What the Hart Wants (Headstrong Harts Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  Her blood warmed at his gentle words of praise, intensifying the need which almost burned.

  “Shall I kiss you?” he whispered. “I warn ye, my kisses won’t be gentle.”

  She tipped her face up, offering her lips, and he claimed her mouth. Hot, hungry lips devoured her. She circled her tongue around his, and he growled in approval. Then he broke the kiss, and the brief shock of disappointment was met by a surge of need as he placed open-mouthed kisses across her chin, following a line along her throat. He continued to caress her thigh, moving toward the heat at her center, then his fingertips met the sensitive flesh where her thighs met, and her body shuddered.

  “Do you want me?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “No, lass,” he said, his voice rough. “I must hear it. Say ye want pleasure at my hands.”

  “Yes,” she panted. “I want you to…to give me pleasure.”

  A deep groan rattled in his chest, and his mouth crashed over hers. His hand, which had been teasing her flesh, now caressed her, moving back and forth across her folds until a surge of need swelled from within.

  He plunged his finger inside her, and a myriad of color burst in her mind as intense, pure pleasure tore through her. He silenced her cries with his mouth, claiming her with his tongue, mirroring the gesture of his expert fingers, which thrust in and out, intensifying the pleasure. He took her in his arms and held her while the wave receded, uttering gentle words of praise until she fell into a delicious languor, relishing the joy of yielding herself to another.

  *

  Fraser ought to feel guilty, but need had shone in Miss Hart’s eyes the moment he’d touched her. Beneath the veneer of the bluestocking lay a sensual creature with passions not unlike his, needing to be sated.

  And she’d been so responsive to his touch! Imagine what it would be like to be truly inside her!

  She moved against him, and his manhood, which had hardened the moment he’d touched her damp curls, surged against his breeches. The need to bury himself inside her screamed at his every nerve, but he had no right to ruin her. She was worth more than a sordid fuck in a Mayfair garden.

  She stirred and opened her eyes. Dark with desire, they glittered in the moonlight, and she smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are we indulging in idle pleasantries so soon?” he teased.

  She reached up and placed a hand against his cheek. He closed his hand over it, rubbing his fingertips along her skin. She looked like a goddess in his arms, face flushed, lips swollen from his kisses.

  “That was…” she shook her head as if struggling to express herself “…wonderful.”

  “No man can pleasure you like a Highlander,” he said. “Our ancestors were lusty, virile, and passionate.”

  She blinked, and a bead of moisture formed on her lashes.

  “Oh,” she whispered, “I…”

  “Don’t speak,” he said. “These things are best left unsaid. As much as I enjoy the thrill of a coupling outside, I have no wish to scandalize you.”

  “Then you should have thought of that before,” a voice said.

  He looked toward the direction of the voice. Their hostess stood before them, arms folded, as if in challenge.

  “What the devil have you been doing to my sister!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Thea!” Miss Hart cried. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough.”

  Fraser scrambled to his feet. “Miss Dorothea,” he said, “I can explain.”

  “There’s no need,” she snapped. “I can see what you were doing.”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong,” Lilah said.

  “I beg to differ, Delilah,” came the reply. “Count yourself fortunate nobody other than I saw or heard what you were doing. You sounded like a rutting sow.”

  “I say,” Fraser said, “there’s no need…”

  “There’s every need!” she cried. “Delilah’s not one of your harlots to debauch on a whim. I cannot understand why my brother invited you tonight. If it were up to me…”

  “But it wasn’t up to you, was it, Thea?” Lilah said. She stood and folded her arms, ready for battle. Though Dorothea towered over her younger sister, Delilah snapped with all the tenacity of a terrier. Her spirit warmed Fraser’s blood, and he found himself hardening again.

  “I’m a free woman, Thea,” she continued, “I should be permitted to make my own choices and take responsibility for the consequences.”

  “If Dexter caught you, he’d have whipped you raw with his own hands,” Dorothea warned. “And as for you,” she jabbed Fraser in the chest, “he’d have you shot like a dog.”

  “Thea, please,” Lilah said. “Don’t tell Dexter, I beg you!”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because I’m your sister, and you love me and want me to be happy. Haven’t we always said we must stick together, that happiness ranks above all?”

  “But Dexter wants…”

  “What about what I want, Thea?” she pleaded. “Didn’t you complain to me only yesterday that our happiness was overshadowed by Dex’s ambition? The role of the society debutante sits ill on my shoulders, just as much as the state of permanent spinsterhood sits on yours.”

  Dorothea drew in a sharp breath, and for a moment, she looked like she might explode with rage. Then she blinked and lowered her head.

  “Tidy yourself up, Lilah, before Dex sees you.” Then, she resumed her attention on Fraser, and the cold anger returned to her expression.

  “Be thankful my sister pleads your case, Your Grace. You have five minutes to return to the house, after which I’ll return with my brother’s pistol.”

  Before he could reply, she turned her back and retreated into the house.

  Lilah let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be,” he replied. “Your sister is looking out for you. Love can turn even the meekest woman into a lioness. But in one aspect, she’s right. I thought little of your reputation, in my desire to give you pleasure.”

