Chapter Ten

Sweet heaven.

Devlin touched his mouth to hers, teasingly light. She made a soft, inarticulate little sound that utterly captivated him. He wanted to sink into this illicit embrace and devour Fifi, yet he was so very careful as he framed her face between his hands, as if she were the most precious thing he had ever touched in his life. Never before had Devlin felt this much sensation, this much pleasure from a kiss. The fragrance of her perfume drifted through his senses. Soft, feminine, subtle, yet also bold. He gently teased her lips apart, nipping at her lower lip, teasing his tongue along the closed seam of her mouth.

Ah God, just this little taste of her made his head spin. Her lips were so soft, delectable, and tasted ripe as berries. He did it again, and she froze, then moaned softly, rising on her toes to meet him, her slender arms encircling his neck. His chest cracked open. Everything hard inside of him weakened.

He was kissing Fifi.

Years of bottled need rushed through Devlin, filling him with a depth of craving that scared the hell out of him.

He gently bit at her lower lip before soothing the sting with soft kisses. Her mouth yielded to him. Those lush lips parted on a gasp, and she sweetly moaned when he swept his tongue through her mouth. The taste of her hit his system, hot and intoxicating, making him drunk with need and desire. As Devlin chased the tart and sweet flavors on her tongue, his cock rose hot and turgid against the fall of his trousers. He had yearned for this, dreamed of it, but nothing compared to the reality of Fifi.

You are truly in my arms, Fifi.

His famed control spun away from his grasp. Arousal rode him hard, and with each whimper and sigh she released, he lost a bit more of himself. Devlin wanted her beneath him and sheathed on his cock with disquieting urgency. Holding his passion in check after months of longing was torture of the keenest sort. He gripped her hips and dragged her up against his body. Their hips fitted, and he knew she could feel him against the opening of her thighs, hot and heavily aroused.

Devlin swallowed her soft whimper, a sound of alarm yet also arousal. Her hands tightened around his neck when he started walking with her. Within a few strides, he spilled from the drawing room and down the hallway, causing Fifi to make a startled sound into his kiss…but she did not pull away.

The stairs to his bedchamber felt much too far away.

Devlin opened the next door, grateful to see they were in the smaller library on the ground floor. There was a desk. And a chaise longue.

She sighed into his kiss when he placed her on the large desk. Without releasing her mouth from his sensual assault, he nudged her legs wide and stepped between them, allowing her thighs to cradle him intimately. She hooked a leg around his thigh, drawing him even closer. Devlin felt like he held a storm in his hands. His Fifi was wild and beautiful in her eagerness, crackling with sensuality.

She tasted like hope but also like sin.

Devlin could not stop touching her. She had a tiny waist, curving hips, a sinfully rounded backside, and a soft, inviting bosom. And Devlin ran his hands everywhere, touching, kneading, and then softly caressing. He did not give her a chance to protest but ruthlessly seduced her until she panted and ached with want of him. He slipped his hand between her legs, coaxing them apart even wider, so he could touch the softness of her thigh. He dragged his fingers up, the incredible heat of her beckoning him closer to her quim. His knuckles brushed against her drawers, and she yelped, wrenching her mouth from his.

“This is not a kiss,” she gasped, shaking in his arms.

“No?”

“You scoundrel, you know this to be ravishment,” she said huskily.

He smiled faintly at her choice of words. Devlin had learned to be ruthless and cunning in getting what he wanted, and that extended to Fifi. As he stared into her widened eyes, the oddest sensation wrenched through his heart. There had been an artless wonder in her kiss. Had he frightened her with his intensity? Taking a deep, steady breath, he reined in the brutal need pummeling his body. His hands were shaking, Devlin realized as he cupped her delicate chin and swiped a thumb over her swollen lower lip.

“When you visited my home so daringly, did you not once consider ravishment a possibility?”

A sound he could not interpret slipped from her, and a pink flush rose into her cheeks. “I most certainly did not expect to find my derriere on top of a desk, my dress pushed to my knees, and my hat on the ground while being kissed senseless.”

Her tone was one of mild rebuke, but her eyes were intent…searching…daring.

