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  “Oh! Oh, Raven. Ah-ah! “

  “That’s it, sweetheart. Come to me . . . come to me.”

  “Ah-oh! Oh! Ah! Ah!”

  Chloe shattered beneath Raven’s tongue, clutching his thick dark hair in her hands as her body quivered in release and her legs lost their muscle control. Tears burned her eyes from the exquisite pleasure, and then she felt Raven pumping his fingers inside her once more, as he rasped, “More, Rosebud. More.” Her legs fell open wider to his command as mewls of excitement escaped her throat and Raven ordered, “Put your feet on my shoulders, sweetheart.”

  She might have fainted a little after the third time Raven wrung a rapturous climax out of her because when she opened her eyes Raven was painting rouge on the lips of her love-swollen sex. His gaze was nearly tender, but then he saw her watching him and his gaze turned more guarded. All she could think of was that Raven called her sweetheart and always gave her pleasure before he took his. What could that mean?

  “I want your sweet little ass now, Rosebud.”

  Chloe looked at him, suddenly terribly uncertain. She couldn’t do that, she thought, a bit frantically as she covered her rouged nipples with her hands and turned onto her side away from him. “Please no, Raven, n-not that,” she whispered.

  Chloe felt him behind her, and she felt him lean over her shoulder with his warm breath on her cheek. “I am going to take it, baby girl,” he murmured in a gravelly voice as one of his hands slowly sifted through her hair. She felt the fingers of his other hand nudging the crease of her bottom and her buttock cheeks tensed, then his finger was there and she felt the creamy sensation of the rouge he applied, circling the reluctant entrance.

  “Please, I can’t, please,” she pleaded, curling tightly into a ball.

  Amazingly, Raven’s finger left the edges of her rear entrance and his big hand began to rub over her buttocks and down her thighs. “Soon,” he murmured. “Soon, Rosebud.”

  Harrison did not know what stopped him. Christ, that was a lie, of course he knew what stopped him. It was because Rosebud was afraid and he was beginning not to care if it was some grand acting scheme on her part. In fact it was just too hard to believe that her emotions were not genuine. Never once, not in one single instance had Rosebud slipped, and now his own passions were too tightly wound up with need. Needing her. Never in his life had a woman responded to him like she did. He had certainly never been as excited.

  He kept thinking of something his fellow Archangels once said. It was before Drummond married and his former spying associates had all claimed that they would prefer to have a well-taught mistress in their bed, as the one they would marry, than a frigid society wife. Drummond had gotten his wish with Gabriella. And she was a woman to be truly jealous over.

  Harrison turned his gaze down to his fragile rosebud. She was shaking. He clamped down on his own rigid passions and searched for the bed quilt to cover them. She flinched when he pulled the warm quilt up over both of them. “W-what are you doing?” she stuttered in a whisper.

  “Sleeping,” he rasped, and then he grabbed her, pulling her tight against him.

  “S-Sleeping,” she whispered faintly.

  “Mm,” he murmured, laying on his back stroking her hair from where she was turned into his side. “Go to sleep,” he finished.

  He heard her puff a sigh of uncertainty, however it was only a short time before she was asleep curling into him more and nuzzling her cheek on his shoulder. He was not surprised, he had sated her well and kept both of their emotions tightly strung. The release was exhaustion. He stared at the ceiling oddly distorted from the flickering of the candles around the room. Rosebud always used candles as though she did not trust the gas lighting or perhaps had never had it before. What was happening to him, he thought vaguely, perhaps a bit sleepily? It was then he rolled over to embrace Chloe into the circle of his arms. He was determined to sleep.

  Chloe? Ah, Christ.

  Chapter Seven

  Harrison likened himself to a mangy irritable cat the next morning. A caged panther stalking his den snarling at everything in his path. His small staff avoided him as much as they could and he wisely left his woman locked upstairs in his bedchamber. He was prickly and furious. He could not answer to be in Rosebud’s company now. Thoughts he did not want to consider tangled his mind. Urges deeper than that, gnawed at him. One salient point rose above the rest and it was madness. A crazy, delusory thought that would not leave him alone.

  He might lose her.

