When he dropped her on the bed, she sat up on her elbows to reach him, which only pushed her hardened nipples against the soft cloth of her blouse. He pressed her away from him down on the bed. “Cease that now.”

 But she didn’t. When he yanked off his shirt, she went to her knees, her fingers sweeping over his skin, making the muscles beneath tighten and flex. She kneaded his shoulders and pulled herself up to place her warm lips on his chest. His head shot back. He couldn’t prevent it, but he wanted to see her; he lowered his gaze…. She appeared to have truly forgotten herself in a feverish urgency. And, God, he wanted her to—hell, he needed her to forget herself—he was losing control with each second. He thought with a sudden coldness that he’d soon know if she wanted him as much as he did her.

 He pushed her down on the bed and, laying one hand on her chest between her breasts, pulled off her boots with the other. Her trousers came next. He sensed a sudden hesitation as he continued undressing her, and gave her a harsh smile. “Scared I’ll know if you’re only feigning desire?”

 Her face clouded with confusion. “Y-you could feign this?”

 With a curse, he wondered at the truth in her words, words that made his blood boil to sink himself inside her.

 “Take off your shirt,” he commanded, and again she hesitated before removing it. What in the hell was she thinking, after what she’d been doing to him? Did she think—Then it came to him, along with a fury. Probably playing the virgin, he realized with disgust. Damn women and their perpetual games. As if a woman who whimpered and undulated her body against his like this, a woman who had been just inches away from sliding her hands down the front of his trousers, could be a virgin.

 He should throw her out on her ear. When he saw her perfectly rounded breasts, tipped with light pink, he couldn’t. Not until after he’d tasted her.

 He sat down beside her on the bed, pulling off his own boots and trousers; her gaze fastened on his swollen cock, and her eyes widened in fascination. He watched the girl studying his body, acting as if she’d never seen an aroused man. The thought of her, a wanton, pretending to be innocent…goddamn it!

 He’d make her remember what she was.

 He slid his hand to her breasts, palming them urgently. Her eyes went wild as she gasped, but he ignored her reaction and bent his head down. He pushed the small mounds together so he had only to turn his face one way or the other to find a nipple pouting against his lips. He licked and suckled, her skin becoming wet from him. She writhed, arching her body toward his, then threaded her fingers through his hair to fasten his mouth to her breast.

 She was driving him mad. He’d never responded this way to a woman before. For some reason he’d have to consider later, her own response to him mattered—mattered more than anything else.

 Oddly anxious, he grazed his hand down her belly. When he halted just above the juncture at her thighs, her whole body began quivering. Even her small breasts, still gleaming from his ministrations, moved with her shaking.

 He eased his fingers down to her soft folds.

 Moist. Hot. He nudged her legs apart and kneeled between them, pushing her knees up. When he had her open to him, he slid a finger in slowly, edging inside. Her whole body tensed. Had he hurt her? But his finger glistened when he pulled it from her. He pushed in once more, and her head thrashed to the side as she moaned. Out…in…she began to meet his hand. His lips curled in anticipation. She was so tight.

 Again and again, he drove his finger into her, fondling inside, no more able to deny that searing, hungry sheath than he could quit breathing. With each give and take, her panting breaths and little cries came more quickly. Her pale arms fell back over her head, and her legs stretched wider. She already neared her peak.

 He pressed a second finger into her, spreading her, and watched, fascinated, as he pushed upward with his hand. She moaned low in her throat and shot up in the bed, legs splayed, back arched. Exquisite.

 Her body gripped him hard, and as she broke over the edge her eyes flashed open with a look of disbelief and wonder.

 It was a look that mirrored his own, because there, obvious to his touch, was her unbreached maidenhood.

 Nicole had just come down from the most incredible encounter she’d ever experienced in her life. She wanted to savor it, to lock it away in her heart. She felt soft and languid for the first time in months. She wanted to enjoy the easing of the constant tension she battled, but that became difficult when Sutherland closed in on her with an expression that sped from bafflement to a cold fury.

 “An explanation, girl.”

 She supposed his tone should have alarmed her, but she felt drugged. All she wanted to do was pet him and thank him and, well, reciprocate somehow. In fascination, she brought her fingers up to tease the hair on his chest, and smiled at his sharp hiss of breath when she unwittingly caressed his nipple. She’d have to remember that.

