At Any Cost

The sensation of the suck and pull of their flesh made her gasp and moan as he quickened their pace. It no loner hurt and a slow heat began to build as she started to move with him.

"That's it," he groaned out, his hands curved over her waist. Boldly, she lowered her head to meet his torrid kiss. Their tongues danced and explored, catching each other's cry of pleasure as they thrust against each other.

She raked her fingers through his silky dark hair, pressing his skillful mouth to her exposed breasts.

"So good..." He whispered against her damp nipple, moving over to the other to kiss and bite gently. "So sweet..."

All at once, he rolled her beneath him and started pumping faster inside her. Her legs wrapped around his thick, hard waist, wanting to pull him closer. Her mind was a flurry of erotic images and the heat from his body. Then, without warning, everything shattered and her inner muscles quivered around his staff.

Derek found oblivion. White-hot light shot through him as he shuddered into her arms, releasing months of pent up frustration and need into her warm, soft body. He couldn't have pulled out if he wanted to and at that moment, he could care less. Sated, he collapsed over her, breathing deeply of their musk.

Minutes later, her rolled beside her, his mind contentedly dazed. Vivian's body was prettily flushed from their lovemaking and she'd dozed off, her head tilted to him. He glanced down at her parted thighs, frowning when he saw the blood mingled with their come.

Derek swung his legs over the edge of the bed and donned his breeches and shirt, uncaring if they were rumpled and stained. Silently, he put Vivian's gown to rights and lifted her into his arms. He left the building, thankfully, without running into Francesca. He would explain things to her later.

His driver hurried to the carriage door as he saw his master approach.

"Gor, didn't know you could bring 'em home, milord." Dean said, regarding the soft bundle in his master's arms.

"You saw nothing, Dean. Just home."

Smartly, Dean just nodded and quickly put the carriage into motion. Home for Lord Derek Trentham was on the fashionable side of London, at a three-story townhouse. The door opened before Derek even approached the door. Vivian chose this moment to stir from her sleep.

The motion of Lord Trentham carrying her up the steps caused her to blink in surprise.

"Where are we?"

"My home." He answered.

Lord Trentham's butler showed no sign of surprise, but what really caused her alarm was the way he looked. Instead of the usual aging man with a balding head serving as butler, this man was perhaps a few years older than Lord Trentham; his full head of dirty blond hair was swept back, his face marred by several scars that rendered him fearsome looking. His large belly protruded forth making him look clumsy, but he moved with sure-footedness.

"You can put me down now." She said. Lord Trentham obliged her, setting her on her feet in the center of his richly decorated foyer.

The butler took one look at her gown, and then back at his master.

"Should I be sendin' supper up to yer room, then?"

His informal language made Vivian look at Lord Trentham in confusion.

"Do that."

"Should I have a carriage waitin' fer the wench?"

Now Lord Trentham's expression changed. "Watch your language around my fiancée, Sykes."

"Fiancée!" Vivian and Sykes exclaimed at the same time.

"Gor!" Was Sykes reaction.

"I don't understand." She said after.

Derek ignored their surprise. "Have Pete and Ham bring up hot water for the lady's bath." With that, Derek took Vivian by the arm and led her up the stairs.

"What did you mean by telling your butler I am your fiancée?" She demanded. He led her down a hall, opened a door.

"I intend to marry you."

She pulled away from him, dismissing the luxurious decorating the very masculine bedchamber. "I thought I agreed to be your mistress."

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Did you? Now there's a thought." He answered, as if considering this.

"You said nothing about being your wife. You don't even want one!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because...because you were in a whorehouse. You don't need a wife if you've got women like Margie servicing you."

Derek started to shed his rumpled shirt, tossing it over the chair as he looked at her. "I think marriage could benefit the both of us. I can protect you from your cousin and Garner. I also find myself suddenly in want of a wife."

"Men like you don't want a wife. You only want someone who's submissive."

Suddenly his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you compare me to Garner?"

"What if I am?"

"You will soon discover, Vivian," He was using her name for the first time. "That I don't like being compared to anyone."

As he turned from her, he heard her hesitate. And well she should. His character was not something a young lady of her breeding should ever have to encounter. Yet she had held her own with him, instead of shirking in fear. Silly fool. She should fear him.

Derek glanced down at his hand, more dark images flashing through his mind.

"It's either marriage to me or I take you to Garner myself." He said ruthlessly.

She sounded resigned when she said, "Fine. I choose you."

Given the choices he presented, he didn't feel triumphant by her answer. Instead, he berated himself for being so cold with her. Thinking back now, he regretted also for taking her in a brothel. Someone like Vivian deserved patience and languid lovemaking, not a quick tumble. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I suppose I should hire some female servants soon."

"You mean you don't employ any maids? Not even a housekeeper?"

"I'm a bachelor. I didn't need them."

"Your butler, Sykes...he looks very young."

"Ugly git, isn't he?" Derek smirked. "He won't harass you, if that's what you are worried about. I'd have his hide if he does."

Supper was served by a footman named Pete, who was almost as large as Lord Trentham.

"Your bath is coming up, milady." Pete said, his gaze sliding over Vivian none-too-subtly.

Derek smacked the back of the footman's head and dismissed him from the room.

Recalling the weathered look of Pete and the scars of Sykes, Vivian couldn't help but asked, "Wherever did you find these servants?"

"The underworld."

She nearly choked on her hot tea. "Excuse me?"

"They're all reformed criminals."

"You mean you employ ex-criminals? But why would you do such a thing?"

Derek regarded her seriously. "Not all of them want to be criminals. Most steal because it's their only way to stave off hunger. Or they kill because it's either kill or be killed." He was silent for a moment, then, "Plan to call the wedding off because my servants use to steal?"

There was a trace of taunting in his question, as if he wanted her to refuse his marriage proposal on that account. She wondered why he would want that.

"You trust these men?"

"With my life."

"Then no, I don't plan to call off the wedding." She said quietly. He didn't appear satisfied with that answer and frowned, turning his attention to his meal. Very soon after they finished they meal, Pete returned with Ham, and together they poured hot water into a tub in the bathing chamber.

"I will leave you to your bath." Derek said, seemingly distracted. He turned and left the room.

For a long time, she stared at the door Lord Trentham had just shut. His moods seemed to change at will. One moment he was almost kind to her, the next dismissive and cold. What had she gotten herself into by becoming engaged to him? And to live in a house filled with criminals...

If it didn't seem so real, she might have laughed. But it was real. She was to marry a man she only just met a couple hours ago.