“Your hands are free,” he pointed out, lowering his hand from her face. “You could slap me for my…unpardonable behavior.”

She appeared stymied for the briefest of moments. Fifi lifted her hand; he tensed in anticipation, but her contact was featherlight, the press of her palm against his jawline, and she stared at him with accusing eyes. How he wished her hands were not encased in gloves.

“I wanted your kiss, and even now, I do not want to wipe away your taste,” she murmured. “I would be a hypocrite to pretend otherwise.”

Her words razed his heart. I do not want to wipe away your taste. She had not been disgusted at all by their torrid kiss. A knot he hadn’t realized constricted his gut loosened in slow increments.

Do you want me as I want you, Fifi?

Possibilities started to tumble through his thoughts, and an awareness dawned. She wanted him with such intensity, her response scared her. His impression of the woman before him was quiet strength, boldness, and impetuosity. But now Devlin could see something else in the depth of her golden gaze.

Uncertainty. Vulnerability. And undisguised craving.

Suddenly, he was afraid to move—afraid that he would frighten her away. “Fifi?”

“Yes?”

“You know what I hope for… What do you want?”

Her lips trembled before she bit deeply into her lower lip. “I am going home.”

The knot in his gut retied with a vengeance. What had he expected? That the innocent daughter of a marquess would instantly declare that she wanted an affair with him after one kiss? He made to step back from her, but her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

“Are you to take four more kisses?” she asked tartly, an undeniable fire in her gaze. “Was that not the extent of what you wanted? Four kisses?”

The extent of his want? How little she comprehended. Black humor washed through him. “I am tempted, but alas, I must show restraint.” When everything in him screamed to take her and bind her to him by all means possible. Rubbish, of course. He wanted Fifi badly, but Devlin needed her to want to be with him.

Her eyes searched his. “Was I not a good kisser?”

Doubt from Fifi? That he had not expected. “Kissing you was beyond anything I have ever experienced. I am not taking…”

He smiled at the sudden fierceness of her expression.

Devlin cleared his throat. “Your pardon, Fifi. I…took your offer and kissed you, but because of your innocence, I will not…ah…take any more offers.”

There. That should satisfy the outrage darkening her eyes.

“You expected a tart, then. That is your reason for kissing me so salaciously?” she asked with a mocking smile.

“No.”

Her eyebrow arched in amusement. “Then why should my innocence ruffle your feathers?”

Her hands slipped from his shoulders to rest on the desk, bracing her weight from falling backward. Devlin could have stepped away, but he didn’t, liking the provocative position of her on his desk, her legs splayed to accommodate him in that delightful space between her thighs, and her tousled, wide-eyed sensuality as she stared up at him.

“I clearly liked it,” she murmured, still searing his expression in that curious manner that was entirely endearing. “Considering only honesty will lie between us, tell me: why do you hesitate?”

He gently tapped the tip of her nose. “The kisses I wished for…they were not all meant for your mouth.”

She lifted a hand and touched a fingertip to his lower lip. Fifi’s expression was thoughtful, her eyes gleaming with sudden deviltry. “Where else did you want to kiss me, if not on my mouth?”

He went still, keenly aware of the longing in her stare. Such open, naked hunger and a touch of fright. What do you yearn for, Fifi? The plan to tread with care unraveled. He would treat her like the woman she clearly was, one who knew her desires and boldly…perhaps recklessly chased them.

“My first kiss was always to be on your lips; the second, right above the pulse fluttering on your delicate neck; the third would have been long, deep, and wet against your cunny. The fourth, too. Then, with the fifth, I would take your mouth again.”

Shock widened her eyes, and she shoved him away from her. He moved easily enough, and he caught the word “reprobate” as she muttered under her breath. His Fifi hurriedly tidied herself without looking at him, then sauntered from the small library without a farewell, closing the door decisively on her way out.

He couldn’t help smiling and then chuckling. Devlin had evidently mortified her sensibilities. She was such a curious creature. A beautiful blend of ladylike propriety and a blazing impetuous flame. Served her right for turning his damn senses upside down by merely showing up at his house and—

His thoughts careened and crashed when the door was flung open and she framed the entrance. Her cheeks were rosy and so damn pretty, her eyes bright with heat and laughter. So, he had ruffled her sensibilities and also amused her. “Ah, so you’ve returned for—”

“What is a cunny, Devlin?”