  “My lord, there has been an incident.”

  Harrison raised his dark head with his black eyes sharpening as he pushed away from his seat at the breakfast table. “An incident?” he inquired, leaving his food untouched. It had been a useless gesture to try and eat anyway.

  “There has been a, um, delivery, my lord. Of a nature we are unsure how to deal with,” his butler stated.

  Harrison raised an eyebrow as he stalked toward the man and it was then he heard a wailing sound growing shriller by the moment and coming from the front entryway. “What the devil?” he muttered, passing his butler to come into view of his footman standing in the entrance hall holding a battered basket at arm’s length. It was from this battered basket that the heart-wrenching wails erupted, and while Harrison moved forward to view this menace, he heard his butler gasp, “Baby.”

  Harrison abruptly halted, however he had gone too far and now stood over the shivering wicker conveyance. He had no choice beneath the ear splitting squalling but to look down and see the ruddy tear-stained face of what was indeed a baby.

  “There is a note, my lord,” his footman informed him handing forth a scrap of twill parchment.

  Harrison unlocked his unnerved muscles and grabbed the ragged missive just as the baby hiccupped and looked up at him through teary eyes the color of brandy. Doe’s eyes, he thought, with a deepening frown as he read the message. “The baby is hers. Keep them both, Scar.”

  Harrison drew in a startled breath. The note was vague and it could mean anything to anyone but to him it meant . . .

  “My lord, please excuse me!” his upstairs butler exclaimed as the man’s hurried feet came to a halt beside the expanding group of men, in the black and white tiled entrance hallway. Harrison noticed that the baby now merely gurgled and gnawed on its chubby fingers with its brown eyes fixed squarely on him as if in anticipation. “The lady is about to hurt herself,” the upstairs butler continued to blurt. “By pounding on the bedchamber door, my lord. And she is screaming as though...”

  Harrison snatched the basket, interrupting his upstairs butler’s review, as he turned and began to mount the stairs two at a time. He heard Rosebud’s screams just before he turned the corner, and at that precise moment the baby began wailing again. The cacophony was unnerving, however when he reached the door Rosebud suddenly became eerily silent, leaving only the baby’s squalls echoing in the hallway.

  “Stand aside, Madame,” Harrison growled at the door in the loudest voice his scarred throat could offer as he turned the lock and pushed the door open.

  Rosebud stood there ravished by tears and emotions, however the instant she saw him and the wicker basket, she cried, “Sebastian! My baby! My baby!” She grabbed the basket from him sinking to her knees at his feet where she set the basket on the floor and began pulling the squalling child from within. “Oh Sebastian, praise Buddha! Oh my love, my love,” she cooed.

  The baby screamed louder and Harrison stayed rooted to the spot with his chin dropped to his chest as he watched Rosebud rock the baby frantically. “He is hungry, Raven. Starving.” Rosebud tilted her small chin up to him with anguished brown eyes. “I-I do not know if I have milk. It’s been days! I think it may have dried.”

  Harrison watched big tears forming in Rosebud’s eyes as her small half-cup chin began quivering. He ground his back teeth and rocked back on the heels of his black Hessian boots, deciding in the space of one breath that he should leave now.

  “You have milk,” he ra
sped in the next instance, lowering to a crouch to lift Rosebud and the baby up into his arms. He lifted himself easily to his feet carrying them as he took them to the bed to set Rosebud on the edge. “I can attest to that fact,” he finished grimly, then he added, “Try.”

  Rosebud was clothed in what he allowed her to wear, an armoire full of scandalous gowns. What draped her figure now was diaphanous emerald colored silk nearly black because the green was so rich. However the sheerness of the fabric showed that she was allowed no underpinnings. The bodice was gaping, nearly falling off her shoulders, giving the entire assemblage the appearance as though it might fall off her at any moment leaving her completely nude to his gaze.

  He watched broodingly as without hesitation she dropped her gown baring her ripe perfectly shaped breasts. Then she held the squalling Sebastian to one of them. The boy was dead-center, he would have to give him that. Sebastian latched onto Rosebud’s pink nipple with singular greediness, and absurdly Harrison felt a brief shock of jealousy, and then instantly something else much deeper. More haunting and profound. He had never witnessed a mother taking a babe to her breast before and the scene before him was soul stretching.

