Forbidden Pleasure

_{Chapter 7}

"What will happen to me when you have finished the book?" Justin Trahern, the Duke of Malincourt, asked his creator. They were standing in his library.

"Why, Trahern, you'll be immortalized forever," Emily told him.

"You really ought to write another book about Malincourt," he said. "Am I not the most fascinating and interesting hero you have ever created, dear girl?"

"Well, you are certainly the most arrogant." Emily laughed.

"You are a magnificent duchess, madam," he remarked.

"I have given you a duchess worthy of you, my lord," Emily said. "Caro is the perfect woman for you. To please you I made her look like me, as I have made you look like Michael Devlin. But you are not Devlin, and I am not Caro."

"You are Caro when you are in my arms," he replied wickedly. "How else could you know the emotions she feels, dear girl?" Reaching out, he took her hand in his and drew her toward him. "Tell me where you go when you disappear from Malincourt, madam? I do not believe it is to a lover, for your own sense of honor is too great." He wrapped strong arms about her and looked down into her small heart-shaped face.

"My lord, do not ask, I beg you, and allow me to do what I must," the duchess said breathlessly. "I do not cuckold you, and with that you must be content." The feel of his hard body against hers was intoxicating. She wanted to remain safe in his arms forever. If only she could, but it was not to be. She had yet to wreak her full revenge on those who had first dishonored her mother and then murdered her. And her aunts. Especially her beloved youngest aunt, Louisa.

The duchess pressed herself against her husband's broad and comforting chest. He did not know of that summer three years ago when she and her mother had visited her grandparents in France. Her father, the Earl of Chetwyn, had not wanted them to go. The political situation in France was growing worse by the day. But her beautiful French mother, Claudine, had laughed at his fears.

"Most of the difficulty is in Paris, mon chou," she had said. "Caroline and I go no farther than Normandy. There has been little trouble there. Besides, Papa is in agreement with the Marquess de Lafayette and the others. Great changes are needed if France is to survive, and Monsieur le Roi and Madame la Reine must be brought around. I always felt sorry for that poor little Austrian princess who had to marry fat Louis. But everyone knows that my father, the duke, and all his extended family support the revolution. We will be perfectly safe, ma coeur."

And so they had sailed in the Earl of Chetwyn's yacht across the Channel to Normandy to spend a few months with the countess's parents. And at first it had been just like every other summer Lady Caroline Thornton had spent in France at the charming little chateau of her maternal grandparents. Her mother's two sisters had been there with her. The elder and her family lived in the Loire region. The younger was Caroline's age but for a few weeks. They were seventeen, and they spent their days out of doors riding, or walking beneath the trees in the orchards. Caroline was to have a London season next year, and the lovely Louisa had been invited to share it, as society in France nowadays was precarious at best. The two girls giggled together as they imagined the gowns they would have, and the husbands they would soon find among the ton. The weather had been hot and sunny. It had been so perfect, and neither had even considered that it would be the last time they would be happy together.

And then one afternoon a ragged band of men had appeared at the door of the chateau demanding entry. Seeing them, the duke had been hesitant at first, but then he permitted the men entry. He was a good son of the Revolution. But they had arrested her grandfather and charged him with treason against the Republic. An anonymous complaint against him had been put into the box set up by the Committee for Public Safety in their village. The duke was accused of hoarding, and of mistreatment of one Citizen Agramant. Searching the chateau, they claimed the supplies in the pantry were evidence of his hoarding.

The duke protested. What was in his pantry was an average supply of foodstuffs for his large family and his servants. As for Citizen Agramant, he had been in the duke's employ as a stableman. He had been caught in the pantry stealing food, and there had been a bottle from the duke's cellar beneath his coat as well. He had been whipped, ten lashes only, and dismissed from the duke's employ. Had Citizen Agramant been hungry, the duke declared, had he come to his master, the duke would have given him food from his own stores. But he was not going hungry, and the duke had evidence that the stableman had stolen from him before, and was selling what he stole in the village at inflated prices.

But the band of men would not listen. The duke was taken away, and his household imprisoned within the chateau. Several days later they received word that the duke had been tried, found guilty of crimes against the republic, and taken to Caen to be executed. His body was never returned to them. Upon hearing the news the duchess had clutched at her chest and collapsed. She died several days later. As their servants were now forbidden from waiting upon them, the family of women had dug her grave in the family cemetery. A coffin had mysteriously appeared in her bedchamber. No one spoke of it or asked from where it had come. The old duchess was wrapped in a shroud and put into the coffin. And her two daughters and her grandchildren had gone to request that some of their manservants be allowed to carry the coffin to the grave.

The man who called himself the captain of the ragged band, one Captain Arnaud, had looked them over, licked his lips, and then said, "For every favor there is a price, my pretty aristos. What have you to offer?"

Caroline's mother had immediately removed the gold-and-pearl chain and crucifix she wore about her neck and handed it to him. "Will this do?" she asked quietly.

"For now," Captain Arnaud had answered with a leer.

