The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  The feel of his exhalations brushing against her neck made her want to lean back into him. Made her want to bask in the latent strength of his form. Mold his naked torso with her hands until the image was forever stamped upon her memory. She’d like to paint her husband the same way she painted women. Gloriously naked. Without shame. Without reason to hide.

  “You have a fine eye for detail,” he said over her shoulder. He stepped closer, the underside of his arm brushing the curve of her breast. “Show me your landscapes. Everything I uncover is more beautiful than the last.”

  Her breath caught, with the compliment to both her and her art, but she managed to stay focused on sharing a small part of herself with Richard.

  “Oh, my landscapes aren’t that wonderful.”

  Putting the stack to rights, she tossed the sheet back over the floral paintings. Walking over to an easel, she lifted the protective covering to reveal the pond she’d been sitting at, feeding bits of bread to the birds the first day her husband had paid any mind to her.

  She wanted to repaint this one. Add geese into the still water, swans in the midst stealing away the majority of food. Change the oak to a weeping willow, the edges of its branches full of soft green leaves brushing the water’s surface. She wanted to paint in lovers embracing on the water’s edge.

  She tore her gaze away from the painting. Her imagination was running wild.

  “You are a talented artist, Emma. Which is your favorite to paint? The flowers were by far the most vivid.”

  Her breath caught at his question. No, he wouldn’t, couldn’t know she painted nudes. “Portraits,” she stuttered out. “I enjoy portraits most. I haven’t painted many,” she lied easily. “Most are still in charcoal and lead.”

  Of course, there was a nude portrait beneath the landscape she’d just shown him. That wasn’t something she’d dare share with him. She should finish it and send it off to her buyer, before Richard could ever find it.

  She was being a ninny. It was hidden. He’d never find it among the hundreds of other paintings in this room.

  “Show me your sketches. I’m rather intrigued.”

  Her cheeks heated with the compliment. Why was she so flattered?

  He stood directly behind her again. Was it her imagination or did he intentionally crowd her whenever she moved away? Stepping around him, she turned back to her painting table. A swan-shaped weight held down her most recent drawings. Thank goodness the one she’d started of her husband was hidden in her bedroom wardrobe.

  “I always do a sketch before I paint. None of these are on canvas yet.”

  Turning back to her husband, she held out the stack of portraits she’d done of the servants. He didn’t take them. Only looked down at them.

  She looked away from his knowing gaze and to the charcoal sketches in her hand. What would he think if he knew the truth of her paintings? Knew that she made a mint on the erotic pieces she’d painted over the years. What would he do if he knew there were two nudes out in the world of her? And one in Waverly’s hands?

  He could never know. Which meant his staying couldn’t be permanent.

  She turned away from her husband and set the papers down. He wasn’t interested in seeing them, just in spending the afternoon with her.

  “Should we take to the grounds? Maybe walk in the gardens?” She set herself to putting her lead sticks in a box, cleaning up her worktable. She needed a distraction because she didn’t know what she was supposed to do or say.

  “I don’t wish to take a constitutional. What’s set you aflutter?”

  She faced him again. “I figured you’d had enough of this stuffy old room. Why don’t we adjourn to the library or back to the parlor?”

  He took a couple of steps toward her, set his arms on the worktable blocking her escape, and leaned in close. The heat of his body started a jittery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Couldn’t she throw propriety out the window for the moment and seize what she wanted most? Her husband.

  “I like it in here. I like the company even more.” That gleam in his eyes told her he was thinking what she was. “If we go back downstairs, we will continue where we left off.”

  “And if we stay up here?” she asked.

  Picking up one of her curls, he pulled it forward and twined it around his fist. He was forever touching her hair, and she liked that slight show of possessiveness from him.

  “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”

  She did. Why hadn’t she just given herself to him in the parlor as she’d so badly wanted to? Letting her hair fall to curve over her breast, he leaned over her and pushed the pigments, lead sticks, and papers back on the worktable. Picking her up by the waist, he sat her on the edge. She bit her lip as she studied him. He hadn’t bothered to put his necktie back on. The top three buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing a few strands of hair on his chest.

  “Do you want me to stop?” He pushed the mass of her skirts up to reveal her stocking-covered legs.

  “No.” That made him pause, his hands on either of her knees, spreading them wide as he stepped into the vee of her body.

  Because her nerves were on edge, she couldn’t seem to ask him what she wanted. So she reached for his trousers instead. She was finally taking the initiative with her sexual desires, and that scared her for some reason. It seemed more frightening than anything else she’d done in her life.

  She’d only ever allowed herself to be brave with her paintings. Everything else in her life had to be orderly, reserved, proper, and befitting her role as countess.

  Richard’s eyes were half closed, his breathing heavy as she pushed his trousers down his hips. She stopped to take in the size of his manhood, studied the way it pushed out the linen of his underthings. A gasp welled in her throat, and his eyes snapped to hers, sharp as ever.

  She felt confined by the corset, and wished she’d thought to strip out of her clothes. Wished her husband had thought to strip her bare. They stared at each other for what felt like an infinite amount of time. Each lost in the moment.

