The Devil's Own Read online

  Venturing a peek around the side of the building, she saw a man bent over the pump in the courtyard.

  “George’s hairy bollocks!” he swore, grunting and straining. “Bloody thing’s frozen—ugh!—solid! How I hate living—ugh!—in this primitive—ugh!—hovel!” He cursed again and then, taking up the cane he’d propped against the offending pump, he smacked it against the metal. It bounced back and hit him in the leg, causing him to curse again.

  Her jaw dropped. It is him! But what is he doing out here in the cold? People in the village had begun to talk of how he hadn’t been seen for days after he’d neglected to conduct services on Sunday. She’d begun to worry he’d fallen ill, and had, in fact, come this way in the hope of reassuring herself all was well.

  Clearly, it wasn’t. She watched, transfixed, as he straightened and, leaning on his cane, took a few unsteady steps back from the pump.

  “Damn me,” he gasped, rubbing his arms. “It’s colder than a whore’s heart out here. Where’s my c—where’s my bloody coat?” He cast about for a brief moment, and again swore. “Shite! Left it at the bloody pub, confound it.” A second strike aimed at the pump missed widely, and he reeled, only just managing not to lose his balance before planting the tip of his cane firmly on the ground.

  She ought to go before he realized she was there. She knew it but couldn’t seem to make herself move. And then, it was too late.

  He turned and stumbled to a halt as he spotted her, his blue eyes narrowing as if he didn’t quite believe she was really there. “Mary?”

  Speech deserted her. His dark hair was disheveled, his face shadowed by at least two days’ growth of stubble on his jaw, and he wore trousers and a shapeless sweater instead of his customary cassock and collar. He looked like an entirely different man.

  He took a step toward her, stumbled, and put out a hand to steady himself—only there was nothing against which to brace. Overcompensating, he jerked back, lost his grip on his cane, and fell flat on his arse, landing with another curse that made the tips of her ears prickle. He tried to rise, but then slipped and sat back down in the snow…and began laughing.

  Unless she was very much mistaken, he was drunk. At four o’clock in the afternoon. Shoving aside her shock, she moved forward to help him rise.

  He stared first at the hand she extended, and then up at her. “What are you doing out here all alone?” he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

  “I was on my way home from Augie’s house.”

  “Mmm.” A wry smirk tilted his mouth. “Thought you’d ‘stop by’ and pay me a visit, is that it? Just a friendly social call?”

  Despite the cold, her cheeks burned at the suggestive way he’d said it. “I heard someone struggling as I was passing the church. You look as if you could use some help.” Again, she extended her hand.

  Closing his eyes, he hung his head and gave another strangled laugh. “God, I’m sorry. I’m making an ass of myself.” He snorted. “Again.”

  “You’ve just had a bit too much drink, I think,” she replied, trying not to sound accusatory. Why had he been drinking at the pub? As far as she knew, he’d never gone to the pub save to post a letter with the innkeeper or take a meal. “Come. Let’s get you inside before you catch your death of cold.”

  This time when she put out her hand, he took it. Getting him to his feet was a bit of a challenge, but she managed by putting one shoulder beneath his arm and hauling up until he had his feet under him. Reaching down, she caught up his cane and handed it to him, but it did little to take the weight off her shoulder.

  Sweet Lord, but he’s heavy! She no longer felt the cold as they made their haphazard way to the vicarage door. How could she, with him pressed against her? Though he’d complained of the chill, he radiated heat. Was he feverish? She couldn’t tell. He leaned against the wall, staring at her as she opened the door, and she shivered, though not from the cold. The intense look in his eyes nearly liquefied her knees.

  “Come,” she said, deliberately brisk. “It’s much better inside than out.”

  When he failed to move, she went in ahead of him. His movements were ungainly, his steps as uneven as her heartbeat. But he didn’t move to sit down by the fire as she expected. He simply stood, swaying slightly, staring at her while she divested herself of her coat and gloves.

