All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess

by Alexandra Hawkins

  Darkness enshrouded them. For all he knew, she was searching for something to bash over his head. It was the least he deserved, though he had no intention of pointing that fact out to her.

  “This accord you speak of,” she said, her voice thick with her accented inflections. “Precisely, what is our agreement?”

  Saint slipped the key into his waistcoat pocket. The room would have been easier to navigate if one of them bothered to light a candle, but he did not ask for one. Unless the furniture in the room had been rearranged, he recalled the layout of the room. When she did not light a candle, he quietly removed his evening coat. He dropped it on what he thought was a chair. Next he attacked the buttons on his waistcoat, and then his cravat. The buttons on his linen shirt. He pulled the thin garment over his head.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

  Without seeing her face, he could concentrate on her voice. Madame Venna sounded nervous. Wary. Nevertheless, this was no shy virgin. Six years ago, she had been eager and exquisitely skilled in the arts of lovemaking. He knew she had reveled in his skills as well. He wore the scratches she had made on his back for weeks.

  “Remove your shoes and stockings,” he said, bracing his palm on the armrest of the chair as he continued to undress. “I will help you with your gown.”

  “Saint…” There was a question in her voice, but she did not ask it. Instead, there was resignation in her exhale.

  He could tell from the soft sounds that she was complying with his request. There was a chance that she might have fought him. Either she thought she would lose the battle of wills or she desired this coupling as much as he did.

  A gentleman might have left his trousers in place for the sake of modesty. Saint never felt like a gentleman around Madame Venna. Naked, he walked in the direction of her voice. Now he was grateful she had not insisted on lighting a candle. His cock was stiff and fully aroused. It was a condition he was swiftly becoming accustomed to whenever she was in the vicinity.

  She started when his fingers brushed her shoulder.

  “Here, allow me to assist you,” he murmured, guiding her to straighten so he could unfasten the buttons at the back of her dress.

  Saint had undressed his fair share of women, so he was quite a competent lady’s maid. With considerable ease and her assistance, he wordlessly revealed layer upon layer of clothing, dropping the garments on the rug until nothing remained but her chemise.

  Saint moved behind her in the darkness. He placed his hands on her hips and shifted her to the side so that her buttocks rested against his right hipbone. His eagerness to consummate their renewed friendship was obvious, or it would have been if he poked her with his cock. Madame Venna covered his hands with hers, and allowed the back of her head to rest against his upper chest.

  “There was a guard at the door,” she murmured, rubbing against him. “How did you get by him?”

  Before he could reply, there was a knock at the door.

  “He was still breathing when I left him.”

  Madame Venna turned her head until her cheek brushed his chest. “They will expect me to answer. Otherwise, Abram will unlock the door.”

  Saint grasped her hand and brought it to his straining arousal. Her finger curled around the rigid length and squeezed. The threat of an audience should have withered his cock, but the woman in his arms was a potent aphrodisiac.

  “Madame V?” a feminine voice said from the other side of the door.

  “Oui,” she shouted back. “Saint—”

  “Your man has a sore jaw and head,” he assured her. He lowered her head to nuzzle her shoulder. “The only men I feel like killing are the ones who have shared your bed. Since Frost still lives, I pose no threat to your staff. Do not allow them to interfere.”

  There was another knock at the door.

  “I have to … wait here.” Her fingers slid teasingly down the length of his arousal as she headed for the door. “Where is the key?” she whispered.

  Although his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could only discern the vague outline of her body. “Buried somewhere in my clothes.”

  “Not very helpful, are you?” she whispered back. To the woman on the other side of the door, she said, “I have retired for the evening. Is there a problem, Anna?”

  Saint crossed the room to her. Despite her attempts to avoid his hands, he spun her halfway around and backed her against the wall next to the door. He pressed closer, letting her feel the thickness of his cock against her belly.

  “One of the guards was attacked. Abram fears the man might still be on the premises.”

