But in the battle of conscience versus lust, his raging desire and painfully hard cockstand were making it clear who the victor would be.
And it wasn’t his honor.
Besides, he reminded his protesting conscience, he had already acquired a marriage license. They could wed on the morrow or that very evening before dinner if they chose. To hell with it.
He kissed her harder, with an almost bruising intensity, part of him wondering if she would retreat and part of him needing to brand her in his own way. He kissed her with an abandon he had never experienced with anyone else. He had always viewed gentlewomen as untouchable. They were delicate, rare creatures who were to be treated with kid gloves.
His inner debauchery had longed for him to do more, but he had never allowed it to happen until his moment of weakness in the carriage with Alexandra. Kisses, caresses, tongues, fingers, pleasure, and mindless fucking were all relegated to the sphere of the mistress, as was proper. Lord knew his father the sainted duke had all but embossed that mantra upon his skull.
And yet now, as he breathed in the delicate scent of Lady Alexandra, as he ravaged her mouth with kisses and drank in the sweet, breathy sounds of her pleasure, he could not help but wonder if his father had been wrong. If he had been wrong to live a life of duty and observance rather than pursuing what he truly wanted.
Why could he not pleasure the woman he intended to make his wife? If she desired it as much as he, where was the sin? He caught Alexandra’s full lower lip in his teeth and tugged, biting before he soothed the sting with a kiss and reared back, studying her.
Her lovely face was flushed, her mouth swollen and berry-red, her blue eyes brilliant. He captured her face in his hands, admiring her as he stroked her jaw with his thumbs. Her skin was soft as satin. He wanted to lick it, to discover what she tasted like everywhere. “You are so bloody beautiful it hurts, Lady Alexandra Danvers.”
She stared at him, searching his gaze, almost as if she expected to detect a lie, shaking her head slowly. “I am not beautiful.”
“You’re gorgeous,” he corrected, kissing her again before forcing himself to slow down and disengage once more. “This experiment notion of yours. Are you serious about it?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Observation and experiment are the hallmarks of science. One cannot reach an informed conclusion without them.”
Science.
He ground his jaw. “To hell with science. This is about you and me, about emotions and needs and wants. Do you want me?”
He needn’t ask. Harry recognized the signs, being neither blind nor innocent. But he wanted there to be no question. His honor demanded that if he staked his claim upon her this day, she alone made the decision.
Her gaze went wide. “I…yes. I would very much like to conduct this experiment with you, my lord, above all others.”
He wasn’t certain if he should be insulted or amused that she continued to refer to the prospect of him bedding her as an experiment. Being a liberal-minded man, he decided upon the former.
“Good.” He kissed her once, twice. Three times because he couldn’t help himself. She tasted so bloody good, and her lips were too sweet. “I want you too.”
Another kiss, then another. His mind spun, plotting the logistics of this sudden assignation. He was a planner by nature, organized and methodical. There wasn’t a bed in the north tower room, but there was an accommodating, soft fur rug. The thought of Alexandra laid bare upon it like a pagan sacrifice, her creamy curves, long legs, and pink nipples on display, made his ballocks tighten.
He broke the kisses before he embarrassed himself by spending in his trousers.
“You want me?” Her voice was tentative and adorably befuddled. She blinked at him, eyes wide, as though lost in a dream.
“Mmm.” He trailed his touch down her throat, seeking buttons in the pleats and lace adorning the front of her bodice and finding only fabric. “Where are the fastenings?”
Her copper brows rose, swollen lips parting. “On the back of the gown.”
“You should have worn the trousers,” he growled, losing no time at all in finding the hidden moorings running in an inconvenient line down her spine. “They would have been far simpler to remove.”
Another blink. In the circle of his embrace, she held herself as still as a doe in the wood that had just scented a hunter waiting for her to wander within the range of his arrow. “My brother reclaimed them.”
“The devil.” He frowned, concentrating on the pretty bow of her upper lip as he worked his way down, leaving gaping fabric in his wake. “When we are wed, I’m going to buy you at least a dozen pair.”
