Lady Pamela and the Gambler (The Merry Misfits of Bath 3)

“Does that feel good?” He mumbled against her lips as he continued his ministrations, then bent to again take her breast in his mouth, suckling hard. At the same time, he pressed his thumb firmly against her and she began to cry out as wave after wave of something glorious that she’d never felt before washed over her. Nick quickly covered her mouth with his to swallow the sounds she could not seem to control.

Small jerks of pleasure continued as Nick slowly stopped moving his fingers against her. Pamela slumped in his arms, feeling as though all her bones had melted. She looked up at him. “What was that?”

He smiled as if gazing at a young child and pushed the curls behind her ear. “Ah, my innocent one. That was what is called an orgasm, or a climax. It’s what makes intimate relations between a man and a woman so very nice and satisfying.”

She suddenly realized she was sprawled all over Nick with the bodice of her dress around her waist with his hand up her skirts. If Mrs. Fletcher chose that moment to check on them, her reputation would be ruined.

“I n-n-need to f-fix myself.” She shifted, and in her attempt to move as quickly as possible, she fell to the floor in a swirl of skirts. She looked up at him. “H-help.”

I was obvious Nick was trying very hard not to laugh, but she imagined she must have looked quite comical with her skirts almost over her head and everything else in disarray.

He scooped her into his arms and stood, then placed on firmly on the floor. “Let me help you.”

Her knees were having a hard time holding her up as he gently put her clothing to right. Now that the cloud had cleared from her brain, all she could think about was Mrs. Fletcher finding them, or anyone else for that matter.

Nick finished with her gown and covered her lips with his finger. “Shh. Don’t say anything.”

“Wh-what do you m-mean?”

“I can hear your brain telling yourself what a horrid person you must be to have allowed that.”

Pamela raised her chin. “Well. Th-that is true. F-f-for as wonderful as it felt, it was t-t-totally improper.”

Nick placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. The softness there, and something else she didn’t dare identify both warmed and frightened her.

“Hear this, sweetheart. I intend—have always intended—to make you my wife. Then we will do things like that and much more in our own soft bed with a firmly locked door between us and the rest of the world.”

She shook her head furiously. “N-n-no. I c-cannot m-m-marry you. Or anyb-b-body. You w-w-ould grow t-tired of listening to m-me.”

He ran his knuckle down her cheek. “No. I would never grow tired of listening to you. Don’t you realize I’ve worked for you all my life?”

She frowned, not sure what he meant.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “You are the reason I am Mr. Nicolas Smith, not some gutter rat diving for trinkets in the Thames for a man who beats children, starves them, and forces them to work for the pittance he allows. Some stale bread and a glass of ale.

‘You’re the reason I pulled myself up out of the slime of London and worked my arse off to become better. It was you that I struggled for with learning to read, to speak properly, to dress properly. I pushed myself through lessons on which fork to use, and how to dance. I knew in my heart that one day I would meet you. The other half of my heart. Of my soul. I spent a lot of years getting ready for you. Now that I’ve found you, I am not letting you go.”

He took in a deep breath and chuckled. “I never made such a speech in my life.” He tapped her on the nose. “You see what you do to me? If the employees at my club just heard me, I would be laughed out of the city.”

“I th-think it was v-very sweet.”

He grimaced. “And don’t ever tell anyone I’m sweet, either, if you don’t wish to see me bludgeoned to death.”

She tried very hard to keep the tears from her eyes, but it wasn’t possible. No one had ever appreciated her the way Nick did. She was almost beginning to believe he really didn’t care that she stuttered.

“Lady Pamela. I believe it is time to rest and recuperate from your injuries.” Mrs. Fletcher stood in the doorway in her dressing gown and night cap, her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping a cadence on the floor.

13

Three days later Nick met Marcus at White’s Gentlemen’s club. While Nick had been scouring St. Giles, Whitechapel, and anywhere else he thought he could find information, Marcus had been raising questions among those in his world who knew where to obtain a guaranteed ‘clean’ girl.

Since most times a virgin was either drugged or tied down, Nick had no use for the men who patronized such places. Luckily, he’d found a staunch supporter in Marcus Mallory.

Once they were settled at a small table in the dining room of the club, with glasses of brandy in front of them, Marcus said, “I believe I hit the jackpot, as they say in poker.” He took a sip of his drink. “Three different men—I will not call them gentlemen—told me of a place where the upper class go when they are interested in the sort of women like Miss Davenport.”

“Innocent.”

Marcus nodded. “There is a fear out there of catching venereal disease and then passing it along to one’s wife.”