by Gill, Tamara
Willow took in the overbearing, too-handsome-for-his-own-good gentleman seated beside her on his horse and reveled in his attraction. Never had she ever had this feeling that she felt when around this man. As if her body gravitated toward him, wanted to be near his person, his sphere. A sense of rightness that went against her morals.
The lord was a rascal, a rake by town standards, and he was undoubtedly not marriageable material. He was obnoxious and rude and had little idea of how to treat his staff.
Being unmarried as she was, even at her advanced age, some would say decidedly on the shelf, he wasn’t someone she could dally with. Have a scandalous, clandestine affair.
As much as he tempted her to be scandalous, she could never do it. She chewed on her bottom lip, debating that fact in her mind. Placing all the pros and cons together and seeing what that sum equaled.
“I’d love to know what you’re thinking right at this moment, Miss Perry.”
His deep, curious voice broke into her musings, and she met his eyes. She grappled for some excuse as to why she was caught ogling him. “I wasn’t thinking of anything. Merely pondering.”
“Would you like to go for a walk? I believe there is a stream not far from here. The horses can be watered before we return.”
She patted her mount, distracting her hands enough so they didn’t reach out to test one of her pro theories that his lordship was a skilled kisser as she presumed him to be. “Yes, that sounds nice.”
He pushed his mount forward, and Willow followed as they made their way down a small decline on the hill where even from where she sat, she could hear the tinkling sound of running water.
The stream was shallow, with round, pebbled rocks, some submerged, but most sitting just above the water’s depth. Willow slid off her mount, throwing the reins over her horse’s ears and tying them under its neck to stop the horse from stepping on it. She stood back, watching as both horses leaned down and nibbled on the grass before taking a drink.
The stream was narrow, with a large willow tree across the bank. Willow stepped into the water, ignoring the fact that her boots would be ruined after her little excursion.
The moment her foot stepped onto one of the smooth rocks, she knew she’d made a mistake. Her foot slipped out from beneath her, and she toppled, slipping forward. The ground rose quickly before her face, and she threw her hands out in front, wanting to protect herself as much as possible.
One would’ve hoped the godlike gentleman behind her would’ve reached out and plucked her from her impending doom. He did not. Instead, she landed with a splash, her gown instantly filled with chilling, cold water. She gasped, kneeling, checking her hands that stung like the devil.
“Willow,” he shouted from behind.
Had it not occurred, Willow would never have believed it, but one moment she was kneeling in water, soaked through and decidedly embarrassed, and then next she was scooped up into the most muscular, warm arms she’d ever beheld. Her body sat nestled against his firm chest. Instantly her body sought his warmth, and she snuggled against him, taking the opportunity to revel in his hold while she could. It was unlikely that she would be in his arms again unless she started to feign falls all over the estate whenever he was about.
“Thank you,” she said, surprised to hear her voice tremble a little. A shiver stole down her spine as he helped her to stand, rubbing her back vigorously to try to warm her.
“We should return to the house before you catch your death.”
She nodded. He had the sweetest lips, or most sinful, she could not decide. What she did know was that he made her ache and shiver and long for things she knew nothing about. Something that she’d seen on occasion flicker within her friend’s marriages. Willow had hoped for the same with her future husband, but alas, it would not be Lord Ryley. One had to protect oneself sometimes, and something about his lordship told Willow that to fall for the man before her would only end in heartbreak.
How many women had fallen at his knees, begging for another glance? How many had lain in his bed?
Too many to count.
His hands slowed on her back and she looked up to see his attention fully absorbed on her lips. Heat pooled in her core and her breath caught. Was he going to kiss her? “You have a mistress, my lord.”
He stumbled back a step, his brow raised. “I beg your pardon.”
She stepped back against him, clasping the lapels of his riding jacket. “Do you care for her? Enough that it will stop me from doing something that I’ve wanted to do for some time now.”
