Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

She sighed and folded her hands upon the table. “I believe that one has.” She told him of her meeting with Mr. De Sola and his face grew thoughtful.

“The game is reaching its end.”

She sat up very straight, every muscle in her body tense. “It is an ugly one.”

“How much did Lakshmi tell you? I know she was forced to confess that she was the go-between in an illicit love affair involving the maharajah’s young favorite and a palace guard.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head and a raffish lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. “And did she explain that she came to me and implored me to help her? Her unfortunate mistress was imprisoned in a pretty cage of wrought iron and sentenced to death. Can you imagine that, Susannah?”

“I can. I lived all my life in India.”

“Then you know that Lakshmi would have been next.”

Susannah only nodded.

“I said I would help her, knowing nothing of the gems she’d concealed. She hoped to find safety and begin a new life in a distant land and she was desperate. I have ever been a fool for a woman’s tears.”

“Is that merely foolish?” She felt a flash of chagrin. He had often comforted her when she cried for her father, finding the right words to assuage her unbearable grief, and speaking with genuine compassion. The memory of being held in his arms, close as could be to his warm, manly-smelling chest was dear to her. Perhaps that was why she had given in so readily to the kiss.

He shrugged. “I had other concerns, of course. I knew you might be less lonely accompanied by a servant whom you knew. And Lakshmi would serve as a chaperone of sorts. My ultimate loyalty was to you, not to the maharajah, although that august personage seemed to expect all men and women to bow to his will.”

She pressed her lips together, not about to argue that point.

“I suppose the woman told Lakshmi to sew them into a corset?”

“I have no idea.”

Carlyle looked out the window before continuing, his mind elsewhere. Susannah’s tension eased slightly. She knew he was not lying about what had happened-Lakshmi had told her much the same story. But the details he provided were interesting.

“I immediately thought that we might be followed by agents of the maharajah-who would not necessarily be Indian. Most maharajahs keep a few Englishmen around and not for decorative purposes.”

She could not argue with that either. The shadow who had appeared in the lane by Mr. De Sola’s shop had not revealed enough of himself to tell. But she was troubled by a sudden question. “Yes-that’s so. But how did you come to be at the maharajah’s palace? You never said and no one ever told me. Not even my father.”

“I was on assignment. The Rajput kings and princes think it best to keep an eye on the nominal rulers of India-us. Our old fellow limited himself to your father, whom he trusted, and by extension, me. But neither of them knew that I was also an agent in the Queen’s service.”

“Oh.” Susannah’s eyes widened. Lakshmi had not known that either.

“The monopoly enjoyed by the East India Company is coming to an end, and it is in the interests of the empire to keep the peace in India. Therefore, we spied upon maharajahs and nawabs who in turn spied on us. All very gentlemanly. Except for the occasional chap who gets found out and fed to the tigers.”

Susannah just stared at him. So Carlyle had not merely been taking his exercise when he went out riding in the Rajasthan hills. And his visits to the maharajah’s palace had not been just social calls.

“How very interesting.”

“I would have to say that things got a little too interesting. The court and the women of the zenana expected the maharajah to punish Lakshmi as severely as the favorite, but he seemed to have decided that if the bereaved daughter of his dear friend Mr. Fowler wanted her, good riddance. The execution was put off until after our departure. I made an attempt to plead the woman’s case. The maharajah was interested to hear that erring wives were no longer routinely done away with in England-at least not since the reign of Henry the Eighth.” He frowned and began to tap his hand upon the table again. “But as I have said, my chief concern was for you.”

She did remember Carlyle’s watchfulness. Traveling by train over the scorching plains, boarding the ship in Calcutta for the endless voyage home, even here in London, he was rarely far from her side.

“Thank you.” Small words, said in a small voice. She had underestimated him.

“Susannah, I do think he will want the diamonds back. They once belonged to a Mughal emperor, and they have come down through his ancestors. They are worth more than all the rubies and sapphires together.”

“Well,” she said at last. “What now?”

He thought it over before replying. “It will take months for a proper exchange of letters and a trustworthy courier must be hired. I suppose I could do it. I will be sent back to India eventually.”

That was not something she wished to hear. She had shared one of the best years of her life with Carlyle in India, and though she might never go back, she could not imagine London without him. She and Carlyle had been close from the day they’d met and they had drawn closer still in the months after her father’s death, when she’d relied upon him unthinkingly-and somewhat ungratefully. She realized with a rush of feeling that the extraordinary kiss had been a mere taste of what might happen between them. He had never meant to test her trust. The decisions he had made concerning the gems might not have been the best, but he had not stolen them and never intended to enrich himself by their sale.

“I wish you would not go,” she said tenderly.

Carlyle looked at her with surprise. “Oh?”

He stood and began to pace the room. Back and forth he went as Susannah watched, twisting her hands in her lap.

“My dear Susannah,” he said. “Is there a better way to protect you? The gems must be returned.” He had risked much. He was ready to risk more.

“I will go with you. Marry me.”

“No. But I do want you. With all my heart-and if you must know, my body.” His voice was a little rough around the edges. “However, I am not the marrying kind.”

“Neither am I,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

She stood and went to him. “Carlyle, it is you I want.”