  “There is milk, Raven. Oh praise Buddha, there is milk,” Rosebud whispered, peeking up at him briefly.

  What might he do to protect this picture set before him, Harrison wondered? His woman soft and vulnerable, involved in such an intimate chore that protective instincts he had never known he possessed were thrashing alive in his soul. Protection, possession, and need overwhelmed him, tensing and expanding his muscles as he clenched and unclenched his fists gazing down at Rosebud and now Sebastian. It was then he turned and left the room stiffly . . . and briskly.

  “Raven,” Chloe whispered, watching Raven ignore her plea and shut the door firmly behind him. She listened intently for the click of the lock and sighed with relief when she heard it. Perhaps she was irrational, about to become mad, however now that she had Sebastian back there was not any place else that she would rather be. There was no other place where she was safe except in Raven’s home, behind his locked door, within his presence. Here, she and her baby were safe and she felt it deeply.

  “Oh, Sebastian, my beautiful baby boy,” she cooed, rocking Sebastian and rejoicing in feeding him at her breast once again. “Raven will keep us safe now. He will keep us safe from Lia . . . Oh Buddha!” Chloe continued to exclaim, snapping out of her revere and making Sebastian squeal at losing her nipple when she jerked back to reality. Quickly, she switched Sebastian to her other breast as she patted his back quieting him. It had begun to feel so safe. Raven had not called her Lia for so long that she had made herself forget. She wanted to forget because Raven loved her body with pleasure, always giving her pleasure even though he ruled her so thoroughly. But could she ever forget that he thought she was Lia?

  Later she must have fallen asleep curled on the bed with Sebastian cuddled next to her because the next moment she became aware of was waking to a muffled conversation. Immediately rising upright in alarm she saw the servants. It was Raven’s footman, butler, and it even appeared to be his cook. All were engaged in setting up a nursery in the far corner of Raven’s bedchamber. A nursery? Chloe softly gasped when the full implication dawned on her.

  “My cook’s helper tells me that he has enough of a way with children to watch them sleep. I have employed him for that task this evening.” Chloe turned her gaze. It was Raven behind her. How long had he been there? Did he watch them sleep? “I will expect you for dinner at seven. Dress in this.” Raven’s gaze swept across a gown laying on the chaise lounge before returning to her as he walked toward the doorway. “You may move through my residence at your pleasure. However, you are not . . .” He paused at the door, tall, elegant, and dark. “Allowed to leave.”

  Freedom? He was allowing her freedom? Chloe could not help the shiver that caught her as she clutched the gaping bodice of her gown. “You will not lock me in here?” she asked in a whisper.

  Raven’s sculptured black eyebrows rose. “I have said not,” he answered mildly.

  “B-But I wish it,” she exclaimed softly. “Please.”

  Raven turned his face into the shadow of the doorway, and murmured, “What are you afraid of, Rosebud?”

  Chloe lowered her head, gazing at her sleeping baby, and she whispered, “Everything, Raven . . . everything.”

  At quarter to seven that evening Chloe looked into the mirror adjusting the finishing touches to her upswept hair style. There was no one to help her and she had never really tried to style her hair before, yet the gown Raven had given her was so beautiful it demanded the extra attention. It was not nearly as scandalous as the other garments that he required she wear. She would nearly feel comfortable being seen in the gown, even though the décolletage was extremely low and the half corset bodice pushed her breasts upward. Although, she had never moved in London society, she knew from years ago while being at her diplomatic father’s side in France and Hong Kong that women of society did wear such revealing apparel without a qualm.

  Not having any jewelry, she fashioned a black velvet ribbon around her throat just like the one she used to hold up her hair. Both complemented the purple and black silk of her gown. She did not have any cosmetics and had never wished for any before, but tonight she especially wanted to please Raven. He had brought her baby back and she would never be able to repay him for that. However, she would try to be all that he wished for, and tonight was the beginning. It was nearly seven and she went to check on Sebastian one last time before she left. Raven had even thought of a screen that separated the corner from the rest of the bedchamber. His actions spoke louder than any words.

