He hardened like a shot. “I have never pretended to be anything but what I am with you. I am not a quiet man.”
“No, you are His Majesty’s Pirate, for that is what I hear you called from time to time, when your exploits become dinner conversation.” Her hand drifted upward, its back brushing his phallus as she toyed with his thigh.
“How boring those dinners must be.” He couldn’t care less what he was called, but he didn’t bother to say so. The countess loved to chat idly after their various bouts of lovemaking. She had been the source of much of his information about Eastleigh for the past six years, so he usually encouraged her chatter.
Now she murmured, “I have missed you, Dev.”
There was simply nothing to be said; he took her hand and placed it firmly on his swollen shaft. “Show me,” he said.
“Spoken like a true commander,” she said hoarsely, lowering her head.
He hadn’t meant to give an order, but it was his nature now. He didn’t move, waiting patiently for her to nibble and lick him, watching her dispassionately as she did so. One day Eastleigh would learn of their affair—he had only to decide which moment to choose.
Suddenly she lifted her head and smiled up at him. “Will you ever tell me that you have missed me, too?”
Devlin tensed. “Elizabeth, there is a better time for discussion.”
“Is there? The only time we are together is in moments like these. I wonder what beats beneath your chest? Sometimes, Dev, I do think your heart is cast of stone.”
His erection had been complete for some time, and talking was actually painful. But he said, “Have I ever made you any promises, Elizabeth?”
“No, you have not.” She sat up, facing him. “But it’s been six years, and oddly, I have become quite fond of you.”
He did not respond. He did not know what to say, for once in his life at a loss.
“I may be in love with you, Dev,” she said, her gaze riveted to his.
Devlin stared at her attractive face, a face as enticing as her body. He carefully considered his words. He felt nothing for her, not even friendship; she was a means to an end. But he didn’t dislike her—it was her husband whom he hated, not Elizabeth Hughes. He preferred for things to remain exactly as they were—he did not wish for her to be hurt, and not out of compassion. He was not a compassionate man. The world was a battlefield, and in battle, compassion was a prelude to death. He did not want to hurt Elizabeth only because she remained so useful to him; he wanted her at his disposal, on his terms, not hurt and angry and spiteful.
“That would not be wise,” he finally said.
“Can’t you just pretend?” she asked wistfully. “Lie to me, just once?”
He didn’t hesitate. He rubbed his thumb over her lips, ignoring the tear he had just glimpsed forming in her eye, and then he rubbed it lower, over her throat, her chest and, finally, a swelling nipple. His mouth followed in the path of his finger. Several moments later, they were once again entwined in frenzy, with Devlin pounding deeply and forcefully inside her.
Several hours later, Devlin tested the water in his hip bath and found it warm enough. Elizabeth was dressing; he climbed into the claw-footed tub and sank down into the tepid water. After months at sea, the temperature was very pleasant. He’d had enough climaxes so that now, finally, his mind remained a blessed blank and there were no monsters to defeat.
“Darling?”
Devlin jerked—he had dozed off in his bath. Elizabeth smiled at him, elegantly dressed in a sapphire-blue gown with black velvet trim. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have awoken you!” she exclaimed. “Devlin, you look so enticing in that bath, I could jump right in with you.”
He raised a brow. “Isn’t Eastleigh expecting you?”
She frowned. “We have supper plans, so yes, he is. I just wanted to tell you that I will be in town for another two weeks.”
He understood. She wished to see him again before he shipped out, but that was perfectly fine with him. “I haven’t received my official orders yet,” he said carefully, “so I do not know when my next tour begins.”
Her eyes brightened. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow afternoon?”
He smiled a little at her. “That would be fine, Elizabeth. Will Eastleigh also remain in town?” he asked. The question would seem innocent enough to her. After all, any lover would ask such a question.
“Fortunately, the answer to that is no, so perhaps we could even spend the night together.”
He chose not to respond to that. He had never allowed any woman to spend a night in his bed and he never would.
Her expression changed; she appeared annoyed. “I have been ordered to remain in London for a fortnight! It’s a miracle that you are here, too, so I should not be so put out, really.”
“Why?” he asked mildly.
