by Emma Wildes
and though he’d always been selective and discreet, he felt fairly well versed in sexual matters.
With Brianna it was different.
Very different.
Even on their wedding night, when she’d been shy and nervous, he’d been able to draw a
response from her untutored body. Her unexpected sensuality was a boon to his marriage, and as
a male with a healthy sexual appetite, he was grateful his wife enjoyed his attentions in bed.
There was more to it, also. It was difficult to do so, but he was starting to acknowledge it to
himself. Sexual desire was a normal part of life. Most men would find someone like Brianna
attractive. . . .
And that unsettling thought made his brows shoot together in a scowl she thankfully couldn’t see
because his face was still buried in her outspread hair. He didn’t give a damn what most men
might want, she was his.
Only his.
“Uhmmm.” Her slender fingers drifted down his spine.
Colton gave an inelegant grunt of assent at her unspoken sentiment and shifted so he wasn’t
crushing her, rolling to his side and cradling her in his arms. The scent of sex mingled with her
delicate perfume, and he couldn’t think of anything he liked more. Her damp, enticingly curved
body rested languid against him, the silk of her long hair spilled across his chest.
“Today went well, I think,” she murmured. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
He’d just enjoyed himself immensely, and though he wasn’t fond of an overflowing houseful of
guests, at the moment he felt quite charitable. “It was pleasant enough. At least the people you
invited are all acceptable.”
“High praise.” Her voice was dry.
“Actually, it is,” he countered. “I usually loathe these types of gatherings.”
“I was afraid you’d feel that way when I planned this.”
“You were correct.” He brushed a gold curl off her shoulder, a singular warmth that had nothing
to do with his recent climax building inside him. “You know me so well?”
“Biblically, Your Grace.”
Colton laughed. It was drawn out of him before he could think about it. “You do realize,” he
murmured, kissing her jaw, “that you can be very impertinent for a respectable duchess.”
“As long as my candid nature doesn’t repel you, I will not argue with the assessment.”
“You? Brianna Northfield? Not argue? I find it hard to believe.”
“Colton,” she said in laughing protest, but he loved the light in her eyes, and relished the tender
clasp of her arms.
“But,” he continued, “despite your sometimes irreverent treatment of your august husband,
nothing about you repels me.” He nibbled on the corner of her mouth, astounded to realize he
might become aroused again. After such an explosive release, it was a testament to her seductive
beauty and appeal.
“I hope it always stays that way.”
The slight wistful note in her voice made him pause. “Why wouldn’t it?”
Her shrug was apparent since he held her so closely. “Men do tire of their wives. In fact, few
desire them deeply in the first place.”
He frowned, chagrined. She was absolutely correct. “I desire you. Perhaps you recall what just
happened between us.”
“It would be difficult to forget.” She touched his cheek, just a feather brush of her fingers.
His wife had an innocent air combined with a courtesan’s allure, he thought as he smoothed his
hand over the supple curve of her hip. Golden hair and those long-lashed, midnight blue eyes, not
to mention her mouth, so lush and soft. Several of the men in attendance had complimented her
beauty during the course of the afternoon and evening. He hadn’t thought too much about it
because he agreed wholeheartedly, but now, since they seemed to be discussing fidelity, he had
his own opinion on the matter.
“You belong to me.” The words came out a shade too clipped.
Brianna’s reaction was to tilt her head back and give him a puzzled look. “What?”
He hesitated, not sure what had prompted his arrogant declaration. Of course she belonged to
him, she was his wife. He’d given her his name and his protection. The trouble was, to some of
his class that didn’t matter. It was common practice that once a wife had borne her husband an
heir she could seek entertainment elsewhere if she wished as long as she was discreet.
Not Brianna. He wouldn’t allow it. The idea of some other man touching her—well, he didn’t
care to analyze the primitive depth of his reaction to that image.
Colton chose to kiss her rather than explain himself. Or maybe the kiss was an explanation, for he
hungrily devoured her mouth, his encircling arms holding her close, his rising cock hard against
her hip. This time, when he rolled her onto her back and settled between her legs, he entered her
slowly, with measured control instead of impetuous force, listening to the change in her breathing
as he moved her closer and closer to the brink. The sleek, velvet warmth of her body enveloped
him, and every sense was riveted on the woman below him: sight, sound, taste, touch, the
fragrance of her arousal heady as any drink.
Afterwards, when they’d shuddered together, when their slick bodies ceased trembling and they
were sprawled in a tangle where he didn’t know when one of them ended and the other began,
she touched his hair. “May I ask something of you?”
Generous did not even begin to describe his mood after a second such mind-shattering release.
Colton smiled lazily, not remembering ever feeling so satisfied. “Of course. Let me guess, a
diamond necklace?”