  Chapter Eight

  She had changed again . . . Changed again with the coming of the baby . . . damn, her. Harrison paced his study, brooding. Well this evening he would disabuse her of any notion that the features of their relationship had changed. Not even one degree. He had done what he had to do for Sebastian out of commonsense and this evening he would again begin his campaign to make Sebastian’s mother his sexual slave, until she . . .

  “Raven, this gown is beautiful.”

  Harrison turned quickly, not believing that he’d been so lost in thought that he’d not heard Rosebud entering the room. Christ, she was exquisite and the gown was a bare complement to her lush curves. How was he ever going to keep his commitment to . . .

  “Raven, I do not know how I will ever be able to repay you for everything you have done. Bringing Sebastian back to me was . . .”

  “I did not,” Harrison rasped sharply, interrupting Rosebud as he gazed down at her. She had moved so close to him the skirts of her gown brushed the tops of his evening shoes.

  “You didn’t?” she exclaimed, appearing extremely startled as her hand clasped his forearm.

  “No, I did not. And I will be extremely interested to hear from you just who you believe had Sebastian and how they would know to deliver him here.” His gaze raked her stunning décolletage as he lowered his voice menacingly. “And how, Rosebud, they would give him up without payment if he were truly kidnapped in the first place, and in danger.”

  Rosebud immediately backed away from him, clearly upset as she clutched her arms about her small waist. “Oh, Raven,” she whispered helplessly.

  He stalked her then, stalked her until she backed into the arm of the settee and could go no further while he towered over her and he finally reached out to grasp her bare shoulders. She was trembling and she dropped her gaze to his chin. “I do not know, Raven,” she whispered, tensing for his reaction.

  “It is just as well, Rosebud,” he rasped. “For it would never do were I to become the least bit fond of you.” She gasped in reaction to this and tried to pull away from him, however he held her and he whispered roughly, “I have a need for you, Rosebud. A need for you now, this instant.”

  He fully expected her to fight him and was taken by surprise when she relaxed beneath his hands and further stepped i
nto an embrace of her own making. Her arms circled his waist and her cheek rested on his lapel. “Yes, Raven. Anything you desire,” she murmured.

  Damn her . . . “I want you from behind,” he uttered in a harsh rasp as he grasped her buttocks through the silk of her skirts. Two lusty handfuls, then he deliberately pressed his thumb into the crease of her bottom, until . . . “Here, Rosebud, I want you here.”

  She gasped once breathlessly, and shivered, clutching his biceps through the superfine material of his evening coat. Her face burrowed into the crisp linen of his shirt. “Raven, I . . .”

  “You will not deny me,” he charged, swinging her around to bend her over the arm of the settee. Instinctively, she threw her hands out to catch the bottom cushion as a brace for her palms. “Lower, Rosebud, bend over more,” he commanded as he held her hips steady from behind and gazed down at the gentle expanse of her nape.

  “If y-you wish it,” she finally murmured hesitantly, then she lowered her upper body to lean on her elbows over the armrest, raising her round silk-covered derriere upward to exactly the right position.

  “Oh I wish it, my elusive little darling,” Harrison whispered, huskily. “My nature is perhaps darker than even yours.” Without pause he swept her purply-black silk skirts upward in one fluid and aggressive motion revealing her wholly naked ivory-fleshed buttocks. She wore nothing but black silk stockings that reached upward to mid-thigh and were held in place by red garters with tiny white satin rosebuds. Her knees instantly clamped together as he took hold of her rounded plush hips.

  “R-Raven,” she gushed, with a pleading and uncertain exhale.

  For himself, he was momentarily rooted. A statue of churning masculine ardor at the sight before him. What could he say? What could he think? He was hotly aroused as never before and very nearly excited. Rosebud’s siren-shaped ass was a man’s lustful dream of femininity. The crevice was intoxicating and the little peek of her rose petal pussy lips that he could see was inebriating. He rotated his hands on her hips drawing on her pearly-white flesh and separating the inspiring crease of her ass just enough too . . .