Wicked

by Amy Sandas

  The duke stepped up beside him to note in surprise, “Are you really going to allow...?”

  “No. I’m not.” Roman cut off his friend and he strode swiftly after the couple. Already, their procession to the dance floor was garnering a wealth of attention as people stared in shock and whispers began to flow with vicious efficiency.

  Roman reached them just as they took their positions for the country dance that had already started. “Walk away, Vittori.”

  To his credit, the count took an immediate step back, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Since I happen to like my nose where it is, I shall not put up a fight.” Then he smiled in his sly way. “But you may have to.”

  Roman turned to look at Haylie, but she was gone. He caught just a glimpse of the peach-colored dress she was wearing as she weaved through the crowd, heading toward the open terrace doors. Vittori’s laughter followed him as he cut a swift path through the guests in pursuit. Still, she managed to make it out of the ballroom before he caught up to her.

  He found her at the far end of the terrace, away from the lights and the noise that spilled from the open doors. Alone.

  She was always alone.

  When she’d fled from her tormentors to hide in the study, when she waited in vain for a dance partner, at the ruins, and tonight, when she’d bravely approached him and his friends in the ballroom.

  Alone, but still so fearless.

  He admired her courage even as he cursed the circumstances that had formed it.

  As he neared, she must have heard his step on the stone terrace because she looked over her shoulder at him. Her body stiffened and she shook her head before turning her back to him. “Leave me alone,” she said, her voice firm in the dark. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

  She had always seemed to wrap herself in a mantle of hopeful optimism. But now that light was smothered by bitterness.

  Anger burned in his gut. He needed to see the bright wonder in her eyes and the sun in her smile. The trust and determination. Her innocent optimism and vibrant passion...the things that made her so wonderfully her.

  Roman stepped up behind her, his hand raised to touch her shoulder before he stopped himself. “That’s the last thing I wanted,” he admitted roughly.

  “Oh, is that why you told your friends I wasn’t worth the effort?” She gave him a dark glance over her shoulder. “And to what effort were you referring? Am I not worth the effort of kindness? Of common decency?” she asked in a harsh tone. “For all your disdain for the ton, my lord, I’d say you are just like them.”

  Everything inside him wanted to reject the idea, but he couldn’t refute it.

  Wasn’t that exactly what he’d always hated about himself? That he was just like his parents? Selfish, disloyal, dissolute.

  The thought had just never hurt as much as it did coming from her. He didn’t want her to see him that way, no matter how true it might be.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked. The anger in his tone was more at himself than anything else.

  She didn’t respond. Nor did she turn around.

  And then he noticed the trembling of her shoulders and the way she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, as though she were trying to hold herself in while silent sobs wracked her frame.

  Helplessness dropped like a lead weight in his gut. “Don’t...don’t do that,” he said, his tone gruff in his sudden awkwardness.

  “I can’t help it,” she retorted angrily. “I cry when I’m frustrated.”

  “Bloody hell.” Roman stepped toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her in place. Then he encircled her in his arms and drew her toward his chest.

  She melted against him. All resistance fled as she tucked her face beneath his chin and cried silently in his arms. There was so much emotion inside her. Sadness, anger, frustration, and pain. He wished he hadn’t had a part in causing it.

  After a few minutes, her body slowly began to relax, and her breath came more slowly. Roman’s body reacted to the feel of her pressed against him in ways that went far beyond compassion or guilt. Desire stirred in his blood and fed the fire of need inside him that refused to burn out. But the need was tempered by tenderness and an acknowledgement that crept in from the edges of his consciousness.

  He didn’t want to let her go.

  Taking a deep breath, he shifted his hold, smoothing his hands up her back and then around to cradle her cheeks and tip her face up to his. Her eyes were closed, the lashes glistening with tears. Roman looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to open her eyes. And when she finally did, her pale, glimmering focus aimed straight into his soul. “What I said in the ballroom,” he began gruffly, “it isn’t true. I’m the one who isn’t worth the effort.”

  Her eyes sparkled with the light he’d feared gone. “You are to me,” she replied.

  That last night in Northamptonshire, he’d intentionally avoided kissing her lips, instinctively knowing how devastating it would be to taste her innocence.

  But nothing could stop him from doing so now.

  Holding her gaze, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Her lips were softer than he’d imagined they could be. Softer and warmer and so damned sweet. He couldn’t prevent the sound of pleasure that issued from his throat, nor could he stop himself from tilting his head to take her lips more fully.

  Her eyes fell closed again and she whimpered, pressing against him. Her fingers clutched the lapels of his coat and her breasts flattened against his chest as her belly cradled his hardening manhood.

  God, how he wanted to sink into her. Surround himself with her warmth and loveliness.

  “Open your mouth, Haylie,” he murmured against her lips.

  She immediately did as he asked, parting her lips to draw in a swift breath. He slid his tongue past her teeth to claim her secrets. Sweet honey and the warmest sunshine.

