by Burke, Darcy
She slitted her eyes as she looked up at him. “Not even if I really, really want to?”
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back for a second before looking back at her, his gaze bright with heat. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yes, please. Tell me what to do.”
* * *
This was madness.
Anthony should walk away. No, he should run. He did neither.
“You don’t have to do this,” he croaked.
“I know. But I want to.” She stood from the bed, her chemise still pulled down to reveal her breasts, their nipples hard and the color of dark, dusky pink roses. He ached to take one in his mouth. He was a beast, as depraved and selfish as he knew himself to be.
Still he didn’t move, not even when she put her hand on his chest.
Her lips curled into a seductive smile. “If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be here with you doing…this, I would have laughed. Just before I told them they were insane. And yet, now there is nowhere else I’d rather be, and I honestly can’t understand why I never considered you in this way.” She trailed her finger up until she met his bare flesh above the open neck of his shirt.
Her touch singed him, burning desire into every part of him. He struggled to speak, but he feared if he didn’t, he would entirely lose his grasp on reality. “In what way is that?”
“To be honest, I don’t think I’ve considered any man in this way. It’s hard to do that when you don’t know what goes on once you’re wed.”
“Your mother told you nothing?” He found that almost criminal. Cruel, to be sure, since some young women seemed terrified. He’d frightened more than one by merely asking them to dance.
She shook her head. “She said my husband would explain everything, and that it was better that way.” She traced her fingertip up to the hollow of his throat, her gaze following her movement. “I have to admit, I appreciated your explanation. And your demonstration.” She lifted her eyes to his, and her lids lowered slightly, making her look seductive and…confident. Wasn’t she supposed to be a virginal miss?
He’d clearly underestimated her. Perhaps allowing her to help him wouldn’t send him straight to hell. Oh, what did it matter when he was headed there anyway?
Anthony lifted his hand and captured hers, stilling her finger against his flesh. “You’re sure you want another demonstration?”
“Yes, please.” She looked at him with such eagerness, such…hunger that it took his breath away.
“You have more courage than any woman I’ve met.”
“Are you sure it isn’t brazenness?” She laughed softly, her eyes twinkling in the early evening light filtering between the curtains. He realized it had grown darker in the room since they’d come from the dressing chamber. He was tempted to light a candle, but decided it might be better to leave them in twilight.
“You are a minx.” He kissed her, using his teeth to gently tug on her lower lip.
She gasped softly, and he reached down to cup her backside, pulling her flush against him. After a thorough kiss that made his already aching cock throb with want, he raised his head. “Feel that?” He pressed her more tightly against his erection.
“How could I not?”
He let out a laugh. She was delightful, and he didn’t deserve any of this. He looked into her tawny eyes and tried to be serious. “Do you want to touch it?”
“I think I must.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s not the same as wanting to.”
“Of course I want to.” She backed away slightly and brought her hands to his waistband, then immediately began unbuttoning his fall.
If he had any doubts as to her intent—or desire—she disabused him of every single one. He still doubted the intelligence and decency of allowing her to do this, but then she touched him, and he had no thoughts of any kind. Just blissful sensation and desperate longing.
He closed his eyes and cast his head back, whispering, “Jesus.”
“This is good?” she asked.
“If you didn’t do anything else, this would be lovely.”
“Well, you’re easy.”
He opened his eyes as she drew another laugh from him. “And you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. This isn’t supposed to be amusing.”
“Isn’t it? I suppose not. I didn’t feel at all like laughing when you were touching me, but why not. Laughter feels good, and every single thing you did to me felt better than good.” She sighed. “It was wonderful.”
It took every ounce of self-control Anthony possessed not to toss her on the bed, lift her chemise, and sink himself deep into her wet heat. He closed his eyes again, thinking that might help preserve what was left of his sanity. “Jane. I think it’s time you took it out.”
“Oh, this?” She guided his cock from his breeches. “Should I take off your clothing?”
“Not necessary.” He sounded like he was being strangled, but that made sense because he could barely draw breath through his lust.
“Actually, I disagree. Your shirt is quite in the way.” She hadn’t finished speaking before he’d pulled the garment over his head and tossed it away.
“Better?”
“Oh yes.” She touched his chest with her other hand, splaying her palm over the center as her fingers pressed into his flesh. “Anthony, you’re magnificent. So hard and contoured… I had no idea how beautiful a man could be.”
Christ, he was going to spill himself. He opened his eyes and saw the admiration in her gaze and nearly did just that. “Jane, I need you to move your hand.” Hell, he was supposed to be showing her. It was far easier to instruct her with regard to herself, he realized.
She caressed his chest, her fingertip grazing his nipple. He sucked in a sharp breath and felt his cock jump against her palm. “Not that hand,” he groaned. “The other one.”
“Oh! Of course,” she murmured.
He put his hand over hers and demonstrated. “Like this,” he hissed, sliding her palm over his shaft from tip to root and back again. “And just like we did with you, you’ll move faster and faster.”
“I see speed is important. That felt incredible when you did it to me. I’ll endeavor to do my best.”