He chuckled, but the slight tremor of nervousness could not be concealed. He was unsure. The thought was heady indeed. “No, but that does not mean I give you leave to do whatever it is that’s circulating in that pretty head of yours.”
His calling her pretty made her want to preen. She thought he was pretty too. Dangerous, but pretty. Willow took a determined breath, closed the space between them, and kissed him.
The word soft reverberated in her mind. Perfect, silky lips met hers, and her stomach roiled with longing. Never before had she ever kissed a man, and not just any man, but the Spanish Scoundrel. Unsure of what to do next, she pulled back, leaning on her tiptoes to kiss him again.
Still, he didn’t move, simply stood there like a frozen statue one found in a museum. Willow chanced a look at him. His eyes burned with need, and she trembled. Would he kiss her back if she tried again? Something told her he would, but her nerve left her, and she stepped back.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he said, wrenching her against him, taking her mouth in a devastating kiss. A kiss that left her reeling and grappling for purpose. She gasped as his tongue slid against hers. “Oh,” she murmured, having never felt anything so decadent in her life. His mouth worked hers, kissing her deep and pulling her tongue into a dance of desire.
He was as scandalous as he was rumored to be. He hauled her closer, his manhood pushing against her midriff, undulating and leaving heat to pool at her core. Fire blossomed over her skin, hot and prickly, and yet she could not stop. Could not get enough of him as he kissed her back, devoured her mouth as if she were the only thing keeping him alive.
His hands skimmed her back, lower still to cup her bottom, pulling her into his person.
Willow moaned as he dipped a bit, placing his manhood at the apex of her gown, pushing against a spot that no one other than herself had touched before. For all the times she had explored her own body, never had she been able to make herself feel the need that coursed through her now, making her mad with a longing that demanded satisfaction.
“Sweet. So damn sweet,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her cheek, her neck and beyond. Trailing his tongue against the ridge of her breast. With nimble fingers, he flicked open her spencer, exposing her further to his touch.
Willow leaned her head back, more than willing to have him ravish her. If ravishment felt as good as she did right at this moment, she should’ve married a long time ago.
She ran her fingers through his hair, relishing the feel of his thick, black locks. Without thought, she undulated against him, spiking pleasure to her core. She moaned, the sound foreign and breathy. Suggestive.
His hand cupped her breast, squeezing it before he pulled her gown and bodice down, exposing her nipple. He ran his tongue over his lip, and she shivered, wanting his tongue on her. Her breathing ragged, she watched as he dipped his head, first kissing her breast before taking her nipple into his mouth.
“Oh, Lord Ryley,” she gasped, holding him against her. Madness overcoming her. She should stop him. They should stop this right now, and yet she could not. Could only clutch at him and hope he’d never stop.
“Abe, call me Abe,” he said, the breath of his words warm on her exposed skin.
“Abe,” she breathed, giving herself over to him. Completely.
Chapter 7
This was wrong. He was playing with fire, and he had no business doing what he was right at this moment with the delicious Mis
s Perry. Her nipple puckered in his mouth, and he gave it a teasing bite. She clutched at him, his to do what he wanted.
Here’s your chance. Take her. Ruin her in this way and be done with it all. His name on her lips stopped him from picking her up, laying her on the bed of grass beside the small stream. That and the fact that the thumping of horse’s hooves pounded against his conscience and the nearby turf.
He wrenched back, yanking up her gown and covering her breast. Her eyes wide and startled watched him, like a little bird that was certain it was about to be a cat’s dinner. And Abe would’ve eaten her. Every last ounce of her skin he would’ve tasted, licked, savored.
She glanced toward the sound of Ava’s return, more certain now, and quickly amended her hair, checking her riding attire. It was soaked through, dripping water at the hem, and yet, Abe was thankful for it. The disheveled appearance would give her cover for what had really tousled her person.
Him.