  “Reverend? Are you—”

  “Don’t call me that.” His gruff voice rasped. “I don’t deserve to be ‘revered.’ Not by you.” He looked away. “Not by anyone.”

  She took a hesitant step toward him. “You are troubled by something. Perhaps I can be of help?”

  He said nothing, but his throat worked as if he wanted to speak. He refused to look her in the face.

  She moved a little closer. “Whatever it is, you can trust me. I want to help you.”

  “No one can help me. Least of all you.”

  “Why?” Another step closer. “Why me least of all?”

  His head rose, his dark eyes full of doubt and other turbulent emotions to which she could not put a name. “Because you’re the reason I’m in this predicament.”

  Frowning, she stopped. “Me? It was you who last sought me out. I did as you wished. I stayed away. But then you came to my house—to make amends, I presumed—and you were friendly again. I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind. Now…” She cast up her hands, helpless in the face of his bewildering conduct. “I don’t know what to make of you anymore. Tell me what it is you want from me, and for heaven’s sake, speak plainly.”

  He drew a deep, shuddering breath and ran a shaking hand through his already unruly hair, making it even worse. “Mary, why can I not make you understand? I don’t want to hurt you!”

  “But you are hurting me,” she told him, tears stinging her eyes. “I hurt to see you like this, to know that I am somehow the cause of your condition, such as it is. I would help you, if I could. But you won’t let me in. You won’t let anyone in. The whole parish confides in you, but you confide in no one.”

  “I cannot.” His voice cracked, and his eyes seemed to look through her to someplace far away. “If anyone knew the truth…”

  To hell with propriety. Mary moved to stand directly in front of him. “We all fall short, is that not what you said?” she asked, forcing him to look at her. “We are all of us imperfect. That is why there is forgiveness. You are a good man!”

  He chuckled, a bitter, choked sound. “I’m really not.” Reaching up, he caressed her cheek with an unsteady hand. “I cannot impress upon you the weight of the sin on my soul as I stand here, coveting what I should not. I beg you to leave now and set your sights elsewhere. You deserve better than me.”

  Unable to help herself, she leaned into his touch. Blood raced in her veins as her body quickened with almost painful rapidity. “But I want only you,” she whispered boldly.

  At these words, lust flared in his eyes and something inside him seemed to break. With a soft groan of surrender, he bent and captured her upturned lips. A thumb gently pressed down on her chin, a silent demand. Answering, she opened, and the heady taste of brandy burst over her tongue as his mouth slid across hers. Dropping the cane, he crushed her in his arms, and she delighted in the firm muscle pressed against her beneath his clothes.

  More. Instinct demanded there be no such barrier between them. Reaching under his sweater, she pulled up the linen shirt tucked into his trousers and at last made gratifying contact with hot, bare skin. Her palms skimmed across his back, exploring its smooth texture and the underlying contours.

  So different. Another thrill shot through her. His body was so unlike hers. Where she was soft and pliant, he was hard and unyielding. Pulling back a little, she felt the flesh over his abdomen and found it was the same. Muscle rippled beneath her roving fingertips. Traveling up, her hands searched out the broadness of his chest, learning it. Beneath her feather-light touch, a n
ipple contracted.

  A deep moan rumbled in his throat, further fueling her curiosity. Deliberately, she did it again, smiling against his mouth.

  That was all it took.

  Before she could draw another breath, he hauled her up against himself and began shuffling her back toward the stairs. Their legs tangled, unbalancing him, and they nearly fell.

  “Stop before you hurt yourself,” she murmured, laughing a little. Twisting away, she wriggled out of his arms, picked up his cane and gave it to him, and then turned toward the stairs. A shiver of anticipation ran through her as she mounted the first few steps, ears straining. After a moment’s hesitation, she heard the creak of wood, the tap of a cane, and uneven footfalls behind her.

  His bedchamber was Spartan, much as she’d expected, but it contained all that was needed. Trembling at her own audacity, she led him to the bed and then sat on its edge to remove her boots.

  Bending, he dropped his cane and made to help—and almost fell down.

