Impassioned

by Darcy Burke

  “Come,” he said urgently, his lips against her ear. He worked her clitoris with a frenzy, devoting his entire focus to that part of her. Her muscles clenched as the now familiar rush of impending orgasm raced toward her.

  She dropped her hand to the side and sucked in air as he pumped into her hard and fast. There. Satisfaction flooded her—far longer and more acutely than when she’d been alone.

  As her body began to return to its normal state, he let out a dark cry. She recognized his release. Had he made that sound before? She honestly didn’t know.

  His body rocked into hers several more times before he collapsed—gently—atop her. Would this be the time his seed finally rooted?

  He didn’t stay with her long before rolling to his side and then off the bed. A bare moment later, he set her night rail beside her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, drawing it over her head.

  “Are you all right?” He asked the same question every time after they finished.

  “Yes.” She always answered yes. “Quite,” she added, looking over at him and feeling suddenly shy and embarrassed when his gaze locked with hers.

  “Er, good.” He’d fastened his pantaloons and now pulled his banyan on, covering his shoulders.

  Which she hadn’t managed to touch once. In fact, she hadn’t touched him at all.

  “Well, good night, then.” He tied the sash at his waist on the way to the door and was gone.

  Sabrina bolted upright. She should go after him. Tell him she meant to touch him, that she was just woefully out of her element, despite demanding this.

  Damn.

  She’d thought that had gone better—it had certainly felt better. But she wasn’t convinced that it was a great improvement. He still hadn’t removed all his clothing, and he hadn’t lingered more than was necessary. What did she expect when she couldn’t seem to stop gasping and had failed to touch him? Whereas he’d asked her repeatedly if this was what she wanted. It seemed he was trying, and she was only slightly less reserved than she’d been before.

  “I need more help,” she said to no one as she stared at the ceiling. Evie would guide her. Sabrina just hoped she could act on it as well as she’d done with her solo enterprise.

  Unless… What if she became pregnant tonight? She wouldn’t know for weeks, so that was a moot issue. She needed to continue sharing her bed with Aldington, and dammit, she wanted it to be better than this.

  The question was whether he wanted that too.

  Chapter 8

  Constantine didn’t know how long he’d lain awake last night, his mind going over—and over—their coupling. Just when he convinced himself she’d enjoyed it, finally, doubt crept back in. Had she actually orgasmed? He wasn’t entirely certain. It had felt like it, but his experience was admittedly thin.

  She hadn’t moaned or even touched him, aside from putting her legs around his waist, which he’d suggested she do. She’d made a few noises, but he’d also noted that she put her hand over her mouth. Had that been to keep herself from asking him to stop?

  Then she’d done that thing with her hips—moving them in a…provocative way. Now he was back to believing she had enjoyed herself.

  You could just bloody ask.

  She would probably say she was doing what was necessary to have a child. That was, after all, why she’d come to London. If she could have an orgasm along the way, so much the better.

  He couldn’t spend all day worrying over this; he needed to change for his racing meeting. Hopefully, he wouldn’t encounter her in their sitting room when he went upstairs. They’d managed to avoid each other all day, which was typical and probably for the best.

  As he stood from behind his desk, a dark gray…something dashed into the study and disappeared behind the blue drapes framing the window. Haddock stepped in through the half-open door. For the first time in Constantine’s experience, the man looked harried.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, did, ah, something run in here?” The butler glanced about the room, his eyes darting wildly.

  “Something, yes. What is going on, Haddock?”

  “It’s a cat, my lord. Where did he go?”

  A cat? What the devil was a cat doing in the house? Constantine went toward the draperies. “He disappeared behind these.” He grasped the thick fabric and pulled it aside only to see the same flash of gray take off back to the door.

  Haddock turned and lunged forward. “Grayson!”

  Grayson?

  The butler’s foot must have caught the doorframe, for he went sprawling forward onto the floor over the threshold into the parlor. Constantine had never seen the man in such an ignominious state.