  Spreading the slit of her drawers wide, he pressed his fingers into her sheath. The world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color. She slid forward to push him farther inside her body. She kept her feet firm on the edge of the table to hold her body still so she could just feel. Unable to delay their connection any longer, she set her feet on Richard’s hips, pushed down his smalls, and pulled him in tight between her thighs.

  It was a shame to lose the feel of his fingers inside her. Richard had a clever way in which his finger made her convulse and cream. He brought the fingers he had had inside her to her lips and smeared the wetness there. She froze at the strange slick touch. Then she pulled his head toward hers so she could kiss him. Tongue flicking out, he tasted of the cream he’d wiped there before assaulting her tongue with his.

  His hands had worked their way under her skirts and pulled her buttocks right to the very edge of the table. She kept her legs firm about his waist and moaned into his mouth as he slid silkily into her body. He groaned.

  Threading her fingers in his thick hair, she held him fiercely against her. She didn’t want to lose his warmth. The only thing she wanted to remember about today was the embrace of her husband. The rapture he filled her heart with.

  Richard tried to shrug her hands free of his hair. She held on tighter, biting at his lips in her desperation to feel more. She wanted to forget everything except him.

  “Damn it, Emma, let go for a moment.”

  “No.”

  It was the only word she could get out before his assault took on new strength, his body pounding heavy and throbbing into her. Every thrust of his pelvis was a branding of his ownership of her body. She didn’t care. She wanted everything he offered.

  Her tailbone smacked hard against the wooden table. When she tried to move away from meeting the cruel impact, Richard growled at her to hold still. With a break at their lips, she leaned back to watch his expression. His face was
tense, his eyes locked on hers. She gave him a smug smile.

  Slowly, she ran her finger over his bottom lip. “I want more.”

  “Give me a minute, woman,” he gritted out. “I’ll not have my crisis so soon.”

  He had stopped moving within her. She didn’t like that one bit. She wanted him fierce and rough. She lay back on the table, hands grasping the far edge for leverage, and ground her pelvis to his, rotating her hips in tight circles till she felt her orgasm building. Sweet agony. That was what this was.

  “Sonofabitch,” he hissed. Lifting her from the table, her ankles still locked at his spine, he brought them both to the floor, her on her back, him held poised above her as he pulled his stiff rod from her body. “I’m going to go off if you keep doing that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She reached beneath her skirts and toyed with the edge of her stocking. His eyes fixed on the tantalizing sight. When had she become so daring? She trailed her finger higher, drawing little circles on her thigh. Closer and closer to her goal.

  “I married a veritable vixen.” His grin was devilish. “Put your hands above your head.”

  She raised one brow at the request. Why should she stop? It was obvious what touching herself did to him. She wondered what would happen if she dipped her finger into her core like he did whenever they were about to make love.

  He yanked one of the linen coverings from a small set of paintings on the floor and tore off a thin strip of cotton. Pulling her hand away from its final destination, he wrapped the material around her wrists and knotted them together.

  She tried to pull away and was unsuccessful. She didn’t really want to escape. This was a new side to her husband, too. He’d always been so careful with her in the bedroom. Did his needs run as dark as hers?

  “What are you doing?” she asked huskily.

  “Teaching you a lesson in manners. No hands, darling, not till you can behave.”

  “I am behaving. You’re taking advantage of me now that you’ve strung me up.”

  “Am I now?” He chuckled.

  She tugged at the knots to see if she could pull them loose. She couldn’t. Then she didn’t care, because his fingers were working their magic, pushing up hard into her body. She arched her head back and moaned. Her pelvis pushed closer, wanting so much more than his fingers.

  “I want to feel you inside me, Richard.”

  His hand drove hard against her center. Then he was on her, his hardness filling her sheath as she arched up toward him. His lips brushed hers teasingly, then nipped at her neck. His motions in and out of her body felt so fluid, so perfect.

  She couldn’t remain idle beneath him. She needed to hold him. As she threw her bound wrists around the back of his neck, Richard tsked.

  “As much as I like this wilder side, you forget who’s in charge.” He forced her hands above her head once again.

  He pulled his cock out and teased her clitoris with the head. His hand squeezed her thigh with every slide against her body. “You like me fucking your folds, rubbing your swollen pearl, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t form a response. Her reactions were answer enough. She wanted him to rub her harder. Faster. She was getting closer and closer to that blissful oblivion she craved. He backed off when she felt the first tingling awareness of her orgasm, stretching out the moment for them both. She wanted her hands free so she could dig her fingers into his backside and urge him on.

  Finally, when he let her have her crisis, she screamed for him to take her harder. Something crashed to the floor. She didn’t care. The whole world could tumble down around them and she would not care.

  He slammed into her body, taking and plundering and branding. Her body convulsed around his as he gave in to his own release with a shout, his seed pumping into her with each hard plunge. Her arms were around his shoulders again, holding him close as their tongues warred for supremacy. His body rotated heavily into hers, setting off another orgasm. She ground her body hard against his in desperation for more.

