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Beryl had been ready for this declaration since the moment she’d seen him. Of course he wanted it back! He was a pirate.
“Is it yours?”
His wolfish grin made something inside her stomach twist uncomfortably. She wanted to touch his face, stroke her fingers through his hair when he smiled like that.
“Impertinent question,” Philip said, “from someone who broke into someone else’s trunk and stole what doesn’t belong to her.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I imagine it has been stolen before.”
“A few times over, in fact,” he agreed.
“Then how is my relieving you of its possession any different than the previous thieveries which brought the item onto your ship and into your trunk? How is it any different from your own pilfering?”
She felt him sigh with his whole body.
“I still cannot believe you took the key from my coat and helped yourself to a good snooping around in my personal belongings, especially after I rescued you and gave you the hospitality of my own cabin.”
It sounded terrible when he said it that way. Except...
“I fail to see how the item is your personal belonging. Besides, with your coloring, it wouldn’t suit you in the least.” She spoke in jest but felt like stomping on his foot.
At her words, the captain seemed to see her for the first time, staring into her eyes a moment before starting to laugh.
“That was humorous,” he said finally. Then a moment later, his demeanor grew serious again. “I trusted you.”
She grimaced. Why did his statement, set in the past, bother her? Who cared if a pirate trusted her or not?
“You will return the necklace to me,” he insisted.
“Because it will fetch you a great deal of money,” she guessed.
“Of course. Because it was my mission, a charge from the queen.”
“Pish!” she told him.
“Again, pish? How dare you?”
She shrugged while dancing, knowing it was decidedly unladylike.
“I dare because you could say anything and expect me to believe it.”
He looked nearly apoplectic, as if he wanted to strangle her, and even looked handsome while doing so.
“Yes, I sailed all the way to the Orient to recover the necklace,” he ground out. Then, with a scoffing tone, he added, “Unfortunately, I recovered you, as well.”
Oh! Now he was simply being mean.
“Then I shall return it to her myself,” Beryl told him, pleased to see his look of displeasure.
“You will not. It is not your place to—”
“Thank you for the dance, Captain,” Beryl said, as the music ended. “Despite your not liking to do so, you are an excellent partner.”
Before he could say anything more, she turned and walked away. Hopefully, Arthur was close, perhaps looking for her. If not, she would disappear into the throng, for she had a feeling Philip Carruthers wouldn’t be dismissed so easily.
***
JAW CLENCHED, PHILIP watched Beryl walk away with a confident sway of her hips. His annoyance battled with his attraction for her. As soon as he’d seen her across Lord Mallory’s spacious ballroom, he’d felt the pull of desire as strongly as upon his ship.
However, she was being unnecessarily difficult, and he couldn’t allow it to continue. He had men and their families to pay.
Thus, he followed her until she settled next to a gentleman who’d been engaged in conversation with someone else but who focused on her as soon as she appeared.
Who wouldn’t? In her stunning orange-yellow gown, undoubtedly silk brought back from the Orient, Beryl was exotically beautiful.
Then their hands briefly touched, Beryl’s and this stranger’s. She leaned close and said something. The man smiled, tucked her hand under his arm, and led her away.
Philip hated him instantly. However, he wasn’t going to cause a scene, and it was obvious she was not going to cooperate, not when it was so easy to walk away.
Thus, a few hours later, acting the very pirate she believed him to be, he found entrance into her family’s townhouse off Hanover Square, via the back alley and a particularly sturdy trellis.
Leaving Leo at the bottom — the stubborn animal still accompanied him uninvited on anything smacking of adventure, by jumping into a carriage or on top of it if denied entrance — Philip began to climb.
Even with the thorny roses, the ascent was nothing compared to climbing a mast to reach the skysail. He supposed he could have picked the lock of the servants’ entrance to the basement, but then he would have to risk being caught going up at least three flights of stairs.
Fortunately, he ended up entering through a window to the upstairs landing and not into her parent’s bedroom. Still, he had to find her room. This was a little different than boarding an enemy’s ship, being loud in order to frighten them, and knowing, for the most part, where one was going.
Tiptoeing along the darkened hallway, the only thing he knew for certain was her bedroom would be on this level, along with her parents. Above would be any younger siblings for whom there wasn’t room on this floor, and farther above them, the lowest class of servants. On the floor below would be the common areas, a drawing room and parlor, and below that, a library and dining room.
