by Stacy Reid
Oh! He was staring at her, and in the depth of his gaze, she spied surprise and desire so powerful her entire body quaked.
His lips moved, the stroke of his tongue against the closed seam of her lips tender, persuasive, arousing. Somewhere in the hazy back recesses of her mind, she hated her weakness for his touch. He coaxed her lips apart, and with a muffled gasp she submitted, her eyes fluttering closed. Sylvester grew more demanding, and she parted her lips farther, allowing him greater exploration. She made another incoherent sound. His tongue stroked against hers, and she jolted at the shocking and delightful intimacy. Daphne had not known a kiss could be like this, as if they were consuming the essence of each other.
Her husband was unyielding in his advances, and he kissed her over and over with devastating expertise. Something unknown was happening, and she felt panicked. An unbearable heat was twisting through her, and the sensations were too wonderful. She attempted gathering her senses, but his sensual assault did not abate, drowning away the protest before it fully formed.
He framed her face with both hands and deepened their kiss, moving their embrace from sweet and hesitant to a blatant brand of raw, domineering ownership. He consumed her, and Daphne was lost entirely in the taste, the scent, and the feel of him. Between her thighs ached for his touch. And as if he knew, he lowered one of his hands to grip her gown and slowly, painstakingly drag it up. Her husband’s fingers caressed along the sensitive softness of her inner thigh until he was just there, right where she throbbed. Daphne sobbed into his kiss, wanting to get closer. Everything about him felt as if it were trapped beneath her skin. She pulled her lips from his and thrust her fingers into his hair.
“More,” she beseeched, a wanton instinct urging her to nip his lower lip. So she did, and he groaned, his hands tightening about her body. Then the hand that had been lingering near her wet heat moved, and two wicked, sinful fingers stroked deep inside at the same time his lips recaptured hers. She flinched at the tight, almost painful stretch, a soft scream exploding from her mouth into his. There was the slightest hesitation before he withdrew, lifted her into his arms, and strode to the sofa by the window, tumbling her into the soft depths. Daphne stared up at him in dazed arousal, quite aware of how wantonly she was splayed, her ballgown pushed to her mid thighs, her stockings and garters on display.
Why is he kissing me now, and why am I allowing this?
A hot lump formed in her throat. Only for a moment…and then I’ll stop… She couldn’t resist him. Not when she trembled like this. Not when the loneliness had fled.
Her earl knelt, cupped the back of her knees, and pushed up and out, baring her to his heated gaze. She made to sit up, but a firm hand pressed against her stomach, and she stilled. Disconcerted and uncertain what to expect, Daphne struggled to understand the needs throbbing through her body for his touch. He lifted her legs, spreading them wide, pulling her buttocks to the edge of the sofa and staring between her thighs with hungry intent.
His eyes collided with hers, and he held her gaze for a long, timeless moment. Then he dipped, and her earl wedged his shoulders between her splayed thighs to press his lips to the curls at the top of her mound. Her entire body blushed. Daphne was scandalized. She trembled violently as she realized his intention. “My lord?” Surely, he wouldn’t.
The touch of his tongue as it glided over her nub was a caress of pure pleasure. Daphne slapped a palm over her mouth, desperate to contain the scream rushing through her. Her husband was the devil, and his tongue his instrument of temptation and torture. He licked and sucked, gentle, then with too much passion. She was helpless against the sobs of need that escaped her throat.
She hadn’t known…dear God, she hadn’t known a pleasure like this existed. His teeth settled over her aching nub and nipped, then a heated lick down to her slick entrance.
“Sylvester!”
An intolerable ache was building up, making her sob out his name over and over again. He gripped her buttocks and kept her pinned to the wicked lash of his tongue. Frantic to ground herself, she thrust her fingers through his hair, and something sinful and wanton and desperate in her urged her to ride his tongue, and she did. Dear God, she did. A wild cry tore from her throat as the piercing ache that had been building finally broke and the sweetest sensation tore through her, leaving her wrecked.
