by Stacy Reid
He opened the door to find Doris pacing with her, but the child cried even louder.
“Your lordship,” she said, looking a bit tired. “I am not certain what the problem is. She has been crying now for several minutes. I’ve fed her and changed her. But she is still fussing. I am certain I’ll have her sleeping soon.”
Yet the crying increased in volume. He made his way inside and held out his arms for her. Doris gently placed her in his arms, and he held her to his chest, murmuring soothing loving words of nonsense. It made no difference, her screams only got louder. Lizzie’s obvious misery cut into him, he felt useless, being unable to pacify his niece. He looked down at her red, angry, crying face and realized with a thump how much the little girl had become part of his life. He hated seeing her this unhappy.
“Let me get Miss Ashbrook,” he said, resting Lizzie in her softly padded cradle. Then he strolled down the hallway and knocked on Miss Ashbrook’s door. No reply came, and with a frown he considered that she might be sleeping. Still, he opened the door and lost his ability to breathe.
She stood totally naked before her bed, singing softly and sweetly, as she dried the water droplets that sparkled on her body like diamonds under the firelight. He had never seen a female form that mouth-wateringly voluptuous, or one he wanted more. Midnight black hair rippled in glorious waves over her shoulders and back, falling below her waist. Most of that hair covered her breasts, but he greedily took in the smooth flatness of her stomach, those wide flaring hips, her curved thighs, and elegant legs. She turned, and he bit back a groan at the rounded curve of her delightful rump. Arousal burned through him in violent, astonishing waves, fierce and all-consuming, unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Michael gripped the doorknob and tried to gather his scattered wits. Concentrate on the task at hand, you bloody bacon-brained idiot. The savage curse did nothing to rouse him from the twisting needs humming through his body. And he knew then he had lost the fight. Perhaps once a rake always a rake. The wicked seducer in him stirred, and he would have her, under him, above, deeply sheathed on his cock; whichever way he wanted. And he wanted all of that and far more,
“Sweet Mercy.”
* * *
A reverent whisper had Marianne’s head snapping up. The viscount was framed by the doorway, his expression one of aroused greed. Shock stole her breath for precious seconds, then she yanked the large towel to her throat as if it would shield her from that predatory gaze.
“Your lordship!”
His gaze collided with hers and his hand fell away from the doorknob. A powerful heat flared in the depth of his gaze. She saw the evidence of his struggle and her heart jerked at the awareness of how much he desired her. A heady feeling rushed through her, a hot and delicious tingle low down in her body.
“It is Lizzie…she is crying and cannot be soothed. I thought…” he raked a hand over his hair, his expression cloaked in sensuality as if it were a second skin.
Wrapping the towel around her, she rushed toward him and slammed the door in his face.
“Dear God,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the door. Then she sprang into motion and hurried to where she had laid out her nightgown on the chaise longue by a window. Dropping the towel on the floor and uncaring that she had not fully patted dry her body, she drew on her nightgown, without adding a chemise.
She felt vulnerable being naked under the cotton material, but she could not think about that now. Without pushing her feet into slippers, she all but ran to the door, opened it and brushed past the viscount who was still standing there. She went into the nursery and took a screaming Lizzie from a very flustered Doris.
Upon seeing her, Lizzie calmed only slightly, a soft sob hiccupping from her. Marianne removed her niece’s clothing and checked her over. There was a slight redness on one of her arms, and she supposed that it would sting a bit. “Perhaps an insect got in through the window and bit her,” she said softly.
Doris hurried to the small desk in the room and withdrew a salve. Marianne rubbed it on that red spot, redressed Lizzie in her soft nightgown, and sat with her in the rocker by the window, gently singing to her. It took several minutes for her cries to lessen, then her lashes fluttered closed on her rosy cheeks, and she slid into an exhausted slumber.
Marianne stayed with her for a few more minutes, ensuring her sleep was restful before placing her tenderly in the cot. “Oh, Miss Ashbrook, that was wonderful,” Doris said beaming.