  She responded beautifully, offering herself up to his demanding palate. Learning from him until her tongue tangled urgently with his, her mouth drew from him as her breath fanned hot over his lips.

  Her hunger was as great as his own.

  Roman pulled back. His head thundered with the rush of blood; his cock surged with powerful need. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. Brushing his thumbs over the fine arches of her eyebrows, he murmured thickly, “We’ll be seen.”

  Her unflinching gaze met his. “Can we go somewhere else?”

  He rolled his bottom lip in between his teeth as he shook his head. “Vittori was right,” he said roughly. “You are dangerous.”

  “Maybe I just know what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You,” she answered readily.

  “I know you want me. Your desire fills the air. I can taste it. But do you understand what that means?”

  “I want you to...”

  He tipped her head back and pressed a quiet kiss to the curve of her jaw. “To do what?”

  She took a shaky breath, then let it out again. “I want you to take me somewhere we can be alone.”

  He slid his lips to the outer curve of her ear. Lust thickened his voice as he replied. “If I do that, I won’t be able to keep from devouring every drop of innocence you possess.”

  She shivered, a soft moan catching in her throat. Turning her head, she whispered warmly into his ear. “Promise?”

  He lifted his head to stare at her, waiting for her to realize how far over her head she’d gotten, while his body clamored with the need to do just as she asked. But it wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes, or doubt or ignorance. It was desire. Full-blown and achingly sweet.

  Roman’s noble resolve crumbled to dust.

  Taking her hand in his, he glanced once over his shoulder toward the ballroom. Seeing no one about, he led her down the terrace steps into the garden.

  Chapter Nine

  Haylie nearly had to run to keep up with the marquess’s swift strides, but she didn’t mind
. Her feet had wings. She would have followed him anywhere.

  The garden was dark and mysterious. Yet Granville’s steps were confident as he made his way along a narrow path leading away from the house. In the far corner of the garden, tucked in alongside the wall that separated the manor grounds from the mews beyond, a small stone shed came into view.

  The shed’s plain wooden door opened easily, swinging wide on silent hinges. Stepping inside, the marquess drew Haylie in after him. Then he closed the door and clicked a lock into place, ensconcing them in darkness.

  He released her hand and stepped away. “There should be candles somewhere.”

  A few moments later, a match flared, and the room became faintly illuminated by a single flickering candle. Haylie’s mouth fell open in surprise.

  The small stone building had likely been intended for use as a gardener’s shed. But that was not at all what it was now.

  The narrow space had been converted to a sort of boudoir. Velvet fabrics hung over the raw stone walls and plush rugs covered the wooden floor. There was room for an elegantly carved table set with two chairs and a lushly upholstered divan.

  “What is this place?” she whispered.

  “Lady Holstead meets her lovers here.”

  “What?” Haylie was shocked. She never would have guessed that their elegant hostess would behave in such a way.

  “Her husband is well aware of her...appetite for younger men,” the marquess explained, “but he prefers she not bring her paramours into the house. This allows her lovers to discreetly come and go by way of the mews.”

  Haylie turned to look at him, an odd weight in her belly. “How did you know it was here?”

  His expression tensed. “Vittori enjoyed a few nights with the lady and mentioned the arrangement. But it might just as well have been me.” He lowered his chin to stare at her through the unsteady light. “You understand the world I come from. The world I belong to.”

  He was trying to warn her away again. Resistance burned in her chest. “I don’t care who you’ve been with before. I cannot lay claim to your past, my lord. But I do want tonight.”

  It was a lie. In her heart, she already acknowledged that she wanted forever. But forever wasn’t a word for men like him. The disappointment of that truth threatened to overwhelm the thrill of standing there with him, so she chased it away.

  Stepping up to him, she pressed her palms to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and the swiftness of his breath. She boldly held his gaze as she slid her hands beneath the edges of his coat to push it from his shoulders. “Say you won’t deny me.”

  “I cannot seem to deny you anything,” he replied gruffly. With a shrug, he removed the coat and tossed it aside. His cravat came next and then his waistcoat. Together, they loosened the ties of his shirt and then that too came off in a whoosh, leaving his torso naked to her touch.

  And she touched.

  With fascination and a growing hunger that probably should have shocked her, she touched. Smoothing her palms over the intriguing ripples of muscles and sinew. She rubbed her palms over his male nipples and smiled when his breath caught at the action. Inspired, she leaned forward to flick her tongue over one pebbled point.

  The growl that rumbled from his chest was immensely satisfying. As was the strength in his hands as he grasped her by the waist and turned them both toward the divan. Taking a seat, he held her in place between his spread knees.

  His eyes were hot as he looked up at her. Hot and deep and needful. And so very intent upon the moment—upon her in that moment.

  It made her weak. It made her strong. It made her feel like the world with all its thrills and pleasures was hers for the taking. Haylie grasped his shoulders, her fingers kneading the firm muscles there.

  His lips parted on a swift breath as he reached around her hips to palm the fullness of her rear in both hands as he drew her closer between his thighs. Another satisfied sound rolled from his throat, making Haylie’s legs tremble.

