The Sinful Nights of a Nobleman

by Jillian Hunter

  Unable to sleep, she rose to bathe before she went downstairs to await his return.

  A few minutes later she found herself answering a quiet knock at the door. Utterly shocked, she stared up into the equally startled face of his cousin Gabriel.

  She never answered the door herself.

  She was not properly dressed to entertain, her gown hastily laced, no stockings on, her hair unbound.

  “Goodness, Sir Gabriel,” she said, “I thought you were Devon else I would never have answered the door this—”

  “He’s not home?”

  He had already invited himself into the hallway, she thought in disconcertment. Not that she wouldn’t have allowed him entrance, but she certainly did not want to throw kindling on the fire of their old rivalry.

  “I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” he said with the polished air of a contrite gentleman.

  Jocelyn had to admire his aplomb. She stepped aside unthinkingly to allow him into the house. The servants would not go to bed for another half hour or so. She had no idea when her husband would return. She had not expected to entertain anyone else.

  Daringly she had dressed in an opal-white silk gown unencumbered by either chemise, garters, or corset. She’d felt scandalous when she saw in the looking glass that by a certain sway of the hip, a trick of the light, the lines of her bare form showed. Scandalous and secretly delighted that she would greet her sensual husband at the door in an invitation he could hardly misinterpret.

  However, she had not intended to greet his diabolical cousin in such inappropriate attire. She could only hope he had not noticed.

  “May we retire to a more private place?” he asked in the most respectful manner possible.

  She made a noncommittal sound in her throat, which he appeared to interpret as assent and swept his cloaked presence through the vestibule.

  Good heavens. All the men of this family displayed the most overwhelming sense of self-possession. Nonetheless, she was Devon’s wife, and she would not be accused of mischief.

  “Sir Gabriel, do you think it’s wise for you to be here after the discord in the park today?”

  The question seemed to be merited when, in the next moment, she caught a glimpse of his reflection in the hall mirror and realized he was studying her uncorseted silhouette with a wolfish smile.

  But his face was wiped clean of wicked intentions when he turned around. Still, she could not trust that mirror-Gabriel. Was it a reflection of his true self or a distortion?

  “Devon was apparently looking for me tonight at the club,” he replied. “Instead of chasing each other all about London, I thought I would do him the favor of waiting for him to come home.”

  “Oh.” She was relieved to learn that Devon had not gone out in search of some illicit pursuit.

  She wondered if Gabriel was still involved with Lily Cranleigh, and if the widow was behind Devon’s hunt for Gabriel tonight. Gabriel did not seem to be the complete villain Society thought him.

  “You don’t mind if I stay then?” he asked.

  Before Jocelyn quite realized how it happened, she had taken his cloak and ushered him up to the private first-floor drawing room reserved for family.

  The next thing she knew they were discussing his last visit to Paris; she was a little astonished to discover he was a patron of the arts; she’d rather thought that he and the other Boscastle males counted l’amour as their craft of personal calling.

  Another hour flew by in surprisingly enjoyable conversation.

  She almost forgot her informal state of attire.

  Yet somehow she suspected Gabriel had devilishly contrived it, the very minute that Devon appeared in the drawing room, the situation lost its patina of innocence. She became instantly aware of her careless appearance, of the fact that Gabriel and she were sitting on the sofa shoulder to shoulder—

  She threw him an annoyed look. They had not been sitting that close together before. The blackguard must have sneaked over a few inches the instant Devon came through the door. He and Devon lived to provoke each other, it would seem.

  Of course, to accuse him of this mischief would only serve to draw Devon’s attention to the fact. And if her husband had not seen Gabriel’s underhanded play, it seemed wise, in the interest of family relations, not to bring it to his notice.

  Naturally, he had noticed. He scrutinized her first with steady regard that seemed to assess every lace, hook, and eye of her informal gown.

  Then his narrowed gaze contemplated the two glasses of cordial on the table.