Her breath caught when he reached the final hook and her gown parted. She shivered.
His thoughts instantly went to her comfort. “Are you cold, sweet?”
She shook her head, her gaze never wavering from his. “No, my lord. Your fingers grazed my skin, and the oddest sensation careened through me.”
Lord. Had he made her wet by his mere touch? He could not wait to find out.
“Desire,” he clipped, attempting to keep a sharp rein upon his raging lust. “It is called desire.”
“Yes.” She swallowed, her gaze lowering to his mouth. “I suppose that must be the word for it. If I am to conduct this experiment with proper care, I ought to know the lexicon.”
For some reason, Alexandra’s continued references to her scientific pursuits made a swift bolt of lust pound through him. She was enchanting and so very rare in her lack of affectation. But the desire to undo her surged, reckless and eager within him.
“If you wish to know the lexicon, let us begin here.” He dragged her gown to her waist and freed her arms from the sleeves before taking her hand in his and pressing it to the part of him that longed for her attention the most. “Cock.”
“Oh.” If possible, those copper-lash-studded eyes went wider.
“Say it,” he commanded, guiding her fingers over him.
“Cock,” she whispered.
Holy hell. He was trapped in a fantasy of his own making. Or of her making. It little mattered. All that did matter was that she sat before him in her chemise and corset, her full breasts cinched into an erotic offering, her fingers studiously exploring the length of his engorged prick.
She gripped him, and the breath hissed from his lungs.
Alexandra released him and jerked away, startled. Apologetic. “Oh dear. Did I do something wrong?”
“You did everything right.” He ground his jaw and fought once more for control. He began reciting parliamentary bills in his head. There. That quelled the ardor a bit. Not enough, damn it all. “I want to go slowly, however. To take my time and make certain that you find your pleasure.”
“Pleasure,” she repeated slowly. “What has that to do with sexual congress?”
He almost swallowed his tongue. “Good Lord, woman. It has everything to do with it. Come, let me show you.”
Clasping her hands in his, he stood, drawing her to her feet as well. The book she had been reading fell from its abandoned nest beneath her skirts. He wouldn’t have noted it but for the fact that it hit him square on the toe and flipped open. He glanced down, and the tinted illustration upon the page at his feet made him pause.
“Is that…”
“Nothing!” her startled exclamation rang through the stone walls of the tower room, echoing. “It is nothing.” She nudged the book with the tip of her shoe, snapping it closed.
But not before he had seen the undeniable image of a man on his knees before a woman’s spread legs, his head bowed to feast upon her cunny. Shock mingled with a fresh assault of arousal. Had Alexandra been reading a bawdy book, poring over the licentious illustrations? Had she been thinking of him? He had to know.
“I wouldn’t refer to your reading material as nothing, sweet.” His lips twitched. “I would call it quite edifying.”
Her chin raised. “I was conducting research, if you must know.”
“
Precisely,” he agreed, the smirk he’d been attempting to suppress curving his lips at last. “Edifying. What did you learn?”
Her cheeks flamed. She tried to wrest her hands from his grip, but he held firm. “Precious little, I’m afraid. I had only just begun when you interrupted me. Do you wish to continue with our experiment or not, my lord?”
“Harry.” Leaving the illicit volume where it lay, he moved toward the fur pelt, tugging her along with him. “Come with me. Where did you come by your naughty book, sweet?”
“A friend.”
He stopped and turned back, an unfamiliar, unwelcome spear of jealousy striking his gut. Harry frowned down at her, their hands still entwined. “A male friend?”
“A female friend,” she grumbled, her flush heightening until she was red straight to the roots of her glorious hair. “None of your concern.”
“Boadicea,” he guessed, and he supposed he ought not to have been shocked, but he nevertheless was.
He knew his brother’s wife was a rebellious spirit, but he had not realized they shared an interest in the prurient. He owned a rare copy of the illegal, bawdy book that Alexandra had been reading as well. Here was further proof that gently bred ladies were capable of passion and curiosity just as surely as any gentleman. How intriguing.