  As Anna explained what had taken place and the guard’s injuries, Madame Venna struggled against him. “Stop at once. Anna will hear you,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  If Anna used her key to open the door, she would catch her mistress in a very compromising position. With a mischievous smile on his lips, he held her firmly by the hips as he lowered himself to his knees.

  “Are you mad?”

  Not quite, but he had high hopes for the evening. The woman never ceased to surprise him. As the owner of one of the most expensive brothels in London, Madame Venna was astonishingly restrained when it came to indulging her carnal appetites. Perhaps the yoke of responsibility hindered her from being distracted by her own needs.

  Fortunately, for her, Saint was willing to teach her to shirk her responsibilities for a few hours. His hands traveled along the contours of her hips and down her legs until his fingers could grasp the hem of her chemise. Slowly, he inched the fabric higher, exposing the curly tuft of hair between her legs.

  “No.”

  Yes. Saint leaned forward and put his mouth on her, his tongue delving into the soft yielding folds. His splayed hands slid lower so his fingers could part the dampening flesh so he could taste her.

  “Bonté divine!” she said breathlessly.

  “I did not quite hear you.” Anna tried the doorknob and discovered the door was still locked. “Madame, did you hear me? We might have an uninvited guest—”

  Saint circled the swollen nubbin, eliciting a faint muffled sound. Her fingers threaded his hair, and she tugged hard. To retaliate, his thumb stroked the wet sensitive folds between her legs until he reached her womanly sheath. He circled the sensitive border as he teased the nubbin with the tip of his tongue.

  Madame Venna inhaled sharply. “C-check the first floor … then outdoors, around the Golden P-pearl.”

  “Madame, are you well?” Anna hesitated. “Perhaps you should open the door—”

  “Stop that!” she whispered to Saint.

  “Madame?”

  Her breath burst through her parted lips in a hiss. Saint savored the sound. The grip she had on his head was painful, but he did not cease his tender assault. He continued the gliding circles, her welcoming wetness of her arousal allowing him to deepen the penetration of her sheath.

  His hard cock pulsed as it thumped against his thigh. Soon he would be in her, he promised himself.

  “No, I am fine. I—I … Don’t worry about the m-man. He has likely taken what h-he wanted and is gone.” She dragged air into her lungs as she struggled to maintain her composure.

  Saint nipped the area of skin just below her navel. “I have yet to take what I want, Madame V. I intend to linger over the task for hours.”

  “Hours?” she echoed in disbelief.

  “I beg your pardon?” Anna said, her concern and exasperation palpable even through the door. “I am using the key.”

  “Not the best idea,” he murmured, and then covered the pleasurable button of flesh between her legs with his tongue. He suckled hard.

  “No!” Madame Venna exclaimed, rapping the back of her head against the wall. “There is no need. I am returning to my bed … to sleep. I will see you in the morning, Anna.”

  There was silence on the other side of the door. If Anna decided to open the door, he wondered if Madame Venna would send him away. In his current
condition, he did not think he would go willingly. His control was stretched to its limits. He did not want to test his character.

  “If you are certain?” Anna said after a minute had passed.

  Madame Venna moaned softly. “I am … I am.”

  “Very well. Sleep—well, my dear friend.”

  “Oui!”

  Saint heard the departing footfalls of several people. Anna had not been alone.

  Madame Venna had also heard her friends’ departure. She slapped him on the top of the head. “Are you trying to get caught? What if Anna heard you?”

  “I am not worried about Anna.” He did not have the heart to point out that if Anna sensed anything was amiss, Madame Venna was to blame.

  “You should worry about me.” She gasped when he reminded her where his fingers were—and that he was prepared to manipulate her to have his way with her. “Enough mischief. Release me at once.”

  Kneeling at her feet, he looked up with hooded eyes at the woman who did not realize that he had already won the battle.

  “No.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “No?” Madame Venna shivered, and she tried to tell herself that it was from disgust.

