Soul of Sin (Scandalous Scions Book 2)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Raymond kissed her. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth, almost as if he were claiming her. The urgency, the wildness of his kiss sent flames washing through her, setting fire to every nerve she possessed. She heard herself make the same raw sound.

  She felt a wall against her back.

  Raymond tore his mouth from hers. He was breathing heavily, almost panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He fumbled, his hand brushing her bottom. Then her pantalets were drawn apart, exposing her.

  Natasha caught her breath in a gasp as she realized what Raymond intended to do. It was too late. His hands came back under her, holding her up. She felt the head of his shaft up against her. She was slick with moisture and more than ready and he slid inside her in one hard, deep thrust and grew still.

  His breath pushed out in a ragged gust. His eyes held hers as they paused, both panting.

  The overwhelming sensation was one of heat and thickness. He was large inside her and the flesh around him rippled with delight. She could feel herself squeezing him. It was so very, very good!

  Natasha put her hands on his shoulders. She felt the heat of his flesh and the softness of it. Beneath the softness was iron muscle and bone, and tendons that flexed as he supported her.

  “More,” she whispered.

  “Jesus wept,” he breathed. One hand let her go and reached up quickly to her camisole. He gripped it and tore it apart, exposing her torso and her breasts. He bent his head and took a nipple in his mouth.

  Natasha cried out. The so very sensitive tip was nipped and teased by his tongue and teeth. The tugging was gloriously delicious. His tongue rasped over the very end, sending a shooting spark of pleasure bolting through her, directly to her nub, that gave out a heavy throb. She made a sound that was guttural and alien to her ears. She had never made a sound like that before.

  Her channel squeezed and gripped him in response. She felt him jerk inside her. A strained note came from his throat and his hips flexed. His shaft shifted and thrust back into her. The movement pushed her nub against him and her pleasure built higher.

  “More,” she begged. “Please don’t stop.”

  He worked his body against her and inside her. With a gasp, he lifted his head from her breast. The tendons in his throat flexed as he moved. He looked like a man driven to the very brink of some madness.

  Her climbing pleasure stole her attention. It felt as if her entire body gathered around his shaft and focused there. She shook, almost frightened by the awful power of the coming peak.

  It burst over her, stealing her breath and her thoughts. Her heart seemed to stop. For an endless moment she hung suspended in a sea of pure sensation, so bright and fiery she could see and hear nothing.

  Raymond gave a choked cry, smothering it against her flesh. He jerked inside her and grew still, all except his breath, which came in ragged sips.

  Her own breath was no steadier. That was the only sound in the room, the two of them breathing.

  Raymond reached up and curled his hand behind her neck and drew her face down so he could kiss her. Then he eased her off the wall and carried her over to the bed.

  She had failed to notice what bedclothes the girls had put on the bed. It felt like satin beneath her shoulders.

  Raymond slipped out of her and for the first time she saw the red, pulsing length of him. It glistened from her moisture.

  He bent and stripped his boots and trousers and underwear away in three quick movements. When he straightened again, he was completely naked. His shaft jutted from his thighs as he looked down at her with his hooded eyes.

  Her channel clenched in reaction. She wanted him back in her.

  Wordlessly, he stripped her of her sopping pantalets and the ruined camisole. He left her stockings and shoes in place and pulled her toward him. He was going to take her again right now, this instant. It was exactly what she wanted and she sighed as he gripped her hips with his big hands and slid back into her.

  He did not only take his pleasure. His thumbs moved restlessly over the indentations next to her hip bones, making her flesh quiver with the exquisite thrill of his touch. Then he reached farther over and down, sliding one thumb up against her nub.

  She gasped with delight. With his hips thrusting against her, he barely had to move his thumb. It nudged the proud flesh, making her writhe and groan as the pleasure leapt to life again, turning her into a mindless, greedy vessel.