Marianne smiled, bid her goodnight, and made her way from the room. The viscount was leaning on the wall by her door. The lit wall scone opposite him threw his features into a savage, stark relief. Something hot clenched low in her belly and her heart started to race.
He lowered his head when he saw her.
“Is Lizzie well?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes,” she replied with a tremulous smile. “I suspect something bit her, the poor thing, and made her quite miserable. We placed a soothing salve on the spot, and she is now asleep.”
“Good.”
And the way he stared at her sent a flush through her entire body.
“I apologize for the manner in how I barged inside your room. I should have knocked more.”
She fisted the front of her nightgown. “I was singing and thoroughly in my own head. Apology accepted, your lordship.”
She reached her door and stole a glance at him. The dratted man was still staring at her. “Was there a reason you waited, my lord?”
“To apologize.”
“Which you already did, goodnight.”
“And this…I also waited for this.”
Before she could ask what he meant, his arms encircled her waist, and he spun her to face him. Warm strong hands cupped her cheeks, and he pressed his mouth to hers.
Oh! They faltered into remarkable stillness. He lifted his head and searched her face. “I want you…”
He placed a thumb against her lower lip, exerting the slightest pressure until her lips parted. “Your lordship!”
“Michael,” he demanded, his eyes dark with arousal and something wicked. It wasn’t the charmer or the gentleman who stood before her, but the unprincipled rake who would not care about marriage before taking her to his bed.
“I want you to call me by name.”
Her breathing fractured, and her mind muddled. “Michael.”
His name whispered through her heart in an intimate caress. He dragged her up against his body, almost violently and caught her mouth with his. There was no decency or hesitancy in the way he kissed her. It was deep, open mouthed, and shockingly carnal.
“Part those lush lips for me,” he murmured hotly against her mouth.
She gasped, and his tongue swept inside. A small noise of pleasure broke from her throat. Marianne clasped his powerful shoulders as he lifted her in his arms and bypassed her door to his. Without releasing her, he managed to open his bedroom door and walked with her into his darkened chamber.
All the pent-up needs descended over her in an exquisite burst of rebellious and chaotic desires. Their passionate kiss broke, she breathed raggedly, pressing trembling fingers against his mouth.
She stared into his eyes, and there she saw no apology for his wickedness…and the fact he was unleashing all of his debauchery with no care for her sensibilities or innocence. Her senses felt overwhelmed with fear…and such lust between her legs ached endlessly. As if he couldn’t stop kissing her, he took her mouth again, their tongues tangling wildly. Unexpected hunger crawled over her skin with wicked heat. Her heart pounded an exhilarating yet terrifying tempo. Michael tumbled her atop the soft but very firm mattress, bracing his weight on his elbows. And he never released her lips from his drugging kisses. The warning alarms in her heart were drowned under a hot slide of arousal.
He dragged the hem of her nightgown over her legs and thighs, and a jerk of shock went through her. Oh God, she was naked beneath it! His knee slid between her legs, pressing against the
sensitive mound at the secret heart of her.
She felt dazed with arousal, as a fever of need ignited in her body. One of his hands smoothed down her belly, brushed lightly over the curve of her hips, then delved between her thighs, finding a spot so sensitive that she gasped. Another violent shock went through her, hot and delicious. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and stroked over it with his tongue, lavishing her with soft nibbles and hot, urgent kisses.
His wicked fingers parted her and touched the intimate heart of her. She screamed into his mouth as a long finger slid deep.
“Ah hell,” he said, his voice gravelly with arousal. “I knew you would be this wet…and tight.”
His kiss offered no mercy, but she didn’t want that tender consideration, responding to the violence of his kiss with artless wonder. She wrenched her mouth from him, buried her face in his throat, blushing furiously at his intimate touch.
“Don’t hide from me. I want to see these beautiful eyes when you come undone for me.”