They had not known what he had meant then, but several days later Caroline, her mother, her aunts, and all the younger woman servants were taken to the chateau cellars, and imprisoned. Every night Captain Arnaud would come with his right-hand man, Citizen Leon. They would pick two of the young serving girls, and return them in the morning. Now and again a girl would not return for several days, if at all.

"What is happening to them?" Caroline had asked her mother.

"Better you not know," her mother had replied.

And it had been better, until the night that Captain Arnaud had pointed his thick finger at Caroline and beckoned her to him.

"Non!" her mother had said, standing up and facing their captor. "My daughter is the only child of an English lord. He will pay you a very generous ransom for her safe return." The countess had put emphasis on the word safe. "I have told you this before, Captain Arnaud. My husband will pay for all the women here. You have but to send to his yacht, which by now lies anchored in the village cove, waiting to return us to England. Ask what you will. My husband, the Earl of Chetwyn, will pay. Have you no desire to be a rich man?"

"Why is it that all you damned aristos think money is the answer? I've come to get a woman for a night's entertainment. If you do not want me to take your daughter, then come with me yourself. And your sister will do for Leon."

Lady Caroline Thornton had not known then the terrible sacrifice her mother and her aunts had made for her that night- and in the nights that followed, for Captain Arnaud and Citizen Leon delighted in degrading the two women. Yet the two sisters retained their dignity in spite of it all. Her mother managed to write a note to the earl, and with the aid of the chateau cook it reached the yacht captain, who sailed immediately for England. And the Earl of Chetwyn had come immediately to rescue his family from the hands of the Revolution.

But it had been too late. Now bored with the two sisters, Citizen Leon had had them restrained by his men as they were taken from the cellars to the main salon. They were then forced to watch as the youngest of them, Louisa, had been raped first by Captain Arnaud, then Citizen Leon, and finally the other six men in their ragtag band. Her aunt had at first struggled and screamed to her sisters and then to the Holy Virgin to save her. The taking of the girl's virginity was a painful event, made more so by her eager rapist. Her pitiful cries had set Caroline's tante Justine into a frenzy of hysterical fury. She fought against her captors wildly, and then to their surprise she managed to break free. Snatching a knife from one of the men's waistband, she stabbed him to death before she was subdued by the others and her own throat was slit.

By now Caroline was numb with her fear of what was to come. But then, to her surprise, she was returned to the cellars of the chateau. She did not see her mother again. One of the serving women returned in the morning and told her that they had strangled pauvre Madame Claudine, but not before the countess had been forced to endure every possible indignity a man might visit on a woman. She had been raped over and over again, and beaten. As for her tante Louisa, she had not survived long after Caroline had been taken from the chamber. Now Caroline was alone. But Captain Arnaud did not point his fat finger at her again. And several weeks later she was led from the cellars to the chateau's elegant salon, where she found her father waiting with the captain. A ransom had been paid, and she was free to leave France.

The Earl of Chetwyn, while heartbroken at losing his wife, never knew how she had really died. He had been told she and her two sisters had suffered from the damp and cold of their prison. And Caroline had never told her father the truth. How could she? And if she could not tell her father, how could she tell her husband? How could she explain that when she disappeared from Malincourt it was to travel to France on her father's old yacht, which now belonged to her? Would he understand that she was the rescuer, Lavender, whom all the ton was talking about, and that at least half a dozen of her close friends were Lavender's Ladies? She had a mission to rescue those poor souls caught up in the Terror of the Revolution. It didn't matter if they were aristocrats or bourgeoisie. But most of all she wanted her revenge upon Captain Arnaud and Citizen Leon. But she had yet to be able to find them again. They had disappeared from her grandfather's chateau.

"Tell me where you go, Caro," the duke said once again.

She looked up at him with desperate eyes, and shook her head. "You must trust me, milord," she told him.

"How can I when you do not trust me, my love?" he asked, anguished.

And then there was the sound of a tinkling bell, and Emily awoke in her bed. The television screen had gone to snow, as it always did when the Channel closed for the night. She gazed briefly out of her window. The leaves were turning, and in just a few days she would be off for England. Devlin had left for Frankfurt last Thursday, and she missed him. Sighing, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. She had a busy few days ahead of her, and in the morning she would rewrite the scene that had just played out in the Channel. It was much better than her first draft. It seemed she was hardly asleep when Essie was shaking her awake.

"Honestly, Emily," she said, "you've got to stop all this burning of the midnight oil, girl. It's past nine o'clock. The phone in your office has rung twice now. Can I fix you some breakfast? I'm washing windows today, and getting the slipcovers off in the living room. October is my turnover time."

"Bring me a yogurt and an English muffin up to the office," Emily said, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.

"Coffee?" Essie asked as she turned to go.

"God, yes!" She stumbled into the guest bathroom and started the shower. Essie was right: She had to stop burning the midnight oil. Essie, however, would have been shocked to know why she was burning it. With Michael Devlin away, Emily had discovered a need for daily sex that she had never anticipated. Ever since he had gone back to the city after Labor Day and his visits were limited to the weekends, her insatiability had been growing. She was in the Channel every night he wasn't with her, sporting with her duke. And then in the morning she would translate it into pages for the book. Emily was frankly amazed by her own appetite for fucking.