  His mouth was next to her ear, shushing her, kissing her. His hands smoothed her sweat-slicked hair away from her temples. “Are you back with me?” he asked.

  She nodded and lifted her head from the floor to press a sweet kiss to his lips. He indulged her, holding their bodies tight together in the after-moment.

  Reality suddenly flooded her conscience. How embarrassing that she’d just allowed her husband to do this to her, and here of all places. What must he think of her? She’d practically demanded his advances. Thrown herself at him like a common harlot.

  Pulling away from her, he sat on his haunches and tucked his softened member away so he could do up his trousers again. Something jabbed into her back. A painting? She went to reach down and move the offending object before she realized she was still trussed up like a winter goose.

  She brought her hands forward, nearly shoving them under Richard’s nose so he’d untie her.

  “What if I like you just like this?”

  “You can’t be serious. Please, Richard.”

  She pushed herself up with her elbow and looked around. The stacks of drawings and pencils on her worktable had been pushed to the floor. Paintings were toppled over. Her work easel was empty.

  Her work easel was empty!

  The nude.

  Still as a rabbit that’s caught the scent of a fox, she looked around frantically while Richard unbound her wrists. Setting eyes on the nude, she breathed a sigh of relief to see it lay facedown. Maybe if she didn’t make a big deal about the state of her painting room, Richard might not notice the destruction they’d caused in their need.

  She needed to clear him out of here.

  “In our haste, we toppled over a lot of paintings,” he noted absently. “I’ll help you set it to rights. Make sure nothing was damaged.”

  Why did he have to care! “I’ll see to it later.”

  “I was part of the problem.” He placed the strip of material he held on top of the table. “I’ll help you set it back up.”

  “No, don’t. Just take me to bed.” Did she sound desperate to leave her painting room? She hoped not.

  Richard turned to her. “Emma. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m surprised you let me so much as touch you after what happened.”

  “I told you, I’m stronger than you give me credit for,” she mumbled.

  He picked up the pencils that had rolled to the floor and set them back on the table. He straightened the paintings around the base of the table while she straightened her skirts and stood up on wobbly legs. He picked up the large landscape that had hidden her nude, leaning it against the wall.

  Hoping he wouldn’t see her nervousness, she reached for the nude. She didn’t make it in time. He was already there, picking it up and nearly setting it down on the table to be forgotten. She knew the moment he figured out what the picture was, because he stopped midstep and turned back around to face her. She saw a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

  Then his expression closed off, completely unreadable as he looked up to her. “What have we here?”

  There was no anger there. Not yet, anyway. Surely that would come soon. She hated that she couldn’t read his face. Didn’t have an inkling as to what thoughts flitted across his mind on the discovery.

  Her secret was out. What would he think of her? What would he do? Would he demand she stop? She needn’t tell him that she sold the paintings. He must have read the guilt in her eyes, because when she reached for the small canvas, his grasp was firm.

  “Did you paint this, Emma?”

  She took a deep breath and stared back at him. “I did. Now, if you’ll please give it back to me, I’ll put it where it belongs.”

  “Hidden amongst the more mundane. Is that how you operate?”

  “You shouldn’t have been in here. I’m sorry you found it.” Emma reached for Richard’s hand, but he stepped away from her. “Please, we’ll go. There’s no need to mention it again.”

&nb
sp; “I’m not sorry I found it. Had it been the male form you were painting I might be angrier. But this … it almost looks like you.” He turned, put it under direct sunlight, and peered closer at the figure in the painting. “You’ve blotted out her face. Good God, Emma, the body is of a likeness to yours. Why in hell would you paint nudes of yourself?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” she huffed out. “And it’s not me. There are a great many differences between me and her.”

  She grasped it tighter and tried wrenching it out of his possession. He let it go and crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a long assessing glare.

  “Are there more?”

  She stalled too long to make the lie believable. Richard’s eyes were already moving to the stacks of paintings set around the room. She knew without a doubt that he’d go through every last one of them before the night was through.

  “This is the only one.”

  “Why do I doubt you?” He started on the stack he’d just neatened. He would find nothing, of course, not even a sketch in rough form. Thank God she had burned those.

  “You can look through all the paintings. I promise there are no more.”

  Richard frowned. “Then where are they?”

  “There are no more.”

  “The waver of your voice tells me you lie. Don’t lie to me, Emma. Where are the rest? I want them in my hands now!” Richard flipped through another stack of paintings on the floor. “I’ll not have anyone else looking at them.”

  “I can’t give them to you when I don’t have them.”

  “Tell me you haven’t given them to someone.” He scratched his head in thought. “Are you painting these for a lover?”

  “I don’t have a lover.” What was his obsession with her having a lover? The very idea infuriated her. “I’ve sold them.” She wished she’d tempered her tongue. Wished her anger hadn’t given him that much information.

  He set his hand out on the table, as though it were the only thing holding him upright at the moment. “Why the hell would you sell nudes strikingly similar to your own form?”

  “Can’t you hear me?” She stamped her foot to the floor and clenched her fists at her side. “That is not me.”