Underneath, keeping the entire household afloat, so to speak, was the basement with the kitchen and other servants’ areas.
After so long in the trim and compact area of the Robert, Philip was still finding the expansive space of London’s townhouses, even his own family’s, to be almost wasteful.
The layout of this one being so similar to his own, he assumed her parents had the larger room at the back, and Beryl’s would be in the front corner overlooking the street. His entire plan gambled upon him being right.
Lifting the latch, he pushed the door open slowly and quietly. The hinges were well oiled and made not a sound. Craning his head around the opening, into the darkened chamber, he could make out a room fit for a young woman, complete with a four-poster bed and a canopy dripping with frills. The gown she’d worn that evening lay carefully across a divan, but he could see little else as the drapes were pulled closed except for a small gap.
Thank God for that gap and the moonlight, or it would be pitch black in there like the hold of a ship!
Drawing a matchbox from his pocket, he quickly lit a match. Yes, it was the right gown. Glancing at the bed, he knew the figure in it to be Beryl.
Shaking out the tiny flame, he crossed to the curtains, drawing them back to allow enough moonlight to stream in so it appeared nearly daylight from the Persian rug to the intricate crown molding adorning the ceiling.
Still, she didn’t stir. That’s what champagne and dancing until one in the morning would do to a person. As to himself, heart pounding at the atrocity of breaking into a London aristocrat’s home, Philip felt entirely alert.
There was nothing to do but awaken her as gently as possible and pray to Poseidon he could prevent her screaming. First, he returned to the door and locked it. If he were to be found out, he wanted a little warning, if only through the rattling of the latch. Perhaps he would jump out the front window to the street below if need be.
The idea of breaking his bones and lying on the pavement was not appealing, and he hoped he could get this over with and escape before the first servants arose and began their duties.
To that end, Philip approached her bed. She was on her side facing the far wall. Rounding the bed, he reached over and touched her shoulder while saying her name.
“Beryl.”
She mumbled something.
“Beryl,” he tried again. “Don’t be alarmed.”
Even with the warning, as soon as her eyes opened, her mouth did, too. Prepared for such a reaction, Philip clamped his hand over her mouth, kneeling on the bed to keep himself steady.
She started to thrash, probably still having trouble realizing who he was.
“It is I, Philip Carruthers.”
She calmed at once.
“I mean you no harm. Do you understand?”
She nodded under his palm, and he released her. Watching as she sucked in a deep gulp of air, he prayed she didn’t expel it in a scream of terror. She did not.
Instead, if his eyes didn’t deceive him, she smiled.
“What, no rice sack to drag over my head?” she asked, staring up at him from her pillow.
There was her wry sense of humor.
“No, for I’m not planning on kidnapping you.” Though the idea of taking her to his ship and never letting her go did have some appeal.
“How did you get in here?” she asked.
A reasonable question. “I climbed up the back of your house.”
To his surprise, she giggled.
“That was very wrong of you,” she said when she got ahold of herself. “You could have been injured, and if you had entered my parents’ room, you might have been shot.”
“My thoughts exactly, and it would have been your fault.”
She sat up. “How can you say your behavior is my fault?”
Suddenly, his mouth went dry and his mind, blank. She was a vision with her hair in a thick braid across her shoulder, her rich brown eyes open wide, her lips parted, awaiting his answer.
And wearing only a pale pink nightgown with satin trim. It clung to her full breasts, and he could plainly see the outline of her nipples.
Blimey!
“Captain?” she prompted at his silence.
He hoped he wasn’t drooling, but all he could do was stare.
Then, realizing her state of undress, she crossed her arms over her glorious bosom.
Pity! He thought he had been able to detect a hint of dusky pink buds through her nightgown, and now the entire tantalizing view was hidden.
“I want you to leave my chamber at once. Do you realize the damage to my reputation if we were found out?”
It was his turn to laugh.
“You were on board a Chinese junk with fifteen pirates, and then aboard my ship for days with a crew of twenty-seven, including me, whose cabin you slept in. And now you’re worrying about your reputation?”
She raised her chin. “My father asked me if anything untoward happened, and I assured him it hadn’t. And that was the end of it. My reputation is entirely unsullied.”
But Philip had sullied it. He’d taken her lips in a glorious kiss, and if given the chance, he would sully her some more. Indeed, he wanted to sully her rather badly at that very moment.