And how bloody arousing.
“I will not divulge the name of the friend to whom the book belongs,” Alexandra chided. “Do not ask it of me.”
She was embarrassed. But she need not be. He found the notion of her viewing the wicked images and reading the forbidden, erotic stories within the pages of that leather-bound volume more enticing than he could possibly express.
“Come,” was all he said once more, gently tugging her toward the fur. A fire crackled merrily in the grate. Snow fell once again outside, flurrying and settling upon the existing skiff from his inglorious arrival.
She followed him, her fingers tight over his, her dress half-removed, and she was so damn alluring that when he stopped on the cushion of the fur rug, he stilled and simply drank her in. He wanted to do everything to her. To own her. To fuck her. To make her come so hard she saw stars.
The ferocity of his feelings for her shook him to his core. He had never felt this way for another woman. Lady Alexandra Danvers and her fiery hair and unique ways, with her unabashed intelligence and curiosity, affected him as no one else had.
“Alexandra.” Her name was torn from him as he stared down at her. “Forget about science and experiments. Is this what you want? Truly what you want? Because after I fuck you, I am going to marry you, and after I marry you, I am going to spend the rest of my days making you want me the way I want you.”
Her hands crept to his face, tentatively cupping his jaw, as if she were afraid of his sudden defection. “You want me?”
Her gentle touch, warm and soft, undid did. He stared at her, knowing it was impossible to feel such a strong pull to her after a mere week of courting and yet also knowing that it was undeniably, irrevocably true.
And he needed more.
He needed Alexandra Danvers, naked and beneath him. But he would settle for her any way he could have her. However she wanted him. Whatever she wished.
“Shall our experiment continue?” he asked, need for her making his voice rough.
“Of course.” She removed her hands from his face and he would have protested the loss of her touch but for her next action.
She gripped the waist of her dress, pulling it down her full, delicious hips. The silk and lace fell in a soft sigh to pool around her feet in a luxurious heap. Or maybe it was him that sighed. All he knew was that she stood before him in nothing more than her undergarments and he had lost the ability to form a coherent sentence. Chemise, corset, drawers. Ivory eyelet, pink ribbon, feminine frills, and a body that any courtesan would sell her soul to own.
Good. Bloody. Hell.
Words could not dare to define the lush, potent lure of her. He wanted more. Wanted everything. His cock was hard. His mouth was dry. His heart was full. His hands trembled.
He touched her, palms finding the sweet curve of her waist as if it was where they belonged. Her heat swept through the layers keeping him from her skin. She was warm and supple. And he couldn’t resist tugging her into his chest and sealing his lips to hers yet again.
A sound of pleasure purred from her throat, and she opened for him at once, her tongue growing bold enough to slip inside his mouth first. In that moment, he forgot they were at a house party. Forgot that they had yet to wed. Forgot that he was about to go against every shred of honor he possessed.
Forgot everything but her and the roaring, raging need to make her his. He deepened the kiss, groaning with his own pent-up lust, and swept a caress from her waist to the neat knot of corset laces at her lower back. His mistresses had always kept their knots loose, ready to release with a simple tug. He realized now that they had dressed with great regard for their occupation.
Lady Alexandra’s knot did not release with such ease. Hers, tied by her lady’s maid, had been pulled taut with the intent to keep it in place until the evening necessitated the change to her dinner gown. A growl tore from his throat as his one-handed fumbling only seemed to make the dratted thing go tighter.
Alexandra tipped her head back, studying him from beneath the veil of her extravagant lashes, her red, lovely lips pursed. “What is wrong, my lord?”
“Harry,” he reminded her again. “No formality in the bedchamber.”
“This is not a bedchamber,” she pointed out, no doubt driven by her dedication to factual integrity.
Theirs would not be a boring marriage. Expectation sizzled in his gut, spreading through him with the slow, steady lick of a flame about to turn into a conflagration. “Please me, sweet. Say my name.”