  She blushed and smoothed her hair. “I’d be uttering a falsehood if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Why are women vilified by society for enjoying such—pleasures—yet a man is applauded, even expected to debauch himself.”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re expected, Miss Hart.”

  “No?” Her voice took on an edge of fire. “What about your activities since you came to London? The infamous Emma Whitford would, I’m sure, testify to the degree to which you enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.”

  A stab of shame needled at him, followed by a wicked sense of triumph. So—Miss Hart was jealous of the attention he’d given another. Little did she know that from the day he’d met Miss Hart and almost taken her against the wall in the crumbling remains of Clayton House, he had lost his appetite for any other woman.

  “If you must know the truth, Miss Hart, I’ve not encountered Miss Whitford’s company since the day you and I met, nor am I likely to again.”

  The look of relief in her eyes lasted for a moment before she changed her expression into indifference. “I care not,” she said. “I’ve no intention of giving my heart or body to anyone. Tonight was an experiment. I wanted to understand the pleasure which you seem to think is the key to my literary prowess.”

  “And was the experiment satisfactory?” he asked. “Did I perform as expected?”

  A smile curled along her mouth, and she looked away. “My appraisal of your skills has been favorable so far.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Of course, in order to test a hypothesis appropriately, one must take a sufficient sample size.”

  He reached out and touched her neckline, and she drew in a sharp breath. He could almost imagine those needy little peaks beading against the material of her gown. He only had to lower her bodice, and they would be his, ripe and ready for him to taste.

  “The discerning diner must sample the meal at least five times,” he said. “Anyth
ing less, and he’d fail to reach a credible conclusion as to whether it’s the finest thing he’s ever tasted.”

  “Five times?” her voice came out in a squeak.

  “Aye, lass,” he breathed. “At least five times.”

  “I applaud the thoroughness of your research.”

  “And would you consider adopting a similar degree of diligence?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He traced a line across the front of her gown until he reached the valley between her breasts. Their gazes locked, and he hooked his finger round the material and pulled her toward him. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, suppressing the need to tear her dress off. Then he withdrew his hand, and a low whimper escaped her lips.

  Were he to throw her to the ground and rut her, she’d be willing and ready. But his little terrier deserved to be worshipped like a queen.

  Or a duchess.

  “Miss Hart,” he said, his voice tight, “I must return you before your sister comes out and shoots me.”

  Disappointment glowered in her expression, but she nodded.

  “Perhaps, if it’s not too forward of me to suggest it,” he said, “you may wish to continue your research? Without pleasure, you’re in danger of becoming staid and dull.”

  She bristled at his words. “And you, sir, are too frivolous. Your objective in the world is to make money and seek physical gratification. You should care more about the world in which we live.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Shall we make a deal? How about I promise to do more to further the cause of good in the world if you promise to indulge in the pleasures it has to offer. There’s much we can teach each other.”

  “And how might we achieve that?” she asked.

  “Come to Scotland with me,” he said. “Come and see what the beauty of the Highlands has to offer.”

  A smile crept across her face, and she nodded. “I’ll agree, but on two conditions.”

  “Which are?”

  “The first is you must persuade Dexter to permit it, without sustaining a bullet to the chest.”

  “Fair enough,” he laughed. “And the second?”

  “You must volunteer your services for my charitable activities. Mrs. Forbes is always in need of resources.”

  “I’ll make a donation if that’s what you mean.”

  “Oh no,” she said, a wicked glint in her eyes. “You must attend the shelter and provide your services.”

  “That seems easy.”

  She shook her head. “Mrs. Forbes has very strict rules about men. No man is allowed abovestairs. You’d be confined to the scullery, though if she’s feeling generous, you might be permitted in the coal cellar. I daresay a day of being under the direct order of a woman, confined to the servant’s quarters, will either prove your mettle or break you.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Consider your challenge accepted. In fact, if you are free, shall we call on Mrs. Forbes tomorrow?”

  She hesitated as if she’d expected him to decline.

  Teaching his little terrier about pleasure?

  This was going to be fun.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Lilah entered the breakfast room the next morning, Dexter was already there. His dark gaze followed her as she approached the buffet. The hour was late for Dexter, who was usually at his business premises by now.

  She spooned scrambled eggs onto her plate, then sat at the table.

  “Brother, do you have a particular reason for being here at this hour?” she asked.

  “I wish to speak to you regarding Molineux.”

  Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

  “Why?”

  “I think you know,” he said. “Why else do you bear the expression of a child with its fingers caught in the sweetmeats?”

  Her heart sank. Had someone heard her last night? Or had Thea betrayed her?

  She pushed her plate aside. The fork clattered onto the table, splattering eggs onto the tablecloth. A footman rushed forward and removed the offending items.

  Dexter frowned. “You do believe in making life hard for the servants, don’t you? Mrs. Harris will now have to waste her time removing that stain when she has better things to do with her day.”

  “I can clean it myself,” Lilah said.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “No, Dex, the point is that Thea’s been spying on me.”