It was the most incredible pleasure she had ever known. And it had been with her husband. Not allowing herself to collapse and burrow into his chest, she scrambled away, frantically pushing her gown down to cover her exposed thighs. His lips glistened with her release, and his sensual smirk hinted at his arrogance.
Before she could recover her devastated senses, he leaned over and brushed his mouth lightly across hers.
“I see Redgrave has taught you well,” he murmured against her lips.
Redgrave.
Daphne’s eyes flew open, horror stealing her breath. Her earl’s eyes were piercing and watchful as a hawk. In the dark depths, there was a fury and pain she hardly understood. The man shunned her bed and any hint of intimacy between them. What right did he have to be angry if she took a lover? He is your husband…the weak, traitorous part of her aching heart whispered.
“Get off me,” she snapped, not caring to hide her anger.
Dear God, what had she been thinking? Allowing him to touch her with such burning passion. The man felt nothing for her, and she had responded shamelessly to his touch and kisses. His seduction just now had nothing to do with passion or his wanting her. It had all been a test, and her foolish desires had rebelled against the logic of her heart and mind. She pulled her knees up and pressed the flat of her feet against his muscled chest, then pushed with all the strength the restriction of her gown allowed. She wanted him away from her, immediately.
He moved from between her thighs, and heat flushed along her body at the prominent hardness at the front of his trousers. His hair was in frightful disarray, and his eyes…good heavens, they glowed with something wild and predatory. She had never seen her husband look so mussed. In fact, he had never stared at her with such carnal promise.
With a fierce tug, she readjusted her clothing into some semblance of decency and sat up. “What do you know of Redgrave?” she asked, hating the guilt worming through her.
“No denial, I see. Curious, my wife, sitting so calmly confirming her infidelity. Do you by chance, Countess, believe there are no consequences to this betrayal?”
She shot to her feet and rounded on him. “And what does it matter to you? You haven’t been to my bed in all the years we have been married.”
“If you had a need to feel a cock in you, Countess, you only had to say so.”
She blushed at his crudity. “Do you believe after the farce of our wedding night I would ever approach an unfeeling lout like you even if I had wanted a cock? A stone has more emotional depth than you, my lord.”
“Ah, so Redgrave is warm and tender, is he? I never knew the viscount had it in him.”
There was a throb of something dark and dangerous in Sylvester’s tone. Daphne did not appreciate the apprehension it stirred inside her. “I said nothing of the sort,” she retorted, clutching her hands to her middle to prevent their trembling. “You’ve ignored me for six years. The state of the marriage I wanted to discuss with you is a separation. For a moment, I thought you wanted the same thing, not an heir, which I am most certainly not prepared to accommodate.”
Her husband was as still as a statue. Another fraught silence blanketed the room, thick and impenetrable. “A separation?”
Her chest heaved with the depth of her emotions. “Yes. But not one where we remain married and you and I live apart blithely ignoring the fact that the law and my stupidity have bound us together.”
“You want a divorce.” Her husband was staring at her as if he had never seen her before.
Keep steady. “If you will but petition for it, my lord, or an annulment.”
“No.”
She physically hurt
with the control it took to hold in a scream. “You will grant my request, my lord, or I promise you will regret it.”
“Will I?” Amusement shaded his voice.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“And the scandal?”
“I—”
“Do you believe, countess, that I would act with such wanton disregard of my family’s position within society? My sister, my mother, aunts, and cousins would most certainly be caught in the backlash.”
She fisted her hands at her side. “Do you expect me to think of others who have only know contentment with their lives? I will no longer be trapped in this cold marriage,” she said. “I am lonely, so empty there are days I feel as if I will shatter. I do not care about scandals. I want to be held…kissed, loved. I am neither free, nor married in truth, and I want to be unburdened from the shackles you have placed on me.” She felt distantly appalled she was sharing so much of her feelings with him, but he had to be convinced, otherwise she would shatter.
He jerked as if she had slapped him, then he stilled. Silence enveloped the library and tension rode the air.
