by Stacy Reid
She couldn’t help laughing. “This is absurd, Sylvester.”
Her laughter was cut short at the intense way he stared.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You are chasing me, my lord!”
“Ah, you are afraid I’ll catch you.”
Daphne swallowed. He didn’t seem angry…more bemused? “And when you catch me what will you do?” The question sounded too provocative.
He stepped fully into the room and closed the door and leaned against it. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but his eyes… “That depends entirely on your answer, wife… What are you doing here?”
Lie, her instincts screamed, yet she could not. She took a bracing breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Madam Salome?”
Her husband stilled, and Daphne’s mouth went dry.
“I have heard of Madam Salome and the services she renders.” There was a wealth of undecipherable emotions in his voice.
Somehow, she developed an unexpected case of nerves. “Perhaps we should have this conversation at another time?”
“I am curious as to your intention.”
For an instant, an ache of regret and pain washed through her. “A scandal,” she whispered.
He was silent for an uncomfortably long time. “This, my countess, is more than a scandal. Blood would have been on your hands.”
“What?”
“I would kill any man who dared touch you,” he said with soft ruthlessness.
She believed him. “Why would it matter to you?”
He made no reply, but the look in his eyes made her feel cherished and, at the same time, vulnerable. Daphne had the most appalling and maddeningly tempting urge to close the distance between them and hug him, kiss him, and just breathe him into her being. Logic didn’t seem to have a place in her heart at the moment. Dear God, even like this, with the awful uncertainty of the moment, she wanted him. As if something wonderful awaited her, and she had only to step forward and reach for it…fight for it.
Had she ever truly fought for her marriage? She had only attempted once to find the source of his indifference. He had rebuffed her harshly, and since then she had simply waited and watched like a wounded animal, one without enough courage to demand answers and fight. The shattering awareness surged through her and her entire soul trembled. For the first time it dawned on her that she was equally at fault for the state of their marriage.
“I’m terribly sorry, Sylvester. I knew I could not do it the minute I alighted from the carriage.”
“Do you want a divorce so badly that you would trade your honor for it?”
These last few weeks have made me doubt everything I thought about what I hungered for.
“We have little or no trust between us. That cannot make for an agreeable marriage for either of us.” Once again, she wanted to weep. “And as for this situation, you must surely own that you are also at fault.”
He showed neither irritation or anger. His mien was unreadable, the only thing consistent was his unrelentingly piercing stare.
“I am?” Her earl sounded politely dubious.
“Yes.” She folded her arms. “If you hadn’t been so boorish and dismissive of what I truly wanted, perhaps I would have been a little less reckless.” And less scared. “If you had learned anything about me these past weeks, you would have known I, too, have honor and I would never willingly betray you.”
They stared at each other for the longest moment, and the shadows in her earl’s eyes were almost frightening to contemplate.
“You were crying.”
She jerked her fingers to her damp cheeks. “Why are you here?” she finally asked, clinging to her composure.
“When I realized the depth you were willing to traverse to escape our marriage…to escape me… A lover, a scandal. I will use all my power and wealth to secure a bill of divorcement from the courts. I have already sent word to my solicitors informing them of my decision. I hurried here for I did not want you to make a decision that would haunt your forever.”
She gazed up at him, unable to speak. The solemn pensiveness of his expression was petrifying. “You are letting me go?”
“Yes.”
And she sensed the truth of his word and the honor in his promise. The pain that slashed through her heart made her stumble back a few paces. The very idea of their parting being so final made her want to howl. Breathing deep, she snapped her spine straight and lifted her chin. She needed to appear brave, except tears ran down her cheeks.
“Thank you.” Her victory was hollow, and her heart was laid upon the ground. “I want you to know…I wouldn’t have stayed here,” she whispered. “I hurt, and I feel this despair inside, but I wouldn’t have stayed.”
“I never want to cause you despair, Daphne. You…you mean too much to me.”