“Jane, it’s taking effort not to spill my seed at this very moment, so I don’t think you’ll have to try too hard.”
“Is that right? You are easy.” She looked up at him with a saucy smirk. “But I think you’re lying. I think you’d much prefer if I took as long as possible, to draw out your pleasure. Isn’t that what you did with me?”
The entire time she spoke, she worked his cock with a novice expertise that likely would have scandalized anyone else. But he was a scoundrel and the worst sort of man, so he only wanted more. “Faster,” he breathed. “And tighter.” He clasped her hand more securely around him.
She followed his lead, and he let his hand fall away. Closing his eyes again, he let his head fall back as he surrendered to her. He clasped her waist and moved with her, his hips thrusting. She brought her other hand down his chest and to the side, to caress his hip. Her palm brushed his backside and then came forward over his hip, gliding atop his thigh. Then she cupped his balls.
How in the fuck did she—
Anthony groaned. “Jane. Don’t.”
She pulled her hand away but kept up the pressure on his cock.
“No, I didn’t mean.” He couldn’t speak coherently. “Don’t stop. Do that. Again.”
Her hand came back to his balls.
“Just squeeze. Lightly.”
She did as he asked, and it was the end of him. He cried out as a vicious orgasm ripped through him. Mindless, he held her tight as he spent himself into her incredible hand.
“Jane.” He said her name over and over again, diminishing in volume as his body quieted.
“Well, that was messy.”
He opened his eyes, his heart racing at an impossible speed. He sucked in air. “I’m sorry. I should have told
you that was coming.” He really was the worst.
“It’s not a problem,” she said calmly. “I was merely making an observation.”
He looked down and saw that the front of her chemise was quite wet. “Hell. I am sorry.”
She brought her hand up—not the one covered in his seed—and curled it around his neck. “Anthony, don’t be. I asked for this, and I don’t regret a single thing, least of all a soiled chemise. Though perhaps I’ll launder this myself.” She winked at him, and he could only stare at her.
What had he done to deserve this charming, intelligent, caring young woman? How he’d ever managed to find his way to her doorstep at his darkest hour would remain a mystery—and one he wasn’t sure he would ever solve. It didn’t matter. He would be forever grateful, for this had been the best week of his life, battered and beaten though he’d been.
Something soft nudged his calf. He looked down to see Daffodil. She mewed up at him.
Jane smiled. “I think she’s trying to say she’s hungry. I am too, actually. Which means I need to get ready for dinner. I’ll meet you downstairs shortly?”
She turned from him and went to fetch her corset, petticoat, and dress before sliding her feet into her slippers.
He tucked himself back into his breeches and buttoned the fall. “You’re just going to go to your room like that?”
“I don’t particularly want to wear the chemise in its current state,” she said.
“What if someone sees you?”
“Everyone’s busy preparing for dinner. Meg might be in my chamber.” She shrugged. “I’ll tell her I had a problem with my corset and then covertly change my chemise. She cocked her head. “Are you worried about my reputation with my servants?”
“Maybe. I don’t want to contribute to your ruin.”
She reached up and caressed his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “You haven’t. You’ve given me something I will remember—and treasure—forever. I’ll see you at dinner, and we can discuss whether you’ll accept my original proposal.”
Then she was gone.
And he was well and truly fucked.
He couldn’t take her virginity. He was already the most vile person for doing what he’d done with her. Yes, she’d been a willing participant, but she wasn’t a courtesan or a prostitute. She was a lady, and he’d taken advantage of her curiosity. But then he was as selfish and callous as a person could be.
Except she’d told him that she had no plans to wed and didn’t expect to experience sex at all. While she might believe that right now, he wasn’t sure it was true. Marriage clearly meant something to her, or that bloody rumor wouldn’t have bothered her so much.
She likely wanted to fall in love and have a family, even if she didn’t want to admit it. And why would she if she was convinced it would never come to pass? Was there anything more painful than loss—whether it was a dream or…something else?
Anthony wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her chance for a future, because despite that rumor and her recent spinsterhood, he believed she could still find happiness. There was a gentleman out there who would see past Society’s rules and appreciate her for the wonderful woman she was—a gentleman who would honor and love her, and, most importantly, deserve her.
That man wasn’t him.
But maybe he could help her. He nearly laughed. How could he expect to do that when he couldn’t even help himself?
One thing was certain—he had to go home tomorrow. Early. Before she could try to persuade him to stay. Which meant he just had to get through dinner. And then plead a headache lest she try to seduce him with talk of her proposition again.
He wouldn’t surrender a second time. Once had been enough. No, once had been too much, because now her touch, her laugh, her sweet passion would haunt him until his dying day.
Chapter 7
Anthony alighted from the hack and carried his portmanteau up the steps to his house on Grosvenor Street. His butler, Purcell, opened the door, his stoic expression betraying only the slightest surprise. “Good morning, my lord.” His tone was even and pleasant, as if Anthony hadn’t disappeared for a week.
“Good morning, Purcell.” He walked into the hall and briefly felt a rush of familiarity, of home. Until the arrival of the also familiar sense of guilt and despair that always chased those sensations away.