He moved that finger and something twisted tightly, low in her belly. She arched her neck to allow him access, and he kissed along her throat. Marianne slid her fingers through his hair and gripped him tightly to her. As he stroked deep inside, aching hidden parts of her opened and wept unashamedly for him. “Michael,” she moaned when he slipped another finger inside of her aching sex.
The stretch was painful, but then his thumb stroked over that tender bud. The sensations burst over her, pleasure so intense that she cried out. He disappeared from her, only to push her nightgown even higher. Before she could reach for him, he dipped and his mouth traced down her quivering belly, tongue flicking with depraved intention.
“Michael?” How breathless and wanton she sounded.
He split her legs wide to suck along her wet sex. It was wicked and lascivious, and she wanted more. His teeth scraped against that secret spot. Marianne convulsed, her back bowing from the bed. His fiendishly clever tongue pleasured her until she was hoarse from crying his name. The sweet, brutal ecstasy ravaged her until she came apart in a burst of such intense pleasure, her throat ached with a desperate need to scream.
He rolled with her, so she splayed atop him, and in a fever of need, she kissed along his bare throat. His groan reverberated through her. With impatient fingers she loosened his neckcloth, littering his chin, jaw, and mouth with hot kisses.
His laugh was strained, and he gripped her hips in an almost painful clasp.
“If you do not stop wriggling, I am going to embarrass myself like an untried lad.”
Thank heavens, the necktie loose, his shirt and waistcoat opened partially. She pressed her lips against his chest, and a deep groan came from him. Marianne could not understand the needs pushing her to act in such a manner, only that she was desperate to assuage them. The place on his chest where her lips kissed glistened, and she leaned in again and bit down lightly.
“I am a man of carnal appetites,” he said, his voice harsh with sensual intent. “I want to be gentle with you, but before the night is over, I want your lips around my cock. And you sitting atop me, riding my tongue.”
The words and the guttural way he said them felt so filthy…so sinful…and a dark slide of lust blossomed through Marianne. She wanted to explore everything with him, give him her body unreservedly. And what shall he give you but ruination?
That unexpected thought had her wrenching free of his embrace and scrambling from atop him and off the bed. “Dear God, what madness has taken hold of me?” she cried in a low, shaking voice.
The viscount lifted a hand to her,
“Come here, Marianne.”
She turned and ran from the room, her heart breaking into pieces. It had seemed so fine to think about her first kiss with the libertine! That had seemed so harmless…but what had happened just now, the desperate hunger she had felt to lay herself bare to him in all possible wanton ways. The first time the devil had knocked she had succumbed frightfully easily.
Rushing to her room, she flung herself on the bed, pressing her face into the plush pillow.
“Oh, what have I done!”
Chapter 13
The connecting door to his chamber slammed with a resounding thud. With a groan, Michael slapped his open palm against his forehead. What the hell had just happened? He bloody well knew…he had decided to toss caution in the wind and seduce the ravishing Miss Ashbrook and damn everything else. For the first time in a long time, he felt like his old self. Wicked, carnal, and willing to indulge in all manner of debauchery.
Except he never believed it would have been an innocent who finally cracked that part of his soul that had been dying under ennui. How sweet and innocent she had tasted. The memory of her wild ripples fluttered over his skin, causing his heart to jerk. He blew out a harsh breath, his cock throbbing so hard he felt the pain of unfulfilled desires in his gut.
Before he could gather his scattered thoughts, the door was flung open, and Marianne rushed inside, her eyelashes damp with tears, her cheeks flushed a delightful pink. His cock jerked, and he silently hoped she had returned to finish what they had started.
“I am not immune to your kisses, Sir!”
“You’re not?” he asked carefully, coming off the bed and stepping a bit to her. She seemed so rattled as if any moment she would flee and never return. The very thought was unbearable.