“I presume you want this love with Redgrave.”
I wanted it with you for years… Daphne’s heart was a trembling mess. She badly wanted to escape the confines of the library, hurl herself up the stairs as fast as she could, and burrow herself underneath her warm covers and hide from everything. She lifted her chin, quite aware of how defiant she must seem. “Yes,” she lied.
Her husband looked away into the roaring fire for precious seconds. “Redgrave signed his death warrant the moment he touched you,” Sylvester said, his voice hard, uncompromising, and ruthless. “I will break him into bits. What to do with you, I wonder?”
Weakness assailed her. She believed in the cold implacability that stared back at her, and fear for the viscount flared through her. “He never touched me, not in the intimate manner you are thinking,” she said through bloodless lips. “And I was never tempted to.” And with that acknowledgment, she felt such despair her throat went tight. How could the only man she ached for with such passion be the wretched one who stood before her?
“Is that so?”
“Yes…and why would you care if he had? You have a mistress.”
Her husband dealt her an arrested stare. “The last woman I took to my bed was three weeks before I married you,” he said with such gruff sincerity. “You truly are ignorant of my character if you believe I could act with such dishonor.”
Astonished, Daphne could only look helplessly at him. A peculiar relief rushed through her, and her eyes smarted. “And Lady Felicity Mclean?”
Curiosity gleamed in his gaze. “A friend, and nothing more.”
“You danced with her,” Daphne whispered, hating the sudden tightness in her throat. “And no one else.”
He frowned, then knowledge leaped into his eyes. “At the Duchess of Hardcastle’s ball, one year ago. I recall you dancing the night away with several young bucks.”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“That I did not,” he said, regret heavy in his tone. “I will admit, Countess, that I have ignored the state of our marriage for far too long. That, I promise, will be remedied. There will be no more talks of divorce or separation.”
She shook her head, sharply disconcerted. “I will not submit to you and ignore my heart,” she said hoarsely.
“After you have given me my heir and spare, Countess, if you are still determined I will set you free,” he promised with icy civility. “Until then, I will not hear the words separation or divorce from your lips. Nor will you see Viscount Redgrave again. I trust you understand.”
“I beg your pardon?” she practically breathed out, for a moment utterly dispossessed of all rational thought. “Despite being my husband, you will not abandon me for six years and believe you still have the right to command me to give you an heir. I will not relinquish my freedom and allow you to impose upon my person your will. I will not simply obey. Have you become like the masters of the slaves for whom you fight so passionately?”
There was an intolerable ache of tears burning in the back of her throat. Without waiting for an answer, Daphne turned on her heels and hurried away in what she hoped was a dignified manner, hating everything about their encounter.
She was also terribly mortified. The sensitive flesh between her thighs was so swollen and needy it ached. How could he do this to her when she hated him? Perhaps I only think I hate him. She suppressed the tormenting thought. No, she had fallen in love with him as a silly girl and had longed for him most embarrassingly, but all those infantile sentiments had bled away. She would stick to her path of freedom, and if he thought she would now obey him because he declared it so arrogantly after six empty years, he was decidedly mistaken.
She would be the most outrageous, the most scandalous in her pursuits of pleasure, and then he would simply have to set her free.
Chapter Five
A few hours later, Daphne awoke from a restless slumber, and without taking the time to break her fast, she performed her toiletries and ordered the carriage to be ready. She had to call upon her dearest friend, Georgiana, the Dowager Duchess of Hardcastle—and now Viscountess Montrose, after marrying Rhys Tremayne, one of the most fascinating and dangerous men known to the London underworld. Daphne required his peculiar brand of service, for he was a broker of information and secrets.
After last night, she needed an arsenal to fight against her husband and his uncanny shrewdness. Scandal alone would not be enough, not for a man who was so self-assured and ruthless, and who with little effort had almost taken her in the library on the chaise lounge. Oh! The mere memory had her heart racing. It was as if her body had rebelled against her heart and mind, and she could not allow that to happen again.