She stepped into the shower. Just thinking about it made her hot as a firecracker. She slicked the body wash over herself and thought it felt like a rough tongue. Her nipples grew tight, and an ache began between her thighs. A hand moved to push between her labia to play with her clitoris. It felt so damned good, Emily thought with a sigh, and then she caught herself. Her hand reached out, quickly turning the shower lever all the way to the left. She gave a little yelp, and winced as the icy water hit her, but it sure as hell took her mind off of endless sex. This had to stop! She needed Devlin-not just on the weekends, but forever after.

Just two more days until she flew to England. Emily packed. England in autumn in Suffolk. She'd need her riding pants, which were put away, but she knew where to find them. They would need a slight alteration. Her boots and a tweed jacket, and two pairs of slacks, sweaters, one little black dress, because she knew they would eat out at least once, and her London Fog raincoat. Savannah would have Wellies if the weather was mucky.

She paid a visit to Lacy Nothings and stocked up on a few outrageous items: two garter belts, one in black, and the other a wild magenta with matching stockings; and four very naughty teddies, one a very hot pink, one red, one cream, and the other black. She also bought a pair of wicked black stilettos with rhinestone studded heels; and she couldn't resist a pink feather boa.

The local girl totting up her purchases looked at her somewhat askance. "These all for you, Miss Shanski?" she said, one eyebrow just slightly raised. Emily was known to love beautiful lingerie, but some of these items were positively raunchy.

"For my friend Savannah Banning. I'm going to England to visit her tomorrow," Emily said. "She just loves all the things I have from the shop, and she's got a birthday coming up soon."

"Ohhh," the salesgirl said, smiling. Now it all made sense. She had read Savannah Banning's novels. "Yeah, some pretty naughty stuff in this lot." She grinned. "Hope Miss Banning likes 'em."

"I'm sure she will," Emily lied. Why did people think only someone like Savannah Banning would wear racy lingerie? But she knew the answer to her own question. Emilie Shann wrote romantic love stories with chaste heroines and manly heroes who only alluded to sex. Well, not anymore! And she almost giggled aloud.

The flight was perfect. Emily always flew first-class. Like pretty lingerie, it was one of her weaknesses. She could afford it, and she liked being able to stretch out her legs. And she always booked the entire row, so she didn't have to talk if she didn't want to talk. A young stewardess in first class was a fan, however. She oozed compliments, and practically swooned when Emily agreed to sign her copy of Vanessa and the Viscount, which she just happened to have with her. The senior stewardess, who had flown with Emily before and knew her habits, nodded to her passenger with a sympathetic smile. Then she murmured quietly in the younger woman's ear, and the rest of Emily's flight was a peaceful one. Lord Palmer's car was there to meet her. The drive down to Barrow, in Suffolk, was smooth.

"I can't believe you're here!" Savannah Banning squealed, flying from her house to greet her guest. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman with a mane of midnight black hair, gardenia skin, and gray eyes. "Did you stop at the inn and leave your bags? Devlin phoned from London. He'll be down by teatime, and he's meeting you here." She stepped back and looked at Emily. "Oh, God, you really are in love with him!"

Emily laughed. "I am," she admitted. "Now all I have to do is bring him up to scratch, as they say in my novels."

"I read what you e-mailed me, darling," Savannah said, and she smiled her little cat's smile. "Your fans are in for both a shock and a treat, Em. I love The Defiant Duchess."

"Give me a quote then," Emily said. "That should please J.P."

"Screw J.P! The woman is a dreadful bitch, but if she knew you got what she didn't I suspect she would explode in a puff of her own nastiness, darling!" Savannah laughed. "Is he good? Really good?"

"Savannah, we had this conversation before, and I have no real comparison," Emily said, laughing. The two women linked arms as they went into the house.

"Is there a similarity to the duke?" Savannah wanted to know. "I thought we'd wait for tea until Devlin gets here."

"There is, and there isn't," Emily said as she settled herself into the cushions of a flowered sofa. "Trahern seems a bit rougher, but then, he is eighteenth-century, Sava."

"Actually I think he's quite dreamy," Savannah murmured. "And so in love with his defiant duchess, darling. It's a wonderful book, Em. It will make you oodles of money." And at Emily's look of disbelief, Savannah Banning giggled. "I know, I know." she said. "Authors don't make money. Publishers make money."

"If it weren't for the early books I couldn't have my simple small-town lifestyle," Emily said. "When was the last time you saw royalties?"

"Oh, let's not talk about publishing," Savannah replied. "I think I hear a car." She got up and went to the bay window of the room. "Yes, Devlin is here."

Emily felt her heart jump. He was here. Would he feel the same way he had felt before he left for Frankfurt almost two weeks ago? Did she? The door to the lounge opened, and oh, yes, she did! Emily launched herself at Michael Devlin, whose handsome face was suddenly wreathed in a broad smile at the sight of her.