He choked on the taunting words he’d been about to say.

“Did a fly get into your mouth?” she asked, her eyes gleaming even naughtier.

Did she know and mean to test him? Surely not. “A…what?”

One of her shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “What is a cunny… Where is mine, which you are going to kiss so long and deep? It was explicitly distinguished from my mouth, and I am curious.”

This time the choking sound came from behind her.

Devlin glanced beyond her shoulder and muttered a curse. Riordan O’Malley stood there, staring at Fifi as if she were a creature with a horn. She glanced over her shoulder into the hallway. Her cheeks blazed as she looked at Riordan.

“I beg your pardon; I did not hear someone enter. From your expression, I gather you know what it is?”

Sweet merciful Christ. Before Riordan could answer, Devlin said, “It is a place on…behind your elbow.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It is said to be sensitive.”

Riordan sent Devlin a wickedly amused stare, achieved a creditable bow to Fifi, and then continued down the hallway to the study. How the hell had he forgotten he was meant to meet with his friend to discuss business matters?

Fifi frowned. He could see the cogs turning in her brain. Devlin’s heart galloped when she entered the room fully, closed the door, and sauntered over to him with a provocative stroll.

Looking him in the eyes, she smiled. “Devlin?”

“Yes?”

“Where is my cunny?” she asked with precision.

The laughter that came from Devlin surprised him. “Do you really want to know?”

She bit into her lower lip, a nervous gesture, but she daringly lifted her chin. “To be sure, it did occur to me it might be something wildly improper. Though it seems common enough knowledge. I want to know…”

“Because?”

“Because I like your kisses,” she said with a soft smile. “And I may very well want all of them.”

She robbed him of breath with those words.

That black humor swept through him once more. “You’ll not slap my face when I demonstrate.”

She glanced down at her elbows. “What…you mean to kiss my cunny now?”

Sweet merciful heavens. The image slammed into his mind so fast it was a miracle he’d not collapsed: Fifi spread wide for him, her plump sex wet and glistening from the licks of his tongue. Devlin cleared his throat. “No,” he murmured, hunger clawing through him. “I mean to touch it.”

“Oh.”

Was that disappointment he heard? “Unless you want me to kiss it now?”

Say no…say yes…fuck, I am twisted around.

“Of course not,” she said and delicately cleared her throat, then lifted her shoulder in an elegant shrug. “A…touch will do, or you could just tell me.”

Devlin stepped close to her…then closer still. For some reason, she stepped back until her shoulders were flush against the door. When there was no more avenue for retreat, she lifted her chin and glared at him. He chuckled, and she grinned sheepishly. Devlin slid his finger along her delicate jaw, down to the soft hollow of her throat. Beneath his touch, he could feel her pulse quickening. He lowered his hand even more, and she stole another quick look at her left elbow.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze snapped to his. Holding her stare, Devlin carried his hand down, barely touching her but ensuring she could feel the impression of him through her clothes. Her face flushed a beautiful pink when he rested the weight of his hand briefly on her stomach.

Her lips parted, but no words came when he slid his hand down more until he cupped her sex through her skirts. Her eyes flew so wide it was a wonder she did not faint. Her hands jerked upward, but it was to grip his shoulders. The devil riding him, he dipped his head and placed his mouth to her ear. “This…Fifi…this is where I want to kiss. This is your cunny.”

He flexed his hand, and she squeaked. Devlin could feel the heat from her fierce blushes.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, a violent tremor going through her.

He rubbed his fingers…his palm against her, and she moaned, the sound hot and wanton.

“This is also your velvet sheath, fruitful vine, muff, vagina, cunt, quim, pussy, Venus’s honeypot. All the same, sweet…tight…hot place, Fifi, I want to taste.”

Fifi’s fingers dug into his shoulders, and she rose up on her toes as if to escape the feelings. “A colorful choice of words that were clearly invented by the male mind,” she whispered, her voice heavy with arousal.