It would be no matter at all to lean a little closer and claim her lips. She was already in bed. He remembered exactly how warm and pliable she could be. Surely, he could make her that way again, and then seduce her before first light. There was only a whisper-thin garment between them, after all.
However, he was ultimately a gentleman.
“Where is the necklace? I’m not leaving without it.”
She nodded. “Yes, you are.”
He wanted to tear his hair out.
“I have told you I was on a mission for Queen Victoria, and the mission isn’t over until I fulfill her charge and deliver the necklace to her. I must be the one to do it so I can pay my crew.”
“That may be true, or it may be a fantastical lie.” She smoothed the bedclothes under her fingers. Then she fixed him with her gaze. “Do you have it in writing?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have a letter of marque from her.”
She nodded, looking quite reasonable and nonplussed for a young lady conducting negotiations from her bed.
“Then I will see you tomorrow. We shall meet at an appointed place. Not my bedroom. You bring the letter, and I’ll bring the necklace.”
He considered. It was nearly tomorrow in any case. What could a few hours matter?
“I suppose you are a woman of your word.”
“I am,” she agreed. “Besides, what choice do you have?”
He wished she hadn’t challenged him like that.
“I could ransack your room in pirate fashion until I discover my treasure.”
“And bring the household down upon your head,” she reminded him.
“I could ransack quietly,” Philip assured her.
That elicited a smile from her, a beautiful smile which spurred him to another thought.
“I could kiss you into acquiescing to my demands.”
Her eyes seemed to flash in the moonlight, and he held his breath, awaiting her answer.
She licked her lips, and he nearly groaned aloud.
“You could try,” she dared, her voice a soft, husky whisper.
Oh, yes! If that wasn’t an invitation, Philip didn’t know what was.
Without hesitation, for he didn’t know how he’d even waited that long to touch her, he snaked a hand to the back of her head, anchoring her in place, and then he kissed her.
As soon as his mouth touched hers, desire pumped through his veins. By the way she parted her lips allowing him to deepen the kiss, she surely felt the same way.
Pushing her back onto her bed, Philip covered her body with his, resting on his forearms so as not to crush her, continuing to dance with her tongue.
Tasting Beryl’s sweetness, he remembered the essence of her, how powerfully enticing she was, even when utterly bedraggled on the Robert. She was even more so now they lay upon clean sheets with a light floral scent clinging to her hair and skin.
When her hands grasped his shoulders, holding him in place, he felt like a king. Sucking her lower lip into his mouth, caressing it, nibbling it, he reveled in her soft moans.
And then he dipped his head, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her slender neck which she arched below him, exposing her pulse at its base.
He could feel her heart pounding as fast and fierce as his own.
Across her smooth skin, he left a fluttering caress of his tongue along her collarbone and downward, over the swells of her bosom, and finally, into the valley between. She was writhing under him, her hands now fisting in his hair.
Using his teeth, he dragged the thin, soft neckline of her nightgown downward.
Easily, it gave way, exposing her breasts to his gaze, and then to his mouth.
With the gentlest of licks, his tongue lathed her nipples, then he began to suck in earnest, and as he did, he felt her hips rise beneath him.
“Mm,” she moaned.
His groin was aching with need for her. But she was a lady of the ton. Could he satisfy her without stealing her virginity? He aimed to try.
To that end, he rolled off her, feeling the sting as her fingers tore at his hair. Her eyelids opened, and she gazed up at him, looking mussed and beautiful.
“Don’t go,” she murmured, mistaking his movement. “I need ... you.”
Thinking of the precariousness of his position in her room with dawn looming in a few hours, servants awakening, London’s streets coming to life outside, he hastened to draw up the bottom of her nightdress.
With the glimmer of moonshine, he could see her clearly, the pale skin of her ankles, then her calves, and lastly, her smooth thighs. Naked beneath her nightdress, she was bathed in white luminescence, including the soft curls over her sweet mound.
He had to touch her. When he smoothed his hand over her flat stomach and onto her curls, her hips pressed upward.
“Relax, sweet lady,” he whispered. Then he dipped his finger between her folds and stroked her.
“Oh,” she intoned, and her beautiful eyes closed again.
She was damp to his touch. Amazed at her passion, he continued to stroke her, gently at first, then quickening his speed as her hips bucked under his hand. It was one of the most sensual moments he’d ever had, watching her face as she experienced his caress.
