Once a Thief (Regency Rakes and Rogues Book 2) Read online

  Once A Thief

  Regency Rakes and Rogues

  Vanessa Devereaux

  Copyright © 2016 Vanessa Devereaux

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This is the work of erotica and therefore is intended for a mature audience.

  Published by Coldstream Publishing

  After Dark Imprint

  www.coldstreampublishing.us

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Marry that man? I would rather die.”

  My father grabs my arm in a vice-like grip before spinning me around to face him. My elbow catches one of the tables, causing a bust of the Prince Regent to wobble.

  “For once in your life you will do as you are told,” he yells at me.

  “You can’t make me marry someone I don’t want to. I hate the man,” I shout back.

  “Fiona, how could you have formed such a strong opinion when you’ve only met him once?” says my mother, putting down the embroidery she’s working on.

  I look from my father to my mother. They only have my best interests at heart, but the thought of spending the rest of my life with Lord Davenport? No, I’m sorry I can’t do it.

  “Your mother and I are getting on in years. We have very little money to leave you and wish to see you married before we depart this life.”

  I can see they’ve both set their hearts on this union, so I have to buy some time.

  “I will give it serious consideration, but if you don’t mind, I I need some fresh air. I’d like to walk in the garden.”

  “Fiona, it’s already dark outside, and there’s been a cold wind all day. Are you sure?” asks my mother.

  “Positive.”

  “Take your wrap, then.”

  I head through the conservatory, forgetting about my cloak because I just need to get outside, where I can be alone, breathe the fresh air, and think about how I can get out of this predicament.

  The wind bites into my face. I shiver and head to my favorite spot in the garden, the gazebo. I sit down, running my hands up and down my arms, hoping to rid them of the gooseflesh that now pits my skin. My parents’ garden brings back so many happy memories for me: the rose garden with its fragrant scent, and the fishpond complete with a fountain I’d stand beside to make a wish. One had been to marry the man of my dreams. However, that seems unlikely now. The wind blows through the gazebo, and I realize my mother was right. I should have worn my cloak tonight. My parents are always right. Always know what’s best for me. They are not rich and want to see me well provided for, and my marrying a lord will ensure that. I can see that now so guilt sweeps over me for my earlier outburst.

  There is much my parents don’t know about me. In their eyes, I am Fiona Northrup, naive virgin, but in reality I am far from innocent and lost my virginity over a year ago.

  I was enjoying a stroll in Henrietta Park when I decided to sit on a bench and admire the spring flowers. A young man was sketching them a few feet away from me. At first we nodded a greeting and casually glanced at each other, obviously both hoping the other one didn’t notice. He was handsome, with sandy-colored hair, a fine physique, and tapered fingers as he sketched away. He wanted to talk to me; I sensed it. And never being a wallflower, I decided to speak first.

  “Your artwork is beautiful, even more so than the subject you’re drawing.”

  “Thank you. It’s something I’ve loved to do since I was a young boy.”

  Next thing I knew he was sitting on the bench, sketching me. His name was James.

  “What do you think?” He turned the pad around to show me.

  “I think you flatter me.”

  “You are more beautiful than any flower in this park…any woman here today.”

  I know I blushed. No man had ever spoken in such a delightful way about me.

  “If it pleases you, I would like to meet with you and take a stroll along The Promenade.”

  My chaperone accompanied me on our first outing, but then I sensed something physical happening between James and me. He kissed me without anyone seeing and whispered that he wanted us to be alone the following day.

  The next day, I slipped out of the house without my parents’ knowledge, headed to James’ room above one of the local bakeries, and in his bed I lost my virginity. The first time was as I’d been warned, uncomfortable and slightly painful, but by the second time I felt had gone to paradise and begged James to make love to me again.

  “You look more beautiful than ever,” he said. “Having an orgasm agrees with you. How about I capture the moment with my sketchbook?”

  I sat on the bed, sheet wrapped around my lower body with my bare breasts on display. After the next time we made love, I rolled over onto my belly with my ass in the air for James to draw.

  A week later, after we’d made love for an hour or more, James wanted to sketch me again.

  “Your pussy is swollen, red and glistening with your juices; now would be the perfect time to capture its splendor on paper.”

  “James, I am not sure if I want you to draw that part of me.”

  “Come now, Fiona. It will be for my eyes only.”

  I sensed he was on the verge of making an offer for me, and after all, he knew every inch of my body by now, so I didn’t see the harm in it.

  I lay back on the bed and allowed him to spread my legs. He pulled one knee up at a slight angle, which he said showed my pussy in the most alluring way. He tickled me with the paintbrush for a few minutes until I giggled, and then he got to work. I lay there for an hour while he sat at the bottom of the bed, not taking his eyes off the area between my legs as he sketched away.

  He made love to me again before he showed me what he’d drawn. I had never seen my pussy before, or any pussy for that matter.

  “Do all women look like this?” I’d asked him.