She closed her eyes. If she were to ever fall with child, the freedom she had been hoping for would never be attained.
Almost an hour later, she arrived at one of the most sophisticated townhouses in Mayfair. She alighted from the carriage and the butler opened the front door without her knocking, bowing as she entered.
“Thank you, Milton,” she said with a smile as he collected her pelisse and bonnet.
She glanced up to see Georgiana strolling toward her, and a soft sigh of relief slipped from Daphne. Seeing the beautiful, serene countenance of her dearest friend released the tension and anxiety she hadn’t realized she held in. She could always count on Georgiana for sound and insightful advice without recriminations.
“Dearest Daphne, how I’ve longed to see you,” Georgiana said, holding out her hands.
They hugged and, arms around each other’s waist, they made their way to the drawing room. Soon she was seated opposite her friend on a plush, rose-colored sofa, taking tea.
They exchanged mild pleasantries for a few minutes, then Georgiana said, “I can see you are disturbed. Is all well?”
Daphne sighed. Confiding in her dearest friend was a trifle more difficult than she had imagined. “I want to know my husband’s secrets,” she said mildly, ignoring the sting of guilt.
Georgiana considered her over the rim of her cup. She took a few delicate sips. “Daphne, you’ve admired Carrington for years.”
“Have I?” she said, hating how shattered she sounded. “I’ve admired his dedication to his duties, but I believe it stopped there. It would be quite silly of me to hold any affection for the wretched man.”
“Oh Daphne, I’ve been a poor friend. I know you have been morose of late but not this badly. Why do you want Rhys to ferret out your husband’s secrets? Whatever shall you do with them?”
“They will be my bargaining power.” Her heart lurched at the very notion of acting in such a reprehensive manner.
“I’m disinclined to pry, Daphne dearest, but I must ask—why do you need such power over your earl?”
“I want a divorce, and he is disinclined to grant my request because he wants an heir and a more agreeable marriage.”
Georgiana flinched, and then set the tea and saucer on the beautifully designed rococo table with a clink. “Upon my word, how did Carrington react to your position?”
“With more aplomb than I expected. I was not beaten or banished to an estate in Scotland. Instead…he…he touched me, kissed me.” Incredulity rang through her voice, and a flush ran along her entire body. “I admire him still, sometimes, but it is not enough,” she said with a small, tight smile. “I told him my desire for us to separate. He knows he must be the one to petition Parliament. I have no grounds upon which to stand unless I am willing to lie in the most horrible way and say he is terribly cruel to me in a physical manner.”
Georgiana sucked in a horrified breath. “I would ruin him myself should he dare hurt you,” she hissed, her blue eyes flashing.
“I daresay I am finding the courage to free myself from the shackles of duty and an empty marriage.” Daphne took a sip of her tea. “Do you know my marriage is still unconsummated?”
Georgiana stood. “This calls for stronger libation.” She walked over to the sideboard and filled two glasses with amber liquid. Then she returned and handed one to Daphne, who traded her tea for the stiffer drink. She took a sip of the liquid, coughing slightly.
“Our wedding ceremony was very small and intimate, but I thought it was beautiful. I was so naive, so filled with admiration and budding love for my earl I did not take note of his chilling distance, nor did I question why a man of such esteem and wealth would offer for me.” She took a steadying breath. “After our wedding breakfast, we traveled separately to Cheswick Manor. It was when he came to my chambers hours later that I understood our marriage was not real at all.”
The worst of it was that he had tried to consummate their union. The memory of his cold eyes as he’d ordered her to undress and lie on the bed still had the power to distress her nerves. She had complied, shaking with nerves and alarm, wondering where the man she had fallen halfway in love with that day in the rain was. He had been so cold, so clinical as he had parted her thighs, taken some thick cream from a jar, and touched between her legs. There had been some pain as he slid his fingers into her, and her breath had hitched on a sob. Sylvester had recoiled, his face a grimace of disgust before he had slammed from the chamber. The mere memory had humiliation burning the back of her throat.