Ava came over the ridge, slowing her horse as she trotted toward them. “Here you are. I thought that you may have returned to the house.” She was puffing from her ride, a light blush over her cheeks that matched the one of Miss Perry’s. Abe reached out, offering his hand to the woman who left him entirely out of step.
“I fell over in the stream,” Willow said to her friend, shrugging a little.
Ava chuckled, smiling at them, and thankfully not sensing anything untoward had occurred. “I’ll have a bath readied for you on our return.”
Abe inwardly groaned at the visual of Miss Perry naked in a bath, water cascading over her sweet breasts and cunny. “Let me help you mount, Miss Perry.” She threw him a startled glance at his impatient request that was born out of frustration more than anything else.
She stepped out of the stream, and he cringed. He’d not even moved them from the water before he took advantage of her. Or had she taken advantage of him? She’d indeed kissed him first, had taken the opportunity while they were alone.
Not that he was complaining. He would kiss most women who offered themselves to him. He wasn’t called the Spanish Scoundrel for nothing. He walked her to her horse, holding out his hand to hoist her atop the saddle.
She clutched the saddle and his shoulder and climbed on. The action gave him the most delightful glimpse of her derriere, and he took a calming breath, closing his eyes a moment to gather his spinning wits. The world wasn’t the same, not after a kiss like that. His steps, more like strides toward his horse, didn’t ease the need, the conflicting emotions that she wrought inside of him.
He hated her and her family.
Didn’t he?
He was going to bring her down. Ruin her financially and now after that kiss, perhaps bodily as well.
Wasn’t he?
Damn it. Abe hoisted himself upon his horse, waiting for the duchess and Miss Perry to precede him. They moved on, and he followed, not wanting to be part of their conversation. He was content to stay back, listen, and learn, plot his next step.
What that would be was anyone’s guess. What he did know, however, was that one kiss would not divert him. After years of living without his mother, of having servants, stewards, and school headmasters raising him to be Marquess Ryley, he would not allow one kiss to throw him off. Make him question his morals.
He would need to start thinking with his mind more. Not his cock. Which right at this moment, was being led by a woman who had no business doing so.
Willow sat in the upstairs drawing room, waiting for Lord Ryley. He had summoned her here this afternoon to go over possible financial investments that she could invest in to grow her inheritance.
The idea of seeing him again left her all fidgety and not herself. There was something about him that made her want things no woman of good birth should. Not that she could attest to being born high on the social ladder, but she had been brought up with manners and just as groomed as a duke’s daughter.
After their kiss yesterday, her mind had been reliving, relishing the memory of his touch. How he’d forcefully pulled down her bodice so his warm, wet lips could suckle her breast.
Heat pooled at her core, and she crossed her legs, wanting to soothe the ache he filled there. With a disgruntled huff, she stood, striding to the window. Whatever would she do? He was not a man looking for a wife. She should be pursuing Lord Herbert, who had arrived for dinner last evening and was now a neighbor to the duke and duchess here in Hampton. He seemed quite fond of her, very accommodating and handsome.
Not as handsome as Lord Ryley, but very few were.
Lord Ryley was dark, sinful, and with a face made for debauchery. She closed her eyes, her skin prickling in awareness.
The door opened, and she jumped, turning to see who had entered. Anticipation ran through her blood, and she crossed her arms, swallowing her nervousness.
Lord Ryley came into the room and, spying her, shut the door and bowed. “Miss Perry. Shall we?” He gestured toward the desk that sat at the end of the room.
“Of course,” she said, joining him. The desk had numerous books and papers, most comprising horse sketches and books on horse breeding and training manuals. This desk was most definitely Ava’s little domain, or at least she had taken claim of the space.
His lordship sat and folded his hands before him, his gaze somewhere over her shoulder.
Willow frowned. Was he not going to look her directly in the eye? She watched him, her temper rising a little at his indifference to her. She would see about that!