  “Of course…no, that’s not quite true because your pussy is the most beautiful I have ever seen, ever had the pleasure of putting my cock inside.”

  A marriage proposal was imminent; I sensed it. However, the next day when I went to his room, the landlady stopped me on the stairs and told me James had moved out and left me a note.

  Fiona,

  I’m sorry if I led you on. I know you were expecting me to make an offer for you, but the truth is I’m already married and was just looking for a young woman to pose nude for me. My apologies-James.

  I crumpled the paper in my hand and threw it on the stairs. I wandered the streets, wondering how I’d been so foolish as to lose my virginity and pose for those sketches. James had also done something else terrible to me…I was now addicted to sex.

  However, the story does not end there. A few months ago, Lord Davenport—yes, that Lord Davenport—stopped me at the spa and told me he had acquired nude paintings of me. James had sold them to him. Now they adorned Lord Davenport’s bedroom walls. He advised me in no uncertain terms that I was to come to his bedchamber at noon the next day, or he would reveal the paintings to all of Bath.

  I had no choice. I knew he would want to bed me. He wasn’t the most attractive man, but I sensed if I cl
osed my eyes and imagined he was James making love to me again, I could at least satisfy my sexual needs.

  “Take off your clothes,” he’d ordered me as soon as we’d gotten to the bedroom. He’d touched my breasts first, then my belly, his hand sliding down into my pubic hair where his finger found the entrance to my pussy. I’d spread my legs for him thinking if I got this over with quickly it would not be half as bad as I feared, but he’d quickly pulled away.

  “Damn it,” he’d shouted.

  He’d seemed to be in a rage while throwing pillows across the room.

  “I thought the paintings would help me with my problem; that’s why I bought them. When that didn’t work, I was sure that seeing and touching you in the flesh would solve everything for me.”

  “Solve what?”

  “I am unable to…”

  He’d snapped open his pantaloons, pulling both sides away from his body. Despite him seeing me nude and touching me, his cock was flaccid.

  I’d suddenly felt sorry for him. I’d put my hand on his cock, working it the way James had instructed me to do with his own member. Nothing happened, not a twitch, not even the slightest increase in hardness.

  “Here, touch my pussy. Put your finger inside me, feel me.”

  He did as I suggested while I continued to stroke his cock, but his lordship was obviously impotent.

  “You are not to say a word to anyone about my problem. No one, you understand?”

  I’d kept my word, but recently he has begun to call upon me at my parents’ house, and it seems in all likelihood he is about to make an offer for me.

  The wind sends fallen leaves brushing over the top of my shoes, bringing me back to my present dilemma.

  I can’t marry a man who is impotent. I will hunger and long to be brought to climax every night.

  Raised voices coming from the garden next door suddenly get my attention.

  “He must be here somewhere,” says one man. “Are you sure he headed outside?”

  Three men run up and down the garden, looking behind bushes and trees.

  “Perhaps we should bring out the dogs. They will find him.”

  I don’t know why, but at this moment, I glance up at the second floor of the neighboring house and see a man exiting one of the windows. I wonder if he’s been caught in bed with the mistress of the house and that is why the men pursue him. Lady Hardfield does have quite the reputation.

  The man climbs into a nearby tree and slides down its branches until he is safely on the ground.

  “Find him at all costs,” shouts one of his pursuers.

  I look across the garden again, but the man has disappeared—or so I think. A moment later, I realize he is now in the gazebo, standing right beside me. He grabs me, put his mouth on my lips and kisses me. I sense the men running by the gazebo.

  “Pretend we are lovers?” the man whispers in my ear.

  He runs his tongue up my neck and pulls me in closer. His erection pushes into my stomach, sending my own body into instant arousal. How delightful to have a man this excited and so close to me again.

  Clouds clear and no longer block the view of the moon, allowing me to see him. Talk, dark, broad shouldered, strong jaw line—overall, delightful.

  He puts his lips upon my shoulder. I close my eyes. The men are heading back this way again, so I kiss him, throwing my arms around him, hoping the men pursuing him won’t leave and therefore he’ll be forced into seducing me on the floor of the gazebo.

  His hand dips inside my bodice, his fingers brush my nipples. They react within seconds and a moan escapes my mouth.

  “Meet me tomorrow at noon at the Harrogate Inn, and bring what I’ve given you,” he says.

  “But…”

  He is gone before I can utter another word. I pass my own hand over my bodice, imagining his fingers still inside it, tempting and teasing my nipples.

  “Did you see a man here in the garden?” One of the men pursuing him catches me off guard with that question.

  “No, no I haven’t,” I say.

  He eventually leaves and something with a sharp edge bites into the top of my bosom. I slide my hand inside, feeling the corner of a slip of paper. I pull it out, realizing that the reason his hand had been inside my bodice was not to seduce me but instead, hide something upon my person. Disappoint washes over me. Walking over to the side of the gazebo where the moon casts more light, I open up the paper. It looks like the plan of a house. Underneath someone has written that the mission to free Napoleon will go ahead as planned, and this drawing is the layout of the estate where he is being held.

