot on the floor.

“Tell us something about you,” Reinier encouraged, hiding the low, purring note in his voice. “Where are you from?”

She raised her head slowly at that and stared at him, full of suspicion. But when she looked into his eyes, her face relaxed and her cautiousness eased. She was fascinated.

Reinier’s singular eyes were indeed a blessing most of the time. One would think he would grow tired of others’ reaction to them, but all too often the advantage served his purpose.

The woman before him vigorously shook herself out of her enthrallment and looked down again upon replying, “
Éire
. I was born and raised in Ireland.”

Connor stopped caressing her hands and his eyebrows drew up in obvious surprise.

Reinier’s and the Irishman’s eyes briefly met over her shoulder. They had both noticed the sophisticated way she expressed herself.

“Born and raised?” Reinier repeated her words as a question to nudge her to tell them more. Meanwhile, Connor tenderly rubbed her upper arms. She let it happen; in fact, she didn’t seem to notice at all.

She nodded to emphasize her story. “I am a maid’s daughter. My father is unknown.”

Perhaps if she’d looked him straight in the eyes, Reinier could have believed it. As it was, it was clear that she had diligently made it up.

Reinier tried his best to hide a grin. “You look like you loved to ride through the vast green fields bareback.”

Eyes wide with astonishment, her mouth opened and closed. Her eyes began to sparkle unexpectedly, as if with fond memories. “Indeed, I did! Much to my cousins’ dismay, though.” She laughed. “But was it my fault that their horses weren’t as fast as mine?”

Mirth made Reinier purse his lips as he, again briefly, locked gazes with Connor. He, too, was smiling mischievously. They had caught her unawares with that.

Now Connor leaned forward and breathed into her ear, “You had a horse?”

Her laughter died as abruptly as it had erupted. She blushed and her eyes widened, realizing she had been caught red-handed. Reinier felt smug. He enjoyed playing with her as much as Connor did.

Quickly regaining her composure, she came up with another facet to her story. “Of course not. I only helped the groom so often that he let me secretly ride a horse when the masters weren’t home.”

At the indignant glare Connor received along with her words, his eyes dilated. Reinier was sure that never in Connor’s life had reproach been that arousing for him.

“You were grooming horses when you didn’t work in your masters’ household?” Reinier took one of her elegant, slim hands into his. His eyes flicked to Connor’s. Receiving Connor’s minuscule nod, Reinier brought her hand up to his mouth.

Connor’s caress on her upper arms changed, slowing and softening to a light touch up and down her arms.

Reinier kissed her palm, a palm that was not flawed by calluses and old scars from blisters as a maid’s would have been. He decided to let it go. She must have her reasons for this. Besides, they had said quite enough.

Feeling the slight tremble of her hand under his lips, Reinier looked up at her. He slowly guided her hand in his to his abdomen and placed it there, letting her feel his body through his garments.

Connor’s fingers brushed her hair from one ear. She shivered when he brought his lips close. Leaning forward, Reinier mirrored Connor’s caress at the other side of her neck. Their lips whispered over her skin, raining featherlight kisses, lavishing gentle nibbles.

Her fingers on Reinier’s abdomen twitched, betraying her arousal. Not only that, her skin was already so sensitized, it rippled beneath his lips. Her head fell back a little and she gradually began to subtly move against them.

She was a highly sensual creature. Despite her obvious shyness, this was very promising.

A particularly precious aroma filled Reinier’s lungs and made his head light—the faint nuance of delicate white roses surrounded by a deeper note of sweet sandalwood, Connor’s natural fragrance. Reinier knew it so well by now, and still it did not fail to pique his arousal. The spice in the air mingled with his own darker scent and was accentuated by her feminine musk, growing and wrapping itself around them all.

As if that had been their cue, both he and Connor parted their lips. Their tongues wet the silken skin of her long, elegant neck. Again, she shivered. Then she sighed.

Never ceasing his attentions on her neck, Reinier knew Connor’s hands wandered down her sides to play with the little ribbon that held her gown together. The gown slipped down her shoulders as Connor nudged it off her arms and parted it to reveal her upper body to them. Obeying the slight pull, her arms fell to her sides and the fabric came off.