  Her pleasure peaked twice before Raymond finished and on the second occasion, her groan was so loud and harsh it was almost a scream. Raymond flexed and slammed into her, in rapid, hard little thrusts, his eyes closing. Then, with a harsh cry of his own, he spent himself.

  He bent over the bed, propping himself up on one arm, as he recovered. Then he let her go and climbed onto the bed next to her.

  “You don’t want to get in the bed?” she asked.

  He turned her on her side, so her bottom was against him and kissed her cheek, as he brought his arm over her waist. He cupped her breast, his thumb stroking the nipple, which grew sharp and sensitive almost at once.

  “Why would I want to get into bed?” he breathed against her neck and slid his tongue over her flesh, making her shiver.

  The stroking of her breast, the feel of his still firm shaft against her bottom and his hot breath against her, left Natasha unable to keep still. She writhed, little thrills spilling through her.

  After a while, he lifted her knee over his. As he slid into her once more, this time from behind, Natasha realized that Raymond was an untapped, depthless well of passion. He had only just begun. She had unleashed an overwhelming force.

  She trembled with pleasure at the thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Do you have any idea what the time might be?” Natasha asked, turning her head on the pillow so she may look at Raymond.

  He let the locks of her hair drop from his fingers in a cascade, so they rained upon her back. She lay on her stomach and wore no clothes. The bedsheets were kicked down the end of the bed where they had stayed for hours now. It was morning, although she was not certain about how late in the morning it was. She’d had very little sleep during the night. Nevertheless, she felt wonderful—alive in a way she could not remember since she was much younger.

  Raymond lay on his side, his head propped on his arm, facing her. Even when he was resting, he could not seem to stop trailing his fingertips over her flesh, or playing with her hair, as he was now.

  He let his hand drop and looked at her. There was a peacefulness in his eyes she had never seen before. It was as if the shield he held up to everyone else had gone and she was seeing his true nature.

  “I imagine it must be somewhere around nine in the morning,” he said. “My watch stopped just after three this morning. Why? Are you hungry?”

  “The sandwiches are all gone, so it doesn’t really matter whether I am hungry or not.” She stretched and rolled on to her side, facing him. “We should take advantage of the day to ourselves. The children and the staff will arrive later.”

  He picked up her hand, curled her fingers over his and raised it to his mouth and kissed the back of it. His lips were warm. “And then what happens?”

  Her heart gave a little leap. “I rather hope Cook brings a pot of something or other with her from London. I am sure we’ll all be starving by then.”

  Raymond shook his head. “You know very well what I am asking. Do you misinterpret me to give yourself time to answer, or to avoid answering altogether?”

  Natasha dropped her gaze to the sheet between them. “Both,” she admitted.

  “Ah.” He lifted her chin. His gaze was steady. “If I were any other man, I would insist that we be married as swiftly as possible, after yesterday and this morning. I think you know that. The only reason I do not, is because you have earned the right to make such decisions for yourself.”

  “You do not feel unmanned by my independence?”

  Raymond smi
led. “If I were not a man, I would not be here and you would not be looking as you do this morning. You know I am man enough. I have no need to demonstrate the fact to the rest of the world by forcing you to the altar.”

  Her heart picked up even more speed. “Please do not ask me,” she said softly. “I need time, Raymond. This…” She spread her hand over the sheet. “It will sound awful, but I needed to put this out of the way, first. Now, at last, I believe I may be able to think a little more clearly. Can you do that? Can you give me time?”

  “Can you give me the nights?” he asked. He glanced at the interconnecting door that led to his room. “I believe that was your intention all along.”

  “Is it very wicked of me to ask for only this, for now?” She could feel her cheeks burning. “Marriage would remove the sin, only it is not just me I must think about. There are my children—lord, Raymond, there is your son to think of, too. Our families, the Great Family. I haven’t even thought what the ton may think of us—”

  “Shh…” He said it softly. “We cannot rush any decision. I agree. It must be thought through very carefully. In the meantime, we will keep this for us alone.” He pressed his hand over hers on the sheet.