  Another man runs by, so I push the paper down into my bodice again. I sit on the bench. The handsome stranger was fleeing because he is a thief and perhaps a spy of some kind.

  The little slip of paper I have resting on my bosom offers me leverage. I can hand him over to these men, to authorities…unless, of course, he does exactly what I ask.

  I smile. I know exactly what I want from him.

  Chapter Two

  He is already at the Harrogate Inn when I arrive the following day. He looks dashing in his morning coat and tight pantaloons. His dark hair rolls over the collar of his shirt. He’s drinking from a mug. The noise is deafening with all the chatter and laughter, so I’m standing almost on top of him before he spots me. He puts down the mug he’s holding and stands.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name last night,” he says.

  “Fiona Northrup.”

  He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it all the time not taking his gaze off me.

  “And you are?” I ask.

  “Henry Dalglish.”

  I sit down, already aroused at the thought of what I’m about to propose to him. I glance down, admiring his thighs through the pure white pantaloons that adorn his legs.

  Yes, thick and shapely. I can imagine myself naked, my own legs wrapped tightly around them as he fucks me.

  “Can I get you some refreshment?” he asks.

  “That sounds perfect. Whatever you’re drinking will be good for

  me,” I tell him

  I know it is ale. I’ve never had it before, but I feel very bold at the moment.

  He signals for the girl to bring another mug. She sets it down in front of me, and I take my first sip. Not so bad.

  “Thank you for helping me last night,” Henry says.

  I nod, thinking the pleasure was—or is about to be—all mine.

  “Don’t think I’m not enjoying your company and would love to spend time getting to know you, but I really need the paper I gave you so I can be on my way.”

  “I don’t have it with me,” I announce.

  His smile turns to a frown. “But that was our arrangement.”

  “It was your arrangement, not mine,” I say.

  “Why do I have a feeling there is some sort of condition attached to me getting what I want.”

  He is smart as well as being delightfully and devilishly handsome.

  “Yes, the condition is I get what I want, and then you get your paper.”

  “And what is it that you want?” Henry asks.

  I move my chair in closer and lean across the table. Although the chatter is getting louder in the inn, I prefer to keep my business between the two of us.

  “I wish for you to give me twelve orgasms in one night.”

  He smiles again, so I reach under the table and run my hand up his thigh, letting my fingers creep along until I find his crotch. I squeeze his cock, hoping it is hardening at the mere suggestion of what I’ve proposed. I’m not disappointed at its girth. Yes, he will have no trouble pleasuring me.

  “You are a naughty young lady,” he whispers back. I feel myself getting more aroused when he glances down at my bodice and I push my hand down harder on his cock.

  “Are you up to the challenge?” I ask under my breath.

  “Will I get my paper if I say no, or only give you eleven?” Henry asks.

  “I will burn it as so
on as I return home,” I tell him.

  “I should warn you that the safety of this fine nation rests entirely upon me having that piece of paper and that you are selfishly putting your own bodily pleasure before it.”

  “You said I was naughty.”

  “Then it seems I will have to sacrifice my body for crown and country.”

  “I am sure you will do a fine job,” I tell him.

  “And when and where am I to perform my duties?”

  I know I can’t go to my parents’ home and that I will have to lie and tell them I’m going to stay with an aunt for the night.

  “I think your home would be splendid…shall we say seven p.m.?”

  “And you will have the paper on you?” he asks.

  “It will be hidden, and once you’ve pleasured me successfully, I will tell you where you can find it.”

  Chapter Three

  He’s written down his address on some paper for me. I’ve gone home, rested, changed and sneaked out without my parents’ knowledge, then headed to his house. It is located on one of the most splendid streets in Bath, close to the Royal Crescent. If I am destined to marry a rich but impotent man, hopefully my night of a dozen orgasms will satisfy my hunger for a while.

  I rap on the door, and he answers. His shirt is halfway open, and I catch sight of the firm muscles of his chest. I reach out to touch it but then think I should wait until we are safely in his bedroom.

  “Are you ready for a night of pleasure, Miss Northrup?”

  “I am, and I hope you won’t disappoint me,” I say.

  The juices inside my pussy are already flowing as I climb each stair behind him. He shows me into a bedroom with a four-poster bed. Heavy red velvet curtains are already drawn, candles are lit, and a fire roars in the corner of the room. A decanter of red wine, two glasses and some fruit and cheeses stand on a table near the bed.

  He closes the door, so I remove my cape and sit it on a chair. “Shall we get our rules set forth before we get down to business?” I say, sitting on the bed.

  “Yes please Miss Northrup, do go ahead.”

  “Twelve orgasms meaning ones that will leave me breathless. Not just ones that will make my pussy tingle, but the kind that make my whole body shake. Do you think you can do that for me?”