Be My Lover Read online

  If the truth is out there, I’ll find it. You have my solemn word.

  Anthony put away his glass and returned to his suite. Emily still slept, a smile on her face. Stripping off his clothing, Anthony climbed into bed and lay beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She murmured something and settled deeper among the sheets. The essence perfuming her skin was as comforting as a lover’s sigh and he smiled against her hair. First thing tomorrow, he would teach her about making love before breakfast.

  Chapter Eight

  “Why is it so cold?” Emily muttered, reaching for the sheet and coming up empty-handed.

  “Because I took all the covers off the bed, my dearest Emily. Along with the blankets.”

  She opened her eyes. Morning light streamed through the curtains, scattering sunbeams around the carpet. Outside, wheels clattered on the streets and merchants’ cries announced a new day had arrived.

  And stretched out in front of the fireplace, sheets wrapped around his lower region, lay a bare-chested Anthony, propped on one elbow, his lips turned up in a grin of pure wickedness.

  “Good morning.” He crooked a finger at her. “Care to join me?”

  “I need to clean my mouth first,” Emily said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  He pointed at the dressing screen. “A wash for your teeth, not to mention your hairbrush, are behind the screen. But hurry.”

  “Are we going to make love on the floor?”

  His smile became gentle. “Another first for you?”

  “Yes.” Emily headed for the screen and stepped behind it. “Is there any place you haven’t made love?”

  “There are a few,” he admitted cheerfully. “The floor isn’t so bad provided you’re with the right person.”

  Emily rinsed her mouth with a minty liquid from a glass bottle and quickly brushed the tangles from her hair before stripping off her nightgown and stepping around the screen. “I gather I’m the right person?”

  His sharp intake of breath as his gaze swept over her sent a wave of pleasure rippling across her skin. She shook her head and her curls bounced around her shoulders.

  “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” he finally said. “Feeling saucy, are we?”

  “Perhaps just a bit.” She pivoted and spread her arms. “Do you like what you see, Your Grace?”

  He twitched back the sheet in answer and it was her turn to gasp. His member quivered stiff and long as if it had a life of its own. “Good heavens,” she breathed. “Do all men’s cocks do that?”

  “Not having seen many other men’s cocks—except perhaps when swimming nude and I wasn’t really looking, mind you—I wouldn’t know. But this man’s cock does this when it’s waiting to make love to someone.” He patted the floor. “Come lie down.”

  She lowered herself beside him and leaned in to kiss him, running her fingers through the silken hair covering his chest before trailing them down past his stomach to take his cock in her hand.

  “It’s so warm,” she murmured, dancing her fingers down its length. “And so very hard. Does it hurt to feel that hard?”

  “Ahhh…” He closed his eyes and threw a leg over her hip. “It’s somewhere between agony and ecstasy. Agony because it’s aching while waiting to bury itself in your beautiful cave, and ecstasy knowing that in the next minute or two it’s going to do just that.”

  “My cave?”

  He slipped a finger inside her, drawing it from the bottom of her opening to the top, stopping to stroke the tight bud. “That’s a word for your womanhood. And this…” he stroked the bud again, “is your clitoris.”

  Another wave of pleasure hit Emily, stronger than before. Trembling, she clutched his arms. “Oh Lord,” she sighed. “That feels so good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Do you like this?” She cupped his balls while her other hand slid up and down his cock.

  A groan escaped Anthony’s throat and it was his turn to clutch her arms. “Sweet Jesu, yes. Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “It feels like it’s getting bigger. Can a cock grow while making love?”

  “I’d like to think so,” Anthony panted. “It would make me very popular.”

  “What about this?” She slowly traced her fingers around the ring of flesh on his cock head. Does that feel good?”

  “Witch!” Anthony’s labored breathing grew more ragged. “Where the devil did you learn to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, watching his face. “But I think I like knowing I can do this to you.” She moved her dancing fingers to the top of his prick. “What about this?”