His arms closed tightly about her. "God, angel face, I've missed you," he said, and then he was kissing her.

"I'll go and check on tea," Savannah said diplomatically, wondering if they even heard her as she left the room.

"I can't wait," Devlin growled in her ear. He unzipped his fly.

"Neither can I!" Emily moaned as he turned her about, bent her over the padded arm of the couch, and yanked her skirt up. "Oh, God, yes!" she sobbed as his long, thick penis pushed into her. His hands held her steady as her hips moved in rhythm with his. He stopped for just a moment, and the throbbing of his talented cock made her dizzy with her own heated desires. "Make me come, Devlin," she begged him. "I have missed you too. Oh, yes! And yes again!"

He had become an engine of lust with her. He felt himself growing harder than he could ever remember. He plumbed her depths first with slow, almost majestic strokes of his dick. She whimpered with her need, and so he increased the tempo until he was moving with increasing rapidity, and he could feel her orgasm approaching. He slowed himself, and she protested, but, laughing, he first kissed and then nipped at the nape of her neck. "Be patient, angel face. I want it to be extra good for us this time." Then he began to thrust harder and harder, until she was crying out to him with her need for release. He gave it to her, his come spurting in thick gobs into her vagina. Then with a groan he fell forward briefly, his hands reaching around her to clasp her breasts.

Lord Reginald Palmer, Baron Tilbury, had come upon the scene shortly after it had begun. He smiled and watched as Michael Devlin fucked the adorable Emily Shanski, his own dick getting harder and harder. The scene seemed to go on forever, and he was sorely tempted to pick up where the Irishman had left off. But then his wife was drawing his penis from his riding breeches, kneeling down, and sucking him off. "Good girl," he murmured low as she swallowed every bit of his salty cum.

"I heard you come in," Savannah said softly. "You're a very naughty boy, Reg, spying on Emily and Mick." She stood up and smoothed her dress down.

"He covered her like one of my stallions with a mare," Lord Palmer replied admiringly. "No hesitation at all. And damned if she didn't seem to quite enjoy it, Sava. Didn't know Emily fucked. Do you think she would enjoy a threesome with us?"

"Already asked, darling, but she said no. Thought it would make a nice birthday surprise for you. Unfortunately you're married to me, and that makes her uncomfortable. Sorry about that. Now I've told Roberts to give us ten minutes and then serve tea. We're fortunate he didn't come upon us, but, of course, it wouldn't be the first time." She took his arm. "I think they're finished now," she said, peeking through the door to the lounge, which hadn't been quite shut. "Let's go in. Emily, Mick, look who's just come in from the stables." She led her husband into the room.

Emily was flushed rosy, but she managed to stand up from the couch, where she had just been sitting. "Reg, how nice," she said as they kissed each other's cheeks.

"You are radiant, Emily, my dear," Lord Palmer replied. There was just the faintest scent of sex about her, and it was very erotic, he thought. He turned to Michael Devlin. "Mick, how are you?" Dumb question. The man had the look of a well-fed tabby, and why not? He was fresh from a boisterous fuck with a lovely woman.

They were barely seated again when Roberts appeared, accompanied by a little maid and carrying a large silver tea tray. He set it down on the butler's tray. "Shall I pour, m'lady?" he asked Savannah.

"Yes, but just first cups, Roberts. Then you and Agnes may go," she answered. She glanced at the tray. Watercress, cucumber, and beef-and-cheddar finger sandwiches. Scones, clotted Devon cream, and strawberry jam. A plate of Mrs. Munson's miniature lemon curd, and mince meat tartlets. Another plate of thin-sliced dark fruitcake. A bit skimpy, but it would do. Tea was a bit late, after all, and there was dinner to consider.

"Didn't they feed you on the flight?" Lord Palmer asked Emily innocently.

"Your English air makes me extra hungry," Emily replied, snatching the last beef-and-cheddar sandwich from the plate. "Sava, this mustard is delicious. Where do you get it? Is it French?"

Master William and Miss Selena were brought into the lounge by their nanny, a starchy-looking older woman, to greet the guests and then bid their parents a good night. They were fresh from their baths, and in pajamas and nightgown. Selena, her mother's miniature, was shy, for she hardly knew Emily, but she did recall Michael Devlin, and was soon curled up in his lap.

"Her mother's daughter," Emily said with a smile.

William, however, remembered his godmother. He put his arms about her neck and kissed her cheek. "Did you bring me a gift?" he asked her.

"It's at the inn, and I will have it for you tomorrow," Emily told him.

"What is it?" he wanted to know.

"It's a surprise, William," she replied.

After fifteen minutes Nanny announced it was time for Master William and Miss Selena to depart. Their supper would be waiting for them in the nursery. The children bade their parents and their guests good night, and left the lounge without protest.

"They have beautiful manners," Emily remarked. Then she glanced at her watch. "I think we have to be going, Sava. I'm exhausted with the time change."

"I thought you would remain for dinner," Savannah protested.