Reinier drew back just long enough to see her sensitive peaks harden, pleading for attention. He cupped her chin to gently urge her head back a little more now that Connor’s nibbling and caressing lips wandered down her shoulder. Subtly moving closer, Reinier spread his fingers over her delicate neck; then they wandered lightly down to the top part of her breasts.

Cupping one of them, he gently squeezed it. Connor’s hand came up to cup her other breast. His thumb toyed with the hard peak in his hand; Reinier could feel it, because the back of Connor’s hand brushed against his chest at the same time.

When Reinier’s lips found the frantically beating pulse at the base of her neck, he opened his mouth a little more and waited for another blissful gasp from her. As soon as it came, he gently bit into the satiny, frail skin.

She jumped at the erotic assault and bowed to allow them both better access to her body. Her body’s subtle movements against them became more urgent. She was restless. Her other hand grabbed the bedcover, but before she could ball it into a fist, Reinier snatched it and guided it to the buttons of his shirt.

“Undress me,” he whispered against her skin and helped her with the first button, noticing that Connor was busying himself opening the laces of her corset at her back. It slipped away just as Reinier’s shirt fell open far enough that he could shed it.

The garment hadn’t even touched the floor when Reinier’s lips found her skin again and his hand found hers. He guided her to him just like before, making her touch him. She complied, but when her fingertips brushed his breeches’ seam, she stiffened. At the sudden change in her, Connor’s head snapped up.

To be honest, Reinier was gradually growing a bit weary of her highly improper decency. He rolled his eyes with mild impatience at Connor, who bit his lower lip as if struggling to ban his obvious mirth from erupting in an audible chuckle.

Reinier resigned with an inward sigh. If this was going too fast for her, they’d do it another way. Capturing her earlobe between his lips, Connor’s hands came round her waist again and wandered up her front until he reached her breasts. He squeezed them just enough so that they stood up, begging Reinier for a lick, a taste…

Mouth closing fully over one puckered flower, Reinier suckled her until the erect pebble was right between his teeth and he could gently nip at it. His effort was not in vain. His reward was her honeysweet gasp full of want. Another shiver shook her, this time more intense than before. She threw her head back against Connor and Reinier took advantage of her distraction, quickly opening the lace that held her undergarment. He locked his fingers into its seam, and while Connor lifted her up a little, Reinier rid her of the last piece of cloth shielding the rest of her body from their seduction.

She blanched briefly at being fully exposed to them now, but Reinier paid that no mind. She’d blush with hunger in a moment, sigh and moan and beg for more. He knew it.

Connor laid her back onto the end of the bed but left them, crawling farther up and, leaning against the headboard, watched their performance. Looming over her, Reinier let his lips draw a path of wet kisses and mild nibbles down her body. Bracing himself against the bed with one arm, his other found her thighs and nudged them apart for his exploration. At his touch a ragged sigh escaped her throat. Instantly, her hips were rolling in a slow rhythm as old as time.

Connor’s eyes were sweeping over them both, lingering here and there. Reinier could feel it. The heat in the Irishman’s gaze provoked ripples of gooseflesh running over Reinier’s skin and his nostrils flared. He could smell her syrupy musk, intense but not quite ready for the taking. Lust exploded in his mind. Anticipation sizzled through his veins.

Just as he was about to let his tongue flick over the hollow where her neck met her shoulders, he saw her balling her hands into the bedcover. Reinier’s eyes narrowed. This would not do.

His hand wandered over her thigh and up to her lower belly just above her mons. He heard Connor’s low, appreciative rumble. He was watching as Reinier let his index and middle fingers draw a luscious path down to her warm, welcoming heat.

At first, she moaned low as Reinier let his fingers play over her, caressing her, spreading her. Then her body heaved off the bed as his fingers found her erect nub. He circled it, then concentrated on it. When he rubbed it gently, she keened, her hips arching wildly to his touch as she climbed toward release. She was ready, primed to climax.

But Reinier stopped his caress altogether and she groaned in her abandonment, breaths coming shallow and fast. His hand remained completely still while he delighted in her frustrated moan. At that, Connor chuckled, a low, sultry sound, like velvet rubbing against Reinier’s back.