  The full power of his displeasure seemed reserved for Gabriel, however.

  She rose hastily as if to stand as a buffer between him and his cousin. “It’s nice of you to return home before dawn, Devon. Your cousin has been keeping me company while he waited—”

  “What the hell are you doing in my house, Gabriel?” Devon demanded, staring right over Jocelyn’s head to glower at his cousin.

  Jocelyn cleared her throat. “It is my understanding that you were looking for Gab—”

  Gabriel stood, his jaw tight. “I only thought to save you the trouble of looking for me.”

  “And I was merely sitting with him,” Jocelyn began again, “until you returned from wherever—”

  Devon practically lifted her out of his path to glare down his nose at his cousin. Gabriel was glaring right back at him.

  Well, she thought, stepping behind the chair for good measure. So much for acting as a buffer. If the two of them were determined to kill each other, she might as well take precautions to protect herself. She was not about to be caught in their crossfire.

  “I only came here because I was told at the club that you wished to see me,” Gabriel said stonily.

  Devon hesitated as if he had forgotten this fact. “That’s true, but you were not told that I wished for you to seduce my wife, were you?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Jocelyn said. She knew it was unwise to interfere, but her husband’s accusation did not show her in a becoming light. She was beginning to sound like a seductress. “Sir Gabriel did nothing of the kind.”

  Devon shot her a scornful look over his shoulder. “Not that you noticed. I know how his mind works.”

  “Well, I wish I knew how yours works,” Gabriel said. “I was given a message that you had asked after me. I would not have come here otherwise, believe me, as pleasant as your wife’s company proved to be.”

  Devon glanced at Jocelyn once again. “Would you mind leaving us alone?”

  “I should be glad to.” She edged around the chair, conscious of her bare skin beneath the gown, even though both men made a point of looking the other way to allow her exit, a courtesy that did not ease her embarrassment in the least. It was quite one thing to play the temptress in private with her husband, an altogether different matter when it involved another man.

  The moment the door closed on Jocelyn’s willowy form, Devon turned to subject his cousin to a cold stare. “Cousin or not,” he said. “If you sit that close to her again, I’ll—”

  Gabriel held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “I admit it was a deliberate provocation on my part, and I apologize. Some evil impulse got the better of me when I heard you enter the house. Jocelyn was innocent of any mischief. I didn’t mean anything.”

  Devon snorted. “I know that, but—I suppose I’m just not in the mood for our usual jokes.”

  Gabriel idly toyed with his pocket watch. “Fair enough.”

  Devon lowered himself into the chair opposite the sofa. “I was taken with the impulse, actually, to thank you.”

  “To thank me?” Gabriel’s fingers tightened around the chain of his watch. “I must have misheard you.”

  “You meant to help today at the park,” Devon said. “My bad temper had gotten the better of me.”

  “It was understandable.”

  Devon grimaced. “God, listen to the pair of us discussing moral obligations.”

  Gabriel lifted his brow. “Honesty is not al
ways appreciated.”

  “Dishonesty is never so.”

  “Do I take this to mean you now realize that I was not the person who deceived you into meeting Jocelyn in the tower?” Gabriel asked.

  “I never really believed it.”

  “Perhaps the time has come to uncover the truth,” Gabriel said, rising with purpose. “You have met your duty to Jocelyn, and now you may seek your personal revenge.”

  “My appreciation in no way gives you carte blanche to uncover my wife,” Devon added swiftly, his humor suddenly returning.

  Gabriel grinned and picked up his cloak. “From what I saw today it is not my attention that need worry you in that regard.”

  “Just don’t give me any reason to worry about you,” Devon retorted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Why did you allow him in the house this late at night?” Devon inquired of his wife in the privacy of their bedchamber as he unbuttoned his pantaloons for bed.

  “For one thing,” she said evenly, “Gabriel is a member of your family, and as such I do not feel secure enough in my position to close the door in his face. What was I supposed to do? I would not have turned Drake or Grayson away.”