Her brows drew together in an agonized expression. “No! I find you frightfully attractive, and I do think about your kisses, but I must not lose my sense of self around you,” she said, her voice cracking. “You must never kiss me in such a wicked manner again, or I fear I will not be able to stay under this roof a moment longer, your lordship. If I fall to ruin too, there are no consequences for you…while…while…” her throat worked on a swallow, and she fisted the front of her nightgown before her, wide eyes pleading at him.
In the depths of her green eyes, he saw the wanton in her, and with a few kisses, he knew he could have her beneath him, spread, and speared on his cock while he took them for a sinfully hot and wicked ride. The knowledge slammed into him, and he stumbled back as if he had been pushed. Never before had he seen such raw need and arousal and it was for him. Miss Ashbrook felt a similar desire for him. But in her eyes, he spied such fright his throat went dry.
“Please your lordship, keep your kisses to yourself. You are not likely to marry me after your ravishment so please save your attentions for someone who will be grateful for them.”
“Why am I not likely to marry you?” As soon as the gruff words escaped his mouth, he felt regret. Bloody hell!
Her eyes were a wide pool of hurt in her flushed face. “You mock me, your lordship. A man of your wealth and connections wouldn’t marry a lady of little consequence like myself. And I heard you in the gardens with Miss Benedict. You have no wish to marry. Do you refute it?”
“No,” he said stiffly.
A flush suffused her pale and lovely face as is she were fevered. An inexplicable look of withdrawal came into her eyes. Michael ripped into the sensations darting through him and ruthlessly cut them off. “Forgive me, Miss Ashbrook, I assure you it will not happen again.”
Her eyes searched his face for long moments, and whatever she saw eased the tension from her shoulders and the wounded look in her eyes.
“Thank you, your lordship.”
“Michael, please,” he replied. “I believe after tonight such formality is not called for. At least when we are alone.”
She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, and he looked away. When he returned his stare to her, she was over the threshold into her room. She glanced over her shoulders and said.
“Goodnight, your lordship.” Then gently closed the door.
With a snarl, he started to dress without calling his valet Gibbs. Tonight, he did not need to be polished into the first stare of fashion. He was headed for the fighting pits. Michael was desperate to work out the unbridled frustration burning through his body. He could not find his
outlet in another woman, simply because it felt wrong…unthinkable to tup another lady when his entire body and mind was consumed with Marianne Ashbrook.
Fully dressed once more, he exited his chamber and made his way down the winding staircase. The stable lads should already be sleeping, and he would not go to the mews and ready a horse. He would walk to his club. Perhaps the chilly night air would help him regain his bearings. Michael hardly knew what to do about the temptation of Miss Ashbrook. Now the entirety of his scheme to have her become Lizzie’s governess felt stupid and fraught with peril.
* * *
It had been a week since the wicked viscount’s kisses almost convinced Marianne to throw all sense of herself and propriety to the wind for pleasure. Days later she still retained the sensation of him making love with her, and he haunted her sensual dreams every night. The only relief was that his lordship appeared to be giving her a wide berth. And she knew he was avoiding her lest he succumb to the temptation of seducing her. Deep inside she realized that he was trying to behave like a gentleman, but that her very presence was making that hard for him. Perplexed by her own heightened emotions, she resented his absence, missing laughing and talking with him and just being able to see him.
But could she be so close to him and resist his skilled seduction? She felt quite unequal to the task. Shame rushed through her, and she hated that she had so little willpower against his ruthless kisses.
Last night she had been unable to sleep, and a wave of loneliness had engulfed her. For the longest time, she had lain on her side, staring at his connecting door, fighting the need to go to him. The taste of him had felt like an adventure Marianne was sure she would never experience with any other man.
“Was this how you had felt, Lucy?” she had whispered to herself in her darkened chamber. And that had been the restraint she had needed to turn her back to his door.
Still, sleep had eluded her, so she had put on her robe and walked to the library, playing solitary chess on the plush oriental carpet by the fire. She closed her eyes as the memories washed over her.
