by Heather Boyd
Sylvia’s heart swooped at the adoring words, and she bit her lip because she didn’t know how to respond to him. She couldn’t make the mistake of confusing passion with a deeper emotion. This was only a temporary attraction, not love. She’d be wise to always remember that.
His hands went to his breeches, and his shirt was pushed aside. She caught a glimpse of the marquess’ wicked grin.
He swept the head of his cock back and forth across her slit. So hot and so good that she raised up on one elbow to watch him play with her body, and his own. A hot rush of excitement swept over her, and she whimpered softly.
“Do you like the way that feels, love?” he asked, holding his cock away from her quim.
She gulped as her body clenched in anticipation of his next touch. “I do. I want more.”
“How much more?”
“All of you,” she whispered, and then looked up into his eyes. God, she was a slave to him, and her own desires, too. “Very slowly.”
A masculine rumble escaped him. “A woman after my own heart. I’ll take care of you.”
His fingertips brushed against her clitoris, and then he was pushing his cock into her a little at a time. Sylvia was coming by the time he was fully wedged inside her, even though she’d tried to wait. She turned her face aside, gasping.
“Don’t fight your passions. I want them,” he told her, fingers still caressing her body.
She opened her eyes and slowly looked up at her lover. She’d never had a more arousing man love her than Lord Wharton, and probably wouldn’t again. He took such pains to make sure she was excited enough and thoroughly satisfied by the time he found his own release.
She wiggled a little, but Alexander took her hips between his hands to hold her still.
She met his gaze, saw a wildness in his. He was holding back his passion until she was ready.
Anticipation curled through her again, and she braced herself on both elbows. “Don’t fight your passions,” she whispered, repeating his words. “I want them, too.”
His jaw clenched, and he withdrew, only to slam back into her the next moment. Sylvia gasped, not from pain but from the pleasure of him loving her body. He was eager to be with her, and that excited her beyond measure.
His thrusts were hard and became faster. A sweat broke out onto his brow, and she heard him grunt with each stroke. If he’d not been on the edge before, he certainly was now. Her body responded to the marquess, and she boldly slipped a hand down between her legs to touch herself. His eyes flared slightly but he didn’t change his pace or stop her.
She touched herself passionately, became lost in increasing her own pleasure. She silently dared herself to find completion while the marquess found his.
She curled herself higher, and he quickly put a hand behind her neck to support her. All the while, the passionate tempo of his lovemaking never once waned.
The new position brought results, and she peaked, crying out his name louder than she intended. The marquess roared suddenly and slammed into her again and again as he found his release.
Eventually, he stopped, gasping, and his lips found hers for a long, consuming kiss. They struggled to breathe together, huddled close, until he finally released her with a tortured groan.
Sylvia fell back on the table, dazed as she stared at the ceiling with her pussy still throbbing around the marquess’ lovely cock.
She closed her eyes as he withdrew and slowly brought her legs together.
His hand caressed her thigh. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. That was wonderful.”
“It was, wasn’t it? Just like the first time we were together.”
“Hmm, yes,” she whispered, remembering that occasion fondly. The marquess had satisfied her body for hours. Each end brought a new beginning. The man never seemed to get enough of her then.
Sylvia put her bent arm behind her head to study him. Today he seemed exhausted by just the one release. He remained bent over her on the table. Both hands holding him up. He looked wildly disheveled, too. Like a very wicked man who’d thoroughly enjoyed himself.
He bent down and kissed her curls. “You’re just what I need.”
He moved back and started redressing himself. Sylvia waited a moment then sat up, too. It was only then she realized the marquess had not withdrawn.
She was so caught up in their lovemaking, she’d failed to notice he’d released his seed inside her.
She jumped down quickly before her gown could be soiled with it and rushed to the ladies’ convenience behind the screen to clean herself up. There, she found water and soap and a washing cloth, meant for the clients. A quick wash of her sex would not prevent a pregnancy, however. She might feel old sometimes, but there was still a chance she might be young enough to have the marquess’ child.
Had Wharton forgotten the risk, too?
“Sylvia?”
She dropped her skirts into place, and then stepped back around the screen to face him.
He came up to her and brought her into his embrace. “Lovely woman. You’ve soothed the savage beast in me again.”
Again, but for the last time, perhaps. She couldn’t lie with him again if they both forgot there were bound to be consequences. “And me.”
He stroked a hand down her back. “I’ll have a house for you by next week.”
“For me?”
“Servants, too. You’ll find I’m a generous man.”
Sylvia wasn’t naive. She knew exactly where this conversation was heading. She just wished they didn’t have to have it now. She lifted up on her toes and pressed a finger to his lips. “I have a home already.”
She kissed his cheek quickly then turned to the mirror to make sure her hair hadn’t been mussed too badly.
He chuckled softly behind her back. “I don’t think your cousins will appreciate us making love in your drawing room, nor should we meet here again.”
“I agree.”