  “Opening my house to Gabriel and practically sitting on his lap on the sofa are two different things.”

  “I do not argue that.” She got up, taking his coat off his shoulders. “The fact is Gabriel wasn’t sitting that close to me until you appeared.”

  “I am not faulting you, but you might be a little concerned that men are…seeking your company.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t leave me alone as much,” she said, her smile provoking him.

  “Perhaps I—”

  She crossed her arms beneath her uncorseted bosom, the tempting contours of which he could discern in enough detail to make his belly tighten with desire. “What happened to your corset?” he asked, staring at her incredulously.

  “My—”

  She broke off, laughing and lowering her arms, as he ran his hands in a swift but thorough search over her breasts and bottom. “Nothing,” he said in a scandalized voice.

  “That’s right.”

  He drew his head back to regard her in astonishment. “You’re not wearing anything beneath this gown? My wife…and you’re not wearing all those things you usually wear?”

  “I did not think I would be answering the door when I dressed,” she said in vexation.

  His eyes traveled over her several times. “You mean to tell me you entertained my cousin dressed, or undressed, like that?”

  “I wasn’t expecting visitors when I went downstairs.”

  “My God. No wonder Gabriel was sitting so close to you.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Well, whose was it then?”

  They examined each other in the lapse of emotional silence that dropped between them. Devon was not entirely sure if this was the eye of the storm, or the start. He did know that he had never engaged in this sort of silly argument with any of his past lovers. His loss of control bothered him almost as much as did the thought of Gabriel sitting next to his wife’s uncorseted form on the sofa, admiring those charms that he was still in the process of admiring himself.

  The reminder unsettled his thoughts anew. “It would have been common sense,” he said, “if not simple modesty, to put on a dressing robe while the two of you sat together.”

  “An invocation to modesty coming from your lips,” she retorted. “Yes, a dressing robe would have been a fine idea, had he not taken me off guard—”

  “You’re both lucky that’s all he took. Let Thistle answer the door next time.”

  “Fine.” She put her hands on her hips. “Do you wish for your nightclothes?”

  He stared blankly before realizing that he stood ranting about her immodest dress with only his shirt and stockings on.

  “I’ve walked about in my bedchamber naked for years, and I don’t mind if you do, either. Furthermore, I was getting ready for bed. And I would still like to know what you were getting ready for in that dress that displays more of you than it should.”

  She unlaced her gown and let it slide off her shoulders to her feet. Lowering her eyes, she let him look at her before she answered. “You.”

  His throat closed. God, how she tempted him.

  A man could only take so much. Could only pretend so much. He watched her walk naked to the bed, her hips undulating with a sensuality that made his bones ache.

  Then he followed.

  His gaze darkened. “What do you mean?” he asked intently.

  “You left my bed. I didn’t know where you’d gone, but I wanted to greet you at the door when you returned.”

  He stared at her, realizing what she was trying to say. “You thought to wait for me looking as desirable as you do?” he inquired, approval heating his voice.

  She fought a smile. “Are you admitting that you find me desirable?”

  His blue eyes warmed with wicked delight. “Are you admitting that you were hoping to seduce me?”

  She moistened her lips. “That hope might have crossed my—”

  He grinned and then, without warning, threw her over his shoulder and swung her down beneath him onto the bed. “I know of a way to make up after an argument,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes, her breath catching. “Did we just have an argument?”

  He brushed her hair from her shoulder. He heard her soft intake of breath, felt his body heat, then harden. His warm, sensual wife.

  “Tell me again you were waiting up to seduce me.”

  “No…all right. I wanted to seduce you.”

  His white teeth flashed in a grin. “Do you object if I go first?”

  “It looks as if you already have.”