"Not tonight," Emily replied. "I need my rest. It's after eleven at home." She stood up.

"I rented a car," Michael Devlin said, and he stood too. "We know our way back to the inn."

"We'll ride tomorrow about ten," Savannah said. "Join us?"

"I brought my breeches," Emily answered her. "Do you still have that lovely gray gelding I like? He's such a sweetie, and has a nice gait."

"I think we keep him just for your visits, my dear," Lord Palmer said. "I'll see he's saddled and waiting for you. How about you, Mick? That mean black fellow you always seem to favor?"

Michael Devlin nodded. "Perfect. Savannah, my love, thank you for a delicious tea. Reg, we'll see you in the morning." He took Emily's hand, and together they left their hosts. "I've rented a Jag," he said as they came out of the house and helped her into the car. "Shall I order supper in the room?"

"Yes," she agreed, knowing she could look forward to a night of bliss in his arms. "And champagne, Devlin."

"What are we celebrating?" he asked her.

"Being in England," she replied lightly. Having your cock in my pussy again. Being in love with you, she thought to herself.

Savannah had arranged for them to have a charming little suite consisting of a small lounge and bedroom, both with fireplaces. The bed was large and hung with flowered curtains. The bathroom was small, but serviceable. Their bags had been unpacked for them by the maid. Emily smiled, wondering what the poor country girl must have thought of all her naughty lingerie. They ate a simple supper and drank their champagne before the fire in the lounge. Then they slept for a while in the big bed, awoke, made tender love, and slept again. When morning came they lay together for a time, watching as the sun crept into the garden outside of their bedroom windows.

"I really did miss you," Michael Devlin said to her. He was holding her hand. It had been lousy without Emily, and he had realized with shock that he didn't like being without her at all. He needed her, which was difficult for him to admit, for Michael Devlin had never needed anyone-especially a woman. But he needed this woman. Still, while she seemed to enjoy the passion they shared, and was an enthusiastic bed partner, she had never indicated that she cared for him. Maybe she didn't. Maybe it was just all about the sex, and hanging on to her career. Well, he could live with that if he had to, couldn't he?

"I missed you too," Emily admitted. "It was so wonderful in August when we could be together all the time. I'm glad you asked me to meet you in England, Devlin." She snuggled against his shoulder. "Rina's afraid you're going to ruin my reputation."

"I certainly hope I am," he teased her. "Ruining you is a most enjoyable pastime, angel face." Then he leaned over and kissed her slowly and sweetly.

Emily sighed with her happiness as their lips touched. But then, as the kiss began to grow more serious in its intent, she pulled away. "We promised milord and milady that we would ride with them at ten," Emily said. "We have to get up. I need my breakfast, Devlin. Knowing Sava and Reg we'll be gone for several hours, and won't see food again until teatime." She slipped from his arms and from the bed.

They showered together, dressed, and went downstairs to the inn's little dining room for breakfast. They were just in time, the hostess told them as she announced that there was only scrambled eggs and sausage left, plopped a rack of toast on their table, and asked if they would have coffee or tea. When they had eaten they drove through Barrow village and several miles on to Tilbury Manor, where Lord and Lady Palmer were waiting for them at their stables with the horses.

As they mounted their animals Devlin noticed Lord Palmer admiring Emily's ass, which looked particularly fetching in her taupe riding breeches. He felt a sharp prick of anger. He knew the Palmers' predilection for threesomes. He'd been invited once to join them himself, but he'd refused. The bastard had no right looking at Emily like that-like a damned fox contemplating a particularly delicious chicken dinner. And then Michael Devlin realized with surprise that he was jealous. He was jealous! Jealous because he loved her. And she was going to damned well love him or he'd know the reason why.

It was a beautiful day, and they rode for several hours. Savannah had arranged for Roberts to bring a picnic luncheon to a designated spot beneath some willow trees in a meadow by a winding stream. When they finally returned to the stables, Reg's cell phone rang, the ring tone playing "Rule Britannia." After a few terse words he went into the house, followed by his wife, who called to her guests to come in for tea.

Emily caught Devlin's arm and drew him back into the darkened stables. The horses had been unsaddled and rubbed down, their feed bins filled. There were no stablemen in sight. "My clit's been rubbed back and forth all day," she whispered in Devlin's ear. "I have always wanted to be fucked in a stable. Would you like to screw me here in a darkened stall on the hay?" She licked at his ear, and then nipped the lobe. Then she unzipped his riding pants and drew his penis out. Kneeling before him she pulled his pants down and began to play with him, nuzzling and licking his balls, twisting her head to take them into her mouth. Her tongue rolled them about slowly within the wet warmth.

Michael Devlin drew a sharp breath. Where had she learned to do that? Her sexual manuals, of course. But dear God, she did what she was doing very, very well. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer," he ground out, "but you'll have to get out of your pants, and getting back into them if someone comes in won't be easy."

