Her Wicked LibertineEDIT

by Torquay, Lisa

  Sod it!

  And if she were truthful to herself, she’d admit at least to herself that her unwillingness to accept to become his wife lay mostly in the fact he didn’t reciprocate her love. And never would. He was completely indifferent to the emotion.

  Limp fingers let the lace fall on the carpet.

  Her throat emitted a sound. Something between a sob and a groan, and she pressed her lips to trample it.

  “What’s the matter?” He’d raised his head from the book and funnelled those dark orbs on her.

  She looked at him, really looked at him, without self-deception this time. And, yes, there it was. The sentiment was spreading in her like a bucket of water fallen in the garden, taking up every nook and corner of her heart to the point of overflowing.

  His scrutiny combed her from coiled hair to worn slippers. He must have noticed her ashen skin and frozen frame.

  “You’re tired,” he diagnosed. “Come, let’s retire,” he prescribed.

  But there would be no cure for her malady. It’d live inside her unrequited for ages to come. The notion was daunting, to say the least.

  Harris stood from his armchair, strode to her, bent and took her in his arms. Tonight, he carried her to his assigned chambers.

  As soon as he placed her on the bed, she pulled him for a kiss in which she hoped not to have poured the agony of loving a reprobate. Though she feared she did because he kissed her back with passion, fire and hunger.

  She embraced him, arms, legs and feelings. Let him drag his tragic mouth down her neck to nibble on the jumping vein there. His arm banded her waist, and her spine arched into his solid body. They touched, they moaned, they caressed and uttered words of desire, her hands travelling all over him. Both arms held him as he worshipped her breasts, chanted an ode to her navel, composed an epic poem to her core. While her heart sang an elegy to wasted love.

  He took her as his mouth plundered hers, and she gave everything she had, and didn’t have. He thrust, she welcomed, he retreated, she called him back, her fingers dived in his waves. His eyes merged with hers, and his body plunged in hers, their mouths glued, their bodies melded, heated, crested. Until they found satiation, until they found each other. Until they found peace.

  It was the middle of the night, and Harris hadn’t succeeded in finding sleep. His body spooned hers, his face buried in her hair, an arm holding her close as her even breath lulled her slumber.

  Tonight, his taking of her consumed him to the last drop. What had just happened he couldn’t tell. But it was as if their entire beings had entwined, body, mind and soul. Damned if he’d ever felt so deeply sated in his entire life. She had the power to wring his guts with a mere moan.

  He’d have to leave in the morning, but he didn’t wish to be away from her. This far from the city, he’d not be able to forsake the office and go to her. Though his head would remain here, unfortunately.

  If this arrangement continued, he’d make sure to buy a house for her in London. Something with easy access, nearby. One in Mayfair, preferably across from his. No, one right next to his. Better, he’d divide his own house and give half to her, so she’d be close, very close. He’d accept payment for the abode. But would give it back to her in the form of jewels, little expensive trinkets for her to keep the money and the presents. Yes, he’d start looking when he went to the city.

  Cambridgeshire lay much too far. As though its location sat on the other side of the map. Australia, China. The moon. It’d not do, not in the least.

  He burrowed more in her, inhaling her scent of jasmine and lemongrass. With him was where she belonged. In his bed, in his world. Who would ever have predicted he would crave a woman this much? Especially one who didn’t care for marriage or his money, or even his position.

  In the small hours, she turned to him, and they started it all over again. Even more passionate, intense, more consuming.

  Climbing up on his horse had been the last thing on his mind. He was on the brink of sending a letter to Miller telling him to stand in for a while longer. But he imagined Edwina would view it with suspicion. If she needed space, he’d step aside, at least for the time being.

  Kissing her deeply, he left the bed and the manor, something weighing heavily in his guts. If only he knew what it was.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “We heard you were back.” At the club, Thornton and Brunswick advanced on him like a battalion.

  Harris stood by the fireplace, elbow on the mantel as he read a newspaper borrowed from another peer.

