Her tirade ended abruptly in a yelp as, without warning, Lucien stooped, slid his arms beneath her thighs and back, and scooped her up as easily as he would a sack of flour. The motion was so smooth and seamless, before her mind could process what had happened, her face was a dizzying two inches from his, her arms clasped tightly about his strong, muscular neck as he strode from the dining room back into the entrance hall.
“Lucien!” she squawked when she could breathe again. “What in heaven’s name …?”
She hadn’t been carried since she was a child. It was the oddest sensation of lightness and vulnerability, which grew worse as he began to climb the stairs.
“As I was saying,” he stated casually, “now that we’ve dismissed the servants, I will show you to our chambers.”
“This is outrageous. Put me down at once.”
“No.”
Vexed beyond all good sense, she slapped his shoulder, likely hurting only her hand. “You cannot simply refuse to release me.”
“I believe I just did.”
“I shall scream.”
He grinned sardonically and continued down a long corridor. “But my dear, what will the servants say?”
“You are mad, sir.”
Lucien stopped in front of the last door on the left, jostling her a bit as he turned the knob and shouldered his way inside. Momentarily speechless at the grandeur of the chamber, she only dimly registered Lucien gently setting her on her feet. In a country manor, this would be considered a generously sized room; in a London residence, it was positively gargantuan. Spanning nearly half the width of the house, it was quite luxuriously appointed in shades of rich cream and light apple green, delightfully accented with touches of washed crimson in the leaf-patterned draperies and canopied bed coverings. A gilt-framed mirror topped the large fireplace, currently lit with a low fire. The dark mahogany bed dominated the center of the back wall, and a row of tall windows spread like wings of light to each side. Fresh, bright, and elegant, it would have made her envious if this were not now her house, as well.
“Do you like it?” he asked, shockingly close to her ear.
Her heart flipped and pounded with awareness. She nodded, too breathless to speak.
“Let me show you the rest.”
And with that, he escorted her through the remainder of the suite—the adjacent dressing room, separate bathing chamber with a long, luxurious tub standing at the ready, and a sitting room that was a mirror image of the bedchamber. Similar in decor and layout to the first room they had entered, the room appeared to have been designed originally as a bedchamber for the mistress of the household, with one glaring omission.
“My lord, is there not another bed?”
Wearing an indefinable, intense expression, he slipped his hand around her elbow and replied, “We have need of only one. More seems a waste, does it not?”
She blinked several times. “But … well … yes. I mean, no.” As he guided her back into the bedchamber, she let out an exasperated sigh and tried again. “What I mean to say is, it is customary for a lady to have her own chambers, separate from her husband’s.”
“Mmm. True enough.” He moved closer to her, so close she felt the warmth of his body surround her and brush her skin. “But, then, we are not the usual sort of pairing, are we?”
“Aren’t we?”
Sliding his arms around her waist and drawing her into his hard chest, his smoke-dark eyes lit with amused sensuality. In a voice low with seduction, he said, “You are the bold, scandalous woman who refused to settle for a conventional marriage to a conventional man.”
Resting her hands on his lapels, she felt her skin tingle in a blush and dropped her eyes to the topaz pin gracing his snowy cravat. It flashed a golden wink. “And you, my lord? What are you?”
“The man who saw you, wanted you, and refused to accept that any other might ever possess you.”
Her eyes flew back to his, her legs strangely weak, her heart pounding. Could he mean such passionate words? Was it possible he truly—?
“At least,” he said with a cynical grin, “that is what society will believe by season’s end.”
A chill whistled through her and she stiffened against him. The reminder that this was all merely a game to him was unwelcome, but necessary. Honestly, she must stop believing his nonsense. Such fanciful notions only led to disappointment.
He must have felt her withdrawal and read it as skepticism, because he attempted to reassure her of his strategy. “You may doubt me, my sweet, but believe me when I say the ton loves nothing better than a scandal which becomes a triumphant tale of requited love worthy of Drury Lane. You will see—by the time we are finished, you shall be the envy of those who once dared condemn you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I still fail to see what all this has to do with having or not having separate sleeping chambers.”
He shrugged. “It has nothing to do with it.”
Shaking her head, she blinked in surprise. “Then why …?”
He simply stared at her for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was dark and faintly raspy. “You are my wife. We will share one bed so I may have you whenever I desire.”
“But, Lucien, I—”
“Victoria.”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet so I may kiss you.”
She paused, stared at his gorgeous mouth, and sighed, “Oh. Very well then.”
~~*
Chapter Nine
“Never trust a man whose beauty is greater or fortune less than your own. For some, this will result in distrust of the entire male population. Even so, consider it sound advice.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Jane and Annabelle Huxley upon news of Beau Brummell’s precipitous departure from London to avoid debtor’s prison.
He began not with her lips, but with her neck. Sliding his mouth gently along her skin from just beneath her ear down to her mother’s pearl necklace, his hot breath caused shivers to course through her body. He surrounded her, his size and heat and spicy scent making her head spin.
Breathlessly awaiting his next move, her belly tightened and she bit her lower lip. “Lucien?”
“Hmm?”
