Silent Night, Sinful Night Read online

  Following her gaze, Winston saw his sister at the far side of the room, more or less hiding behind a lavish arrangement of silver saw palmetto leaves intertwined with Mexican cedar and Santa Maria, one of many arrangements used to decorate the house for the holiday in the absence of holly and mistletoe. She listened to the music and was apparently fawning over one of the musicians.

  Dolores nodded gravely. “Yes, Charlotte is not being very subtle about her fascination with the lead violinist. Angelo della Pietà, or whatever his name is, is said to have accompanied Vivaldi round Europe after having been his last student.”

  When Father found out about Charlotte’s infatuation, the stargazing violinist would find himself in the gutter with a knife between his ribs. “Maybe he prefers men,” Winston suggested.

  His mother tapped his shoulder with her closed fan in a mock scold. “Well, whatever his preferences, I could certainly do with a glass of punch now.”

  Offering his arm, Winston accompanied his mother to the adjoining room. There some guests were seated, some standing, chatting in between bites of roast goose, shellfish Christmas pudding, and mincemeat pies, washing it all down with champagne or punch. The wall opposite the huge terrace doors was riddled with Winston’s ostensible pedigree. Every time Winston looked at it, he had to suppress a bark of laughter. One of those so-called ancestors looked like Edward Teach. Father had probably thought it a practical joke to acquire that painting.

  Lady Barnes had followed them. Winston noticed her alarmingly purposeful stride toward them. Her gaze was fixated on a point next to his right shoulder, and when he looked back, he saw Lady Woodford and her daughters making their way over as well, with Lady Shutterford and her daughter close behind. All of a sudden, Winston felt like a tasty crab circled by hungry seagulls. He quickly scanned the room for a means of escape.

  Hope came in a hysterical shriek that drew his attention. When he looked toward the commotion he could see Lady Shutterford had punch from her stomacher down to her skirts, and all the color had left her face in mortification. Winston should definitely go fetch the smelling salts. But something stopped him, something that made the small hairs at the back of his neck rise.

  Winston watched Lady Ponsonby, who was the unfortunate guest responsible for the mishap, patting at the wet blotches with her lace handkerchief while repeating how utterly sorry she was. Then another lady caught his eye. With a casual stroll, she walked by. One moment a little too interested in the ruby necklace around Lady Ponsonby’s neck and in the blink of an eye later, unfazed by the impressive piece of jewelry.

  Having lived among thugs and thieves for quite some time, Winston immediately recognized the lovely young woman for what she was: not just any houseguest but a crook who had just marked her prize. How had she come by an invitation for the holidays?

  It didn’t matter really; she was here now and Winston had to do something about it. Stop her, possibly distract her and protect the other guests without raising suspicion.

  Winston excused himself before his mother could protest his leaving and made his way through the crowd standing at the terrace door. He only just avoided stepping on one or two toes and shoving one of the guests. His mother, it seemed, had chased after him and chose that moment to call his name—and Winston’s target stopped in her tracks.

  Turning, she perused the crowd. Her loveliness took his breath away. Her eyes were big and her nose small in just the right ways. Her plump lips glistened like she’d just bitten into a ripe fruit. Or more like he’d just kissed her senseless. What else he could see of her was just the way he liked his women. Keeping her busy all night, Winston thought with a sly grin, would be a real hardship.

  When her eyes traveled up his body, he could feel them linger here or there. What would her hands feel like when they whispered over him? Would she be a shy and quiet lover, or would she moan in abandon when he made her crest with his mouth before he buried himself deep inside her? If she was as good at her profession as Winston thought she might be, she’d most likely be whatever kind of lover she thought he wanted her to be. That had definite possibilities within itself.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but”—Winston cleared his throat, his voice no more than a lust-induced rasp—“there seems to be no one to introduce us. Nonetheless, I must ask you to dance with me right away.”

  “Your boldness is unbecoming, sir.” Her words were like stab wounds of icy scorn, but interest flared in her eyes.

  “Sorry to offend you, but I beseech you to rescue me.” Winston bowed and let his gaze wander up and down her body, leaving no doubt about his intentions.