  He quickly went to work releasing the buttons running down the back of her gown. As soon as he had her bodice loosened, he tugged the top edge of her gown down her arms, taking her chemise with it, exposing her breasts to his ravenous gaze.

  And he was ravenous. Pressing his palms flat to her back, he leaned forward to take the full crest of one breast into his mouth. He suckled deep and hard, pulling on her soft flesh as she braced herself on his shoulders. His sinful mouth awakened sensations that spiraled throughout her body, tightening her belly. Every luscious lick of his tongue and gentle scrape of his teeth called forth new delights. And soon her blood pulsed swiftly through her veins, but most intensely between her legs, where she became slick with wanting.

  “My lord,” she gasped as her head rolled back on her shoulders and her legs trembled.

  “Roman,” he muttered against her skin. “Call me Roman.”

  “Please, Roman,” she pleaded, and he responded by pulling her gown down past her hips until it dropped to the floor. Her petticoats followed and then she stood in just her stockings, chemise, and corset. The laces of her corset took the longest, but he distracted her by making love to her breasts with his wonderful mouth.

  Haylie slid her fingers into the thick waves of his dark hair, holding him to her as she spun into mindless pleasure. The moment she was freed from the stiffness of her stays, he tossed the offending garment aside and wrapped his arms tight around her waist. Lying back against the angled end of the divan, he pulled her with him until she kneeled over him, straddling his hips.

  Shifting to brace her hands on his solid chest, Haylie looked down at him. His pose was so sinfully sensual. Masterful. A dark prince of forbidden desire and carnal secrets.

  She wanted to unlock every one.

  He brought his hands to her pale thighs. His touch was strong and sure as he slid the hem of her chemise higher and higher. Then he slipped his hands beneath it to grasp her bare buttocks. His fingers kneaded her soft flesh as his gaze darkened to a heady smolder.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Haylie,” he said. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

  Feeling bold, she shifted her position until she felt the length of his erection against her aching core. Her eyes fell closed at the wondrous sensation and she gave a delicate, involuntary shudder.

  Looking down at him again, she replied, “I think I have some idea.”

  His smile was a decadent promise of pleasures untold. “Do you still want to be wicked, Miss Dellacourt?”

  Haylie lowered her body to his. Bringing her lips to within a breath of his mouth, she answered honestly. “From the moment I met you. Say you’ll teach me.”

  With a groan, he guided her hips in a rolling rhythm against him. “Something tells me you’re going to be a quick study,” he said before his hand slid into her hair to hold her head as he took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss.

  The skill of his mouth so completely claimed her attention that she was surprised when she realized there was no longer the material of his breeches between then. The smooth, satiny heat of his erection gliding along the slick folds of her sex nearly stopped her breath. All she could do was cling to him as he tormented her with long strokes that angled perfectly over the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her virgin folds.

  But even that exquisite caress was not enough as Haylie struggled to fulfill the aching emptiness that expanded inside her.

  “Roman,” she murmured between kisses. “There’s more. I can feel it. Please give it to me. All of it.”

  His groan was deep and tortured, confirming that he’d been holding back. But at her words, he seemed suddenly freed as he lifted her hips, then reached between them to take himself in hand and position his tip at her entrance. “This probably isn’t the best way to take a virgin,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

  “I don’t care,” she gasped. “I need you now.”

  On the next breath, he brought her down along his length as he pressed upward into her.<
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  The slick heat of her body eased the way, but still the sudden burning, stretching pain of his possession was a surprise. But he didn’t stop claiming her until he’d pushed past the burning pain to fill her completely. Holding herself with her hands on his taut stomach, she tried to catch her breath as her body accustomed itself to the invasion of his hard flesh.

  She opened her eyes and was instantly ensnared by Roman’s eyes boring hard and hot into hers. His jaw was tense and the cords of his neck strained with tension, as did his entire body.

  “Christ, Haylie, you’re so hot—so tight around me. Can you feel it?” he asked, his voice taut and deep. “Can you feel me throbbing with the pure pleasure of being inside you?”

  She could and as soon as she focused on the sensation, it expanded through her own flesh. She squeezed her inner muscles in an attempt to contain it and he moaned thickly in response, his hands on her hips gripping her tighter. “Do that again.”

  She did, arching her back to deepen the contact. This time, a tingling streak of pleasure arced through her body, making her toes curl as a shiver coursed down her spine.

  And then he took over, lifting her with aching slowness along his length only to bring her down again in a lush stroke of repossession. Two more times he guided her in a long withdrawal and slow reclaiming until the last of her virgin pain slid away and she found her own rhythm—a faster, more demanding rhythm that proved to be far more satisfying.

  For them both, if his bulging muscles, sweat-slicked skin, and burning gaze were anything to judge by.

  As she strove toward the pleasure she felt just out of reach, Haylie marveled at the power and beauty contained in the man stretched out beneath her. In a split second of clarity, she understood everything he had been trying to tell her, though he probably didn’t realize it himself.