Sylvie woke to the sensation of teeth gently nibbling on her neck as deft hands undid the sash on her robe. She blinked her eyes open to realize that she was not in her room, rather it appeared she had dozed off in the library. She shivered, the room had grown cold and the fire had gone out some time while she was asleep.
"My, my, my, is this what I pay you for, governess?" Her lover chuckled darkly as he bit her in punishment.
"I-what?" She blinked at him in groggy confusion. "Pay me? Governess?"
"Dozing off while on duty," he tsked, pushing her robe off her shoulders, tracing her collar with his mouth. "In the library where anyone could find you."
"Well, that is because you made me do all the work last night," she jabbed him, making it sound like a complaint when she had not minded in the least. "That too with my hands tied behind my back!"
"You're the one that wanted to be in charge. Can't have it both ways, pet. Why should I always do all the work?"
"Well, that's fair I suppose," she conceded, tipping her face up in an invitation for a kiss. He did not indulge her, merely continued his slow caressing of her skin.
"A lazy governess is not of much use to me. I ought to sack you, leave you without lodgings, and pay."
"You are not making any sense-!" Her protest was cut off by a firm, hot possession of her mouth.
"I will give you one chance," he continued, his eyes dark with carnal intent. "How are you going to convince me to let you stay? Can you prove to me that you are useful enough not to toss you out on your ear? Does that tongue have any talents besides speaking Latin?"
"Raphael, I am entirely confused. Are you foxed? It's me, Sylvie, and I must tell you that I do not care one bit for you mistaking me for someone else. Nor can I condone the harassment of governesses merely trying to make a living!"
He stared at her for a minute before a grin broke across his face and his shoulders began to shake with repressed laughter.
"Ah, my possessive little minx," he pressed a kiss to her nose, his voice a little strangled with amusement. "I was playing a new sort of game."
"A game?"
"Yes, somewhat like playing pretend. We make up a scenario and characters and play it out. For example, right now, you were meant to beg me not to sack you. You would offer to make up for your poor behavior with carnal favors."
"Oh," Sylvie exhaled as she considered the possibilities. "So we are acting."
"Just so," he dipped his head in agreement, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Caught lazing off at the job, Miss Heartwood. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I must tell you I take offense to your scenario," she grumbled, even as she let her robe drop.
"Do you?" He raised an amused eyebrow, his fingers working his cravat loose.
"I would never be so lax about the education of young minds!" She complained only to see him hang his shoulder and laugh out loud. "Please do not make fun of me."
"I'm not," he said solemnly, divesting himself of his shirt. "We'll change the scenario then, you can be the mistress of the house and I can be the lazy tutor. I cheated my way through Cambridge, did you know?"
"I can hardly imagine why, you are one of the most intelligent people I know."
"I had better things to put my mind to," he shrugged.
"Your womanizing and hooliganry?"
"Indeed," he chuckled. "Now, mistress, I beg you, I need this post. I have so many debts I need to pay. Do not sack me."
"I do not know..... you are inefficient," Sylvie pretended to think. "You are lazy. You flirt with the maids. You pilfer the scotch from the study."
"Please....I'll do anything. I have nowhere to go," Sylvie was almost impressed at how genuine he sounded. He was rather good at this, though she supposed he'd had his fair share of practice.
"Well..... I have been curious if you merit all the attention my female staff seems to pay you," she replied flirtatiously.
"I am at your service, mistress."
"So," she said breathlessly, dropping herself down onto the chaise lounge. "You shall be my servant."
He smiled in response, amusement glinting in his eyes. He gave her a nod as his eyes devoured her form. Her chemise may as well have been see-through.
"Say it."
"I am your slave, my lady," he said on a ragged breath, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire and interest.
"Then kneel," she was surprised at how even her voice was. His eyes flashed with surprise and then heated amusement as he slowly got to his knees before her, bringing him to level with her navel. Keeping her eyes on him, she slowly began to raise the cloth over her legs.
"God, you have the best damn legs in all of England."
"Did I say you could speak?" She let the material go and smacked his hand as he reached for her exposed skin. "And did I say that you could touch me? Do not even think of reaching into your breeches to touch yourself. You get your pleasure when I say you do."
He let out a groan of protest but let his hand drop.
"Would you like to touch me, Rafe?"
"God, yes," he groaned as she raised the gown above her hips and parted her legs to give him a view of her swollen, soaking flesh.
"Like this?" She asked as she streaked a finger through herself, running it over the most sensitive part, again and again, arching against her own touch.
"Sylvie," his body almost trembled with the force of his barely leashed arousal. For all that he was excellent at being the dominant one, he always seemed to enjoy himself when she took the control out of his hands.
"Then be a good slave and beg me."
And so he did.
After they were finished and sated, they lay together in a jumble of limbs upon the carpet. He had relit the fire and neither particularly felt like moving.
"Miss Heartwood, I daresay you have become rather audacious. Having your way with me! In the library! Why, you didn't even ask me to lock the door."
"It is you who started it!"
"Not at all," he replied defensively. "You started it when you got all in a huff because of Lady Northhaven."
"Because you made me think she was your paramour!"
"And then you became all jealous and prickly, knowing full well how much I enjoy it," he said smugly
"Have you ever considered that there is something wrong with your mind? Who enjoys a jealous lover? Isn't that meant to be tedious?"
"By all means, it ought to be, but to see my prim and proper darling puff up like an angry toad-"
"A toad?!"
"-Is strangely endearing."
"A toad!"