  Just as she was about to answer, his mother called his name again. The echo of her summons sounded suspiciously like Lady Barnes and Lady Woodford together.

  “Mr. Matthews, I presume?”

  Winston could see the transformation in the lovely little thief. She suddenly became much more interested in him. If he played his cards right, she’d think him a better quarry than Lady Ponsonby’s ruby necklace. “I am he, Lady . . . ?”

  “Latimer. Beatrice Latimer.” She leaned to the side a little, checking the crowd behind him to see who had called his name. “They are eagerly awaiting your return, Mr. Matthews.”

  “That is why I implore you to help me. You must understand the predicament I’m in.”

  “Your predicament?”

  “Yes. Those ladies over there.” Winston leaned closer and lowered his voice. He caught a whiff of bergamot when one of the light auburn curls piled on her head teased the tip of his nose. He loved the feel of a woman’s hair and was glad the West Indies was too hot for wigs. “They wish me to marry one or all of their daughters, and I’m afraid they’ll stop at nothing to achieve that.”

  “I see.” Beatrice Latimer, if that was even her real name, looked in their direction one more time, then back up to him and smiled. “In that case, you do need to be rescued.”

  “Very much.” Winston offered his arm. “And quick, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” she said, and bit the inside of her cheek as she looked down. “We shall leave at once.”

  “Jolly good.” Passing his mother, Winston bowed in her direction but ignored the preying women who surrounded her. “Accompanying me out of the room will suffice if you’re not inclined to dance. We could take a turn in the garden, or if you’d rather not, I could show you my family’s art collection in the long gallery upstairs.”

  “The art collection?” Despite her flirtatious tone, she didn’t look up at him. Her gaze seemed to jump from one guest to the other, as though she was measuring them. Was she looking for an accomplice? Unexpectedly, she looked up at him, batting her long lashes that framed arrestingly stormy gray eyes. Winston had difficulties remembering where his train of thought had left off. “Sounds fascinating, Mr. Matthews.”

  Upstairs, her stare flitted around the hall, from the column that hid an alcove to the bust at the opposite wall, back to the painting on the left and the three-branched brass candelabra next to it, then back to the heavy mahogany door barring the entrance to Winston’s room.

  “On second thought, though . . .” Winston halted, looking left and right as if he’d heard something. He moved aside and felt with his free hand behind his back for the handle on the door. The hinges grated as it swung open. “This way, please,” he whispered, and guided her into his room.

  “Where are you taking me?” Even though the light of the torches outside flickered through the windows, it was still too dark to see her clearly. Nevertheless, Winston could hear her breath hitch and the unmistakable quality of a knowing smile tinge her words.

  “This is my room, my lady.”

  “Your room? Impossible!” Beatrice turned on her heels and made a halfhearted effort to leave, but he caught her by the elbow and held her back. “I must leave at once. What will people think?”

  “I thought your kindness would expand even further and you’d be willing to help me with another dilemma as we
ll.” He eased a little closer until all his senses were flooded with her fresh orangey scent.

  “Another dilemma, Mr. Matthews?” She leaned her head back and looked up at him.

  “Indeed. It is imperative I’m not seen any more tonight.” In the pale flickering light from outside, Winston could see mirth curling one corner of her full lips. He let his knuckles explore the other half of her lovely face that was cast in shadows. Her pale skin, unmarred by powder or rouge, was as soft as velvet.

  “Very ungentlemanly conduct.” Beatrice leaned into his touch. The erotic tension in the room escalated.

  “Of course!” He let her hear a distinctive and purely masculine chuckle as he stepped up to her, closing the remaining handful of inches separating them and letting her feel how much he wanted her. “If you’re looking for a gentleman, you won’t find one in here.”

  “A shame, really. And what would you suggest we do until the early morning hours?” Her words were low, full of seduction. Undulating her body, she increased the pressure against his arousal.

  “Oh, I can think of a lot of things, Lady Latimer, and they all require some privacy.” He lifted her in his arms and turned so that her back was against the wall. She slung her legs around his waist, pushing her female softness against his cock.