Her heart leapt as his tongue slid beneath the pearls and his lips nibbled their way to her other ear. She moaned as tingles of pleasure shimmied beneath her skin, tightening her nipples.
“I don’t think I can be quiet.”
He didn’t answer, instead suckling at a bit of flesh where her neck met her shoulder and stroking his hands along her backside, pressing her hips into his hard thighs so that her lower belly cradled the hard ridge there.
“I mean,” she continued, reaching for her next breath, his mouth and touch filling her veins with hot, rich wine. “I will try not to carry on so that you can enjoy a peaceful interlude, but … oh!” She jerked and shivered in pleasure as his palm cupped her breast and stroked her budded nipple through the fabric of her bodice. “Truly, my lord, when you touch me, I lose the ability to concentrate, and the sounds escape without my permission.”
“Victoria.”
“Yes?”
“What are you on about?”
She blinked and paused, panting as he plucked pins from her hair. “Oh. Well, Lady Berne was most helpful in offering advice on my wifely duties.”
He removed the stems of lily of the valley, dropped them to the floor, and unwound long skeins of golden curls from their perch upon her head. His eyes glittered and burned with what appeared to be fascination. For long moments, he simply stared without blinking.
Really, she thought. It is just hair.
“Your wifely duties.”
“Mmm. Yes. The countess said I must l-lie with you if I wanted children. And that I must try to keep qu-quiet because husbands tend to prefer it.”
He frowned. “Utter nonsense,” he muttered.
“My lord?”
His eyes glowed with impatient fire, his mouth firming into a straight line. “I have
no idea what Lady Berne told you. It is possible you misunderstood or that she is a bloody simplet—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Suffice it to say I do not prefer silence while I make love to you. Quite the contrary.”
At this, the knots in her stomach loosened, and she felt more relaxed than she had at any time in the last two days. She sighed in relief and smiled brilliantly up at him. “Truly? Oh, that is wonderful, Lucien.”
He blinked several times, swallowed visibly, and the muscles along his jaw worked as though trying to control a reaction. After a few moments, he stroked a hand along the side of her head, lifted one long curl away from her shoulder and rubbed it sensually between his fingers.
“Should you have questions about your wifely duties, you must come to me, do you understand? No one else.”
“Of course, I—”
Suddenly, he grasped her shoulders and spun her around to face away from him. Then she felt him brush her hair aside and begin unfastening the buttons at the back of her dress. Given that he was a man, had been a soldier, and came from a noble family, she was a bit shocked at how quickly and deftly he accomplished his task. Truly, he was more adept than her former lady’s maid, Delphine, a young, haughty French girl who had left the duke’s employ after the scandal broke. Victoria had been forced to make do with two of the upstairs maids at Clyde-Lacey House, a fact that reminded her of the pressing need to find a new lady’s maid.
Although, considering Lucien’s apparent skills in this area, perhaps it is not so pressing, she thought wryly. Within moments, he had finished with the buttons and unlaced her stays. She clutched the bodice to her chest as it slumped on her body. He then spun her back around to face him.
“Now, then. Your duties are as follows.”
He had unfastened his tailcoat and waistcoat, and was shrugging out of both of them, a raven wing of hair dropping rakishly along his forehead.
“First, you will submit to your husband.”
He was so handsome, she was simply lost for several seconds. She longed to trace his mouth with her fingers, brush that black lock from his forehead, and trail her lips along his straight brows where they lowered over glittering eyes. “S-submit?”
“Yes. That means you will let me touch you and kiss you and make love to you whenever I desire.”
He swiftly unraveled his cravat from around his neck in a few deft turns and tossed it on the chair where he had thrown his outer garments. He reached up behind his head and pulled his white linen shirt off in a quick motion, adding it to the pile.
Her eyes widened, lips parting on a sigh. His broad, naked chest was … oh, Lord. So beautiful. A masterful creation of hard, defined muscle, tightened into ridges along a flat belly, and dressed with a black triangle of crisp, curling hair. While clothed, Lucien was a large, imposing figure of a man, his shoulders wider and his arms thicker than most other gentlemen. Nude, he was even more magnificent, the strength and force of his body clearly needing no padding.
As she struggled not to swoon on a tide of longing for those arms to once again embrace her, he continued to lecture in a low rumble. “Second, you will not temper your responses whatsoever. When I give you pleasure, I want to hear it. If I cannot make you scream, I am not much of a husband.”
Those arms reached toward her, and, thinking he meant to embrace her, she eagerly stepped forward, nearly stumbling. But, instead, he merely grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away from where they clutched her bodice, causing her dress to fall from her breasts and further down her arms. With swift efficiency, he stripped her of her gown, corset, chemise, and petticoat.
She was naked in the suddenly cold room, but for her stockings and garters. He left those in place, his eyes burning her skin from feet to throat, pausing for long moments at the juncture of her thighs and on her flushed, hardened nipples.
In the watery white light shining through the windows, she feared he would notice every flaw. The mole on her hip. The odd dimples on her knees. The extra flesh on her thighs and buttocks that no amount of walking or riding seemed to diminish.