 His eyes turned chilling as he roughly grabbed her wrists. “Enough . Is this some sort of trap?”

 “T-trap?” she stammered, finally forcing herself to sit up.

 His gaze roamed over her breasts, and he abruptly released her. “Cover yourself.”

 She dragged the sheet to her chin. She would end this now, tell him everything so he could guard himself against whoever was behind the sabotage. And then she would leave. She was deciding where to start when his next comment stopped her cold.

 “A virgin seductress. You wouldn’t whore something as valuable as your virginity just to get your father out of jail.”

 She flinched from his words but even more so when a look of dawning comprehension came over his face and with it an increasing rage. “Is that why you were so willing—because you were trying to bag an earl?” he asked menacingly, his features twisted.

 Bag an earl? What the devil? Did he think she meant to trap him in marriage? She would never do something so callous. She’d known most of her life that if she did marry, it would be a miserable union to someone her grandmother chose for her.

 It appeared that her silence infuriated him even more because he grabbed her shoulders. “I will ask this once and you will answer me,” he bit out. “What—” A muffled thud interrupted his words.

 Nicole’s head snapped up. She saw her own bewildered expression reflected in his eyes before they glinted in pain and then slowly eased closed.

 Chapter 8

 Jesus, Chancey, you killed him!” Nicole cried as she wrapped the sheet more securely around her. Flying over to Sutherland’s motionless form where he’d dropped on the floor, she protectively gathered his head in her lap.

 “Why then should ye care?” Chancey asked, his hands tight around the billy club he’d used to pound the back of Sutherland’s head.

 “Of course I’d care,” she managed in a strangled whisper, as she cautiously checked his head and listened to his breathing—luckily, strong and steady. “I wouldn’t want him to die…. I wouldn’t want anyone to die,” she amended when a look of rage twisted Chancey’s face. “This is not as it looks,” she said, wishing her traitorous face wasn’t flushed red with embarrassment.

 He rapped the club on his open palm. “Oh, so ye mean to tell me I find ye naked in the bed o’ the most notorious rake in London, but it’s not how it looks?” He turned to Sutherland with an ominous glare. “Then tell me what did happen so I’ll be knowin’ which way to properly kill the bastard.”

 “No!” She threw herself over him. “I came here and eventually I, well…I seduced him.”

 “Is that so?” He snorted, clearly disbelieving, but at least he’d let go of the club, letting it hang from a strap on his wrist.

 Nicole needed time to devise a way to get the furious Chancey away from the unconscious man. “I, uh, need to dress.” Abruptly he turned his back. Changing the direction of the conversation, she asked, “How did you know where I was? How did you get past his guards?”

 “I had a bad feelin’ about ye, so I stopped by the ship to check. It didn’t take a bloody genius to figger out where ye been. His guards, well, they went the way o’ their cap’n,” he finished in a sneering voice.

 “Oh,” was all she could manage. She laid the sheet over Sutherland’s torso and legs and hastily threw her shirt over her head.

 “Hurry yerself. More o’ his crewmen’ll be back soon, and I’ll be needin’ time for doin’ what I’m after.”

 “Now, you just wait,” she ordered as she grabbed a pillow and gently laid Sutherland’s head on it. She really began to fear for him. “Listen to me. It’s the truth—I initiated this. I wouldn’t lie. Have I ever lied to you?” she demanded of Chancey’s back. “Have I ever been anything but completely honest with you?”

 “Aye, when ye vowed to me ye’d stay in school for once. Or when ye told me Cook had been eatin’ his own tarts. And then tonight—when ye sent me off to look into a dead end,” he countered, his disappointment palpable.

 “That…that was an important lead. If for no other reason than to get more information on Tallywood, your main suspect,” she said stiffly as she bent down to finish dressing.

 He let out a harsh bark of laughter at that. Truly her answer sounded weak to her own ears. It was bad, what she’d done. She’d sent Chancey out to investigate unwittingly something so nefarious as Tallywood’s midnight bridge party.

 “Fine, fine,” she conceded crossly. “But you must believe me on this.”