  He lifted his head to both men. “She said no,” he answered their unuttered question and gave back the paper with a thanks.

  Brunswick crumpled his brows. “What do you mean she said no?”

  The three men sat at a table where strangers’ ears wouldn’t catch their talk.

  “Won’t marry an ex-libertine,” Harris taunted.

  “Smart miss,” Thornton commented after asking a footman for brandy.

  “Ex?” Titus asked in disbelief.

  “What did you expect? Marriage would domesticate me,” Harris threw back and took his brandy.

  “So, you were saved by the bell. No more domestication,” Thornton said.

  “I’ll talk to her,” the duke offered.

  Harris took a swig of the beverage, eyes downcast. “She refused me, not for the first time.” A certain wistfulness tinted his voice.

  Jests forgotten, Thornton observed Darroch. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with her,” he ventured.

  Harris’s eyes snapped to the Earl, a scowl on his features. “Love? What the hell does it have to do with anything?”

  More than saved by the bell, a bell rang in his guts. And it rang true.

  Titus and Edmund exchanged a glance. “In my case everything,” Edmund revealed.

  At the quizzical expression the other two sent him, Edmund continued, “Otilia left me to undertake employment.” His eyes acquired a distant hue with the memory. “Her absence forced me to face the truth.”

  Had he been so stupid? Harris wondered. When it came to the little shrew, he’d committed all kinds of insanity, hadn’t he? He’d forgotten all about his hedonism. Kissed her like crazy. Called her back to his bed. Rode through the night to the country. Proposed marriage. Lay with her as though it was the last night of a convicted criminal.

  And craved more.

  “Bleeding circles of hell!” he cursed under his breath.

  The chit had turned him inside out. And transformed him into an abject lovesick.

  Thinking on it, he found it hard to live without her prim presence, without her fierce convictions, her unyielding independence or the warmth of her in the night. He found it hard to live without her, end of conversation.

  How could he be so blind?

  Worse. How could he have fallen in this trap?

  Both his friends watched the myriad of emotions parading through his features.

  “One more soldier down,” declared the duke as though he was immune. His closest friends knew he held affection for his late wife but didn’t love her; it’d been an arranged marriage.

  This time Edmund and Harris exchanged a knowing look. Who knew the duke’s demise lay not so far.

  The week dragged. Not like a carriage sloshing in the rain. But like a slug carrying Ireland on its back. Edwina had become tired of looking at the clock every five minutes these past days. Even if she kept busy, time seemed to have stalled.

  Harris had told her he’d be back by the week’s end. And she knew he kept a steady routine, which allowed him predictability. But the wait was killing her in slow, torturous minutes.

  A few days later, when the door knocker finally echoed, Edwina sat in the drawing room. Her heart gave a start and raced as though she’d run to France and back in two seconds. Her hands weaved the lace at the same speed as boot steps approached fast and sure.

  The door opened, her heart stopped, she raised her head,
lost the air in her lungs, and a rush of heat gathered in her core.

  Harris’s dark eyes bludgeoned hers, and all she could do was sit there and gawp at his towering frame. But then she looked closer. Something didn’t seem right. His cravat hung in messy ends, his waistcoat not entirely buttoned, his ebony waves in complete disarray and he had mud spattered even on his shoulder. Though it’d not been raining.

  That consisted merely of his superficial condition. Because the look in his eyes. Dear me, that look was…there was rawness in it. The hint of an emotion impossible to decipher. And intensity, one she’d never seen there.

  “Harris.” Breathy, breathless. Senseless.

  “Edwina.” The deep drawl washed over her hot and balmy at the same time.

  It felt as though she hadn’t heard her name on his lips for a century. The impulse to stand and run to him, clutch her body to his and kiss him until she died of cramps—or of desperation—nearly overwhelmed her.

  Neither moved for what seemed like a year.

  Slowly, so slowly, for fear of making a fool of herself by not being able to support her weight, she placed her lace on the side table and stood from the armchair, bracing her hands on the armrests. Her knees clamoured to become jam.