  “Let me thank you properly, shall I?” Rolling his hips, Winston let her feel his hard member through all the layers of clothing separating them still. One hand sneaked up the inside of her skirts and along her thigh until he found her moist core. There, he toyed with her hardening nub in between gentle squeezes, and she went pliant in his arms. Her lids went half-mast as her head sank back against the wall.

  Carrying her to the settee, he set her down and knelt in front of her. As he loomed over her, he studied her lovely face, her half-closed lids heavy with desire, her quick pants that spoke of her need, her supple lips. Winston knew they’d feel magnificent wrapped around his cock.

  Lowering his head, his tongue swept over the trembling beat of her pulse. Next, his lips wandered up her neck to nuzzle the underside of her jaw. His hands slid down her waist and traveled lower still, purposefully grasping the hem of her skirts. He pushed them up until they bunched at her midriff. Taking her tight little ass in his hands, he dragged her closer to the edge of the settee.

  Beatrice purred as she spread her legs wide and tilted her hips. Helpless at the marvelous sight, Winston bent to her. His tongue flicked over his lips, savoring the spice of her sex in the air. The perfume of her rich cream drew him, enchanted him, made his mouth water for more. Her slight quiver of anticipation in response had need thrumming through him. When he opened his mouth for a taste, he dragged the flat of his tongue over her with slow deliberation. His body caught fire as the first trickle of her honey-sweet musk exploded in his mouth.

  “Oh,” she breathed, and ended in a blissful sigh. “Winston!”

  Loathed to stop, he bent back just long enough to reply, “At your service, Beatrice.”

  “Less talking, if you please.”

  A woman after my own heart. Winston smiled against her moistness. Spreading her folds with two fingers, he buried his face fully against her.

  Winston licked and swirled his tongue over her, thrusting it deep from time to time. Arching her spine off the settee, she bent her head back in pleasure, her soft moans and whimpers spurring him on.

  His entire body reacted to her lascivious response. He felt he could go for hours on end, making her as wild with desire as he already was. It didn’t take long until she writhed on the settee, her pants changing to little whimpers of pleasure.

  Immediately after his tongue left her, his mouth settled over her clit, continuing to pleasure her. He thrust two fingers deep, palm up. Slowly at first, his fingers pumped in and out of her while he continued to softly kiss and suckle her sensitized clit. Crooking his fingers lightly, he thrust harder into her each time until she rocked away from him on the settee only to close the distance for his intimate kiss when his fingers retreated. Faster he pushed into her, and when a fresh gush bathed his two fingers sheathed in her, he added a third.

  Suddenly, Beatrice lifted her thighs and draped them over his shoulders while her hands fisted in his hair. Her hips jerked forward, slamming her sex into his lips, and she hooked her ankles against his back. The next moment, as her gasps turned to pleading whimpers, the undulating movements of her hips became frantic. She rolled her eyes upward and gasped, then moaned. Winston felt her climax, felt her squeezing his fingers tight, felt her clit jerk against his tongue.

  “Goodness me!” Beatrice wheezed out a slow breath. “You’re incredibly good at that.”

  Winston could only chuckle while tenderly lapping over her one last time before he was released from the firm grip of her thighs around his head.

  Limply, her legs fell from his shoulders. Winston kneeled up, reaching down to free himself while licking her juices off his lips. Just as he leaned down to carefully position himself, she came alive again, whipping up her arms and locking them around his shoulders, her legs crossing at his waist.

  “Kiss me.”

  Happy to obey, Winston dipped his head and took her mouth in a sweet slide, sealing her lips with his. She immediately opened and allowed him entrance, and when her tongue shamelessly rubbed along his, he heard himself moan. Their kiss was greedy and full of voracious desire, tongues dancing and swirling to the relentless pulse of their need for each other, for more.

  Everything about her, her skin softer than her silk gown, her orangey scent now completely suffused with her feminine musk, was driving him wild. The head of his penis nudged into her warm, wet entrance, and Winston was trapped between wanting to pin her down and shove his cock inside her hard and fast, or holding back, drawing things out with a slow and steady pace.

