Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  “Alice?” he prompted. “Do you want to know where the entry is?”

  She nodded.

  He walked over to a large cuckoo clock hanging level to his chest and pushed the center dial. Immediately the clock swung forward, revealing a dark hole, no more than two feet square.

  “Oh!” Alice stood on her tiptoes, her hand on his shoulder for support, and peered into the hole. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Well, it’s dark, and you’re small.” He looked down at her and smirked. “If you want to explore, I’ll have to boost you up. There are stairs on the other side to help you down.”

  She hesitated nervously. This was not the kind of entry she had expected.

  “Or I can just go myself,” he suggested. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “I think not,” she said drily. “Here, help me up.” She faced the wall and lifted her arms.

  For a moment there was nothing, and then his hands were on her waist and he lifted her into the air, directing her to the hole. She squirmed until she was halfway through the tight passageway and looked around.

  “Alice,” he said in a strangled voice. “You must hurry.”

  “I’m trying!” She wiggled her bottom a few more times, trying to get leverage to reach the stairs, and tumbled all the way through, bypassing the stairs altogether. “Oomph!”

  “Alice! Are you all right?” He stuck his head in the opening. He appeared worried. About her.

  She smiled inwardly. “Just fine, thank you.”

  “Move aside. I’m coming in.”

  He struggled to fit his wide shoulders through the small passage, and she swallowed a giggle. But he managed to free himself, and suddenly he fell in, just as she had, landing on top of her with a thunk.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh, God, Alice, I’m so sorry.”

  “Move.”

  He rolled at the same time she did, and they collided again.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Lord Abingdon!” She fell against him, giggling helplessly.

  And then she wasn’t giggling, at all, because his lips found hers in the darkness.

  “Nathaniel,” she whispered into his mouth.

  “There it is,” he said in a tone of deep satisfaction. His mouth left hers.

  She wouldn’t cry. Or hit him.

  She wouldn’t.

  “Where are we?” She sat up and looked around. The room they’d landed in was surprisingly large.

  He hadn’t shut the clock behind them, so it was dim in the space, but not pitch dark. She could make out faint shapes. He lit a lantern on the wall and closed the entry door.

  “Freesia was the one who discovered this room. She declared it hers—no brothers allowed. Sometimes she would hide here from her governess.” He smiled slightly. “We never told.”

  We, including Nicholas. Alice tried to imagine it—the twins and the sister, before the tree incident had cut short their innocent childhood. Had they wrestled and fought, the way boys do, and protected their sister, as they ought? Who had Nicholas been, before he became the villain he was now? Once, he was just a boy. Once, there had been mischief and laughter, not bloodshed and tears.

  She felt a pang in her chest, like an arrow to the heart, for the boy he once was.

  Good Lord. Sympathy…for Nicholas?

  Her brain must be addled from the tumble down the stairs.

  “It’s lovely in here,” she said, now that she could see her surroundings more clearly.

  It was a girl’s playroom. The floor was covered by thick carpet. Along one wall was an oddly vibrant purple sofa. Against the other wall was a writing desk.

  “She must have loved coming here.” Alice trailed a finger over the desk. It came back dusty, and she wiped it on her skirt. “It’s a nice little escape.”

  “Everyone should have a space of one’s own,” Nathaniel said. “It was her great misfortune that, as a girl, she was given much less privacy than we as boys. Her room could be invaded at any time by her governess, her nurse, or her maid.”

  Alice turned and looked at him curiously. “And where was your own hideaway? Or did you share everything with Nicholas?”

  Nathaniel laughed. “I never liked to share. Nick and I had separate sleeping rooms in the nursery, and of course I claimed a secret room of my own, as did Nick.”

  “Hmm.”

  “He’s not there,” Nathaniel said, clearly guessing which direction her mind had turned. “It would be too obvious. He would know I’d look for him there. Still, I will show you, for your own peace of mind.”

  “And yours?”

  He shook his head. “No. We won’t find him at all. Nick isn’t trying to kill me.”

  “Then we will find out who is,” she said determinedly. “That can’t be a bad thing.”

  He smiled. “Do you know, I feel quite safe with you. It’s the oddest thing.”

  Her belly fluttered.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” she said, “since it is Freesia’s domain. I imagine a brother is a brother, no matter his age, and she would be most displeased to find you here.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Nevertheless, he sat down on the sofa and looked at her. “I should not be sitting while a lady stands. Perhaps you would remedy that offense on my behalf?”

  She laughed and sat next to him. Her elbow was aching from her fall, and she rubbed it. It would be blue tomorrow, no doubt.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” she repeated. Although, it felt singularly wonderful to be sitting so close to him.

  “We are not here. We are figments of our own imaginations.”

  She laughed again, rather breathlessly this time.

  He took her arm, gently pushed up the sleeve, and touched the small bruise. “Does it hurt?”

  She nodded.

  He pressed his lips to the spot. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

  “It’s all right.” She tried to pull her arm back, but he held on. “Nothing is broken.”

  “Were you hurt anywhere else?” His eyes glinted in the light of the lantern.