Leaning over her while continuing his handiwork, he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened tip.
“Philip,” she said, her head thrashing. “Yes!”
And apparently, he’d pushed her over the edge. With another cry, which he quickly smothered with his mouth upon hers, she released for him, climaxing easily, her muscles continuing to tighten and ease as long as he stroked her.
Finally, when she relaxed onto the bed, sighing her pleasure, he removed his hand.
She stared up at him.
“You are a pirate,” were her first words.
He grinned despite his hardened shaft pressing painfully against his pants.
“Maybe I am. Now, will you give me the necklace?”
“No.” Reaching up, she pulled his mouth again to hers and initiated another kiss.
“Mm,” she hummed.
As it turned out, she’d become quite skilled at kissing. In turn, she licked the seam of his lips, and when he opened his mouth, she thrust her tongue inside, echoing what he had done.
It was thrilling to have a woman plunder his mouth.
When at last Beryl drew back, she said, “I feel so exhausted, but in an exhilarated way.”
“I feel so frustrated,” Philip confessed, “in a frustrated way.”
She giggled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I know enough to understand that was only half the act.” She gestured at him. “Because your trousers are still on.”
He barked out a laugh at her basic understanding of “the act,” as she called it.
“It’s even better when one does the whole thing,” he promised, “but then you couldn’t call yourself an innocent any longer or go to your wedding day declaring yourself pure for your groom.”
Her marrying anyone seemed a terrible idea, putting him instantly in a foul mood, no doubt fueled by his unsatisfied body.
His disposition only darkened further when she gasped and said, “Arthur!”
Arthur? “Who?”
“My fiancé,” she said in a whisper. “The viscount, Lord Arthur Wharton.”
Was Philip dim-witted, slow, a fool? How was it this was the first he’d known of a fiancé? He recalled the man he’d seen her with earlier at the Mallory’s ball.
Of course, a woman such as Miss Beryl Angsley would be engaged. The only wonder was she wasn’t married already. He had assumed, though, if she had such a bond, she wouldn’t have sailed halfway around the world.
And he was lying with her in her bed. Moreover, he’d just laid hands upon her person. And lips. And tongue. He almost felt sorry for Wharton.
Philip had to remind himself what had brought him to her house.
It most assuredly hadn’t been to kiss Beryl and make her climax. Had it?
“Is the necklace safe?” he asked finally.
Though he’d only seen it for a moment on the pirate junk, its rare, breathtaking beauty had imprinted itself on his memory. At that moment, he could easily imagine it draped around Beryl’s slender neck, the pearls dangling over her luscious breasts — equally breathtaking.
At the thought, his shaft grew hard again, feeling as long as a mizzenmast. Quickly rising from her bed, Philip had to put a little distance between himself and this siren of a woman so his body could calm down.
“It is safe,” she said, covering herself, drawing her gown down. “I learned about hiding things from my experience on your ship.”
What a strange thing to say!
He sighed. The time on his ship was in the past. They were home, and she was going to marry a viscount. The sooner he got out of her life, the better.
“Very well,” he ground out. “Where and when? It is nearly dawn. Shall we meet before or after the midday meal?”
“When I said tomorrow, I meant tomorrow, as in not this day though it still feels like last night, does it not?”
“You are speaking in riddles. Are you stalling?” he asked. Would she hang onto the necklace to keep him in her life?
Shaking his head at his own fanciful hopes, he waited, hands on his hips.
“Tomorrow,” Beryl repeated. “My mother would think it strange for me to rush out today after getting home so late. When not the high Season, we normally rest indoors the day after a ball. If she asks questions, I would have to lie to her, and I don’t like to lie.”
She stared pointedly at him. Did she think he was lying about something?
“Moreover, if it is much later this afternoon, my mother will want to go with me.”
That wouldn’t do. How would he kiss her again at their next meeting if her mother were lingering about?
Avast, he told himself. If he’d harbored any notion that he could somehow win the heart and hand of Miss Angsley — and, in truth, he had fantasized about it — he now realized its absurdity. She was engaged to a peer of the realm.
They had to conclude this necklace business between them, and then he had to vow to leave her alone. At that moment, though, he wished he could simply stand there all day and look at her, with her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, hair mussed. She looked entirely delectable, despite being an infuriating minx.
“Once more, then, I ask where and when?”