The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Eighteen

Lying in the musty gloom, Violet tried to catch her breath. When she did, she felt a sensation building up in her, rising from her belly, tickling her throat like champagne—

A hand clamped over her mouth just in time to muffle her giggle.

“Hush, you little minx.” Carlisle’s breath heated her ear. “They might hear us up above.”

He was lying on his back, and she was sprawled atop him. They were in some sort of concealed compartment beneath the stage; above them, the trapdoor through which they’d fallen had closed again, a faint line of light seeping through.

Squinting in the dimness, she gauged that the low-ceilinged space was only a bit bigger than the Priest Hole. A short ladder rested on its side against one wall. Looking up, she guessed that she and Carlisle had fallen a good seven feet. She recalled him twisting mid-plunge to bear the brunt of the impact.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” came his reply. “There’s a mattress beneath me.”

“This must be The Great Nicoletti’s Wardrobe of Vanishing Wonders. The wardrobe has a false floor—that’s how he disappears. And, to reappear, he just climbs up the ladder.” Tickled, Vi said, “I figured out his secret.”

“Bravo,” Carlisle said dryly.

Footsteps thudded overhead. Carlisle’s arms closed around her, holding her still as hinges creaked. Vi’s breath held; someone had opened the wardrobe up above.

“See? Nofin’ inside,” said a man’s voice.

“But I could have sworn I heard something.” Violet recognized the simpering female tones as Mrs. Sumner’s. “You’re certain there’s no one in there, Tobias?”

Tobias Price, one of Billings’ cutthroat clients, Vi recalled. A bearded, barrel-chested man.

“Look for yourself, dove: ’tis as bare as a babe’s arse inside.”

“You’re right. It must be my nerves. They’ve suffered such a shock from Madame Monique’s untimely demise.”

“O’ course they would, you bein’ a true lady,” Price rumbled. “But you’ve nothin’ to fear when you’re with me. Even the devil knows be’er than to cross Tobias Price.”

“I do adore a strong gent. But it’s not the devil I fear.” A coy pause. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Did Mary ’ave tits?”

“Well, I heard from my maid who heard from one of Billings’ servants that a footman came upon Lord Wormleigh and Madame Monique having words the night she died.”

“That bloated old nob?” A snort. “’E’s no killer.”

“I read sensation novels. Killers are those one least suspects. Besides, my maid also said that Wormleigh was seen by the library later that night—and that, as you know,” Mrs. Sumner said triumphantly, “was where Monique was found.”

Another snort. “I’d put my blunt on one o’ the filly’s studs. She ’ad a stable o’ gents, and talk ’as it that some are at the party. Any one of ’em could ’ave the done the deed.”

“You weren’t one of her studs, were you, Tobias?” Mrs. Sumner said archly.

A guffaw. “Not jealous, are you?”

“I don’t like to bathe in dirty water,” she said with a sniff.

“No need to be coy. I think you like to play dirty—that’s why you approached me. Now come ’ere, dove, and let Tobias soil you some more…”

The door slammed on the wardrobe, muffling the laughter. The pair’s footsteps moved over and off the stage. Their moans and grunts were distant, coming from the seating area.

“Did you hear that?” Violet said in an excited whisper. “About Wormleigh? And Monique’s other lovers?”

“More leads to follow. In the interim, we’ll have to, er, wait Price and Mrs. Sumner out.”

At that moment, Violet became acutely aware of the fact that she was still lying atop of Carlisle, his arms wrapped around her. Beneath her cheek, his heart thumped in a potent, virile rhythm. Thrill, and a bit of mischief, wound through her. Despite his irritating tendency to be overprotective, here they were again, sharing another adventure together.

With her elbows on his chest, she propped her head in her hands and looked at him. The dim light limned his granite features, the sensual pools of his eyes. She recalled his gruff statement that he couldn’t hold a candle to Wick—utter codswallop, as far as she was concerned—and the surprise he’d tried to conceal when she told him that she found him attractive.

In truth, he was the most compelling man she’d ever met. She admired him: his honor, strength, and loyalty. To think, all this time she’d believed he was bullying Wick when he’d been working tirelessly to help his brother! Remorse filled her; she wanted to make it up to him. She also wanted him to understand that she wasn’t some fragile dandelion that would fly apart at a puff of air.