  Beatrice’s hand left his shoulder and groped his buttock. Nails biting into skin, she demanded he fill her. Gladly, he obliged, rolling his hips up. He stuffed her inch by inch, to let her slowly adjust to his width. Arching his hips, he drove his shaft even deeper into her slick cunny. When he was as deep as he could go, she broke their kiss and gasped.

  Winston took his time easing his cock out of her. He felt her whole body shudder with pleasure as he rocked gently against her and slid back inside. He fully intended to savor this, to enjoy her. Her hips bucked up against him, urging him on, but he didn’t waver. One thorough, deep, silken stroke after the other, his hands clamped over the tops of her thighs to keep her locked in place for his unhurried, measured thrusts.

  Eyes closed, her head fell back. The flickering light sneaking inside their cocoon from outside let Winston see rapture written on her face. He could feel it in the gripping spasms around his pulsing cock, and he could hear it in the wicked little cries that left her.

  No other woman Winston had enjoyed had felt so good, so perfect, so hot around his cock. An orgasm the likes of which he’d never experienced before simmered right beneath his skin, hot and blinding and exhilarating. He had to concentrate, not allow himself to come undone and give in to the raging torrent of prolonging pleasure and craving completion.

  But he feared the battle was already lost. A fresh gush of her honey wet his cock and trickled down his balls, bathing him in her scent, marking him as hers. His rolling thrusts deepened. Rough, long strokes had her whimper and moan. Pumping hard and faster still, he lunged in and out of her. She moved with him, meeting him stroke for stroke, the smacking sounds of skin on skin the only music they could hear.

  Burning waves of desire spread through him. Her tight, hot pussy created sublime friction against his cock. Prickling tendrils of pleasure slung around every limb of his body. The surge of ecstasy blazing through him was fierce.

  He slammed his cock into her, grunting with the effort each time, and she responded in kind, crying out in rapturous frenzy each time she ground her cunny against him. The next moment his orgasm hit, violent and blistering, as hard and fast as he fucked her, and with each wave tha
t washed over him, Winston felt stunned, his strength leaving him. He braced himself against the settee to keep himself from crushing her, his hands resting right and left of her waist.

  When their breathing returned to normal, Beatrice began to laugh, quick exhalations of breath just short of a hoarse giggle.

  “Can we do it again?”

  “As you wish.” Winston still fought to get air into his lungs. “I might need a moment, though.”

  He hooked his index finger into the crisscross of ribbons and bows at her stomacher. “I’m sure your bosom is as delectable as the rest of you, but there’s too much between my lips and them still. So, if you don’t mind . . .”

  “No,” she positively purred while grabbing a hold of the bows over her stomacher. Swift fingers opened them quickly, then ripped open the corset that lay underneath. “I don’t mind at all. Hope you don’t mind my getting you naked first.”

  Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t protest. Winston’s mind had gone completely blank when he beheld the most glorious tits he’d ever seen.

  2

  Rosie Archer opened her eyes, instantly conscious of her surroundings. She always woke quickly and fully aware. Leading the kind of life she did, it had become a skill that had served her well. When your identity changed frequently, it was essential not to be foggy or forgetful in the morning—especially if you weren’t waking up alone. Not answering to the right name or being confused and saying something completely out of character could eventually get you brought in front of the magistrate—or worse.

  For the moment she was Lady Beatrice Latimer, spending the holidays all the way through Twelfth Night at the home of the governor-general of British Honduras. She and the governor-general had several of the same nefarious contacts, so it had been easy to find a way to procure an invitation. He was as well known and popular among the underground as he was among the elite. The guest list was prestigious, so she’d expected to gain a top-quality bauble or two.

  Currently she was sore in just the right places and stretching her limbs lazily in the bed of her host’s son, Winston, the one and only heir to the governor-general’s vast fortune. This was the third night they’d spent together, and she wondered if she’d get lucky enough for him to want to continue their liaison through the whole holiday season. It might make it harder for her to scout and procure a good piece like that fabulous ruby necklace, but now the possibilities were much broader.