  He leaned over her and kissed her deeply, gently, his hand caressing her face and shoulders. Did she guess? Did she have any idea how he desired her? No matter how calm and deliberate he tried to appear, his body betrayed him. He could not hide how urgently he wanted her. How he had come to crave the pleasure he knew only with her.

  His gaze swept over her beautiful naked form then returned in male triumph to her face. “Mine,” he said softly. He could see the answering fire, the invitation in her eyes. She had already seduced him, he realized, although at this rate he’d soon be begging on his knees for her favor.

  Until that time, however, he knew how to make her beg. Slowly he stroked her breasts, her belly, her soft arse, the delta between her thighs until she was straining upward at her shoulders. He trailed his fingers languidly through her wet curls to tease her swollen labia, watching her writhe, making her whimper.

  “You’re torturing me,” she whispered as he slid his large hands under her backside and lifted her.

  “I’m torturing myself, believe me,” he said raggedly, and then he spread her legs even farther and settled head and shoulders between her thighs.

  She lay in frozen disbelief for several seconds before she hoisted herself onto one elbow and stared down at him in shocked comprehension. “What on earth—”

  He gently pushed her back onto the bed. “Do you want to seduce me or not?”

  “I—”

  She never remembered what it was she’d meant to say. The touch of his sinful tongue like a brand at her sex robbed her of all reason. She groaned helplessly as he licked the most intimate recesses of her body. And aroused her beyond all reason.

  She strained. She sobbed. But he did not stop. His tongue at turns licked and penetrated her body, wringing a climax from her that shattered her to the core.

  He laid his head against the silky hollow of her thighs and breathed deeply of her scent. “Are you asleep?” he whispered.

  She wriggled out from beneath him. “Devon?”

  He glanced up at her face, framed in a tumble of dark brown hair. “What is it?”

  “I said I wanted to seduce you.”

  “And you—”

  He rolled onto his back as she suddenly straddl
ed him, sliding down his belly to nestle her face between his legs. His heart thundered in his chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What you just did to me.”

  He hardened instantly. “Do you really want to?”

  “Tell me how,” she whispered.

  “Lie between my legs upon the bed.”

  She obeyed, her heartbeat erratic, unsure of what he meant but determined to prove her dedication to what pleased him. She realized that men enjoyed the pleasure he had just given her, but the performance of it remained enshrouded in whispered rumor, the realm of the professional courtesan. “What next?” she asked unevenly.

  “Let your mouth mimic the love act,” he said, his heavily muscled thighs straddling her shoulders.

  The love act. She knew that there was a rhythm to it, a give-and-take that pleased them both. He held himself in one hand and guided the knob of his engorged shaft into her mouth. She closed her lips and suckled him gently, feeling awkward and yet aroused as he moved against her mouth. He tasted of sex and salt and earthly desire. She raised even higher on her elbows, slowly encircling the bulbous crest with the tip of her tongue.

  He fell back onto his elbows, panting. “Enough, or I’ll flood your mouth.”

  She dug her fingers into his thighs and held him fast, as he had just done when pleasuring her in a similar fashion. She sensed a growing helplessness in his response that thrilled her. The movements of her mouth and tongue felt unskilled, lewd, and awkward; she was afraid she would injure him, although, considering the size of his organ, it seemed more likely he would choke her.

  “Is it good?” she whispered against the pulsing length of him.

  Was it good?

  He spread his thighs, swallowing a groan at the silken caress of her lips upon his cock. He felt blood surging to his groin and resisted the urge to buck his hips. His wallflower of a wife would kill him if she kept that up. Her hands gripped his thighs even harder.

  “More than good,” he managed to groan, aware she awaited his answer, but, dear God, how could a man talk with that mouth sucking him so sweetly?

  Her tongue circled his pulsing erection, then withdrew; he tensed and guessed that she was waiting for his instruction, his encouragement. She did not dream that her untutored act could have commanded a small fortune in the finest school of Venus. Sweet Christ, he’d pay her himself for this spine-tingling pleasure.