  She slapped his hands away, smiling at his adorable pout to take away any sting. He’d be all night taking them off in his condition. “Let me.”

  Her conscience tried to assert itself as her fingers picked the knots loose. He’s been drinking. Enough to free his tongue and make him unsteady on his feet. The other part of her, the part that had been wanting this for so long, fought back. He’s only a bit tipsy. He’s still in full possession of his faculties and knows what he’s doing.

  But do you? Hesitating, she glanced at him and caught him looking back at her with hooded, lust-filled eyes the color of the sky just after nightfall. Her conscience abandoned the battlefield, and desire overtook it. In short order, her boots were off and sliding across the wooden floor, followed by her skirt and woolen petticoats.

  He, too, undressed, though much more slowly, leaning against the bed’s footboard for support as he struggled a bit to pull off his sweater and shirt.

  Expecting him to continue disrobing, she averted her eyes. But he merely came to sit beside her and watched her continue to work her way through the layers confining her until all that remained were her corset, shift, and stockings.

  Shyness at last asserted itself. “I…I need help with the lacings,” she lied. She was fully capable of reaching behind and pulling them loose enough to wriggle out of the contraption on her own, but asking him to help would allow her to face the other way so he wouldn’t see how nervous she was. Turning, she gave him access to her back.

  Every brush of his fingers, every catch in his breath, heightened her awareness. When at last the corset was loose enough, she stood, keeping her back to him, and tugged it down over her hips to let it drop to the floor. Then, bracing herself, she pulled the fine linen shift up over her head and let it join the other clothing on the floor.

  The only sounds to be heard were that of their breathing and the fire’s gentle crackle in the grate. She couldn’t turn around. Not now. Not when her breasts were bared to the world and she wore only her stockings. Misgiving once again began to creep in. She almost jumped out of her skin when the bed rustled as he rose. Would he reject her now that she’d proven herself shameless? Would he leave her standing here naked and in disgrace?

  A hot, dry palm touched the small of her back, raising goose bumps in its wake. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  The wobble in his voice tugged at her heart. Then she heard the creak of the bed ropes and felt the warm press of his mouth at the nape of her neck, the silken touch of his lips combined with the light rasp of stubble sending goose bumps racing across her skin and a bolt of pure lust rocketing through her. Her fists clenched, and her toes curled into the rug beneath her feet as, kiss after agonizingly gentle kiss, his lips traveled down her back until she felt the feather brushings of his soft, dark hair as he again sat and rested his head against the dip above her buttocks.

  “Mary,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her flesh as he caressed her hips with reverent hands. “Mary. The only one I want. The only one I cannot have.”

  Turning, she faced him, fighting a maidenly urge to cover herself as the motion put him at eye level with her navel, among other things. He looked up at her like a supplicant, his deep blue eyes beseeching, desperate. A rush of feminine pride swept through her at the naked desire that kindled in them as his gaze swept lower. Hungry, full of greed, it burned a path across her flesh as it slowly took her in. Such a look threatened to turn her into the vainest creature to ever draw breath.

  All shame fled.

  “You can,” she whispered. The last of her apprehension faded away. This was the man she was going to marry, and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. “Because I’m giving myself to you.” Reaching down, she threaded her fingers through the dark hair at his temples and bent to kiss him.

  All in an instant his gaze turned utterly ravenous, as if he would devour her whole. The sight of it made her shudder as he dragged her down and clasped her naked body hard against his own to plunder her mouth in a searing kiss that branded her as his, body and soul. With shaking limbs, she braced against his shoulders as together they fell back on the bed and he maneuvered until they were fully laid upon it.

  Callused fingertips skimmed over her, their surprisingly light touch eliciting pleasurable sensation with every pass until her skin felt feverish and the secret place between her legs began to throb. A swell of emotion and want made her close her eyes against the sting of tears as he pressed close and began to pepper her body with kisses, interrupted only by the occasional worshipful whisper in praise of her perfection.