Emily released his balls. "No, I won't," she said. "I made a little alteration to my breeches, Devlin. I told you, I've always wanted to be fucked in a stable a la Lady Chatterly. Trust me." Then she licked up and down his penis a few times before taking him into her mouth and suckling him.

His fingers dug into her scalp. "I'm perfectly willing to be the gardener to your Lady Chatterly," he groaned, "but I don't want to come in your mouth, angel face."

She nodded and continued her glorious torture of his cock, which swelled and lengthened until Emily began to gag slightly.

"That's enough," he said low, pulling her up. "Now, madam, show me how I am going to fuck you with your damned pants on." And she took his hand and drew it down to her crotch, pulling the fabric there apart. "Where the hell did you find these breeches?" he asked, both surprised and delighted as they slid to the hay.

"I sew," she murmured, guiding his penis to her very wet cunt. "God, I am so hot for you, Devlin! I don't think I can wait too long."

"Let's get your legs up over my shoulders," he said. "I want to go deep."

And he did, thrusting harder and faster into her until she screamed softly with her orgasm, and he came so hard that they both shook with the force of their pleasure.

"Ohh, that was incredible." Emily gasped as she began to come down again. "It was even better than I thought it would be."

"Glad to be of service, madam," he replied weakly. "You are becoming insatiable, angel face. And I love it."

He adored her. He loved sex with her. Was it possible he had real feelings for her? Of course he did. He loved her. "We'd better pull it together," she said finally. "Sava is no fool, and she'll have figured it out already. But I don't want Reg leering at us when we come in for tea."

"Agreed." Devlin stood up, pulling Emily with him. "Don't forget to close your breeches. How did you make that alteration, by the way?"

"Velcro," she told him with a grin.

He was still laughing when they entered the manor house lounge for their tea.

Savannah was alone, and appeared extremely annoyed. "Reg has to go back up to London tomorrow," she said. "That damned woman," she added, looking as if she might cry. And Savannah Banning never cried.

"What woman?" Emily was at once sympathetic.

"Gillian Brecknock, that so-called actress," Savannah said.

"I thought he gave her up when you were married," Emily said.

"So did I, but it's obviously been going on all along," Savannah said bitterly.

"Oh, Sava, I'm so sorry." Emily put her arms about her friend.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm no Lady Di. I'll never divorce him. And the truth is that he does love me. But he's like all these damned Brit toffs: He's got to have his little bit on the side and think he's keeping it a big secret from the wife because it adds excitement to the relationship for him. I could ruin it by causing a scene, but I won't. At least I know who he's with when he's with Gillian. I know what she is. And I know he had the opportunity to marry her before he even met me, but he wouldn't. I may be an American, but I'm Southern aristocracy, I'm famous for writing racy novels, and I'm rich. It gives me more points than an actress who began her life in Liverpool and still lapses into the dialect when she gets angry. Reg is a snob at heart, you know, and I've done my duty as a nobleman's wife. He's got an heir and a daughter, and the little stick went pink the other day when I peed on it, so there'll be another next June. That's why I'm so weepy. Hormones running rampant," she concluded with a weak grin.

Emily hugged Savannah. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! Even if he is a pig!"

"You should have kids," Savannah said softly.

"You have to have a husband to have kids," Emily replied. "At least I do."

"Then you're ready to get married," Savannah persisted, looking past Emily to Michael Devlin and fixing him with a hard stare.

"If the right man asked, yes," Emily said.

At that moment Lord Palmer came into the lounge. "Did Sava tell you?" he asked them. "I have to go back to London tomorrow. One of my clients is in need of my services," he told them smoothly. "Let's skip tea, Sava, and take Emily and Mick out to dinner. That charming little French restaurant that opened up a few months ago on the other side of Barrow would be lovely, don't you think? It's called La Belle Auberge."

"What a brilliant idea, darling," Savannah said, smiling at her husband.

"Then we'll go back to the inn to dress, and we'll meet you at the restaurant," Michael Devlin said. "The concierge will tell us how to get there."

"Perfect!" Savannah agreed. "I'll make the reservations. Eight o'clock all right?" She reached up, and pulled a piece of straw from Emily's hair. "Don't be late," she told them with a wicked grin.

"How long do we have?" Emily asked her lover when they had regained their rooms at the inn.

"A little over three hours," he said. "Why?"

"I thought you would like to see something I bought before I left," she replied innocently, but a little smile played at the edges of her mouth.

"Is it naughty?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said, "but how naughty depends upon you, Devlin."

He nodded, seating himself in a wing chair by the lounge fire. "I will await your pleasure, angel face," he told her with a smile. He loved how she was suddenly seeking out things to please him. Was it because she cared for him, or was she just researching again? How the hell could he ever really know? And yet she had said quite plainly to Savannah that she was ready to marry and have children. But was he? Yes, he loved her the way he had never really loved another woman. But was he ready to give up his freedom, and stick to one woman for the rest of his days? And when he married it would be forever. He was Irish, for God's sake.