He had done that to her. The heady feeling went through his body. “There are more,” he drawled with mock heat. Then he flexed the heel of his palm. This time she bit her lip to hold back her moan, and a pink tongue darted and licked along her bottom lip.

“More?”

“Aye… Crinkum crankum has always been a personal favorite for its sheer ludicrousness.”

Surprise shot her eyes wide. “Crinkum cran…”

Fifi giggled. For an instant, he was completely fascinated. Devlin caught the infectious sound with his mouth and kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue to twine with hers. Devlin knew he was being wicked, provoking her so. But he wanted to touch her. God, he wanted to drop on his knees, part her legs, and lick her, suck her, and drive her mad with passion. Breaking their kiss, he breathed raggedly.

Through the layers of her clothes, he rubbed her with the heel of his palm, arousing her to fever pitch. Her forehead fell forward, and her teeth clamped onto his shoulder. Devlin grunted at that bite. He flexed his fingers again, feeling for that slit, knowing he found her clitoris when her entire body shuddered.

He waited for a protest or for her to shove him away, all his thoughts centered on the heat against his palm, that erotic bite on his shoulder. Tension coated the air, and something passed between them—a mutual pulsing ache of sheer want. But neither wanted to break the perilous aroused silence to discover exactly what was happening in this moment of madness.

He rubbed her over slowly, with precious aim so the heel of his palm dragged against her clitoris until she quaked in his arms. Her teeth bit deeper into his shoulder, and he flexed his hand against her sex, reveling in the heat against his fingers. He rubbed her mons, making sure to drag his fingers slowly over where he imagined her clitoris might be. He was rewarded with the sweetest, hottest moan he’d ever heard. That sound whispered over his cock and then tightened around it like a fist.

Ah God…to truly win this woman with this flaming sensuality as his. What a futile, impossible dream.

He ruthlessly cut the doubt away before it could dig its poisonous talons into his thoughts. Fifi clutched his upper arms, seemingly unable to speak. And he caressed her over and over, until she arched against him, until sweat beaded on her brow. Her hands slid from his jacket and around his neck, where she held him to her in a tight embrace. And Devlin never let up on his wicked caress of rubbing her plump and heated quim through her dress.

“Devlin!”

Her voice sounded fractured…shocked…and hoarse with desire. He would not let her release. No…the first time Fifi found release would be in his arms, sheathed on his cock, or when he placed her cunny on his tongue. He gently lowered his hand, holding her to him as the soft shudders left her body.

She made a low sound of frustration, and he tenderly stroked his fingers over her hips, soothing her. “If my fingers did this with so many clothes between us, imagine what a kiss would do on your naked—”

She reared back and slapped her hand over his mouth. His Fifi was shaken, and a foreign tenderness softened something inside of Devlin. It was clear to him she did not pleasure herself, nor had she ever felt or done anything in this regard. Something possessive slithered under the surface of his skin, and he had to breathe deeply to steady himself against the feelings.

He was going deeper. That was not supposed to happen—not until he was certain she would take his hand and step forward with him. I am sliding deeper. A warning alarm went off in his head, but he still stood there, not wanting to move away from her. Devlin was tempted to swing her into his arms, mount the stairs, and ruthlessly seduce her into spending the day and possibly night with him in bed. Fifi was teeth-achingly, sensually formed. Pleasure in her arms would be unlike anything he’d ever experienced. She would blush with her entire body, but given her adventurous and impetuous nature, she would still split those legs wide, maybe even help him by using her delicate fingers to spread the lips of her cunn—

“I’ll box your ears,” she murmured huskily, her cheeks blooming a fierce red.

He arched an inquiring brow.

“Whenever you are thinking wicked deeds, your eyes darken.” She removed her palm to trace the curve of his lips with trembling fingers. “And these curve…but it is not really a smile, is it?”

To his shock, she tipped onto her toes and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. She bit him, and he hissed at the erotic sting. “Was that my punishment?” he asked.

“For your utter shameless effrontery,” she whispered.

And he understood. He had dragged the carpet from underneath her feet without any warning. To touch her with such carnal intimacy, to provoke a response she had never felt before.