  It was difficult to appear indignant with Saint kneeling between her legs and his wonderful hands touching her so intimately. She did not want him to stop, even when her instincts were warning her that this man had too much power over her.

  “Saint, what good will come of this?”

  He gently withdrew his fingers from the most intimate part of her, and she told herself that it was for the best. Slowly, he unfolded his large body as he stood. His hands moved upward from her outer thighs to her waist, preventing her chemise from falling back into place. She felt exposed even in the darkness, her vulnerability more evident when the thick, rigid length of his manhood rubbed against her belly.

  “Your lovers have been clumsy and selfish if you have to ask such a question,” Saint teased, lifting her effortlessly by the waist. He used his strength and the wall at her back to keep her feet from touching the floor.

  She grasped his bare shoulders for support as her legs automatically wrapped around his hips. Some subtle shifting and she could feel the blunt head of his manhood against her womanly core.

  “And you think you are better, no?”

  “I know I am better,” he said, his voice ringing with utter confidence.

  Madame Venna closed her eyes. Who needed sight when all she had to do was feel. His arousal pressed insistently against her, demanding entry.

  “Tu me rends fou!” he said fervently, stripping her chemise from her body with one skillful hand.

  Madame Venna smiled, wondering if he realized he had spoken to her in French. “You drive me crazy as well, mon coeur.”

  Although he was larger than most men, Saint’s clever tongue and fingers had prepared her body for his invasion. He rolled his hips against hers, inching his way until her womanly sheath stretched and opened for him. The dewy wetness from her arousal allowed him to slide fully into her.

  Man and woman were one.

  “There is a bed in this room.”

  She felt him smile against her right breast. “We will get to the bed. Eventually.” He captured her right nipple with his mouth and suckled. Pleasure radiated like warm sunshine encompassing both breasts, tightening her flesh as her nipples puckered.

  In this position, Saint had absolute control, and he was clearly enjoying his newfound power. With her pinned against the wall of her bedchamber, his manhood retreated and thrust deeply into her drenched core.

  All she could do is cling to him and savor the sensations he was wringing from her body.

  “Give me your lips,” she pleaded.

  Saint pulled her closer, the movement driving him deeper. She moaned against his mouth. His mouth was heavenly. Hot, demanding, and still tender, he kissed her. Their tongues tangled and teased, a delicate mating dance meant to ensnare and inflame.

  Six years ago, how had she let him go?

  Wrapped around him, while he rocked his hips against her, her heart wept for the years they had lost. Even though he would go on to marry a woman who was worthy to bear his heir, this night, he belonged to her.

  “You are mine,” she whispered against his cheek.

  “Yes.”

  The simplicity of his reply was a complication she was too muddled to address. Saint had a manner of driving all thought from her head. As much as he was hers, she was his.

  Distracted, Madame Venna did not resist when he caressed her face. Taking advantage of her weakness, Saint tugged the porcelain half-mask from her face. In response to her cry of protest, he flung it across the dark interior.

  The mask shattered upon impact.

  She struggled in his arms, but he used his body to keep her against the wall. His rigid flesh was sheathed deeply, the broad head of his manhood bumping against her womb. Her muscles encircling him constricted and fluttered.

  Furious at his high-handedness, she gasped, trying to fight down the pleasure he was building in her. “You had no right to do that!”

  “You gave me the right,” he said, not sounding repentant for his misdeed.

  The night hid her face. Her secret was still safe, but it did not quell her panic. “The mask—”

  “Is no more a part of you than your chemise or your shoes, Madame V,” he said impatiently. “Six years ago, I respected your wishes and I lost everything. This time, we do things on my terms. No mask. I want to make love to the woman beneath the mask, not the proprietress of the Golden Pearl.”

  “Damn you, I am both,” she said, her accented voice so much a part of her that she did not falter.