"A very lovely toad," he said soothingly. "The loveliest toad in all of England."
"Raphael St. Alexander, is this the famed glib tongue with which you seduced half the female population of London?" She smacked him lightly before settling into his embrace once more. "Is this your secret? You compare women to amphibians and they fall at your feet?"
"I can with complete and utter confidence say that you are the only woman I have called a toad as a compliment. Besides, you don't seem to mind my glib tongue while I am feasting upon your delicious little-"
"You are-! You are simply outrageous," she sputtered, feeling her cheeks turn hot. "And I dare say that is the only time you are silent, hence why I prefer you that way."
He threw his head back and let out a hoot of laughter.
"I am outrageous," he agreed, not even remotely repentant. "It's well enough that you prefer me this way."
"I do not like you in the least!"
"That's not what you were saying a while ago. Shall I remind you of just how much you like me?"
"If you think you shall find me amenable to granting you liberties after you called me a toad - oh good heavens," her tirade was cut off as he boldly flipped her onto her back, grabbing her by the knees and practically bending her in half. She resisted the urge to squirm under his approving gaze, no doubt he saw that she was embarrassingly ready for him at such short notice.
"It seems, my pet, that your body likes me well enough," he purred with contentment as he lined himself up with her, they both gasped as the tip slid in just right. She could not help but yell when he entered her with a hard buck of his hips, seating himself deep inside without much preamble. The position made her feel so exquisitely full, he was hitting her so deep that her eyes stung with tears of pleasure. "Ah, now that feels excellent. Don't you agree?"
"Oh, Raphael."
And rude and cruel as her lover was, he did not allow her to peak until she was promising that she liked him best of all, he made her admit it again and again as he drove into her body until he found his own release as she cried out that he was the only one who could make her feel this good.
"Bad girl," he grumbled as he collapsed on top of her. "Distracting me again and again."
"What did I do?"
"Look so inviting and tempting, you were basically begging for ravishment. Believe it or not, this is not why I sought you out."
"No?" She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Is that why I woke to you undressing me?"
Whatever he was about to say was forestalled by the sound of a loud bang!
Before she could even process what was happening, she was trapped between his body and the floor, as he covered her. Instincts bred into him by war taking over, her playful lover immediately replaced by the impenetrable soldier who had seen countless horrors. Whose only mission was to fight, kill the enemy, and defend his people.
"Was that-?!"
Bang! Bang!
"Gunshots. Stay here. Do not move, I mean it, Sylvie."
The Viper wiped the blood off his knife, watching the light go out in the eyes of the man The Phantom had paid to follow him. He dragged the body into the furthest corner of the darkened alleyway where he had lured the poor bastard, turning out his pockets and removing anything of value. To the untrained eye, it would seem like a robbery gone wrong.
To The Phantom, it would be a message.
Leave me the fuck alone or else.
He was on a time crunch. Everything had been set in motion already, much much sooner than he would have liked, but the chutiya Carlisle was looking at him far too closely. He didn't know how Carlisle had thought to check his fucking bank records, but any day now Carlisle's people would be returning with the news that they could not trace a significant sum, along with the fact that there were a whole host of falsified transaction records to hide the money trail.
And if The Widow betrayed him, then the truth about Scotland would come out.
And that was a possibility that The Viper would never let come to fruition.
Scotland went beyond the reaches of even The Collective. Too big, too fucking important.
Sebastian would not risk it.
It was why he was going to kill a man to whom he owed a debt, the same one who had helped him track down Trentham. Then he would go to India, find Trentham once again, and eliminate the last threat. Once Trentham had been neutralized, he could rest easy, though he'd be wanted in England as a traitor. If he was ever caught, he'd swing from the gallows.
He had betrayed the man who had raised him already. He had betrayed people who had fought beside him. He was going to leave the only homeland he knew forever.
All because of what had happened in Scotland. What he had learned in Scotland. It had been enough for him to turn his back on everything he had worked for since he was a lad of fourteen.
He could not afford to be anything but cold-blooded in the coming days, he needed every ounce of his training on his side.
He barely registered the glint of steel as it came hurtling for him, but he would not be The Viper if it struck true. With hardly a thought he lifted his arm to block the blow, the other hand reaching into his pocket to extract his own knife. A gunshot here would make too much noise, and attract unwanted attention, and he would like to avoid it if possible.
His assailant drew back before lunging again, quick and lethal on his feet. Sebastian parried a moment too late, feeling a shallow gash on his arm. The Viper felt a moment's fear as he realized who his opponent was. A sensation so foreign to him that he would have laughed if everything didn't fucking depend on him getting out of here alive and in one piece. He forced his heart to calm, forced himself to focus on his senses. He could not afford to lose because he got scared like some fresh blood on his first day on the battlefield.
That madarchod Thomas Heartwood was causing trouble for him from beyond the fucking grave.
"You came for my woman. You came for my daughter," The Phantom snarled at him, his green eyes feral, his face pale, his breath coming in harsh bursts. "You should have come to do it yourself. You made a mistake by delegating, bastard, you should have made sure I was dead. Now, I am going to rip you to fucking shreds."
And that, Sebastian, saw as his opportunity; Carlisle was emotional. Rash.
Afraid. Even more so than the momentary fear that Sebastian had felt- and therein lay his advantage. Carlisle wasn't collected, Carlisle was upset.
Being emotional made you sloppy.
And at their caliber, being sloppy got you killed.
The Viper palmed the hilt of his own knife and lunged.