“I don’t really like jewels, you know that. I rarely wear them unless I must.”
Did he know that? Now that he thought about it, he realized with a small twinge of dismay, it was
true. He very rarely saw her drape herself in expensive gems like so many of the ladies of the ton,
for whom each expensive bauble was a trophy. Was he really that unobservant?
Yes, a scolding voice answered in his head. You have a tendency to be absorbed in your own life.
Now, as she has pointed out, you share it with someone else. You might wish to keep it in mind.
“I was joking,” he said, lounging back against the pillows. “Not that if you wished more jewelry I
wouldn’t purchase it for you, but the Northfield family vault is already filled to the brim with
every form of it, and you know it is all at your disposal.”
Next to him, the rumpled sheet pulled to her waist, her voluptuous breasts bare and her shining
hair spilled across the bed, Brianna gave him a sleepy smile. “This is much simpler to give than
diamonds and will cost you nothing.”
He watched her lashes drift lower, an indulgent smile on his face. “What is it?”
“Stay.”
“I beg your pardon?”
No answer. She was asleep. Not that it surprised him, for he felt pleasantly exhausted himself,
and she’d risen early to prepare for the arrival of their guests. Even with the servants to help, his
grandmother’s advice, and the efficiency of Mrs. Finnegan, he knew Brianna had worked hard to
make sure each detail was taken care of before the first carriage rolled up the drive.
Stay. What the devil did that mean?
Chapter Ten
If his behavior changes, mark the date and analyze the cause. It could be you are ma
king an
impression.
From the chapter titled: “Cause and Effect”
Her parents were not the most subtle people who ever graced God’s earth, Rebecca decided,
wanting to crawl under the dinner table.
It was painfully obvious—and Rebecca had the uncomfortable feeling everyone attending knew
—she was being thrust underneath Damien Northfield’s nose like a prize cow being trotted out
for an affluent farmer.
To make matters worse, it was equally apparent to everyone that Mrs. Newman had set her sights
on Robert. Whether it was a serious attempt to snare the most resistant bachelor in England or
merely the desire for a pleasurable interlude, who knew? But if the woman thought she was being
sly about her intentions, she was gravely mistaken.
After all, what was a house party without the appropriate seduction, Rebecca thought dismally,
reaching for her wine. At the moment, the lovely Loretta was bent provocatively near her quarry,
her décolletage exposed to the best advantage by her position, the limp ruffle on her bodice doing
nothing to conceal the entire upper curves of her breasts.
“You might want to adjust your expression.”
The mild suggestion made Rebecca jerk, her wine sloshing dangerously close to the edge of her
glass. Damien, seated—by her mother’s machinations—next to her, leaned in close as if saying
something intimate. “He’s talking to her, but watching you. I haven’t been so entertained in
years.”
Robert was watching her? If so, she couldn’t tell, but then again, she was taking great pains not to
watch him either. “My expression?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“You look like you want to cleave out her heart. That would be decidedly de trop at the dinner
table.”
“Your amusement is noted, my lord.”
Damien laughed softly and turned his attention back to his fish course.
Damn him. She took pleasure in the silent profanity even as she stifled an inner groan over his
perceptive observation. Across the table, her mother had seen their private exchange, and she
beamed.
Good God, what a nightmare.
Rebecca tackled her baked cod in butter sauce with false enthusiasm, though her appetite was
nonexistent. She managed to choke down a few bites, studiously intent on her plate—on anything
but Robert and his infamous, infectious smile. The candlelight from the chandelier did some
wicked things to the structure of his face, emphasizing his elegant cheekbones and the seductive
line of his mouth.
Stop it, she instructed, before you embarrass yourself and other people begin to notice.
What would Lady Rothburg suggest in this situation? The same kind of eye batting, coquettish
behavior as Mrs. Newman displayed across the table? Surely there was a better way; Rebecca just
had no idea what it might be. Maybe she’d ask Brianna for the book this very evening. It was
either pursue that drastic measure or give up and follow the mandates of her parents and choose a
husband.
With grim determination Rebecca slogged through the roast beef and creamed potatoes, though
her stomach wasn’t exactly settled. A wash of relief swept through her at the arrival of dessert.
As soon as the plates were cleared, the men would be served their port and the ladies would
gather for some after-dinner gossip. She, on the other hand, could plead a headache and escape to
her room.
It was a perfect plan, since her temples truly throbbed.
Until it was neatly thwarted.
When she attempted to excuse herself, her mother’s glare could have pulverized a mountain into
rubble. “Maybe all you need is a little fresh air. Step out on the terrace, my dear. Perhaps Lord
Damien will accompany you.”
There was no way she could endure four more days of this overt pairing of the two of them.
Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’m certain he is as anxious for his port as the other gentlemen. I am
fine on my own.”