Why can’t you accomplish both tasks at once?

The notion came out of nowhere, a spark that set her smoldering emotions aflame. She’d always been a girl of action: why not show him that she was no weak, missish female? That she could match him step for step, be a worthy partner… in every respect? Although her experience with lovemaking was limited, she could go by Carlisle’s example: she’d do to him what he’d done to her. Everything else, she’d improvise.

Guided by impulse and desire she could no longer deny, she bent and touched her mouth to his. Tasting his surprise, she felt his animal shudder, and it thrilled her that she could arouse this primal response in so proper a lord. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and his breath gusted, his mouth opening for her.

With thrumming excitement, she dipped her tongue in and his surged to meet her lapping caress. The sensuous, moist tangling drew goose pimples on her skin, her nipples stiff and throbbing beneath her bodice. When his hands clamped on her waist, she batted them away.

“No. My turn,” she whispered.

His brows rose… but his hands fell to his sides.

Tearing off her gloves, she cupped his jaw and slanted her mouth over his. The kiss caught fire, sucking the air from her lungs. Panting, she tugged off his cravat, tossing the starchy linen aside. Nuzzling his neck, she breathed in his arousing male musk. Then she licked her way down a strong, quivering tendon, drawing her tongue over the hard bump of his throat. A groan rumbled in his chest.

Dizzy with success and her own escalating need, she fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat. In her eagerness, she tore off the last one, sent it skittering into the darkness. She tugged his shirt free of his waistband and slid her hands up under the linen.

“By… Golly.” The words left her in a stunned whisper.

His eyes gleamed up at her. “Not what you expected?”

Having never touched a naked male chest before, she hadn’t known what to expect. The combination of hair-dusted skin and flexing muscle filled her with wonder. Marveling, she ran her fingers up the lean ridges of his abdomen to the powerful slabs of his heaving chest.

She squirmed, arousal making her mind fuzzy. How badly she wanted him to touch her. But, no, she was in charge, trying to make a point… what was she supposed to do next? What would he do to her?

Remembering, she searched out his nipple with her fingertips. She circled the flat nub, caressing him as he’d caressed her. She’d loved it when he’d stroked her thus, but she could tell she wasn’t getting the same reaction from him.

“Am I doing something wrong?” she whispered.

“I’m not complaining, lass, but it’s not quite the same for me as it is for you.” There was a catch of humor in his voice. “Now are you done playing your game?”

“I’m not playing—”

The air whooshed from her lungs as he rolled over in a swift motion, pinning her beneath him. Breathless, she stared up at his rugged features and smoldering eyes.