  As she stood on her feet, his gaze took her in from coiled hair to day dress to slippers and back with such hunger, she thought she’d disintegrate.

  And then he marched to her in long strides and reached her in two seconds. Like a hurricane, he engulfed her in his arms and plundered her mouth as though he had spent a month in the desert. Thirsty, eager and frantic. Her arms surrounded him, her mouth opened for his ransack while her throat emitted a moan that spelt ‘at last’. And they kissed as if they’d been separated by a continent since the beginning of time.

  “A week is too long,” he said on her lips. “I’ll lease a house.” He nibbled her lower lip. “Mayfair.” He licked the corner of her mouth. “Across from mine.” He swept his tongue over hers. “Tomorrow.” And went back to pillaging her cavity. “What is it you’re doing to me?” he rumbled.

  Edwina didn’t have forces to contradict him. Not when that was exactly what she wanted too. And there was no chance of answering as he continued monopolising her mouth with such talent. Even though she believed this should not go that fast. She needed to tell him she’d take the matter in her hands.

  When they came up for air, their breaths were ragged. Lifting her eyes to him, she saw that undefinable emotion overflowing his dark orbs.

  “I’ll make enquiries,” she assured him.

  One of his palms lined her cheeks, his thumb caressing her sensitive skin. “No need. I had Miller shortlist a few properties for you to choose from.”

  Her stare widened on him. He’d been busy. No point in reprimanding the man, he’d always push things to his satisfaction.

  “Only if I can afford it,” she alerted. Her hands held his shoulders to keep herself standing, spine half-arched, head tilted back to clasp her eyes with his.

  “I’ll take you back to London to see them,” he decided.

  “I cannot return yet,” she protested. The gossip might still be going on among the peers.

  “You can. Nobody remembers even my name anymore.”

  That would be an impossibility. Anybody who’d looked at him for a fraction of a second would not forget him.

  A sigh escaped her lips. “Shall we take this a tad slower?”

  Letting his arms fall to his sides, he detached himself from her and paced to the middle of the carpet. His solid frame turned to her. “Why do you do this?” His gaze bombarded hers.

  Lips ajar, pleated brows, her mind strived to understand his question. “Do what?”

  Air escaped from his nostrils forcefully. “Keep me at arm’s length.”

  The accusation was unfair, to say the least. She’d accepted his visiting her here, hadn’t she?

  Her head gave a slight shake. “I don’t—” she started.

  “Yes, you do,” he interrupted with a hard voice. “You denied me in the arcade. You denied me in the ball. Even made a ledger, for pity’s sake!”

  “The ledger was entirely pertinent,” she defended.

  “For Madame Lafond, perhaps,” he compromised. “That you used it to cease our liaison tells something about your defensiveness, I’d say.”

  Still reeling from his accusation, this remark added contrariness to her insides. “You didn’t set a timeframe to our agreement.”

  A humourless smirk appeared on his lips. “No. And I was right not to, don’t you agree?”

  Obviously, she thought with a sliver of sarcasm. His convenience had come foremost. “What?” she flung hotly. “You wanted me to be your mistress indefinitely?”

  One bunched shoulder lifted. “Why not? We were both enjoying the whole thing.”

  Oh, yes, she couldn’t deny it. And ‘enjoying’ was a poor word for it. Going mindless with pleasure might cover it. “You intended to cast me aside when you tired of me,” she shot. With a complete shredding of her reputation in the process.

  “That’s usually the deal,” he admitted undaunted. Mistresses were supposed to nod to their paramours’ will.

  A scoff escaped her. “Our deal was of a different nature.” There was a debt involved, and it required sorting.

  “Yes, we’ve gone through that already,” he said with a drop of impatience. “You’re avoiding my question.”

  Edwina filled her lungs. He had the right of it; she avoided it. She wrapped her arms around herself, and her head lowered. His words had put her up against the wall, with nowhere to turn. To admit to any feelings towards him would be a foolish move. A show of weakness and lack of intelligence.