  “John!” The voice of Constantine’s housekeeper was almost unrecognizable as the single word trilled at an impossibly high volume and pitch.

  Mrs. Haddock rushed into the parlor and knelt beside her husband. In her late thirties, Mrs. Haddock possessed a small stature, which was at odds with her sense of command. She led the household with a firm but kind hand. She was also pretty, with an engaging smile and serene blue-green eyes that never failed to put one at ease. It was no wonder Haddock had married her three years ago.

  “I’m fine,” Haddock grumbled as he got to his feet with his wife’s help.

  Lady Aldington came into the parlor, her features a mask of concern beneath the brim of her bonnet, indicating she was on her way out. Her gaze went directly to the butler and housekeeper who stood together. Mrs. Haddock’s arm was around her husband’s waist.

  “What happened?” the countess asked with alarm. “It sounded as if someone fell down.”

  “Haddock tripped,” Constantine said. “There is a cat in the house.” He turned his attention to the butler. “How did that happen exactly?”

  The butler and housekeeper exchanged sheepish looks. “It’s my cat,” Mrs. Haddock said.

  Haddock put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and held her against his side. “It’s our cat. We began feeding it a few months ago. It was just a wee kitten.”

  “And it was very cold outside,” Mrs. Haddock put in, her features taut. “So we let him come in at night.”

  Constantine had never seen his butler and housekeeper like this. And it wasn’t just because of the obvious affection they were displaying toward each other. They were united, facing a situation they knew could get them into trouble, or worse, terminated. Constantine glanced toward his wife and wondered if they would ever behave like that.

  “We deeply apologize, my lord,” Haddock said. “We will find Grayson with due haste and expel him from the house.”

  Mrs. Haddock’s face paled, but she said nothing.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Lady Aldington said, coming farther into the room, her gloves clutched in one hand. She wore another ensemble Constantine had never seen before. This was a dark blue walking gown with a military-fashioned spencer sporting two vertical rows of gold buttons. “There is no harm in having a cat. Did you say his name was Grayson?”

  “He is gray, my lady,” Mrs. Haddock said softly. “And he has been a bit like a son to us.” She looked up at her husband, emotion glowing in her gaze.

  “Well, that is just lovely,” Lady Aldington whispered. She moved to stand near Constantine, close enough that he could smell her vanilla-apple scent. Suddenly, all he could think of was last night—the lush curve of her breast, the sweet clasp of her legs around him as he drove into her. “Allow them to keep the cat. Please.”

  Constantine blinked as he pulled his thoughts from distraction. “He must be managed—contained. At least at certain times. He can’t run roughshod about the house when we have guests.” They rarely ever had guests, and even then, it was only family. Still, his father and Lady Aldington’s parents would likely be horrified to see an animal running about. The thought of it nearly made him laugh.

  “Why are you smiling?” Lady Aldington asked, sounding bemused.

  “No reason.” Constantine coughed. “We must find this cat
at once. I take it this is the first time he’s run amok?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Haddock replied, taking his arm from his wife.

  Mrs. Haddock slid her arm from her husband’s waist and moved to the side. “I do apologize for this wholly inappropriate interlude.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Aldington said, surprising everyone in the room with her firm tone. “I’m glad you helped this poor kitten, and why shouldn’t you welcome him into your family? Is there anything we can do to coax Grayson out? Does he have a favorite treat or a toy?”

  Constantine stared at the woman who was taking charge of this situation. He kept repeating himself, but by God she was different. Meanwhile, all he could think was where did this cat live? Did the Haddocks carry him upstairs to their suite of rooms on the uppermost floor? If so, how did he get outside from there?

  However, rather than demand answers to these questions, he decided perhaps he should change a bit too. Indeed, why shouldn’t his married butler and housekeeper have a pet cat?

  Because this isn’t their house!