  “Emily, if you don’t stop right now I’m going to explode in your hand, and there are still some things I want to do to you before we finish.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this.”

  He rolled her onto her back then moved down until he could spread her legs and prop himself between them. With a contented sigh, he put his mouth against her mound and slid his tongue up and down her crevice, stopping to suckle her clitoris.

  “Anthony. Anthony.” Her pleasured groans nearly made him spill his seed on the floor, but he wasn’t finished with her yet. Her hips thrashed as he continued to taste and hold her down, until her rapid breathing warned him she was close to completion.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me now.”

  “As my lady wishes. But first there’s this.”

  He crawled forward, straddling her, and took first one breast then the other in his mouth, circling her nipples with his tongue and gently nipping.

  She smacked his bottom after one particularly playful bite. “Beast.”

  “My dearest Emily, you have no idea.” He slid his finger back inside her, moving back and forth along the ridges to fondle her nubbin until she seemed ready to scream.

  He paused to peer down at her. Her glorious chestnut hair was spread out on the pillow underneath. Caught between firelight and sunlight, her face was painted with passion. Her nipples, still slick and hard from his mouth, were crimson points against her areolas as her chest rose and fell in expectation. Her eyes gleamed and she held out her arms, spreading her legs wide for him. He patted the curls covering her mound one last time before lying down to the delicious agony of slowly sliding his prick inside her, pulling back until he was almost outside and thrusting back in.

  To his delight, she gathered him in her arms and pulled his head down to find his mouth with hers. She buried her tongue inside, anxiously sucking and circling his as if she were a starving woman invited to a banquet. Her eagerness ignited his skin like a spark to kindling, sending a blaze of desire over him and speeding his thrusts. Her feet pressed against his ass, cradling them together in a web of desire and passion.

  And then she cried out his name just as ecstasy seized him, sending them together into the abyss of completion.

  * * * * *

  “Do you like her?”

  Emily caught the anxious note in Anthony’s voice as they rode through Hyde Park. His expression might have been that of a schoolboy offering a bouquet of posies to his sweetheart. She smiled and fondled the horse’s ears. “She’s lovely, Anthony. Just lovely.”

  “The fellow at Tattersall’s said her name was Petunia,” he continued, relief replacing the worry. “Gentle, but still with enough spirit to get in a good gallop if you want.”

  “I think just riding along until Petunia and I get to know one another will do,” Emily said. “It’s been a long time since I went riding.”

  Judging from the number of people around them, half the ton shared their idea of spending the morning in Hyde Park. Sunshine lessened the chill of the late April morning, but Emily was grateful for the warmth of her borrowed riding habit.

  She was also grateful for Jocelyn’s excellent taste in clothing. The admiration in Anthony’s eyes when he saw her in the bronze habit and matching hat had warmed her far more than the sunshine. Around them, elegantly dres
sed men in pairs and other couples rode or walked by. To Emily’s surprise, most of them raised their hats or inclined their heads as they passed. But then, of course, Anthony was a duke.

  “Hullo, Anthony,” a voice called. “I’d heard you were back in London. Welcome home.” A blond man in an open carriage waved in greeting and spoke to the dark-haired woman beside him. The carriage stopped and the man raised his hat.

  “Phillip, Franny,” Anthony said warmly, “good morning to you both. Mrs. Emily Martin, allow me to present my friends Phillip Graves, Viscount Danbury, and his wife, Franny.”

  “Good morning, my lord. My lady,” Emily said. “I’m honored to meet you.”

  The Viscount smiled. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Martin. Welcome to London.”

  “You’re looking well, Franny,” Anthony said. “Motherhood becomes you. You’re positively glowing.”

  “You know about that already?”

  “It’s one of the first things Brandon told me when I returned.” Anthony laid a finger alongside his nose. “You know what a stickler he is for keeping up with things.”

  “You mean gossip,” the viscountess corrected. “He can hardly wait to bring and share the latest tattle.”