She sucked in an audible breath. “I…” Daphne stared at him helplessly, shaken by the sweet hope that tore through her heart. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was so much more than he had ever owned to.
“One night without you in my arms and I was filled with a cold emptiness that almost swallowed me. You are not a coward, despite your habit of running whenever we argue. You have honor, and I know you had nothing to do with your father and brother’s vile attempts to blackmail me. You are generous to a fault, loyal, and fierce. You give your time to those less fortunate generously, you are a beautiful and an exemplary countess, and you have a strength that I will forever admire. Many…” He cleared his throat. “Many would have wilted under the loneliness you existed with, but you did not. Only a few would ever think to aim for a divorce and brave the stain of scandal and ignominy. I am proud you are my wife.”
She closed her eyes against the tears that were pooling in her eyes, but when she opened her lids, the tears spilled unchecked.
“Forgive me for the years of hurt my distance caused. You inspire me to want more, my wife, and only with you. So, I am declaring my intentions now…when you are free and have lived and enjoyed life how you’ve craved it for so long, I will be wooing you, my countess, and while I’ll fervently hope you’ll give me a chance, it will be your choice if you want to be with me.”
She shook her head, disbelief scything through her. He flinched, and the shadow of pain that burned in his eyes almost felled her to her knees.
“I wasn’t saying no,” she said hoarsely.
Something powerful and turbulent flared in the depth of his green gaze.
“Why, Sylvester, would you grant me a divorce only to woo me again?”
The room itself seemed as if it stilled.
He moved over to her and cradled her face between his palms. There was a fine trembling in his fingers. “Because when I thought the love and admiration I saw in you for me would die, I almost lost my mind. Because I cannot imagine you anywhere but at my side, nor can I see myself anywhere but at yours. You’re the most beautiful person I know. Your beauty is your compassion, the kind that inflames the heart and enchants the soul, and I never want to be free of your spell.”
Her earl’s head dipped, and he kissed the trail of tears that ran down her cheek. Daphne felt remarkably breathless.
“Because I love you, quite desperately. I need to see you happy always, and for that reason I am letting you go.” He lowered his head and touched his forehead to hers, his heart filled with the heat of emotion, hunger, need. “I will bear the scandal with you, and I will use my influence to take the brunt of it, and I hope in the months we will be apart, possibly a couple more years, that somehow we could remain friends. Then after my petition is approved, I will spend my life wooing you back to me.”
Her breath fled as the fiercest longing swept through her. Perplexed, her heart started to thud, and a frightening wave of heat surged through her. She could almost sense his intent. Or perhaps they were her fevered hopes.
“There is one thing I want before I turn away and you never have to see me again until our divorce
is final.”
“What?” Though she knew, God she knew.
“Grant me the privilege of your body, my wife.” The rough, sensual command had the breath fluttering from between her lips. “When my nights are long and lonely without you, I will remember the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, your sweet cries of pleasure, and I will be warm.”
He waited, his eyes haunted with shadows…but he waited.
“Sylvester?”
“Countess?”
“Promise you’ll never let me go.”
He jerked and then stilled. Daphne reached up and cupped his jaw between her hands. “I love you, with my entire soul. I’ve always loved you, but I too failed our marriage. I wanted you, I ached for you, but I never fought for us. I promise you, my love, I will never doubt you again, nor will I ever run again. This…our love is everything. Do not let me go, Sylvester, not now, not ever. I want to be with you always. I’ve never stopped loving you. My admiration and regards have only grown, and I cannot bear to be apart from you.”
Silence blanketed the room, a rigid, breathless silence. Then he drew her into his arms and kissed her, a mere touch of his lips to hers.
