She was tight, and wet, and oh so ready for him. All he could do was groan.“You’re killing me, darling.” He withdrew inch by inch, and then returned to her just as slowly, gradually increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts. Holding onto her hips he rocked her up and down—faster and harder until his own pleasure was dangerously close to its peak, which reminded him—he needed a condom. “I sense that was rather good for you, my goddess of love.” Breathing hard, he slipped out of her.
America’s face, still flush from his pleasuring, was half-buried in a pillow. She peeked out of soft folds to smile at him. “Mmm,” was all she managed, but it was a post coital lullaby to his ears.
The banging on the bedroom door sent Phaeton upright in bed. “Who’s there?” The door swung open and a towering specter stood in the threshold. He squinted at the faint orange glow under the hood. “Captain Blood, your timing is most . . . untimely.”
Another Nightshade stood behind Blood. Aware he was stretched out on top of his bed, stark naked and erect, Phaeton tossed a sheet over America and a pillow over his privates. “And Miss Valentine.”
“We waited for the moans and cries to cease,” Blood snarled. There was something awkward and rather comical about the way Jersey described la musique de l’amour. Perhaps more than his hackles were up.
Phaeton narrowed his gaze. “If we’re going to be rooming together, there’s something you should know before barging into my bedchamber. When America and I are engaged in . . . private matters, there will first be a series of moans and cries—perhaps a few naughty demands in French—hers. Those lovely utterances will be followed by a second set of grunts and bellows. Those . . . would be mine.” Phaeton raised a brow. “Did you hear any grunts and bellows?”
“Apologies for the interruption.” Valentine stepped around the captain and strode into the room holding a container of clear liquid. “You must both choose your inklings and drink—from the backside of this glass—before you sleep.” Her hand trembled as she handed him the water.
Curious and amused by her discomposure, Phaeton had to inquire. “Does this bother you, Valentine? All the nudity, body hair—the scent of sex in the air?”
“Stow it, Phaeton.” The captain puffed a bit harder on his cigar.
Holding the sheet around her, America sat up. “We think of an everyday object, then we drink.”
Valentine nodded. “I know this must seem nonsensical, but you’ll understand soon enough.” In a most provocative manner, the female shade rubbed her way past Jersey Blood. “Ready for the grunts and bellows?”
The captain followed her out the door. “If you can stand it, I can.”
Chapter Ten
“91 T OTTENHAM C OURT R OAD .” America read the address to the driver and climbed into the carriage. She took a seat beside Ruby across from Valentine and Cutter, who tapped on the roof and they moved off. His gaze dropped to the message in hand. “Anything else in the wire?” Cutter asked. The telegram had been delivered moments before Gaspar’s town coach arrived.
Phaeton had left for Scotland Yard, accompanied by Captain Blood, and now she was suddenly off on a mysterious errand with the three remaining Nightshades.
The carriage made a hard turn onto High Holborn and rocked them side to side. America opened the telegram and passed the missive to Ruby who, in turn, handed it across the aisle.
Cutter reached above his mechanical eye and swiveled a lens into place. “Pitt Brothers London Machine Works,” he read aloud.
America furrowed her brows. “Phaeton and Captain Blood are going directly to Pennyfields from Scotland Yard. If Gaspar is changing the location of our meeting—”
“If the location changes, Ping will let them know where to meet us.” Cutter took a second look at the wire.
America curled up into a corner of the seat and glanced out the window. Phaeton had
America’s face, still flush from his pleasuring, was half-buried in a pillow. She peeked out of soft folds to smile at him. “Mmm,” was all she managed, but it was a post coital lullaby to his ears.
The banging on the bedroom door sent Phaeton upright in bed. “Who’s there?” The door swung open and a towering specter stood in the threshold. He squinted at the faint orange glow under the hood. “Captain Blood, your timing is most . . . untimely.”
Another Nightshade stood behind Blood. Aware he was stretched out on top of his bed, stark naked and erect, Phaeton tossed a sheet over America and a pillow over his privates. “And Miss Valentine.”
“We waited for the moans and cries to cease,” Blood snarled. There was something awkward and rather comical about the way Jersey described la musique de l’amour. Perhaps more than his hackles were up.
Phaeton narrowed his gaze. “If we’re going to be rooming together, there’s something you should know before barging into my bedchamber. When America and I are engaged in . . . private matters, there will first be a series of moans and cries—perhaps a few naughty demands in French—hers. Those lovely utterances will be followed by a second set of grunts and bellows. Those . . . would be mine.” Phaeton raised a brow. “Did you hear any grunts and bellows?”
“Apologies for the interruption.” Valentine stepped around the captain and strode into the room holding a container of clear liquid. “You must both choose your inklings and drink—from the backside of this glass—before you sleep.” Her hand trembled as she handed him the water.
Curious and amused by her discomposure, Phaeton had to inquire. “Does this bother you, Valentine? All the nudity, body hair—the scent of sex in the air?”
“Stow it, Phaeton.” The captain puffed a bit harder on his cigar.
Holding the sheet around her, America sat up. “We think of an everyday object, then we drink.”
Valentine nodded. “I know this must seem nonsensical, but you’ll understand soon enough.” In a most provocative manner, the female shade rubbed her way past Jersey Blood. “Ready for the grunts and bellows?”
The captain followed her out the door. “If you can stand it, I can.”
Chapter Ten
“91 T OTTENHAM C OURT R OAD .” America read the address to the driver and climbed into the carriage. She took a seat beside Ruby across from Valentine and Cutter, who tapped on the roof and they moved off. His gaze dropped to the message in hand. “Anything else in the wire?” Cutter asked. The telegram had been delivered moments before Gaspar’s town coach arrived.
Phaeton had left for Scotland Yard, accompanied by Captain Blood, and now she was suddenly off on a mysterious errand with the three remaining Nightshades.
The carriage made a hard turn onto High Holborn and rocked them side to side. America opened the telegram and passed the missive to Ruby who, in turn, handed it across the aisle.
Cutter reached above his mechanical eye and swiveled a lens into place. “Pitt Brothers London Machine Works,” he read aloud.
America furrowed her brows. “Phaeton and Captain Blood are going directly to Pennyfields from Scotland Yard. If Gaspar is changing the location of our meeting—”
“If the location changes, Ping will let them know where to meet us.” Cutter took a second look at the wire.
America curled up into a corner of the seat and glanced out the window. Phaeton had
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