“It is more like what utter shameless pleasurable effrontery,” Devlin murmured, brushing his mouth over her wildly fluttering pulse. “One that should be rewarded, hmm?”

Even though her entire body was blushing, she surprised him by smiling and tossing back her head. “I was a willing participant in that shameless debauchery. What more reward could you possibly want?”

The conceited arrogance thrilled and amused Devlin. “I like a lady who knows her worth…and you, Fifi, are worth kingdoms.”

“My vanity is delightfully flattered,” she murmured, amusement shining in her golden orbs. “You are a dangerous temptation, Devlin Byrne.”

“’Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall. Will you fall with me, Fifi?”

A bold, provocative question, but he had never been the kind of man afraid to face anything, whether they be demons or hopes and dreams. She lifted a hand to his jaw, her eyes serious and considering. Those stroking fingers slid to linger on his jaw before dropping off. “Temptation,” she whispered. “The fiend at my elbow.”

An answer that only showed they both knew their Shakespeare. Perhaps her quote was more revealing. She saw him as the damn devil…a fiend of the worst sort, enticing her down a dangerous and ruinous path.

Fifi placed a hand flat against his chest. That was enough for him, and he stepped away, giving her the space she needed. They stared at each other for long silent moments, then, without saying another word, she turned, opened the door, and hurried away from him. Devlin chuckled before blowing out a sharp breath. He waited a few minutes for his arousal to subside before leaving the room toward his study. Riordan was patiently waiting and had availed himself to the decanter of brandy.

His friend lifted his head from the report he read and smiled. “I—”

“She is not open for discussion.” Devlin dropped himself into the wingback chair opposite Riordan and went right to the heart of the matter. Lifting his chin to the pages of the report Riordan had taken the liberty of reading while waiting, Devlin said, “What do you think?”

“A bold undertaking, setting up such a well-equipped boarding school for the poorer class,” he said, taking a sip of his whisky.

“More like a boarding house.”

Riordan nodded. “I like that their education will be tailored like those nobs and will also be opened to lads and lasses. It will take a lot of money and dedication.”

“I have the money,” Devlin said, tapping his fingers on the surface of his desk. “Dedicated people can be hired. I’ve already secured top-notch tutors and governesses for the school in Chatham. It is small and can only hold up to thirty-five children, and that is because I want each child to have their own room. The house will be equipped with a music room, ballroom, drawing room, fencing, and boxing rooms, and a stable so they might learn to ride.”

Riordan chuckled. “I still recall when we learned to ride. It was a ridiculous sight, us grown men afraid of horses.”

Devlin grinned, recalling he had learned at nineteen, and it had taken immense courage for him to mount the damn horse after seeing his friends dumped on their arses several times.

“I never thought I would see a man outrunning a horse determined to bite his arse.”

Devlin laughed. “I merely outsmarted it, and I am still at a loss why it tried to clamp its damn teeth in my backside.”

Riordan stood and went to the side mantle to refill his glass. “I will contribute handsomely. It seems I have too much money lying around. Many lads and lasses in the stews will be wary of the opportunity. They steal for their families to live. Perhaps we could even set up a fund to pay a generous stipend during their studies. That way the little urchins won’t worry about picking pockets or whoring for their families when they could be learning.”

“Good. Now tell me about this new venture you think worthy of investment. What are the potential yields and the risks?”

Riordan arched a brow. “Are we really not to talk about—”

“So help me…” Devlin began on a warning note.

The door was shoved open, and a young lad of about ten with a mop of reddish-brown hair spilled into the room with an overly exuberant Conan nipping at his heels.

“Conan!” William cried, his light blue eyes alight with happiness. “This dog be a big brute who likes to play. He keeps bouncing me over, but Poppy says that is because he loves me.”

He sent them a toothy grin as he dashed to plop himself onto the sofa, making space for the dog who hopped up beside him. The rascal who once worked as an orange seller to assist his ma had little to no manners and had all the markings of a tiny genius. It was by chance Devlin had caught him trying to pick his pocket on Fleet Street a couple months ago. Of course, he had not turned him over to the authorities to be imprisoned or hanged. In the boy’s eyes, he had seen a reflection of himself and even Poppy—that defiant vulnerability and a fierce hunger for more.