  “Not this evening,” he said, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. His kiss gentled as he tasted the salt of her tears. “There, there, love. Don’t cry. You must have dozens of half-masks to replace the one that I broke.”

  “I do.” She swallowed a sob, appalled that she was crying in front of him. “You do not understand. There are reasons why I—”

  “Hush.” Their bodies still joined, Saint’s slow thrusts were meant to soothe her. “Upon my honor, we will keep the candles doused. Let the darkness be your mask. All I want is this.”

  His shoulder muscles strained beneath her palms as he quickened the pace to scatter her thoughts and make her forget that he had stripped her naked and was laying claim to every part of her.

  Madame Venna winced as the back of her head collided with the wall. She dug her fingernails in his flesh in retaliation for the tempest he was building within her. Over and over, her body welcomed his ravishment. His mouth had moved from her well-kissed lips downward until his forehead rested on her shoulder. Her breasts bounced merrily against his chest as she felt his buttocks tighten. His strength and energy astounded her. Perspiration dampened his skin, but he showed no sign of stopping until—

  The ball of pleasure exploded within her core, reminding her of fireworks at Vauxhall. Madame Venna cried out. Tiny ripples of light burned through her, climbing higher and higher until she saw the glittering spectacle in the dark interior. Red, blues, and silver. How lovely. Or maybe this was just a warning that she was on the verge of fainting.

  Saint was relentless. Unaware of the pleasure he was creating within her, he pounded into her with a bruising force that was surprisingly painless. Suddenly he gasped and pulled her tightly to him. He groaned as he embraced her, his face buried against her neck.

  A second explosion occurred. This time emanating from Saint. Deep within her, she felt the hot pulse of his seed flooding her. Madame Venna held him while he shuddered and strained to deepen their joining.

  Neither one of them spoke.

  He gulped air, and she smoothed his damp hair from his face.

  Finally, she said, “If you put me down, I will guide you to my bed.”

  Saint chuckled at her offer. “Not yet.”

  Puzzlement crept into her gaze, though he could not see it. “I do no
t understand.”

  “You will know pleasure each step to the bed.” When he eased out of her, it was apparent that his manhood had not withered after their coupling.

  Madame Venna’s lips parted in surprise. “Saint, as a lover you have nothing to prove to me.”

  “I disagree.” Her legs were wobbly as her bare feet touched the floor. “In fact, I insist.”

  * * *

  It took an hour for them to reach the bed.

  By the time, Saint had carried her to the bed, Madame Venna was no longer fretting about her shattered half-mask. She was too busy trying to catch her breath.

  “You have killed me,” she said, gasping.

  Saint chuckled as he rolled onto his side. His hand found the flat of her stomach, then moved upward to her breast. He lightly pinched her plump nipple. “You appear hearty and hale for a dead woman.”

  Madame Venna laughed. It was a rich, full-throated sound that made his testicles tighten in anticipation. “You told me that you knew the way.”

  “I got us here, did I not?” he said smugly. “I just preferred to chart a leisurely course.”

  The journey might have been unhurried, but the frantic couplings had not. Even after spilling himself inside her, he discovered to his amazement that he wanted her again. His cock was still hard. As much as he prided himself on his sexual prowess and virility, he needed time to recover. That did not mean that he could not use his body to pleasure her. He had pulled her down onto the rug to prove that he was far from finished with her. She had found her womanly release three times before he had pulled her to her feet and they had staggered to her dressing table, breathless and giddy from the joy they had found in the dark bedchamber. Saint had lifted her up, cupping her round bare buttocks in his hands as he settled her on the cool surface of the table. A bottle of scent had toppled over and shattered when it struck the floor. Madame Venna had laughed and told him to forget about the bottle. Despite the darkness, he unerringly found the heart of her and eased into her, her wetness welcoming him.

  “Leisurely?” She exhaled a sigh and stretched. “Mon chéri, you have such a way with words. No wonder my girls enjoyed your attentions.”