“I promise to love you forever, Daphne.” Then he shrugged from his jacket and draped it across the back of the chaise lounge. She stared at him helplessly while he removed his waistcoat, cravat, and shirt, dropping them on the carpeted floor. He held her stare as he removed his shoes and trousers. Her husband was powerfully built, with broad shoulders and firmly muscled thighs, stomach, and chest. She sucked in an audible breath when she glanced down. He was aroused; that part of him was rising thick and long.
“Turn around.”
Daphne turned, her hands dropping to her sides. She felt when he approached, and she could hardly think, much less speak, when he started to remove her clothes. The heat of his body surrounded her. Her limbs felt laden, and an unbearable need was twisting through her. Her dress and chemise were pushed from her shoulders to anchor at her hips, leaving her bare from the waist up.
A lone finger caressed her spine up to her neck.
“You have the most delightful skin.”
He dipped and pressed a kiss along the curve behind her ear, and she bent back her neck, allowing him greater access. She savored the profound awareness of being so close to her husband.
“I must confess, I have all the intention of punishing you, Countess, for even thinking to allow another man near you. Do you know how?”
Shock reverberated through her. “No,” she said huskily.
“With such pleasure you will beg for mercy.”
Her heart tumbled in her chest, yet she was not afraid. Instead, she was frightfully and delightfully aroused. He snaked his hand around her middle and down to her womanly center where he cupped with firm possession. Though his touch was through layers of gown, she felt him like a searing brand. His teeth nipped along her neck, the stinging ache of it so sensual.
“Before the night is out, you will be unable to think of anyone else fucking you, ever.” He placed a gentle kiss on the pulse that fluttered madly at her throat, so at odds with his crude, carnal words. “Or making love with you. It will only be me, wife. And the memory of tonight will haunt you, will keep you awake at night, and you will ache for me, just as I’ll be longing for you.”
“How do you suppose one can be punished with pleasure? An odd notion,” she said slightly breathlessly.
The hand cupping her center pressed down, pushing against her suddenly tight knot of pleasure, then he dragged the material of her dress over her mound and rubbed, hard. The fission of pure pleasure jolted her to her feet as she instinctively tried to escape the fierce rush of pleasure that was almost painful. In fact, her body was feverishly hot.
“I’ll not touch you like a female of delicacy,” he murmured, the promise of something wicked and hungry in his tone. “I’ll keep you up on my cock all night, and even when you wail your exhaustion and beg for rest, I’ll prove you can reach your peak again and again and again.”
A shocking surge of heat quivered through her.
“Days after, whenever you walk, whenever you move, you will remember that I loved you all night. But that memory, wife…will always leave you hungering for more.”
She felt a small flare of unease, and for a moment she could hear only the pounding of her own heart. He buried his nose in her neck, inhaling her scent and her heart tripped inside her chest and then squeezed. A dark edge of excitement lurked underneath Daphne’s apprehension. All the longing and the need she had suppressed for years welled, and the barrier she had placed them behind cracked. She stirred, turning to face him slightly. His gaze was intent, his face a picture of sensuality, his eyes narrowed with threatening lust and promise. Something wild pulsed inside her, and she thrust her fingers through his hair and tugged his lips close to hers. “I believe I want to be punished,” she said so softly that for a moment she wondered if he heard.
Then something primal unlocked in his eyes, and he watched her with such sexual intensity that an answering heat bloomed deep inside her. She reached up onto her toes and smashed her lips to his, kissing him with all the aching hunger and love in her soul. His hand slipped up to her back as he hugged her to him, giving and taking as much as her. She fell completely under his spell, and there was nothing she could do about it, nor did she want to stop.
He framed her cheeks with his hands and with nips and soothing kisses urged her to part her lips to his questing tongue. His tongue delved deep, stroking along hers, his embrace so full of demand and promise. She gave herself over to pleasure…and such pleasures it was. The gentle, sweet, and carnal kisses drowned her senses with bliss. Had her husband always been capable of this tenderness? Sensations exploded through her body as his tongue curled over hers, sipping and savoring, then marauding.