“I’ll take that,” the butler offered, reaching for the portmanteau. If he noticed the bruising that was still visible around Anthony’s eye, he didn’t say so. But then he was as stoic and adept as a butler could be, which was why Anthony found him comforting. From his dark hair speckled with gray to his calming dark eyes to his rigid frame, he presented a portrait of equanimity. He’d never bowed to grief after Anthony’s parents had died. He’d carried on—almost—as if nothing had happened.
“Did I hear his lordship?” The sound of Anthony’s valet’s deep voice slid into the hall just before he appeared. Tabor was tall and thin, with a mop of blond hair that he could barely tame and round blue eyes that nearly always saw right through Anthony. His personality was completely at odds with that of the butler, and yet Anthony found him comforting too.
“Good morning, Tabor,” Anthony said.
Tabor’s eyes widened as soon as he fixed his gaze on Anthony. “Good heavens, what happened to your eye? Another fight?”
“With a goat, if you must know.”
“A goat?” Tabor squinted at him briefly, clearly skeptical of Anthony’s story. “How does one fight with a goat?”
“I was staying with a friend outside town. He has goats. Aggressive goats.” Anthony smiled inwardly as he recalled the delightful conversation he’d had with Jane about those nonexistent goats. But the warm sensation didn’t last. He’d left her that morning with only a note of gratitude. He’d had to go, but doing so hadn’t been easy. Especially after last night.
Their dinner together had been lovely, as full of laughter and flirtation as he’d come to expect when he was in her company. He’d nearly thrown caution out the window—again—and taken her to bed. He knew she wanted him to.
Instead, he’d pleaded a headache, kissed her forehead, and bade her good night. And she’d given him a warm smile and told him to sleep well, that she’d see him today.
Only she wouldn’t. He was an ass, but necessarily so. Someday, she’d thank him for leaving before she could become too entangled in the tragedy of his pathetic existence.
Tabor snorted. “I don’t buy that at all. Aggressive goats, you say?” He shook his head with a laugh. “You got into another fight.” He took the portmanteau from Purcell, who looked a bit uncomfortable to be witnessing the exchange.
“Purcell,” Anthony said. “Would you mind bringing coffee to my study? I presume I have correspondence to review.”
“Quite a bit, my lord.” Purcell inclined his head and left the hall.
“Coffee?” Tabor narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t heard you ask for that in—” He seemed to think better of saying when because that would clearly indicate it had been since his parents’ death.
“I have coffee on occasion.” Rarely.
“More often than not, it’s port or gin or something along those lines.” Tabor stepped close to him and sniffed. “Are you sober?”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “Yes. Don’t act as if it’s an anomaly.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
Anthony exhaled, knowing it was pointless to argue with the one person who perhaps knew him better than himself. “Yes. Fine. I find I like being…clearheaded.” He did, in fact. He didn’t wish to dull any of the time he spent with Jane.
Except there would be no more time with Jane.
A ripple of unease tripped through him.
“I must congratulate you, my lord. Despite the ruin to your eye, you look quite fit, if I may say so. It’s good to see.” He gazed at Anthony with such approval and warmth that Anthony felt slightly uncomfortable. Had he really been that much of a disaster?
Of co
urse you were. That was the point—destroying yourself. And the sooner you get back to it, the easier things will be.
Easier? Were they hard just now? No, and he would work to keep them that way. If he couldn’t see Jane anymore, at least her influence would persist.
“Your parents would be pleased,” Tabor said softly.
Anthony snapped his gaze to Tabor and clenched his jaw. The valet, who was just a few years older than Anthony, ducked his head. “My apologies, my lord.” Then he took himself off with alacrity.
Taking a deep breath, Anthony headed to his study. The stack of correspondence on his desk was rather large. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the distraction from his parents, from Jane, from all of it. He sat down to read just as Purcell brought his coffee and set it on the desk.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?” the butler asked.
“No, thank you,” Anthony said before sipping the steaming-hot beverage and turning his attention to the correspondence.
The first few missives were about various committee meetings at Westminster he should attend. Anthony set them aside to review again later. For the first time in ages, he looked forward to returning to the House of Lords.
The next handful were invitations. Though he wasn’t invited to as many events as in the past due to the decline of his reputation, he still received more than he cared to accept. But there was one from Marcus and Phoebe. They were hosting a dinner party later in the week at Brixton Park. Guests were welcome to stay the night after if they didn’t want to return to town.
Was he ready to see Marcus again? They’d argued at Marcus’s wedding breakfast, when he’d tried to convince Anthony to stop drinking so much. It seemed that was becoming a theme. Or a problem.
Hell, he knew it was a problem. He knew he drank too much and had since his parents had been murdered. Anguish swept through him, and he nearly went straight to the sideboard where he kept his spirits. Perhaps he should have Purcell remove it from the study entirely. Yes, he should do that.
Because he did like being clearheaded. Where Marcus had failed, Jane had succeeded in persuading Anthony to stop. But then Jane hadn’t so much persuaded him as insisted he follow her rules if he wanted to stay and recuperate at her house. He told himself it had been easier to stay with her than suffer the pain of coming home, but was that the truth?