  “Some things never change,” Anthony agreed. “Is this the first time you’ve been out?”

  “I practically had to carry her from the nursery and throw her into the carriage,” Danbury said with a laugh.

  His wife joined in his merriment. “Oh listen to you,” she scolded. “Who hasn’t been seen at his clubs since Jonathon was born because you insist on spending almost every spare minute holding him and singing him to sleep.”

  “Franny recently presented Phillip with an heir,” Anthony told Emily.

  The viscountess gently tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “We really should be getting back, Phillip. Jonathon might wake up and be hungry.”

  “Whatever you want, my dear,” Danbury agreed.

  “Would you like to meet our son, Mrs. Martin?” the viscountess asked. “He’s only six weeks old but is growing enormously.”

  “I’d like that,” Emily said eagerly. “I loved the christenings at my late husband’s church even more than the weddings.”

  “Well then, we’ll expect you in an hour,” the viscount said. “Take us home, Patrick.”

  The driver nodded and raised his hat to Anthony and Emily. He clucked to the horse and it moved forward. A lump rose in Emily’s throat and she blinked hard to chase away the unexpected tears rising in her eyes. A baby. A beautiful, sweet baby.

  “Emily? Is something wrong?”

  Forcing a smile, she looked at Anthony. “Not a thing,” she said brightly. “Do you suppose we could have just a little gallop before we go to the Danbury’s?”

  * * * * *

  “Would you like to hold him?”

  Heart pounding, Emily held out her arms to accept the baby from the viscountess. The tiny boy gave her a wide, violet-eyed stare as she leaned back in the large chair near the windows of the Danbury’s Mayfair sitting room. He smelled of soap and milk and powder and love. Danbury and Anthony sat watching from a nearby sofa.

  “You’re a very handsome young man,” she told the baby. “I suppose you have both of your parents wrapped around every one of those tiny little fingers of yours, don’t you?”

  She lifted his hand and gently kissed each fingertip before planting another kiss amid his blond curls. The child cooed and squirmed with seeming delight, but Emily secured her hold. “Not so fast, sir,” she warned. “You’re going to stay with me just a bit longer.”

  Looking up, she found her hosts staring at her, grinning like a pair of cheetahs. “You have a beautiful child,” she praised. “He has his father’s hair and his mother’s eyes.”

  “He is beautiful, isn’t he?” The viscountess sighed, taking the chair next to Emily. “And he’s such a good baby. He hardly ever cries.”

  “Except when he’s hungry,” Danbury corrected. “Then his demands shake the entire house. How do you find London, Mrs. Martin?”

  “Very well,” Emily answered as she continued to examine Jonathon’s features.

  If I would have had a son, who would he have favored? Isaiah or me? What about a daughter?

  “I think your son has Emily under his spell,” Anthony said and the Danburys laughed.

  “A word with you, Anthony?” Danbury canted his head.

  “And what’s this?” his wife demanded as the men stood and crossed the room. “There are no secrets between us.”

  Danbury smiled wickedly. “And what if it’s about a surprise I have planned for you?”

  “That’s different. You may proceed with your discussion.”

  The men huddled together and Emily gave her attention to her hostess. “You’re blessed to have such a child, my lady.”

  “My friends call me Franny, Mrs. Martin. I hope you’ll do the same.”

  “Thank you, Franny,” Emily said shyly. “I’m Emily.”

  “Have you known Anthony a long time?”

  “He spent a summer with my family in Hampshire when he and my brother were at Cambridge together, but we hadn’t seen each other until I came to London a few days ago.”

  Franny thoughtfully regarded Emily, a knowing light shining in her violet eyes. “How lovely you can renew your acquaintance,” she said. “Do you have plans for the Season?”

  “I’m going to help Anthony find a wife,” Emily said. “But you mustn’t tell anyone. I hear that dukes are very popular catches for young ladies seeking men of fortune to be their husbands. If word gets out too soon he’s in the market for a wife, he’ll have no peace at all.”