  The response speared into his head in his father’s voice, as most admonitions did. This one in particular pricked Constantine’s ire. It may not be the Haddocks’ house, but they effectively ran it. The household would be a shambles if not for them. So yes, they could have a bloody cat.

  “I’ll go down to the kitchen to fetch a kidney. Those are his favorite.” Mrs. Haddock started toward the door.

  “And I’ll find the stuffed mouse Mrs. Haddock made for him.” Haddock cocked his head to the side. ‘It doesn’t really look like a mouse, just a small stuffed…thing. We call it his mouse, however. He is rather good at catching the real ones, my lord. If that helps to soften your opinion.” The butler gave him a feeble smile before departing.

  “Does my opinion seem hard?” Constantine threw the query out to the room at large, but since only his wife remained, she was the one to respond.

  “You always seem…cool. Not hard, though.”

  He turned toward her. “I thought you said I was dispassionate.”

  “And cool. Perhaps.” Light swathes of pink flashed across her cheeks.

  Dispassionate and cool were not wrong. That was who his father had schooled him to be. When Constantine thought of his siblings, those words didn’t come to mind. But perhaps this was who he truly was. Except why then did he have a sudden urge to show the countess that he could be heated and…impassioned?

  “Perhaps I will be different too,” he murmured.

  Her lips parted, and he wanted to kiss her in a thoroughly different fashion than he had last night. He’d never opened his mouth against hers or put his tongue inside or invited hers. Would she recoil if he attempted such a thing? She’d appeared to do that last night when he’d lightly touched her breast. But then she’d also seemed to enjoy his hand on her sex.

  “There he is!” Sabrina dropped her gloves and flew after the gray streak as it dashed toward the bloody window draperies again.

  “He loves drapes,” Constantine muttered as he joined the chase. “Careful. Cats have sharp claws.”

  “Close the doors so he can’t get out!” She pulled the draperies aside, and the cat ran out into the room.

  Constantine dove for the doors that led to the dining room and then for the one that opened to the corridor from the stair hall, slamming them closed more quickly and loudly than he normally would.

  “He’s in your study again!” Lady Aldington called.

  Turning on his heel, Constantine ran into the study and shut the door behind him. Lady Aldington was on her knees near the window.

  “Is he hiding in the drapes again?” Constantine asked.

  “Shh. I’m going to wait patiently. I think he’s scared.”

  Constantine didn’t have all day. He had a racing club meeting and needed to go upstairs to change. But then the view of his wife’s backside could likely persuade him to ignore everything he had planned.

  “I suppose we should fetch Haddock or Mrs. Haddock,” she suggested. “Grayson will likely feel more comfortable with them.” She looked back at Constantine over her shoulder. “You could go fetch one of them while I stay here.”

  There was something very wrong with him. Watching her in this position made him want to strip her bare and take her from behind in the most obscene way. He imagined the bare flesh of her back, exposed as it had been at the rout last night. Blood rushed to his cock. What was happening to him? He’d never fantasized about her like this, certainly not to the extent he was in the past quarter bloody hour.

  Just then, the cat ran from the draperies, his trajectory aimed for the door. Constantine threw himself backward and grasped for the ball of gray fur. He plucked up the animal and held it tightly. Which Grayson did not appreciate, for he swiped at Constantine’s chest.

  He held the cat up. “No need to be rude. I’m only trying to help.”

  Grayson stared at him with wide yellow eyes. He really was still a kitten, certainly not an adult, with whiskers that were much too large for his face.

  “You’re a handsome lad,” Constantine said softly, recalling the kittens that had lived at Woodbreak in his youth. His mother had loved to care for the litters every spring.

  Without warning, Grayson lashed out at Constantine’s chin with his paw.

  “Ow!” Constantine dropped the cat and brought his hand to his chin.

  “Oh no!” Lady Aldington stood and rushed to stand before him. “Did he scratch you?”

  “Yes.” The pain in his chin was sharp. “Apparently I offended him by calling him handsome.”