“You’re done,” he informed her huskily. “Now it’s my turn.”

~~~

Lust pounded in his veins as he took her mouth, swallowing her whimper of excitement. The little vixen had driven him nigh mad with her innocent explorations, her untutored caresses firing his blood more than the most experienced courtesan could have done. He didn’t know what she was trying to prove, but he’d gone along until he judged she’d had enough and neither of them could take much more of her teasing.

Now his lips coursed over the exposed swells of her décolletage, his fingers hooking beneath the neckline to find her nipples. One of these days, he would have time to get all her clothes off, and he was going to spend hours paying tribute to her breasts. He was going to kiss and suckle her sweet tits to his heart’s content. For now, he had to satisfy himself with fingering the stiff peaks, rubbing and pinching them lightly as she moaned.

She was so responsive. Made for him. Even the scent of her skin smelled right, ratcheted up his need to touch and taste her everywhere.

He grabbed a fistful of her skirts, dragging them upward. The dimness couldn’t hide the fact that every inch he revealed of her was absolute perfection.

“Christ, you’re bonny,” he rasped.

He ran a hand reverently up one slender stockinged leg, from dainty ankle to shapely calf. His palm moved up to her bare thigh, so sleek and soft it put silk to shame. He made room for himself between her legs, and the view got even better.

“Carlisle...”

She squirmed bashfully, but he didn’t let her close her legs.

“I’m right here, lass,” he said thickly.

Aye, he was right where he wanted to be, looking his fill of the shyest, prettiest little pussy. He inhaled her earthy sweetness before running a finger through her silky thatch. His cock jerked against his smalls. Goddamn, she was wet. Her petals were dripping with nectar.

He had to have a taste.

“Carlisle, what are you… you can’t…” Her fingers clenched his hair. “Gadzooks…”

He would have chuckled if his mouth hadn’t been more pleasantly engaged. Humor and passion—he’d never known the two could go hand in hand. Yet they did with Violet. His amusement faded into the roar of lust: the taste of her was indescribable. Ambrosia. One taste and he knew he would never get enough.

Parting her with his thumbs, he took his time feasting on her plump and luscious slit. His tongue swiped upward, finding the little bud beneath the shy hood. When he suckled, her hips suddenly bucked, a dangerously loud squeal escaping her as she came.

Surging upward, he sealed his mouth over hers. He plunged two fingers inside her convulsing passage, rocking his thumb over her nubbin to prolong her climax. As her sheath continued to ripple around his fingers, his bollocks pulsed in tortured synchrony, his cock burgeoned past the point of pain.

“Carlisle,” she whispered against his lips.

“Yes, love?”

“Do you want, um…”—he jolted, barely stifling his groan when her fingers fluttered over the throbbing ridge in his pants—“help with that?”

Be a gentleman. Don’t make her do anything she might regret later.

Running his knuckles over her cheek, he tried to discern her expression in the dimness. How far ought he allow things to go? With the two misses he’d courted before, he’d never trespassed the boundary of chaste kisses. His other experiences were with paid and experienced bedpartners who had allowed him to go a great deal further. All the way, one might say.

But Violet… she was different from all the rest, a class of her own. Thus far, she’d defied all his attempts to categorize her based on his past experience. Perhaps what he ought to do… was trust her to tell him what she wanted?

“Do you want to, lass?” he said hoarsely.

At her game nod, his cock wept a tear of relief. Fumbling with the fasteners, he lowered the placket of his trousers, his rod springing eagerly free of its confines. She turned onto her side to face him, and he guided her hand. His member jumped at her touch.

“It’s chomping at the bit, isn’t it?” she said with a breathless laugh.

“You have no idea,” he muttered. “Violet, are you certain…?”

She whispered, “Tell me what to do.”

She was his every fantasy come alive.

He wrapped her slender fingers around his shaft, showing her the general motion. Violet, being Violet, caught on quickly. She tackled the task with a feminine energy that made his senses spin. Leaning back on his elbows, he gave himself up to the pleasure of her touch, of watching her work his turgid pole with her delicate hands.

“You’re hard and soft at the same time,” she marveled.

“Soft?” He didn’t think so. At the moment, his truncheon was so big and thick that she was using two hands to pump him.

“Your skin is like velvet,” she clarified. “Wrapped around a poker or something.”

He choked back a laugh. “How, er, poetic of you.”

“Books were never my forte.” Her thumb rubbed against the slit in his cockhead, and his neck arched in bliss. “Why is it wet here?”

“Because you’re touching me so well, lass.”

“Oh… so this makes you feel good?”

Goodwasn’t the word for it. Randier than a sailor, maybe.

Like he was about to unload his cannon—definitely.

But all he could manage was, “Aye,” because her thumb was drawing exquisite circles over his engorged dome, smearing his pre-spend, making him shudder with need.

“You’re sensitive here,” she murmured.

“’Tis like your pearl for you. In this, we’re not so different.”

To illustrate his point, he reached between her thighs. His cock seeped a little more when he found her pussy freshly dewy, her bud bold and slick. He diddled her, and she moaned, her grip tightening on him.

“That’s it, lass. Do it harder, faster,” he urged.

She instantly obeyed, and God, her hands—they were made to handle him, to bring him to the brink. He returned the favor, plowing his fingers into her cunny as she frigged his cock. Soon they were both panting, racing toward climax. His balls drew up, heat roiling at the base of his shaft. She came again, her pussy clenching his driving digits.

He bit down on his lip to prevent a shout, tasting blood as he erupted in her hands. He shot his seed again and again, drenching her palms, molten trails leaking through her fingers.

Flopping onto his back, he dragged her into his arms and tried to catch his breath. Dazedly, he thought to offer her a handkerchief, but that would presuppose that he could move. And he wasn’t certain that he could. Ever again.

“Carlisle, that was,”—Violet’s voice was breathy in his ear—“tip-top.”

His lips curved up in the darkness. Because, Christ, she was right.

Making love with her was tip bloody top.