Emily went into the bathroom and quickly showered. Thoroughly dried, she now put on the black garter belt, rolled on a pair of black stockings with tiny diamantes scattered all over them, and slipped on the black teddy. It barely reached her belly button, was held up by thin little silk straps, and had tiny heart cutouts that allowed her nipples to thrust out through the fabric. Slipping her feet into the black silk-and-rhinestone stilettos, she gave her strawberry-blond hair a quick brush, looked at herself in the floor-length mirror on the closet door, and smiled, pleased.

"Close your eyes, Devlin," she told him. "And ready or not, here I come!" Then she walked out into the other room, stood before him, and said, "Okay, you can open your eyes now." She had struck a provocative pose, her butt sticking out.

His open eyes widened with appreciation at her appearance. "Yes," he drawled slowly. "Very naughty indeed, angel face. Now stay where you are, because I found a few things in a shop in Frankfurt that should give us a little fun." He stood up, going back into the bedroom to reemerge a moment later. There was a leather glove on his right hand. "This," he said, showing it to her, "is a spanking glove. See the tiny little prickers on the palm? The outfit you're wearing just screams, "Spank me," and so I'm going to spank you, angel face." He held out his hand. "Over my knees with you!" He pulled her down, and without another word began to spank her adorable bottom. He thought about Lord Palmer eyeing it earlier, and his hand fell harder.

At first the prickly glove simply stung. Then it began to burn, and her flesh grew warm, especially her clitoris. The spanking seemed to excite the sentient little nub of flesh. She squealed and wiggled, attempting to escape the glove, but Devlin's hand was firmly planted in the small of her back, restraining her. Finally she could bear no more, and begged him to cease. He did at once, putting her on her knees and pulling his engorged penis from his pants.

"Suck!" he commanded her. "Take me all the way." And she did, letting his come slide down her throat. But she was still filled with her own lust.

She looked up at him, pleading. "Devlin?"

He stood and pulled her with him, leading her into their bedroom. "Lie down," he said. Then his hand went into his pocket, and he drew out two tiny, smooth ivory balls, rolling them about in his palm. "Inside each of these is a tiny drop of mercury," he told her. "When they touch each other the effect is going to be quite stimulating. Open your legs for me," he told her, and when she had he slowly inserted each ball into her vagina, pushing them well up into her body. "Now get up and walk across the room for me in those wicked trashy shoes that are so perfect with the teddy and garter belt."

Emily slipped her legs over the bed and, standing, began to walk. Suddenly she stopped and gasped. Her body was suffused with a rush of heat. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. She took a few more steps. "Devlin, these are pure torture." Not only that, but her ass was still burning from his leather glove. The combination of the two was murder.

"Then they're doing their job," he replied. "By the time we get back from dinner you should be more than ready to be fucked, angel face."

"You expect me to keep these things inside me while we're having dinner with Savannah and Reg? If the way I'm feeling now gets any more intense, even Reg Palmer is going to look good. Do you have any idea what they are doing to me?" She looked outraged. "Damn it, I am ready to be fucked right now!"

"I know what they are supposed to do to you," he answered her, "and obviously they are. But trust me: It will be much, much better after dinner. But," he taunted her gently, "if you don't think you can manage it then I'll take them out."

He was throwing a challenge at her. She slowly walked back across the bedroom. "No," she said. "I'll manage." But how, she wasn't quite certain. Every time those damned little balls hit each other a wave of sensual sensation rolled over her, and all she wanted was his big cock in her pussy.

Devlin pulled her into his arms and began to slowly kiss her. "Good girl!" he said softly. "You won't be sorry, I promise you." He slipped his hand beneath the sheer silk of the teddy and fondled a breast.

"Go to hell!" she snapped, and pulled away from him. "I'm going to take a nap before we have to dress for dinner."

"Me too," he replied with a grin.

"Not here," Emily said. "You can't have your cake and eat it too, Devlin. Nap in the lounge."

"Okay," he said, just slightly chastened, and he left her.

Emily escaped the subtle torture of the ivory balls for a brief time while she napped. She found a comfortable position and remained in it. He awakened her with kisses, and for a moment she forgot the little spheres-until the first wave of lust hit her. She stripped the teddy off and slipped the little black dress on. It had a scooped neckline to show off her breasts, cap sleeves, and a flirty ruffled skirt that just brushed her kneecaps. She slipped her feet into a pair of black silk heels, ignoring the deliciously trashy stilettos. She could only imagine what Lord Palmer would think if he saw her in those. Sitting at the little dressing table, she opened her jewel pouch, but Devlin came up behind her and slipped a delicate gold chain with a small diamond heart about her neck.

"I found that in Frankfurt too," he said softly, kissing her shoulder.

"How can you be such a bastard one minute, and so nice the next?" she asked him, admiring the chain and the diamond.

"Do you like it?" he asked her.

"Of course I do! It's beautiful," Emily said.

"How can you be so prim and proper one moment, and so carnal the next?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"My orgasm later had better be the best one I've ever had, or you're toast, Devlin!" she threatened him. "These damned little balls are wicked torture. At least my butt isn't burning anymore."