  “Cats are known to be particular.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Back under the draperies.”

  Constantine glared in that direction. “You’re an unsightly, unrepentant miscreant! Is that more to your liking?”

  The countess sucked in a breath. “That’s not nice.”

  “It’s a ploy,” Constantine whispered. “If he doesn’t like compliments, perhaps he prefers insults.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes lit with mirth. She went back to the draperies and knelt once more. “Come out now, Grayson, you horrid little scamp.”

  “Scamp may be too nice,” Constantine cautioned. He pulled his hand from his chin and saw that there was blood. Damn. Without a handkerchief, he pulled his cravat off and dabbed at the wound.

  “Grayson, come on, you menace,” she coaxed in a singsong voice that made Constantine smile. Suddenly, a dark nose appeared beneath the hem of the curtain. “There you are, you fiend.”

  A moment later, the cat crept carefully from the drape and sniffed at the countess. She held out her finger, which he practically inhaled in his efforts to conduct his olfactory investigation. The countess laid herself flat on the carpet and rolled to her side. “Is this better? Now I’m not lurking over you.”

  Constantine moved closer—slowly and quietly—to obtain a better view. He just managed to see Grayson put his paw on Lady Aldington’s chest as if he were trying to push her onto her back. She must have thought the same thing, for she rolled to her back with a smile. “Is this better?”

  In response, Grayson sniffed her some more before climbing onto her chest and sitting down as if he were a small loaf of dark gray bread.

  Lady Aldington looked up at Constantine, her lips curling into the most charming smile he’d ever seen her wear. He was captivated. No, more than that. He simply couldn’t look away. Nor could he not smile in return.

  “Grayson prefers you to me. Smart cat.”

  A laugh escaped her lips, and Grayson started. The countess clapped her hand over her mouth, but her eyes still danced with amusement. Constantine started to laugh too, in spite of the still aching slash across his chin.

  The door to the study opened, and Mrs. Haddock stood at the threshold. “Grayson! You naughty boy!”

  The cat leapt off Lady Aldington and ran to his mama, who scooped him up with one arm. She held a small bowl of something—presumably ki
dney—in her other hand. “There you go,” she murmured as the cat dipped his face into the bowl. “I’m so sorry, my lord,” Mrs. Haddock said earnestly. “This will never happen again.”

  Constantine honestly didn’t care if it did. The event had been the most entertaining and enlivening thing that had ever happened in this house. “So long as he stays out of sight when we have guests, Grayson is not a problem.” He lowered the cravat from his chin.

  Mrs. Haddock’s jaw dropped. “Oh no, did he do that?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Constantine glanced at the blood stains on the white silk.

  “My deepest apologies, my lord. If you want us to turn him out, we will at once.” The housekeeper looked pained as she made the offer.

  “Not at all. He’s a cat, and Lady Aldington has reminded me that they are particular. It seems he prefers the countess to me.”

  “He also prefers me to Haddock,” Mrs. Haddock said with a commiserative nod. “Which causes poor Haddock a bit of distress, I’m afraid. Don’t tell him I told you.” Grayson began to twitch in her grasp. “I’d best get him downstairs. Again, my apologies. And gratitude.” After dipping a brief curtsey, she left, closing the door behind her, which Constantine found odd.

  “See, Grayson does respond to insults,” Lady Aldington noted from the floor. “Mrs. Haddock called him naughty, and he went right to her.”

  Constantine turned toward his wife as she rolled to her side. He crouched down to help her up. “I’m sorry to have left you down there.”

  As she stood, they were practically in his each other’s arms, so close that he could lean down and kiss her as he’d thought of doing earlier.

  “I’m quite all right.” She smiled broadly. “That was certainly entertaining.”

  “I thought the same thing.”

  “Did you?” She seemed genuinely surprised. Then she did the most remarkable thing, she lifted her hand and gently caressed his chin. “Does it hurt?”