He moved behind Sylvia and slipped his arms about her waist. She saw them reflected in the mirror and dropped her gaze. The mirror revealed a fantasy of a future she might once have had for herself, but she’d known from the start that the marquess had no real interest in her beyond satisfying a fleeting pleasure.
She was not disappointed that he didn’t offer her more. But she wouldn’t accept less, or any sordid halfway measure that would break her heart in the end. He expected her to be his mistress now, but accepting that offer would truly ruin her in everyone’s eyes—including her own.
She turned in his arms and glanced up at him. “I enjoyed today very much.”
A frown formed on his face. “I sense reluctance.”
“You do.” She wriggled from his grip, pressing her palms together before her waist. “I won’t move into this house you have for me, and I don’t think we can meet again. Not like this.”
“What? I thought we were negotiating.”
“No, Alexander.” She smiled quickly, sad to see he appeared utterly shocked by her refusal. “A fling is all I ever expected with you.”
“But you like what I do to you.”
“I’m not saying I don’t enjoy your attentions. You’re an incredible lover, Alexander, and I have no complaints or regrets. However, I don’t want to become the sort of woman who sits around all day, waiting for you to come to call.”
“Don’t complicate things.”
She pressed her hand to his cheek. “I’m not the one doing that. You have an abundance of responsibilities, and very little free time for your family. This was only an affair, and now I think it really must be over. I don’t ever want to be another person you’re trying to avoid.”
He caught up her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. Desire coiled within her at the brush of his lips and his hot breath upon her skin. “It wouldn’t be that way between us.”
“It couldn’t be any other way,” she told him, withdrawing from him yet again. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t be interested in being with you again, given the
right setting and privacy, like today turned out to be.”
The marquess collapsed back against the worktable. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“That is your choice, but I can’t see how we could have any sort of future together,” she murmured, her heart growing heavier by the minute. “I hope you can understand. There are dangers for me—discovery and embarrassment. A pregnancy neither of us want. I respect your mother too much to risk being found out. I only want to see her back to full health, and then, if you prefer, I’ll find a way to end our friendship painlessly before she ever suspects we were involved. Will you allow me that time?”
“Yes, but I—” he began, and then stopped cold.
He couldn’t see a future for them either, she would wager.
Sylvia returned her hat to her head and tugged on her gloves. Hoping he’d say something to make her feel better. She liked him, but had always known she couldn’t keep him. He wasn’t ready to marry and, more importantly, he didn’t love her.
When he remained silent, and she was ready to face the world, she turned to him one last time as a lover. “You’ll see in time that I am right to end things with you before complications arise. Goodbye, Alexander, and thank you for the adventure.”
When he said nothing still, watching her with hooded eyes, Sylvia collected her reticule and walked out the door without looking back.
Chapter 22
For a whole month, Sylvia and Alexander took pains to never leave Mother alone for long. They were ships passing in the night almost. He’d be going out with his sisters and Sylvia would be rushing in. Their encounters were always very cordial and, by design, brief. It was a good arrangement they had. Mother was happy, and her listlessness seemed largely to be a thing of the past.
Unfortunately, Alexander was the one left feeling out of sorts, even though he had more or less resumed his former busy life. Mother did not need him, but he did visit her room each day and shared more of what he’d been up to with her.
Tonight, he had arranged an evening of leisure for himself, and Sylvia had only been too happy to remain late with his mother.
“Unfortunately,” Alexander announced, trying to stand up and failing. “I think I must be going soon.”
“You’re too drunk to leave yet,” Carmichael complained, shoving him back down.
Alexander floundered in a well-padded armchair. At least he thought it was soft. He couldn’t really feel most of his limbs as he floated in a pleasant, alcohol-fueled daze after a very satisfying dinner. He hadn’t been this drunk in a long time, but they were celebrating.
“If you go to your mother’s home in this condition, she’ll ring a peel over your head,” Carmichael warned.
“She would, too—if she could roam the halls. Thankfully, she’s keeping to her room still. Most of the time.” He squinted across the familiar chamber, wishing he could be home in the blink of an eye.
But home was still Berkley Square, and he could not be there without running into Sylvia. They were sharing the care of his mother rather well he thought. Or rather, he had given way because he wasn’t Mother’s first choice for conversation.
“You’re just as under the weather as I.” He turned to his friend. “What does a wife do to a husband in these circumstances?”
“Mine will probably laugh when I trip over my own feet, and she’ll leave me there, too,” Carmichael mused. “My wife tends to limit her compassion when there is alcohol involved.”
Alexander huffed. “Even if we’re celebrating your future son’s arrival?”
“Oh, most definitely for that as well,” Carmichael promised. His smile turned smug with pleasure for his impending fatherhood. “To the child to come.”
Alexander drank deeply. He’d been here several hours more than he probably should have been, and he’d long since lost count of just how many times they’d toasted Carmichael’s virility. Alexander had arrived here with Scarsdale in tow at noon, and they’d stayed well past sunset. He squinted across the room at the clock but couldn’t make sense of the blurry squiggles on the face.