  Just her heart.

  She shook her head. She would be damned before she let him kiss her there.

  “I’m afraid I was hurt,” he said. “It’s only fair that you should return the favor and kiss it better. No other salve will do.”

  She rolled her eyes. That was a line she would expect from a two-year-old boy or an experienced rake. Clearly, Nathaniel had been spending too much time with Wessex.

  And yet, there was an impish look in his eyes that she couldn’t resist. “Oh, very well.” She held out her hand. “Your arm, was it?”

  He started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, taken aback.

  “Showing you my injury.” His fingers moved quickly, and then his shirt was open.

  “I am not going to kiss your chest.”

  Although…she might actually like that.

  Would he?

  “Of course not.” He gave her a scandalized look. “It’s my ribs.”

  “Your…ribs?” Without her permission, her eyes trailed down his lean, muscled torso.

  “Right here.” He indicated the area with his finger, then bent over to examine himself closer. He frowned. “I think it was from your knee, when I fell through the opening.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “When you nearly crushed me, you mean?”

  He grinned. “Yes, then.”

  “You got what you deserved.”

  “But it hurts. Won’t you kiss it better, darling?” he coaxed. “Please.”

  What was he about? Scarcely ten minutes ago he was looking at her as if she was the embodiment of everything wrong with the world, and now he was playful and teasing. His moods made her head spin.

  Not that she cared terribly. As long as he didn’t stay angry with her.

  She took in the sight of him. His skin glowed like warm marble under the lantern’s light. She had never touched a man intimate
ly, in a place hidden by clothing. Not with her fingers, and certainly not with her mouth.

  He had touched her in such a way, both with his hands and his lips at her breast. Why should she deny herself the same pleasure?

  She pushed gently at his shoulders, and he let himself be urged down across the sofa, his body spread before her like a scrumptious feast. She hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, and glanced at his face. He slung an arm across his eyes, but the rosy flags on his cheeks betrayed him. That hint of shyness was comforting. She relaxed slightly.

  Cautiously, she ran her hands over his stomach. The square boxes of muscle were so different from her own softness. He spasmed, folding nearly in half, and grabbed her wrists. She rocked back on her heels and stared at him with wide eyes, startled.

  “I’m sorry!” she gasped at the same time he said, “That tickled.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Would you rather I didn’t…?” She trailed off uncertainly.

  He leaned back and covered his face again. “Alice,” he said gruffly. “For God’s sake, kiss it better.”

  She touched him on the ribs again, firmer this time, so as not to startle him. He trembled under her hand, and his lips were parted, taking in slow breaths of air. Satisfied, she leaned closer to where a reddish-purple mark was blooming close to his side.

  Oh, dear. She really had hurt him.

  She counted his ribs with her finger as she went. One, two, three, four. How strange that the same bones inside her were also inside him, and yet they were not the same, at all. His were ever so much more interesting.

  “Here?” she asked. “This is where it hurts?”

  “Yes,” he said on a deep exhale.

  She kissed the mark softly, gently.

  He made a sound. It was a nice sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. She wanted to hear it again. She lowered her mouth to his warm skin. He didn’t make a noise, but his fingers clenched.

  As were places in her own body. It felt…good.

  She trailed her lips higher, exploring the ribs she had counted. He was taking quick, shallow breaths, judging from the way his chest rose and fell beneath her mouth. She paused at his nipple. It was not pink and puckered like her own. Instead, it was flat and reminded her of a copper penny. She ran her tongue experimentally over the tip. It hardened slightly, and he made that noise again, slightly deeper this time.

  There was an answering tug, deep in her belly. It made her want all sorts of things that she couldn’t put words to.

  She moved to his other nipple and licked.

  His hips jerked, and he groaned. “Alice, you will drive me mad.”

  “Hmm,” she said. She would enjoy that. There were so many places to kiss—his shoulders, his neck, his stomach, and perhaps the bulge in his breeches she was so very curious about. She could feel it against her stomach, and she was quite certain it was growing.

  Suddenly, he flipped them both so she was beneath him, her legs trapped between his. For one brief moment, she saw the look in his eyes, and it was not hate. He wanted to devour her, much as she wanted to him.

  Then his mouth was on hers, and his hot tongue plunged into her. It was not a gentle kiss. It was rough, almost punishing in its need, demanding that she give him everything.

  She drank him in, allowing him to taste her lips, her tongue, anything he wanted. He pulled back to take a breath, and then his lips were at her ear. He caught the lobe in his mouth and grazed it lightly with his teeth. She ran her hands over his shoulders, taking his shirt with them. She loved feeling the muscles ripple beneath her palms.

  Feeling brazen, she pulled the tie from his hair and let the red-gold waves fall free. She sank both hands into them, enjoying the thick silkiness. “I love your hair,” she murmured, pulling his face back to hers.

  “Do you?” She felt his smile against her mouth. This time, he was gentle. He fed her sweet, teasing kisses. “I have quite a lot of it, you know. On my head.” He bit her lower lip gently, making her gasp. “On my chest.” He nibbled along her jaw line. “And lower.”