  When his mouth closed over the flushed peak of one breast, a long, low moan filled the air—hers. It was an uncivilized, indecent sound, raw and primal, and she could hardly believe it had come from her throat. Shocked by her own wantonness, she stifled another as he switched sides and began flicking his tongue across the hardened bud. Merciful heaven! It was torment, torment most acute! And yet she never wanted it to end.

  Which was why she couldn’t help letting out another wordless, shameless noise in protest when he abruptly stopped. Embarrassed, she clamped her mouth shut on it, her skin prickling with mortification.

  “My sweet Mary,” he said with a distinctly devilish smile. “Don’t silence yourself. I would hear your every utterance and know when I’m bringing you pleasure.”

  With a frantic nod of agreement—anything to make him resume!—she pulled his head back down toward her breast. A wicked chuckle rumbled in his chest as sighs and whimpers of sheer delight and mounting frustration escaped her while he relentlessly applied his lips, teeth, and tongue.

  She’d heard older women talk of bedchamber play when they thought no one was listening. At the time, she’d thought it odd and perhaps even aberrant for a man to suckle at a woman’s breast. Not so, anymore. Still, though it never ceased being pleasurable, such play was causing her unrest bordering on distress.

  Her nether parts pulsed in rhythm with her pounding heart, and she knew it must be close to time for him to commit The Act. But he withheld, much to her increasing agitation. Surely, if she was ready, then so must he be! Deciding to test her theory, she pulled him up and kissed his mouth again. The hardened part of him lay like a stone between their bodies, where it was still trapped inside his trousers.

  Reaching down between them, she ran a curious hand along its length. The man in her arms let out a rough groan, and she snatched her fingers back as if burned.

  His hand shot out like lightning, trapping hers and gently placing it back where it had been. “Touch me all you like,” he whispered, nipping at her bottom lip. “I’ll tell you when you must stop.”

  Mary’s face had to be as red as a beet, but she couldn’t deny him the same pleasure he’d been so generously giving her. So, plucking up her courage, she let her hand wander over his sex, tracing its outline where it strained against the cloth.

 
Without warning, after only a few minutes, he rolled away onto his back, unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled them down and off. Then he stretched out again, giving her full access to his now entirely naked person. “Touch whatever pleases you,” he murmured, his eyes two dark slits gleaming with lustful amusement. “I forbid you no part of my body.”

  Face aflame, she gingerly ran her hands over his lean form, exploring here and there, silently marveling at the differences between them, appreciating them. The feel of his hot, smooth skin under her hands was a pleasure all by itself. Every muscle that flexed under her palms was a discovery.

  His hard thighs and calves, with their dusting of coal-black hair, were so alien compared to her softness, which was all she’d ever known. Even his injured leg was corded with muscle beneath the fading yellow bruises. She traced it delicately. “Does it still pain you a great deal?”

  “Only when I put too much weight on it.”

  Nodding, she proceeded up to arms that were just as well-defined. Her fingers trailed over the ridges of his abdomen where, to her surprise, she saw a long, thin scar. Puzzled, she traced its shape with a fingertip.

  “Mary, darling,” he rasped, the endearment eliciting a thrill of joy. “I shall die if you keep this up. Please…”

  She knew what he wanted. There, just above the juncture of his thighs and the one place she’d avoided looking until now, lay his manhood. If she’d thought their bodies different before, here was the greatest dissimilarity of them all.

  Long and thick, it sprang from a forest of wiry black curls like a tree rooted in the earth. The dark, turgid shaft was crowned by a broad, rounded head and bejeweled by a single, shining drop of clear fluid at its very tip. Fascinated, she reached out and grasped it at the base, only to start back in surprise as it jerked in her hand.

  Her gaze darted up to his face, praying she wouldn’t see disapproval there. But the look in his eyes was positively smug as he smiled and nodded at her to continue. Flushing yet again, she focused on learning his body. This time when she gripped him, she didn’t let go. The hardened flesh beneath her fingers was like hot silk over stone as she experimented, gently moving her hand up and down, marking the heavy vein that pulsed beneath her fingertips on its underside.