"We'll take care of your cute little ass later, and you'll come like you've never come before, I promise you," he said, drawing her up and to her feet. "We had better go. It's at least a twenty-minute drive, the barman said. I went down while you napped, and asked."

The Jag sped through the night, the countryside around them dark but for the occasional lights from a cottage. Finally they reached La Belle Auberge, parked, and went in to find Sava and Reg already there. Emily thought at one point that she was going to scream as the little balls banged together over and over again. There was a tiny dance floor, and Reg insisted on dancing with Emily. He held her so close she could feel his hard-on, and the damned thing felt good, considering the silent torture she was enduring. Finally the music stopped, and Emily excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Savannah followed.

"What's the matter?" she asked Emily. "You look pale."

"I'm walking around with two little balls stuck up my cunt," Emily said.

"Oh, my God! He made you wear them out to dinner?" Savannah's gray eyes were wide. "Oh, sweetie, you are going to come like no tomorrow later! Those things are wicked, wicked, wicked. Devlin is more adventurous than I thought, considering he turned us down like you did. Reg usually never asks other men to join us. He's jealous of other men who hover around me. And, of course, he likes to be sure my children are his. He only asks other women. He asked Devlin to join us because he knew I think he's hot, and I suspect he'd done something especially bad that I didn't know about, and was trying to soothe his conscience. We had better cut this evening short."

"Not until I've had dessert," Emily said. "I need the most chocolaty of chocolate mousses, and I need it now!"

Savannah began to giggle. "I hope Mick is prepared for endless fucking," she said. "It's going to take several long hours to scratch that itch he's given you."

"Even your randy Reg looks good to me right now," Emily muttered.

"You'd hate yourself in the morning." Savannah cackled.

"I know," Emily said, wincing, and her best friend laughed harder.

The two women returned to the table, and dessert was ordered. Emily ate two plates of chocolate mousse, complaining when she saw the first serving that it was way too little. She washed them down with champagne, and then announced she was ready to go back to the inn. Outside, the two women air-kissed each other, and Lord Palmer insisted on giving Emily a kiss on the cheek, which was no more than an excuse to squeeze her ass as his arm slipped about her waist and he pulled her close. He still had the hard-on. Well, at least Savannah was guaranteed a good night as well.

They began the drive back to the inn, but Devlin suddenly pulled off the road into a stand of trees. The engine had barely died when he was yanking her into his arms and kissing her hungrily. "He had a hard-on when he danced with you. Did he rub it against your pussy?" Devlin demanded.

"Yes," she whispered in his ear. "He still had it when he kissed me good night, and he squeezed my butt. Are you jealous, Devlin?" she teased him, the tip of her tongue outlining the inside of his ear seductively.

"Did you want him?" His voice was rough, angry. "Did you think about what it would be like to have his cock up your cunt, angel face?"

"I only want you, and instead of taking me back to our room, where we can fuck each other's brains out, you're raving at me in the car like a jealous lunatic. The thought of Reg Palmer as a lover disgusts me. If he were the handsomest, most charming man in the world I wouldn't screw him. He's my best friend's husband, and I do have some standards," Emily said icily. "Now start the damned car and let's get back. I am so hot for you right now I could die, Devlin!"

He groaned. "I'm sorry," he said. "I get jealous when I see him imagining himself with you."

"Why?" she demanded softly.

He wasn't certain he had heard her. "Why?" he repeated.

"Yes, why do you get jealous?" Emily said.

Why? Because he loved her, that was why! But he couldn't seem to get the words out of his mouth, and remained silent.

"Do you like me, Devlin?" Emily said gently. "Do you get jealous of other men because you like me?"

"I think so," he admitted to her. "Yes, damn it, that's it!" He sounded to himself like a moron. What the hell was the matter with him that he couldn't tell her that he was in love with her? That he had never before loved a woman the way he loved her? But he couldn't say it, because if he did it would mean more to Emily than just a casual affair. Loving Emily meant forever. It meant children. It meant happily-ever-after, and Michael Devlin wasn't quite ready to admit that he had the same needs as other men: a desire for a mate, for offspring, for a warm place to come home to. And what if she didn't love him? What if it really had been all about the sex, and nothing more? About her career.

"Turn the key in the ignition, Devlin," she said to him. "If you don't get those damned ivory balls out of me soon I'm probably going to kill you. And incidentally, I like you too." There! She had said it. And she had heard him say it. He liked her! Was like shorthand for love? Men always found it hard to use the word love. Was like better than adore? When they got back to the States she was going to begin to put the pressure on Michael Devlin. She didn't want him just as a lover anymore. She wanted him as a husband, but getting confirmed bachelors to commit to forever-after was never a simple thing. Aaron had said their relationship was a forbidden one. But it didn't have to be. Why couldn't real life be as easy as her novels? She could manage the Duke of Malincourt, the Earl of Throttlesby, and their ilk. But could she manage to get a proposal of marriage from Michael Devlin? If she couldn't she was going to die an old maid, because Emily Shanski was not a woman to give her heart away more than once, and Devlin already had it.