  But if he asked, she had an obligation to offer him an answer. And wouldn’t her sincerity lead him to run a mile a minute to the nearest ship bound to the farthest destination? A truthful answer would put a stop to this insane thing. After which, she would go on her way, lonely but safe. The spoils of this war didn’t seem so very advantageous, but she wouldn’t complain. Her side of the bargain would have to suffice. After all, their time together had been devastatingly delicious.

  Mustering courage, her head lifted to him with a determined glint in her eyes. “I kept you at arm’s length because…” she hesitated, not sure she wished to give this final blow to their liaison. Edwina could choose to go to London, live somewhere quiet where they had the possibility of continuing this. No need to involve messy feelings, he’d tire of her sooner or later anyway. Sensibly, it’d be better to safeguard her heart, satisfy her body, and save her soul.

  Sure, she answered her own musing, and live through the agony of denying her emotions while saying yes to a half-hearted arrangement.

  With arched brows, he tilted his head quizzically. “Because?” he coaxed.

  Her lungs inflated with air to the full. “I was stupid enough to fall in love with you.” She waited.

  Waited for him to say a platitude or other and claim urgent business in London while gifting her with an uncomfortable smile; before leaving as if the hounds of hell ran after him. She only hoped he did it fast lest she dissolved in tears. Or she’d make even more of a fool of herself.

  A transformation happened right before her eyes, yes. But not of retreat.

  His rugged features illuminated, his eyes focusing on her with dark intent and glowing emotion. “You love me,” he rasped. And advanced to her, caught her shoulders, brought her to him. He studied every single inch of her face as though he needed to be ascertained of what she’d just said. “I love you, you little stubborn shrew.” Gruff, he said it as if a dam opened and he poured all his emotions in this one revelation.

  It was her turn to look at him as though he’d disembarked from a distant land and spoke an undecipherable language.

  Edwina surveyed him just as he did, her eyes burning on his. “Are you sure you haven’t got a fever or something?” He might be in a delirious
state. Or she might, who could tell?

  “Yes.” It came hot and acute. “For you!”

  When his mouth hawk-dived onto hers, she was ready to receive him with everything she had. Took everything he had as their lips fused with fire, thirst and love.

  At last, he lifted his head to her. “You’ll marry me. Post-haste.” One of his hands wandered to her waist. “I won’t wait even if you ask me.”

  Her fingers sneaked through his shirt buttons as she smiled up at him. “I’m not asking.”

  At which, Harris hauled her to him and climbed the steps two at a time to her chamber. “In summer, I’ll race with the horses,” he jested when he placed her in her bed.

  “You breed horses?” she asked surprised he’d never told her.

  “I don’t.” He lowered her neckline. “I’ll race with them and win after climbing so many stairs because of you.” And grazed his stubble on her skin.

  “Well, that’s what you get for being so…” and looked at him with a glint of mischievousness in her eyes, “racy.”

  “You’ll see what’s racy in less than ten seconds,” he said before he lowered his dark head to take possession of her breast.

  After which their conversation comprised of moans and groans.

  Three weeks later, Edwina sat at her wedding breakfast surrounded by her closest friends. The ceremony had been simple and magic.

  Harris and Edwina had returned to London to engage in a veritable battle of wills. He insisted she take residence in his house at once, but she was not about to risk reputations in this fashion. Her determination won her his scowl, and a reluctant nod before the hired carriage left her at her house.

  Anyone who knew the cad would not believe for a second he would take it this easily, so she didn’t mind when he snuck in by the kitchen door to spend the nights with her. Didn’t mind and didn’t complain, to tell the truth. She needed more training in wifely matters he assured her. And she answered that if she gained any more ‘training’, she’d begin to lecture on the subject at Oxford. He wasn’t all that happy with her reply but became very pleased when she ‘studied’ him as though for the final exams.