  “So do I,” she said, too drugged from his mouth to know what she was saying.

  He paused. “Well, you can’t mean your breasts, because I’ve seen those. They’re lovely and hairless. Do you mean here?” His hand crept up her thigh until it reached the juncture of her legs. When she nodded slowly, his eyes turned dark. “Will you let me see?”

  She should say no. A lady would not even speak of such a private part, much less show a man. Even when one was married and used those parts with her husband, the deed was done in the dark, under the covers. No one saw anything.

  That was what she’d always been told.

  “If you want to,” she whispered, her brazenness increasing.

  In a flash he had her on her feet and her dress off, tugging it down her body and past her hips. “Thank God you’re not wearing a corset,” he muttered.

  He knelt before her and gently dragged her drawers down to her ankles. She leaned on his shoulders and stepped clear of them. Then he rocked back on his heels and simply gazed at her, his eyes on the curly thatch level with his face.

  Her legs trembled. She had been damp before, but now she was aware of a strange gush of moisture in that very same place. “Please stop looking at me. It makes me feel…odd.”

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said reverently. His hands were shaking as he grasped her hips. He leaned forward and placed a kiss just above the curly hair. “Can I touch you?”

  She bit her lip and whispered, “Yes.”

  His hands spanned her, and he used his thumbs to separate her midnight curls. She was exposed to him now, and completely vulnerable. Even she had never seen this part of her open like this. Perhaps she should feel embarrassed, but instead she felt powerful.

  Worshipped.

  One finger slid between her mysteriously slick folds, touching a spot that made her shudder and press against his hand. He stroked again, and she couldn’t keep a moan from passing her lips.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice thick.

  “Yes,” she said. It was indecent how much she liked it.

  He continued his exploration, sliding his finger even lower. “There is a sweet little passage just here,” he said. “That is where I would enter you. Like this.” His finger pressed slowly inside.

  She cried out, her inner muscles resisting the intrusion. She grabbed his shoulders for fear she would fall over.

  “You’re so small.” He sounded like he was choking. “How will I…” He retreated, eased his finger in slow and deep, and retreated again.

  It felt so odd being filled by him. But without him, she felt strangely empty. “Again,” she said.

  His finger entered her again, and it was easier this time. This time, when she clenched around him, it was from pleasure. With his finger sliding in and out, his thumb circled that very sensitive spot. Suddenly, she was panting, her hips rocking to a rhythm she couldn’t control.

  “Please,” she gasped.

  He froze. “Shall I stop?”

  “No!” She dug her fingertips into his shoulders. She might die if he stopped. Certainly he would, because she would have no choice but to kill him. “Don’t stop.”

  His fingers moved again, stroking and swirling, until she thought she would go mad from it. Pleasure was pulling her under, into some dark, secret place where there was nothing but the feel of his hands, the smell of his skin and her damp flesh, the sounds of heartbeats and his voice whispering words of praise and adoration.

  Her body tightened like a coil, then released in an explosion of pleasure. She shuddered, her legs gave way, and she fell forward with a small cry.

  He caught her, bundling her into his arms, and laid her down on the sofa next to him. She pressed her face into his chest, her heart beating madly.

  She wondered if she was well and truly ruined.

  But decided she didn’t care.

  Chapter Forty-Two


  This, Nathaniel decided, was going to kill him.

  He lay back on the sofa, Alice’s naked body pressed against his side, his cock harder than it had ever been in his entire life. So hard his whole body ached with it. Every part of him was roaring to strip off his breeches and take her.

  But she was so small.

  And her sister… His brother…

  And, no. Alice deserved a marital bed.

  His marital bed. If only he could figure out how to make that happen.

  Until then, he would simply suffer. Hopefully his cock wouldn’t fall off. Could that happen? It was his favorite body part, and he would not like to be without it.

  Slowly, he became aware of her fingers drifting in his chest hair. That felt so good.

  Too good.

  Oh, God.

  She was actually going to kill him.

  “Can I touch you?” she whispered. “The way you touched me?”

  He was going to hell. He had to accept that, because there was no way for him to say no. He needed her touch, or his cock truly would fall off.

  “Yes.” He dropped kisses on the crown of her head.

  She reached for him. He went completely still as her trembling fingers undid his buttons. He sprang free, jutting toward her, and she gave a small cry of surprise. For a moment he wanted to laugh, but then those fingers touched him, stroking softly around the velvet tip and the bead of moisture there, then down his shaft. Her touch was a tease, and anticipation drove him nearly to the brink of insanity.

  He groaned, and her eyes lifted questioningly. “How should I touch you?” she whispered.

  He may not have much experience with being touched by a woman, but he knew how he touched himself. “Wrap your hand around me. Yes, like that. Stroke up and down. Harder.”

  Her hand tightened. “Like that?”

  “Harder.”

  “I won’t hurt you?”

  Again, he struggled not to laugh. “You won’t hurt me, darling. Please, Alice. I need—”

  And there it was. Suddenly, he understood why Wessex had called him a fool.

  “Please” didn’t mean stop.

  Not remotely.