He slid his hands up her waist, cupped her breasts, rolled her hard nipples between his fingers, and pinched them, stabbing pleasure straight to the heart of her. Through the drugging kisses, she dazedly realized he’d pushed the dress from her waist to pool at her feet. Sylvester only paused to whisk the chemise from over her head before pulling her naked body to his.
Oh, the wonderful heat of him sank deep inside of her, and she purred into another delightful kiss. Heat radiated from the tip of Daphne’s breast and rushed to her core. His head dipped, his mouth covered her nipple and sucked, sending sensation rippling to her womb and pulsating in her knot of pleasure. A whimper tore from her throat. The heated wetness of his tongue tormented the tender tips of her nipples and arrows of exquisite sensation shot through her.
His lips moved over her skin, sending waves of fire beating at her. Everywhere he touched, he left flames behind, and her skin seemed to fill with liquid heat. She trembled, desire burning away all sense of caution, all feelings of doubt. Leaving only the scent, taste, and feel of Sylvester. Leaving only exquisite desire.
He lifted her, and within two strides he was bearing her down on the silken bedsheets. He pulled away just far enough to look down at her. Strong hands reached for her, grasped her ankles and pushed her legs up so her heels were flat on the sheet. She spread her thighs slowly, opening herself to him as he moved between them.
He smoothed his hands down the insides of her thighs, pushing them open all the way. Her entire body flushed. Her thighs trembled, her stomach clenched, and her breath panted softly.
He touched the soft folds of her sex. “You’re glistening.”
Her nub was a swollen knot of burning need, and when he lightly flicked his finger over it, she almost came off the bed. “Is that good?”
His eyes collided with her and she had her answer in the possessiveness that glowed there. He lowered himself, wedging his shoulders between her splayed thighs, and pressed his mouth to her mound. His tongue glided over her in one long lick, and she moaned low in her throat, a disturbingly erotic sound. His tongue worked her with shattering carnality. He had her groaning, straining, sweati
ng, and pleading, yet he gave her no respite from the awful, wonderful pleasure.
He stroked two of his fingers into her, and she groaned at the snug fit. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but neither was it comfortable.
“And so tight, wife, the anticipation of being inside of you is enough to make me spend on the sheets.”
His fingers retreated and then pushed home with sensual force. The lash of pleasure that went through her at his actions was so violent she shivered. He came over her, kissed her again, his mouth hot and rough against hers, tasting, owning her whimpers and moans. He alternately savored and consumed, and Daphne could not get enough of him.
Their lips parted, leaving only a scant half inch between them. They were breathing erratically, inches from each other’s mouths.
Then his delightfully wicked fingers moved, and he kissed her again, more like ravishing her mouth. Her cry was lost in the wild, wicked taste of him. This kiss felt like a punishment, yet Daphne felt the answering ache between her legs. A third finger entered her, and she gasped into his mouth. He stretched her wide, the pleasure mixing with pain, but she did not want him to stop.
Perspiration dampened her body, making her slick. Sylvester reached between them, fisted his throbbing length, and tucked it at her entrance. Their gaze held, the nervous anticipation biting through her strange but also wonderful. He surged heavily and deeply into her body. Inch by slow inch he invaded her tight channel, working his engorged length back and forth. She gave a small, half-strangled cry of pleasure and pain as her muscles parted under his entry.
He groaned his satisfaction, and the sound sent a shudder of pleasure rippling through her body. Daphne could see the struggle for control that filled his expression. He brushed a kiss over her lips, soothing and arousing in equal measure. She allowed her fingers to coast over the sleek, powerful muscles of his shoulders and back. Sylvester pulled from her and sank back inside of her clenching heat with slow but piercing depth. A long, low moan broke from her lips at the exquisite pressure.
He kept her locked in his powerful arms as he ravaged her with his too-thick cock. Daphne wrapped her legs high around his back, lifting her hips and taking everything he had to give her.