He dragged out his pocket watch and saw it was only just now eleven. He could have sworn it was later, but it had been a strange month for Alexander. The things that usually happened quickly took an age, and little brought satisfaction. Not even watching the Norringtons drive around with their chins held high because of their improved financial situation had made any difference to his mood.
Mother was recovering well, but slowly. However, she had insisted he get on with his own life…and he had tried. Mama had her new friend, Sylvia, to keep her company during the day, and long into the evenings, too, on most days.
Sylvia.
The woman who’d refused him.
Alexander was not at all used to rejection.
He took another drink and grimaced.
Sylvia curtsied to him, spoke politely to him, but the spark that had lit her eyes when they were alone had utterly disappeared.
Extinguished in the blink of an eye.
Just because he’d wanted more.
It made no sense. Was the occasional tumble all she needed and desired from a man? From him, too?
Discovering he couldn’t have her had made Alexander dreadfully out of sorts with everyone. And it wasn’t even just the lack of sex in his life, either. He had found himself disinterested in other women; he had no patience for their conversations whatsoever.
Although he knew exactly where Sylvia would be when he was out in society, he found himself foolishly hoping to speak with her, instead.
Discontent that he was thinking of her again, he turned to view Lord Scarsdale curled up asleep nearer the fire. On any other night, Alexander might have laughed at how ridiculous he looked, like a cat on a chair that was far too small for him. “No staying power, that one.”
“He did his best,” Carmichael argued, raising his glass to study the contents by candlelight. Whatever the earl saw made him toss the contents down his throat. “I think I shall have a very sore head tomorrow.”
Alexander would, too, but at least he’d feel something other than frustration. “It’s worth it.”
“I know why I’m drinking, but why are you?” Carmichael poured himself another glass, very unsteadily. “You couldn’t be celebrating my future offspring as much as I am. Are you drowning your sorrows out of guilt?”
“I’m keeping you company.” He forced his eyes open fully, though. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”
“The Hillcrest Academy.”
Sylvia again. Damn. “No, I fixed that,” he promised. “It’s all settled down.”
“For God’s sake, it is not. You put them out of business.”
Alexander sat up a little straighter, or tried to. “I did not.”
“You certainly did.”
“But that was weeks ago. Of course I was cross that first day, but I’m not now. I made sure everyone should know it, too.”
“How did you do that?” Carmichael tipped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.
He’d called in a dozen favors and made sure Sylvia had been invited to the most important events. She’d said everything had went well. But he had not asked specifically about her business. He’d just assumed everything would have returned to normal.
“Sylvia should have told me if her problems continued,” he complained, scrubbing at his face. “Now, what’s all this nonsense about the academy closing? I’ve said nothing against the enterprise.”
Carmichael opened his eyes and shook his head as if trying to keep himself awake. “It’s not so much what you said, but did that started it all, I understand. Society has taken the view that since Sylvia offended you once, the academy must have, as well. They’d rather stay on your good side than theirs, and have abandoned any connection with the Hillcrest cousins.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he protested.
“I completely agree, and yet every client has sent their regrets and canceled their appoint
ments. Some have even suddenly left Town rather than face them again.”
“That is surely an exaggeration.”
“Scarsdale, too, and Sullivan both hinted at dissatisfaction over recent events.”
“No.” Alexander was suddenly stone-cold sober at hearing this development.
His argument with Sylvia about Mother had been a temporary aberration between them. He’d made his position plain, and she’d made hers, too, and loudly. They had made up and made love…and ended their affair. But they were still partners in caring for his mother. There was no reason for her business to suffer.
His relationship with Sylvia was no one’s business but his. “What is she—what are they going to do?”
“Sylvia wouldn’t say.”
His brain woke up the rest of the way. “Wouldn’t say or doesn’t know?”
“I think they’ve decided, but perhaps Sylvia didn’t want me and my wife to know yet? Without the business, though, I imagine things won’t be easy for them. At least we can offer them friendship and support if they need it. There’s plenty of room in Surrey for the trio to set up a new home if London proves too costly.”
Concern gripped him. He’d already offered Sylvia a home—and been refused. “They’d not leave London?”
Alexander discovered he’d harbored a fleeting hope that Sylvia would eventually come around, come back to him. With the passage of enough time, perhaps, she might have changed her mind about them, too. She couldn’t do that if she left London.
“Perhaps they might go home instead.”
“Where is home?”
“They are from Marlow, in Berkshire. Lenore met them there during the time she was a companion.”
Berkshire was in the opposite direction to his country estate in Essex. Far from Mother, too. He remembered her suggestion she could withdraw her friendship from Mother eventually, when she was better, but had her troubles with the business been part of her motivation?
He sat forward, concerned that Sylvia’s last goodbye truly might have been forever.
He was not ready to give up on her. They were good together. Mother loved the damn woman enough to choose Sylvia’s company over her own children’s!
