She wanted to ask what he meant by that. What was he saying? It couldn’t be—he couldn’t be saying—but in the next moment every coherent thought was robbed from her mind. He spread her wider and pressed his mouth to her, licking and teasing until her hips were bucking and her whole body seemed to thrum in time to his strokes. She should tell him to stop. She should be embarrassed by what she was allowing him to do, but she liked it. She was glad she was not some high-born lady who couldn’t cry out as the pleasure rose within her. She was happy she’d been born in a flat over a shop on Fenchurch Street so she could pound her fist against the wall as his tongue slid over her and her entire body tightened in response. Belle didn’t think she could stand any more, and just as she had the thought she slid over the precipice, bowing away from the wall and making a sound she had never known she could make. It was something between a moan and a scream.
When she finally came back to herself, she was shaking, her knees weak, and Arundel had a hand pressed against her belly to keep her upright. He was still on his knees before her, and she rather liked how that looked. She would have told him that too if he hadn’t loosened the pressure of his hand so that she slid to her knees before him.
“Tell me you didn’t want that,” he murmured, voice husky.
“Go to hell,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll go to hell.” He grinned. “And I’ll take you with me.”
She couldn’t resist that grin, and when he reached for her, she went with him, allowing him to press her to the floor and cover her body with his. One of his legs slid between hers, opening her. Belle kissed him, pressing her center against his leg to ease the ache rising there again. He would think her completely insatiable. Perhaps she was. But this time she would not be the only one naked. Her robe was still on her arms, but completely open to reveal her body. Now she slid his shirt up, unfastened the buttons, and tore it over his head. Her hands slid up the wide expanse of his back, careful to avoid the bandaged area of his wound. His mouth had claimed hers, but she broke away and kissed his neck, his shoulders. She wanted to move lower, to kiss his chest, his belly, but he took her lips again.
Pressed so tightly together, she couldn’t fail to be aware of him, thick and hard against her belly. Once when she’d been waiting on the docks to meet with an importer, she had heard two whores talking. They’d been sitting on two barrels, sharing a bottle of gin between them. They either hadn’t known or hadn’t cared that Belle was there. One of them was recounting the first time she’d had carnal relations. “There’s a reason they call it a prick,” she said. “It hurt like the devil.”
Belle, who had been all of fifteen, had felt her cheeks heat and ducked her head. The whores had laughed and passed the bottle.
Now, a decade later, Belle remembered that conversation and wondered if Hew’s prick would hurt her. She couldn’t imagine him hurting her, couldn’t imagine that his touch would ever be anything but pleasurable.
Belle slid her hand between them and down over his belly. When she reached the waistband of his trousers, he jerked his head up, breaking off their kiss. “Belle—”
“I want to touch you,” she said.
“Not a good idea.” But he didn’t stop her hand from moving lower.
“Fair is fair,” she said, and slid her hand over the wool material of his trousers. He was thick and hard and hot. As her hand passed over him, gripped him, she felt his member jump. “Did that hurt?” she asked.
“It’s the best sort of torture,” he said through a jaw clenched tight.
She wanted to feel his skin, wanted to know if it was as hot as she thought it would be. She reached for the buttons of his trousers, undid one.
The loud knock at the door made them both jump. Belle looked up at Hew, who looked back down at her, his expression mirroring her confusion.
“The maid coming for the dinner tray?” she suggested.
“Yes.” Then he turned to the door. “Go away. We’re not finished.” He lowered his mouth to hers. “Not finished at all,” he murmured against her lips.
“I’m not the staff, Arundel,” said a male voice with an upper-class accent. “Open the bloody door before I knock it down.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hew knew that voice. He knew that tone, and it didn’t bode well. There was only one reason another agent of the Royal Saboteurs would seek him out here and now, and that was to end his mission. Belle scrambled out from under him and collected the ends of her robe, wrapping it around her body. Hew might have been angry at the interruption, but it had probably saved Belle Howard’s virtue. He certainly didn’t have the willpower to wrap her back up after having her naked.
“Arundel!” The pounding on the door started again.
“One moment!” Hew called. Then he lowered his voice. “Go into the bed chamber and close the door.”
Belle blinked at him, her dark eyes huge in her face. Hew tried not to notice her pink cheeks and her swollen lips. He tried not to think about how he wanted to lay her back down on the rug and finish what they’d started.
“You know this person?” she asked.
“He’s a friend.”
She nodded and hurried past the dining table to the bed chamber, closing the door with a soft click.
“Sometime this century, Arundel,” came the voice through the door. Still, Hew took a moment to lift his shirt from the floor and drop it over his head. On the way to the door, he combed his hair back into place with his fingers. He unfastened the bolt and opened the door to Willoughby Galloway—friend and fellow Saboteur.
Will pushed his way into the suite. “Took you long enough. The lady down the hall threatened to call the footmen and have me thrown out.”
“Perhaps standing in the corridor and yelling for me to open up was not your best tactic.”
Will grinned. “Perhaps not.” His gaze swept over Hew, and his grin faded. “You look...different.”
Hew resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder at the closed door of the bed chamber. Will couldn’t have any idea what he was doing just a few moments before or with whom. “I’m still recovering,” he said.
“Ah, that’s right. You were wounded.”
“How the devil do you know that?”
“Baron sent a courier with a missive. The man looked ready to drop dead from exhaustion. He’d received no reply from you and a disturbing message from Lady Keating, and since I was in London, here I am.” Will’s light brown eyes narrowed. “What exactly were you doing when I knocked on that door? Who is here with you?” Will walked to the dining room table, studied the meal set for two, and gave Hew an inquisitive look. “A woman?”
Hew didn’t ask how Will knew that. He’d trained in surveillance as well. Belle had hardly touched her plate of food, and the bites she’d taken had been small and dainty.
“When I was mulling over marriage to Emily, you said women were fickle and not to be trusted.”
“It’s not like that. Miss Howard and her father took me in and nursed me back to health. Now her father has been taken and is being used as bait for me.”