  “No doubt,” Franny agreed. She looked past Emily and her eyes narrowed. “Phillip has that look he gets when he’s plotting something particularly outrageous. Where are you staying at the moment?”

  “In a residential hotel,” Emily fibbed. Franny didn’t need to know she’d only gone back to Twickenham’s to change clothing. And she certainly didn’t need to know Emily was spending a great deal of time in Anthony’s bed. “Anthony is going to help me locate a house to rent until I can find something more permanent,” she said.

  If Franny suspected anything, she was too polite or well-schooled to voice it. “I’m sure he’ll prove most helpful. Do let me know if Jonathon is getting too heavy for you.”

  Emily looked back at the baby. “I think he’s fallen asleep,” she said softly.

  “Then let me take him upstairs and we’ll have tea.” Franny took her child and left the room, humming softly.

  Watching them go, Emily folded her arms over her chest, trying to capture and keep some of Jonathon’s warmth. His scent clung to her dress—one that smelled of hope and innocence—and sorrow pierced her heart, weighing it down with the old, sad truth.

  She would never, could never, have child.

  Considering how she and Anthony had been behaving, she supposed she should be grateful. They had even managed a quick romp before coming to the Danbury’s.

  “After all,” he had said as he stripped off her riding habit. “We can’t arrive in our riding clothes, smelling of horses.”

  “Don’t you suppose we’ll smell of tupping?” Her speed in undressing him nearly equaled his undressing of her.

  “Where did you learn a word like tupping?” he demanded as they fell among the sheets. Davis had wisely left the bed unmade.

  “From that maid of mine,” she said, opening her legs for him.

  Just as he was about to enter her, she placed her hand on his cock and began to guide him in and out.

  “Thank God for maids,” he said devoutly, putting his weight on his elbows.

  His length throbbed inside her, filling her as she slid him back and forth. “Oh, Anthony,” she murmured. “You feel so very, very good.”

  “I’m glad to be of service.” He groaned as her hand continued its work, moving him faster and faster until something inside her shattered and she thought she wou
ld die from pleasure.

  He cried out her name and fell on top of her. She lay beneath him, his heart racing against hers while her legs held him in place, not wanting him to withdraw. Wanting to lie there with him forever.

  But then he pulled back and looked at her, taking her face between his palms, and she knew how much trouble she was in.

  “Emily,” he had whispered. “My sweet, wanton Emily.”

  Perhaps that’s why she had given herself to him with such abandon. There was no possibility of a child being created, so why not give into every form of pleasure they could imagine?

  “Emily? Is something the matter?” Anthony repeated his question from earlier this morning. The men had returned to their places on the sofa and Franny was reentering the room, followed by several tray-bearing servants.

  “Nothing,” Emily lied again. “Nothing at all.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fog had settled over London, shrouding the city in a chilling layer of dampness. Unlike Pall Mall and other such fashionable neighborhoods, Bethnal Green had none of the new gas streetlights—for which Freddy Cooper was grateful. Stepping over a pile of rotting vegetables in the alley, he cautiously entered the back door of an abandoned house and then closed it behind him. The creak of the hinges echoed through the empty rooms and Freddie winced. The dust carpeting the floor puffed up and settled over his boots as he crept toward the staircase. Boarded windows shut out any possible moonlight and he coughed against the stale air. The place needed a good spring cleaning. The kind his ma used to give their house.

  The first step of the staircase groaned under his weight and he paused, listening for any sound of someone else in the house. The next step echoed the first and this time a voice hissed from somewhere in the darkness above him. “Freddie? Is that you?”

  Freddie’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, Henry. I’m coming up.”

  His journey to the next floor was much quicker and Freddie sighed his relief. His younger brother was waiting with the usual food-filled rucksack. Thank God. Freddie hadn’t eaten in days.