He opened a folder that sat before him, lifting out a piece of parchment and placing it before her. “Here are some of the options I thought may be open to your deliberation. Some are based on mining here in England and Cornwall, coal mines to be precise. The second option is investing in cargo ships that travel to and from the West Indies or Jamaica. They deal in oil, salted skins, fur, sugar, that sort of cargo. You could of course invest in both if it pleased you.”
Willow read over the neat script, the details of the mines, and the ships that would sail from London to Jamaica and beyond. She glanced at him, narrowing her eyes when again he watched something over her shoulder. Willow moved to the side, dipping her head to catch his gaze.
He relented, and triumph drummed through her when at last, she made him look at her, except her award was short-lived. His gaze was heavy, dangerous, and consumed her, making her mind blank regarding everything they were discussing.
How could he strip her bare, with only a look? Make her skin hot and clammy. Her female brain lose all concentration. “What do you suggest I choose?” she asked, not caring which one she invested in so long as he kept looking at her as he now was.
“The coal mine in Cornwall would be a good investment. I have money going into it as well.”
She glanced back down at the report, her mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening between them. Willow bit her lip. Was this how rakes looked at women they wanted to bed? Was how Lord Ryley was looking at her how he looked at his lovers?
“You never answered my question yesterday,” she blurted. The moment the words left her lips, she wanted to rip them back. But also, another part of her wanted to know the answer to her question. Before, he’d deliciously distracted her with his mouth.
He leaned back in his chair. Even from where she sat, she could see he debated telling her the truth. His gaze slid over her, and her skin prickled in awareness. Her breasts felt heavy and large, as if they were longing for his touch, his mouth once again.
Willow took a calming breath, clutching her hands in her lap to stop them from fiddling with anything.
“I have a mistress who lives with me. Are you glad to hear the truth?”
Willow wasn’t glad at all to hear such things. He lived with his lover? Her mind screamed to get away from the man before her. While her body longed for his touch, to make him want her as much as she wanted him.
His jaw clenched before he swore, standing and coming around the desk. He wrenched her out of her chai
r and kissed her. Hard. Willow fought to keep her footing, to keep upright at the onslaught of his mouth.
She fell into the kiss, having missed his touch the moment he stepped away from her the day before. This is what she wanted. She wanted to live, to love and learn the ways of the woman, and she wanted to do all of that in this man’s arms. If she were going to marry, what better way to learn the art of being a wife than in the arms of a rake?
At least by being tutored by such a proficient lover her husband would never stray. Would love and cherish her and no one else for the rest of their days.
His tongue fought with hers, and she threw herself into the embrace. The kiss was madness, a melding of mouths that was untutored and hard. The thought that he kissed his mistress like this doused her desire, and she pushed him away, moving out of his reach.
“You have a mistress and you’re kissing me. What they say about you really is true, isn’t it?”
He threw her a wolfish grin. Heat pooled between her legs, and she cursed him his good, undeniable looks. “Of course. I’ll never be tamed, my dear. Not by anyone.”
Willow reached around him, scooping up the papers and holding them against her chest. “I will look over these suggestions and get back to you.”
He bowed, stepping aside to let her pass. “Of course. Let me know when you’re ready to invest.”
His deep, wicked chuckle followed her out the door.
The following evening Ava had decided on an impromptu night of dancing. They were all gathered in the sizable ballroom, musicians having traveled up from London to play for them all. The duke had invited some friends from London. With their new estate so close to town, it was an easy distance to travel.
Willow stood to the side of the room, no sign of Lord Ryley, which suited her just fine. He was maddening if ever there were a man who was so. She spotted Ava talking to the tall and handsome Lord Herbert, her friend casting her amused glances every so often.
What was she up to? Lord Herbert glanced at her, and Willow studied him a moment. He was tall, blond, and the opposite of how Lord Ryley appeared. If Lord Ryley was dark and sinful, this gentleman looked light and pure. He had an air of innocence, much more suited to the future she’d planned to have.