William’s wit was sharp. He had taught himself his letters and how to read from discarded newspapers and the rare books he found. More likely, he stole the books during his time as a chimney sweep. His ability for arithmetic was far in advance of most upper-class boys of his age, particularly for someone without any formal learning. Devlin had no notion how to interact with a child who had the crafty mind of an old man, but William had become his companion of a sort. He even paid the lad an astronomical sum of twenty pounds per month to simply chatter in his ears and to also keep Poppy company.

It had been a sight that day when he had strolled into the Asylum with a small boy on his left side and his beast of a dog on his right. They had sat at a vingt-et-un table, and an hour later, the boy had won a thousand pounds. Devlin had looked around and thought of the money the lad could make to lift his family from the edge of poverty and misery they lived in. But something inside had also warned him to provide another opportunity. Perhaps with education, William might be more than a gambler. He could be a fine barrister, a banker, or even an investor.

The extraordinary inequalities of wealth between those in the ton and the other classes had pushed Devlin to invest in charities and businesses that would provide more opportunities to folk who barely earned wages to keep themselves, much less a family.

Devlin had taken the boy under his wing, determined to shape his innate intellect in a way that would pave a future far more prosperous than an orange seller or a damn pickpocket or a gambler who could lose everything at the toss of a die. He wanted to enroll the lad into Eton College or Harrow School when he turned thirteen. And after William’s five years receiving that proper education, Devlin would pave the way with his money…or by blackmail if necessary, for William to attend Oxford or Cambridge.

He chuckled, thinking of how that would outrage the nobs. They might march to take his head then. Boys from William’s class—Devlin’s class—were only destined to work the fields or, if they were very lucky, to secure some sort of apprenticeship. Many young girls and boys of the lower class were capable of being more than servants, selling themselves or cheap wares on the streets, and polishing their betters’ boots. But the aristocrats and those who made the nation’s laws were horrified that they might rise above their class. In Devlin’s mind, they withheld quality education from those below them simply to keep their status quo of being filthy rich and supposedly better.

Devlin had long lost the need for the approval of those who considered themselves “better.” The aristocrats were not better. In his experience, they owned more depraved hearts and selfish desires than those of lower classes. What he had learned about them had killed the burning desire inside him to be just like them. That desire had been born because of Fifi. It had died because he saw their callous and cruel sides, their belief they were owed the world and they could trample on anyone for it without any consequences.

He’d had a friend who died for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family. That friend had only been thirteen years of age, but they hanged him without an ounce of mercy in their hearts. He had seen ladies of great wealth walking down the street, sidestepping children holding out their hands pleading for a coin. He had seen lords with vast wealth and influence fight to deny a bill that would relieve the burdens of the poor and make life better. And that betterment probably only meant being able to keep their family from starving. He had seen a drunken earl run down an orange seller, and no justice was meted, for he was a lord and the cart seller and her two children were insignificant in the earl’s eyes and the eyes of his peers.

They didn’t give a damn. And it was up to men like him, Riordan, and Rhys—who knew what it was like to be in the gutter and the stews—to do whatever they could to help. That was why they were working to improve things for some of the children who were suffering the same poverty that they had dragged themselves out of. Their prospective school and other plans were all intended to give opportunities for the poorest children to succeed in life and so support their own families. Even with the enormous wealth Devlin and his friends had amassed, they could only do so much. It was merely a drop in the ocean of poverty, but it was a start.

They had no illusions that they were being especially benevolent and certainly did not see themselves as philanthropists. It was more that they were thumbing their noses at the social elite who had tried to keep them down. Devlin’s resentment of the British class structure was something he acknowledged, but rather than seek to become part of the ruling class, he sought to work against it by lifting others to prosperity. It might not change the system, but gradually it would whittle away the inequalities that ignored the masses living in misery while the ton paraded their affluence.

If more upstarts like them gave back to the communities they had sprung from, then perhaps it would dent the complacence of the nobs and make them realize that the inequality of life could not be justified.