Her gaze burned into his, and for a moment he thought she would resist just to bedevil him. But then she capitulated. “Harry.”
He kissed her, swift and deep, because he couldn’t resist. When he broke away, they were both breathless. “You’ve made an excellent pupil thus far. Now turn about so that I can get this infernal contraption off you.”
Trousers and shirts for her in private, he decided. Nothing but. Suddenly, the urge to see her in one of his shirts struck him. Oh yes. Alexandra with her hair unbound, skin rosy from a thorough fucking, wearing nothing but one of the crisp, white shirts that he wore beneath his robes for parliamentary debates. How sinfully divine.
But now was not the time for frenzied imaginings when his fantasy had come to life before him.
She did as he asked, presenting him with her back. He took a moment to admire the sleek curve of her neck, the soft hollow between her shoulder blades, the nip of her waist, and the fullness of her rounded bottom. He tugged the knot. It came undone, and he plucked the laces with his index finger, loosening them all the way to the top.
He stepped nearer to her, settling his rigid cock into the welcoming cleft of her backside, and wrapping his arms around her so that he could undo each hook-and-eye fastening on the front of her corset. A row of twelve of the little devils. Finally, the last one opened and he cast the stiffly boned undergarment to the floor.
His hands began a decadent examination. He cupped her breasts, pressed his mouth to the side of her throat. He found her nipples, rolling over the pebbled little nubs with his thumbs. “Your nipples are hard, sweet.”
“Oh.” She arched her back, grinding her bottom more firmly against his erection and filling his palms with her at the same time. “How strange. They are ordinarily soft.”
He bit his lip, willing himself to take this slowly, to savor the moment even as the ravenous beast within him wanted to press her to all fours on the rug, flip up her chemise, and slide home inside her pussy through the slit in her drawers. Her innocence coupled with her unashamed arousal drove him to distraction.
She moved against his cock, as if in invitation. He pinched her nipples in warning. “Stay still, or this experiment will be over
before it’s even begun.”
“Mmm,” said the minx. “Would you mind doing that again? How odd that such a thing should be pleasant. I need to be certain.”
She needed to be certain that she liked having her nipples pinched? That did it. He was marrying this woman tonight. They weren’t leaving the bedchamber until some time in the new year. Possibly not ever.
He pinched again, not hard enough to bring pain but enough for the sort of wicked pleasure she seemed to enjoy. Another trill sounded in her throat. He absorbed the vibration through his lips as he kissed her creamy skin once more. “How was that?”
“Quite good.” She caught his hands in hers, covering them. “But I was wondering…”
“You were wondering?” He found the hollow behind her ear and tongued it.
She guided his hands inside her chemise, and suddenly hot, sleek flesh met his hands instead of fabric. “I was wondering for the purpose of the experiment whether or not the experience would be better without a barrier of cloth.”
He licked her again, gently bit her fleshy lobe. “Hell yes it is better without the barrier.” Harry gave her nipples another tweak.
She jerked. He thrust his hips.
“Very much so,” she said on a lusty sigh. “Yes indeed, I think the experiment must proceed with both of us removing our remaining garments.”
The cheeky woman.
She had been fashioned for him. Serious and scholarly, eccentric and bold, yet curious and uninhibited in her passions once they had been awakened. Too bloody good to be true.
“I do believe you are correct,” he agreed, reluctantly removing his hands from her luscious breasts and taking a step back. “Take off your chemise and drawers and let down your hair for me.”
He was being domineering, he knew, but he wanted to set the pace. In the bedchamber, he preferred to dominate. And he felt, for the first time, that he could truly be himself with Alexandra. That she, with her open, giving heart and her own peculiarities, would accept him as he was.
He shucked his jacket, waistcoat, shirt, shoes, trousers, and smalls. Not even the chill winter’s air emanating from the old tower walls could cool his heated skin. He was on fire for her, fully nude, and more aroused than he’d ever been.
The Night Before Scandal (Heart's Temptation Book 7) Page 8