  “What on earth has your sister got to do with this?” Dexter asked.

  So, Thea hadn’t ratted her out. Then, who?

  “Who’ve you been speaking to?” she asked.

  “The man himself,” Dexter said. “He came to ask my permission for you to visit his estate in Scotland. He said you’d already agreed to go.”

  “Did someone mention Scotland?” a voice asked. Thea entered the room, helped herself to eggs, and sat at the end of the table opposite Dexter.

  “Molineux has invited our sister to Scotland next month,” Dexter said.

  Thea froze. “Oh, has he? I trust you refused.”

  “Thea, why don’t you keep your pointy little nose out of my affairs,” Lilah said.

  “Delilah Hart, there’s no call for such incivility,” Dexter growled. “We have a difficult enough time being accepted in society without you and your wild tongue.”

  “We know nothing about him,” Thea said. “He has the look of a debaucher. Dexter, you must refuse.”

  “I’ve already given my permission,” Dexter said. “He’s not one to accept denial easily. I agreed, provided he observed propriety. Sarah will, of course, attend you on the journey, Delilah, and Molineux’s promised that his mother will act as chaperone during your visit.”

  “I don’t need a maid,” Lilah said. “I can look after myself.”

  “Either you take Sarah, or I’ll hire the most cantankerous dowager I can find to accompany you from the moment you leave the house until you return,” Dexter said. “I’ve already told Molineux I’ll cut his balls off with a butter knife if he compromises you, but don’t think I won’t punish you either.”

  “And what did he say?” Lilah asked.

  The corner of Dexter’s mouth twitched into a smile before the stern expression returned. “He promised that if he returned you with a hair out of place, he’d offer his…” he hesitated, “…his full complement of manly parts on a silver platter for me to hang in the garden for the titmice to peck at.”

  Lilah spluttered her tea, contorting her face with the effort not to laugh.

  “In return for granting my permission, you must do me a favor,” Dexter said.

  “Which is what?”

  “I want you to visit his distillery,” he said. “I’d like to know if it exists and whether it’s as productive as he’s told me.”

  “You’re interested in whisky?”

  “Perhaps,” Dexter said. “He’s looking to consolidate his loans, and I’d like to know if he’d make a sound investment.”

  “You want me to snoop?” She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Delilah, I’m placing a lot of trust in you by giving my permission for this trip,” he said. “I’m asking very little in return.”

  “Very well, I’ll tell you what I see,” she said, “but I won’t be dishonest about it. If he asks me why, I’ll tell him.”

  “It’s not dishonesty,” he said. “It’s due diligence. And it may be a means by which I can help him.”

  “Help yourself, you mean,” Lilah said. “I’ve never known you to indulge in acts of philanthropy.”

  “I still don’t trust the man,” Thea said. “Why should he issue an invitation to you, Delilah?”

  “Is my company so abhorrent that I ought never to be issued an invitation?” Lilah asked.

  “Of course not,” Thea replied. “I only asked if he had a particular reason.”

  Lilah blushed. “When I accused him of being too frivolous, he said I should enjoy life more. He’s agreed to help me with Mrs. Forbes at her establishme
nt, and in return, I agreed to visit Scotland.”

  “He’s trying to ingratiate himself,” Thea said.

  “I don’t think so,” Lilah replied. “I believe he’s genuine. He’s attending Mrs. Forbes today.”

  Thea let out a laugh. “He won’t be there, Delilah,” she said. “You’ve been played for a fool.”

  Lilah stood and pushed her chair back. “We shall see.”

  “Stay where you are, Delilah.”

  Lilah stopped at Dexter’s voice, which resonated with the tone he used when about to admonish or dismiss a servant.

  “What is it, Dex?”

  “There’s another condition of your going.”

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You want me to have as dull a time as possible?”

  He sighed, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of tenderness in his eyes before the usual stern expression returned.

  “No,” he said. “I want you to take care. Though he seems an honorable man, he is a Molineux. And I, for one, will never forget what his predecessor did when you were a child. Make sure you are chaperoned at all times.”

  “Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “This is about propriety again, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Dexter said. “It’s about the concern of a loving brother.”

  Perhaps Dexter was in possession of a heart, after all.

  *

  “Might I have a word, Your Grace?”

  Fraser looked up from the pile of silverware he was polishing with Miss Hart, to the woman standing at the kitchen door, the owner of the establishment Miss Hart had brought him to. She wore a plain dark blue gown and an apron covered in stains. Her iron-gray hair was tucked into a cap. Dark brown eyes watched him, suspicion in their expression.

  “Mrs. Forbes,” Miss Hart said, “I’ve already vouched for…”

  “Delilah,” the woman interrupted, “I must hear it from his own lips and make up my own mind. I’ve learned, to my cost, the folly of taking something on trust. Perhaps you could tend to Rose’s children while I have a word with him?”

  “But…”

  “Mrs. Forbes is quite right, Miss Hart,” Fraser said. “She wishes to trust me for herself and ensure that I have not duped you. And I would not have it any other way.”