“I know it will infuriate you if I say that what you want doesn’t matter, but-”

It was her turn to shut him up with a kiss. Given the difference in their height, it was not easy for her to do, but it was not impossible…because his mouth met hers halfway.

“My dear, my dear,” he whispered into her hair, holding her head when he broke it off. “There is a way…but only if you let me love you as I wish.”

She nodded, nestling against his chest. “And what is that?”

“Call it the ultimate kiss.”

“I beg your pardon. I thought we had done that.”

He clasped her waist with both hands. “Can you send the servants away?”

“Are we still keeping up appearances?”

He smiled. “For as long as possible.”

Susannah was naked in her bed, alone with him, and it felt…glorious. Utterly glorious. He had removed every stitch of her clothing, admiring and loving every inch of flesh as it was revealed to his hungry eyes. Feeling utterly unself-conscious, she watched him take off his clothes, remembering how often and how immodestly she had imagined what his body looked like.

He was perfection. Broad shoulders tapered to a flat belly and muscular sides that went in at the hips. He stood with long, muscular legs apart, his erect cock jutting out proudly, looking down at it when she did. “No, my dear. Not yet.”

“But I want to,” she whispered, on fire with a heavy longing.

He shook his head and came to her, sliding between the sheets and encompassing her in his powerful embrace as they lay side by side. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her neck, and smoothed her disheveled hair. “You will have everything you want. But you will also remain a virgin. In that way I will keep my promise-and you will be able to decide if you truly want me or some other man.” He breathed a soft laugh into her ear. “Who will never be able to tell that you have been loved by another.”

“What do you mean, Carlyle?”

His hand slipped down, caressing her belly, and he touched the outside of her most intimate flesh with a gentle finger. “Open your legs.”

She obeyed, clutching his shoulders, but he moved out of her grasp and down as he flung back the sheet.

He pressed her thighs apart somewhat more and then…put his mouth where his finger had been. Susannah felt a soft sensation unfold deep within her, as his gentle tongue began to lick her there lovingly. Whatever this was called, she wanted it. She arched her back, presenting herself instinctively, craving more. He took the tiny nubbin inside the folds between his lips and sucked it lightly. Cascades of sensual pleasure made her tremble and she began to moan.

Carlyle took his mouth away and sat up, caressing her breasts with expert skill. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, tugging lightly and watching her writhe with a pleasure she had never known.

“I must confess, Susannah-I saw you in that corset by accident when I stepped out on my balcony. I wanted to do this then. You were playing with the little rosebuds on it.” He let go and took her hands, placing them on her breasts. “Play with your nipples while I…” He said no more.

Dreamily, on fire with desire, she began to pinch her nipples rather harder than he had done. She felt his stiff cock bump her side as he sat back and watched, and she looked up in his eyes. “Like that?” she whispered.

“Yes. You are so beautiful, Susannah. Innocent still…” He parted the folds of the swollen flesh between her legs and touched her hymen with a fingertip. She began to shake and grabbed her breasts hard. “But wanton at heart. I am proud to be the man who touches you first. But I will not take you.”

She let go of herself and reached up to him. Carlyle grasped her wrists and prevented her from holding him. Then he put his mouth between her legs and resumed his tender lovemaking. The feeling grew stronger and stronger and she held her thighs as wide as she could, desiring the pleasure that shot through her. His lovingness opened her soul-and his sexual skill made her moan his name over and over.

Susannah reached down to hold his head, then grabbed his hair when he suckled the little bud tightly between his lips and teased the tip of it with his fluttering tongue.

Oh, oh, oh…ohhhhhhhhhh. As the ultimate pleasure overcame her, she knew how much she loved him.

They were sharing a postcoital dinner and conspiratorial winks. Susannah had managed to wriggle into a corset-not the dangerous one-and fasten her dress by herself. The candlelight hid her faint air of disarray, she hoped. Out by the back door before the servants returned and in by the front door when they were about the house, Carlyle was soberly dressed and impeccably groomed, the picture of upright manliness once more.

In more ways than one, she reflected, looking at him adoringly. He had not reached climax as she had, preferring to wait and putting her from him when she protested, saying with a laugh that there would be time enough for that. But he had let her explore his nakedness as much as she wished once she agreed not to arouse him too much, and she had taken her time about it, not knowing when she would have the chance to do so again.

He was attacking a chop at the moment. Something about the vigorous use of knife and fork told her that the physical frustration bothered him rather more than he would admit to her. Still, Susannah appreciated his self-restraint. Was there ever a virgin who had felt so satisfied in the history of the world?

His suggestion-that she wait and see which man she wanted-was simply absurd. There was no other man. She only wanted him. Susannah wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Carlyle was gnawing on the bone of his chop almost ferociously and looking at her with the same tenderness he had shown in bed. She half expected him to growl just to make her laugh-and he did.

Susannah nodded to the maid, Molly, who brought in the next course, a puddinglike lump of something that could have originally been potatoes, perhaps mashed up with beets. It was dark red, blotched with brown. “Thank you. That looks delicious.”

Molly set the dish on the table and withdrew.

“It looks terrifying,” Carlyle said, poking it with a fork. The lump emitted a blast of steam. “English food is dreadful. Perhaps we should hire an Indian cook.”