  “You must think things through, too, Raymond,” she said gently.

  “I?”

  She drew in a breath for courage, then spoke the words. “I would not have you marry me simply because I allowed you this privilege.” She shifted her hand on the sheet. “I am not a virtuous maid whose reputation must be preserved. I am a woman of means. I would not have you feel obligated because of my wanton ways.”

  Raymond grew very still. He watched her as if he were a hawk and she were prey.

  “Then, there is Susanna,” Natasha added softly, knowing it must be said.

  He sat up abruptly and curled his arms about his knees and stared at the foot of the bed. “We agreed that Seth and Susanna were behind us.”

  “Seth is in my past,” Natasha said gently. “Susanna still moves among us, yes?”

  “You would not allow that I may have learned how to let her go?” he asked quietly.

  “Have you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “You do not know that answer for yourself?”

  “How could I? You will not speak of her. You say it would compromise her to do so, yet that conveniently means I will never learn about her. You know so much about Seth and I know nothing of the woman who took your heart, not even if you still love her.”

  “Does that matter?” he asked, his voice low. “Marriages are made for other reasons besides love, as much as the ton would like to pretend otherwise.” He spoke bitterly and she remembered the pressure his father’s family had put upon him to marry Rose.

  “I married for love,” Natasha said simply. “I cannot fathom ever marrying for anything else.”

  His shoulders were held stiff and straight. He was still looking away from her, refusing to meet her gaze. “I see,” he said softly. Then, astonishingly, he laughed. It was not a humorous sound. It was strained.

  Then Natasha’s stomach growled loudly.

  Raymond immediately turned to her, his face concerned, as she sat up, her hand to her stomach. “You are hungry! You should have said so.”

  “I didn’t think I was. What are you doing?”

  For Raymond had risen and was thrusting his legs into his trousers.

  “I think I spotted a fruitcake at the back of the pantry, where I found the matches, last night.” For they had not been able to light a candle without matches and neither of them had such an item in their possession.

  “If there is a cake in the pantry, it would be months old by now,” Natasha said doubtfully.

  “Does your cook use lots of brandy?” Raymond asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, with a smile.

  “Then it may still be good, especially if she wrapped it properly. I’ll see what else is down there, as well. There may well be some jam we could put on the cake.”

  Natasha wrinkled her nose. Her stomach rumbled again. That decided her. She got to her feet and picked up the wrapper that Raymond had retrieved from her trunks for her, on the same match-hunting expedition. “I will come with you. It would be easier to eat in the kitchen, anyway.”

  Raymond opened the bedroom door and Natasha hurried after him. She nearly cannoned into him when he came to a sharp stop in the middle of the hall runner. She steadied herself against him, her hands on his bare back.

  “Cian!” Raymond said sharply.

  Natasha looked around, startled.

  Her oldest son stood at the top of the stairs, his hand on the newel post, one foot on the carpet. He had frozen in the act of taking the very last step up into the corridor. His blue eyes, so like his father’s, were wide, as he looked from Raymond to Natasha.

  His face blanched.

  “Cian,” Natasha said quickly, holding out her hand and coming toward him. “We should sit down and talk. I didn’t expect you home so early…”

  “Clearly,” Cian said. His tone was dry. He turned and hurried down the stairs again.

  “No, Cian! Please!” Natasha called out to him. She hurried over to the railing at the top of the stairwell and leaned over it, watching him descend, his long legs moving swiftly. “At least give me a chance to explain,” she begged him.

  He looked up at her as he turned at the landing. He paused long enough to say: “Nothing needs explaining. It is all perfectly clear, Mother.” He hurried down the stairs and out of sight.

  Natasha gripped the varnished wood railing, the sick feeling in her belly and her chest making her heart work unpleasantly.