Wondering at his sudden silence, she shifted uncomfortably and tried to cover what she could with her long hair and her hands. His eyes, blazing with a ferocity that sent a tingle of alarm down her spine, shot up to meet hers. Without a word, he grasped her wrists to pull her arms away from her body in a repeat of his earlier action, but this time he pulled her forward until her breasts were crushed against his chest, his arms closing tightly around her bare back. The pleasure of so much heat and pressure and texture against her skin, but especially her breasts, was indescribable.
“Thirdly, do not hide yourself from me,” he growled next to her ear, the vibrations rumbling from his chest into hers so she felt it in her bones—indeed, down to her woman’s core, which was meltingly hot, pulsing with need. “I like to look upon your body.”
Since his head was conveniently bowed beside her own, she turned her cheek to stroke against his, unable to resist feeling the faint rasp of his whiskers and breathing in the scent of what must be his shaving soap. It was crisp and green and spicy, like evergreen and cloves. Curious how his skin would taste, she settled her lips on his neck and darted her tongue out to stroke him softly, briefly.
Just as she suspected. Salt and spice. But there was something more there, just beneath. A dark, dusky undertone that reminded her of his mouth. She could only conclude it was simply the taste of Lucien.
“Angel,” he groaned as though in pain. “This isn’t going to last very long if you continue …”
She did it again, this time suckling a bit as he had done to her.
A strong hand grasped the back of her neck, pulling her away so his mouth could meet and invade hers. His tongue slid inside, pulsing in and out, pushing against hers. His arm tightened around her waist and lifted her off her feet. Within seconds, the world tilted as she went from vertical to horizontal in a dizzying rush. The soft linens of the featherbed cushioned her back while the hard weight of her husband crushed her front.
His mouth left hers and immediately fastened upon a ripe, hardened nipple. Digging her heels into the bed and grasping either side of his neck, she moaned, “Lucien! Oh, that is divine.”
He suckled strongly, the pressure increasing her sensitivity and centering her existence on that one small bit of flesh. Then his hand squeezed her other breast, stroked the other nipple, and her world split between the two sources of pleasure.
Maneuvering her legs to either side of his hips, she ground her core against his rock-hard staff, still contained within strained trousers.
Oh, yes. That felt nice. Better than nice. Spectacular.
His mouth, now nibbling and gently biting her other nipple, left her for a moment to smile wickedly and say, “So glad you approve, love.”
Wait. Had she said that aloud?
His mouth returned to its task, but soon he trailed open, tongue-dancing kisses along her belly, sliding his bulk downward while grasping her waist and forcing her further up along the bed. With nimble fingers, he unfastened her garters and peeled her stockings slowly from her legs, tossing the scraps of silk aside and stroking her inner thighs with a delicate touch. As she lost her grip on his head, she reached for the coverlet on either side of her body, gripping the cloth in an effort to release the tension that coiled inside her.
“Lucien,” she panted. “What—what are you … doing?” The last word came out as squeal when a warm finger slid down the slick folds between her splayed thighs, finding the small, powerful nub from which intense, spiraling pleasure emanated. The finger continued downward, slipping into her channel and stroking gently where no one had ever touched her before. Not even Victoria, herself.
“You are so tight, angel. So wet,” he grunted, his thumb circling the small nub at the top of her sex, even as his finger slid in and out below in a maddeningly even pace. It was so good, so beautifully satisfying. And, yet, not enough. She longed for more, but didn’t know how to ask for it. All she co
uld do was moan his name pleadingly over and over.
He kissed the inside of her leg, just above the knee, and muttered, “Yes, now. I was going to … but damn, Victoria, I can wait no longer.”
With that, his marvelously talented hand was removed, and he stood up beside the bed, his face tight and serious, his eyes hooded.
Oh, God. Was he leaving her? “No!” she shouted hoarsely. “Lucien, please, if I’ve done something wrong—”
“Shh, love,” he rasped. “All is well.” He sat on the edge of the bed long enough to remove his boots, then stood again to make quick work of his trousers. She got little more than a brief glance at something large, darkly flushed, and extending rather alarmingly upward from his body before he came over her again, and all that marvelous weight and pressure and heat surrounded her.
His mouth returned to hers a passionate marauder, crushing her lips and thrusting his tongue inside. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, rubbed her breasts eagerly against his chest, and gleefully welcomed his return.
He groaned, moving a hand to her breast, then down to clasp her leg and pull it wider to accommodate his hips. She could feel the hot, smooth skin of his strange, hard appendage sliding through the folds of her sex. Panic flared briefly as she considered that he might be intending to do with that what he had done with his finger earlier.
No. Surely not. It would never fit.
He pulled his mouth away, panting like a bellows. Giving her nipple one last stroke, and using that arm to prop himself up on one elbow above her, he grasped himself in the other hand and placed the hot, blunt, rounded tip at her entrance.
“Lucien?”
His face flushed, eyes glazed with lust, he pressed forward.
At first, it was simply strange—a too-large object stretching her flesh, trying to burrow inside her. While his finger had felt good, had even satisfied her infernal restlessness to some degree, this soon became uncomfortable. Then, as he pressed further, rather burningly painful.
Love Regency Style Page 63