“I am sure he’ll insist.”
Well, now he had no choice, she thought crossly. Damien inclined his head. “I’d be delighted, of
course. But I did promise Mrs. Newman earlier I’d show her that rare map of Manchuria in the
library this evening. Perhaps Robert could escort Miss Marston instead?”
A look of horror crossed her mother’s face. Rebecca stifled an audible laugh. It was one thing, of
course, to shove her out the door on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in attendance, and
another entirely to send her blithely on a stroll with a known rakehell, even if they were brothers.
“I . . . I, well . . .”
“Naturally, it would be my pleasure.” Robert stepped in smoothly, perhaps in an effort to help
Damien escape the overt ploy, maybe because he found it amusing to tease her mother, or . . . she
hesitated to believe it. Could Damien be right? Could Robert truly be interested? He murmured,
“I fancy a bit of fresh air myself. Shall we?”
And that easily, Rebecca found herself on his arm, her heart beginning to pound at the proximity,
though thankfully she didn’t crash into him as they exited the dining room in a repeat
performance of their last encounter.
A much better start than the last time they were alone together. There was no ravening Lord
Watts hot on her heels either, she thought, not sure whether to be grateful to Damien or not.
Clearly he found her infatuation with his younger brother diverting enough to interfere—or
maybe he was just trying to spare himself her mother’s matchmaking.
Had Robert really been watching her through dinner? Rebecca slanted a glance at the tall man
next to her through her lashes. Like the last time, she found herself quite lost for words. If there
was a chance he found her even half as attractive as she did him . . . well, she needed to know if it
was true.
She was desperate to know if it was true.
I need that dratted book. . . .
“It’s cool out. Would you like a wrap?”
His question made her jump for no reason at all. “Uhm, no . . . no, thank you. It was rather warm
in there. Cool sounds delightful.”
“Your cheeks are a bit flushed.”
Of course they were. As Damien had pointed out, she blushed on a consistent basis in Robert’s
presence. It was infuriating she couldn’t control it, and now even he had noticed it. How
mortifying. “I’m quite well, I assure you.” It came out more tartly than she intended.
“Indeed.” Robert followed her outside, looking very much the debonair rogue in his tailored
evening clothes, a faint smile on his mouth. “So, do tell me, Miss Marston, are you enjoying the
party so far? I notice my sister-in-law did you the favor of keeping the persistent Lord Watts off
the guest list.”
“That’s because if she had invited him, Brianna knows I would have strangled her,” she said with
feeling. “My parents consider him to be extremely eligible. My opinion differs somewhat.”
The cool air did carry an autumn chill, but it felt marvelous as it drifted across her bared
shoulders. Clouds had gathered during the course of the day, the moon obscured by a haze.
Nearby, a bird called in a low, mournful sound. Their footsteps echoed on the smooth stone, the
huge terrace deserted except for their presence.
They were alone.
want to think about what her father might do.
Robert cocked a brow in amusement. “And now they seem to favor Damien.”
He’d noticed that, too. Well, maybe she shouldn’t feel a rush of jubilation, a practical voice in her
pointed out. It probably meant nothing. All the guests had no doubt noticed how her parents were
thrusting her into the arms of his brother.
“Yes.” Rebecca muttered. “Poor man.”
Robert laughed.
The sound held a compelling note she wished she could capture in music. There was something
special about his face, too, when he gave that flashing signature grin that made her knees feel
weak. Both his brothers were equally handsome, she supposed, but Robert’s charisma was what
drew her. It was an energy, a vital force, and though she was hardly an expert on the subject of
seduction, she’d guess if he owed his success with women to anything, it was that undeniable
pull.
“He’ll survive. One tends to forget that my older brother gives advice to one of the most
important men of our times,” Robert commented as they walked to the balustrade and he leaned a
hip against it, turning to face her. “Damien doesn’t look wily, but he is. How neatly done was that
back there? A quick rescue with one small but inventive ploy.”
Rebecca could not help but grimace. “I suppose by ‘rescue’ you mean him avoiding my mother’s
more than obvious technique.”
“Actually, I was thinking more of myself and the determined Mrs. Newman. Do you really think
she cares about a map of Manchuria? Myself, I doubt it. I wouldn’t guess geography is one of her
interests. She seems to be more absorbed in the latest style of hats than mountain ranges in distant
countries.”
“I rather thought you liked her.” Rebecca probably shouldn’t have said it, but it came out
anyway. She hastily amended, “At least that was my impression.”
“Was it?” His tone was dry and his gaze flickered out over the shrouded back gardens. “Like
most things in life, appearances can be deceptive.” He shrugged. “I don’t mean to sound
ungallant. She is a pleasant enough young woman.”
Relief washed over her, for that hardly sounded like the observation of a lover. If they really had