  She hurried back to the bedroom, for Raymond was no longer standing in the middle of the corridor. He was, instead, dressing faster than she thought it was possible for a man to dress. He was tucking in his shirt and fastening his trousers as she entered. He already wore his boots. As the collar and cuffs were still pinned to his shirt, all he needed to do was tie the cravat and fasten his waistcoat.

  “What are you doing?” Natasha breathed.

  “Going after him,” Raymond said flatly.

  Natasha wrung her hands together. “Is that wise? Are you not the focus of his…ill feelings?”

  Raymond flung on his coat, picked up the cravat and stuffed it in his pocket. He had not bothered with the waistcoat. He came over to her, moving fast, and kissed her cheek. “As much as you may not appreciate hearing this, I must point out that right now, you are the focus of his bad graces. Trust me. I know what he is feeling. Let me deal with it.”

  Before she could argue or protest, he was gone. She heard his boots on the runner beyond the door, then the clatter of them on the stairs.

  * * * * *

  When Raymond didn’t find Cian anywhere on the estate, he saddled a horse and rode into Truro. There were not many places in Truro where an angry young man would attempt to go to ground. Cian was in the first location Raymond tried. Raymond moved through the nearly empty inn to the bench in the back of the room, under the high window. Cian had already emptied a full tankard of ale. He was working on the second as Raymond settled on the stool opposite him.

  Cian scowled. “I should beat your face bloody.”

  “Do you think that would help?” Raymond asked him curiously. “You can try, if you believe it will.”

  “Try?” Cian snorted and drank deeply again. “I grew up with you whaling the tar out of me every time I looked sideways. I believe I have already been suitably embarrassed today.”

  “Your mother did not intend to embarrass you.”

  Cian scowled at him. “If I had not returned from Cambridge early and found out for myself, how many others would be laughing behind my back about my immoral mother?”

  Raymond leaned forward. “Hear me, Cian. Hear me well. I know you are angry and you have some justification for that, which is why I am here. However, if you refer to your mother again in terms other than those of utmost respect, then I will take you outside and whale the
tar out of you.”

  Cian blinked. His blue eyes were identical to Seth’s. The high cheekbones were Natasha’s. His height and his angularity were all his own. “How long?” he asked, his voice strained.

  Raymond knew what he was asking in his growing inebriation. “Those within the family who spent the summer in London are aware that your mother and I have become friends. That is the extent of their awareness. Beyond the family, all appears as it should be.”

  “And what I saw, back at the house?”

  “That is between your mother and I,” Raymond told him.

  Cian scowled at him. “Are you going to marry her?”

  Raymond drew in a breath and let it out, giving himself time to think. “Does Tommy Winston still call you Blue-Boy?” he asked. In Cian’s first year at Eton, the Winston boy had thought it the height of amusement to mispronounce Cian’s name, deliberately. Instead of “kee-an”, Tommy and his cronies had called Cian “cyan”, which had quickly become “blue-boy”.

  “What has that to do with—”

  “Bear with me. Tommy and his friends are all at Cambridge, too, aren’t they? Do they still bother you?”

  “Not since I grew taller than everyone,” Cian replied, his tone dark.

  Raymond didn’t pursue the inference. He remembered his college days all too well. The pecking order wasn’t always based on rank. Sometimes, upper body strength and good footwork made the difference. If Cian had inherited his father’s love of a scrap, then Tommy Winston and his obnoxious friends would have learned the hard way how to pronounce Cian’s name properly.

  “Do you remember when you came home at the end of the first term at Eton,” Raymond said, “and your mother found out what Winston and his friends were doing to you?” The teasing had not stopped at name-calling. There had been crueler pranks.

  Cian grinned at the memory. “I thought she might explode.”

  Raymond nodded. “I think even your father had trouble preventing her from travelling to the Winston estate in Sussex and taking it up with Tommy’s parents.”

  Cian’s smile grew warmer, his gaze distant, as he remembered the moment. “Mother was beside herself…” His smile faded as he refocused on Raymond. “What of it?”