She cried out, arching against him, and he followed the nip with a stroke of his tongue. Her fingers speared through his hair. “Now! I need you in me now.”
His hand reached between their bodies again, finding her, gliding against her, teasing her for a moment before pushing a finger deep inside her once more, reveling in her soft, clinging heat. His breath grew hoarse. “You’re so wet . . . ready.”
She nodded drunkenly. “Please.”
Aching hard, he nodded. His body clenched with need. He freed himself and then he was there. Pushing inside her. His hands held tight to her hips, anchoring her as he drove in to the hilt. His body shuddered at the sensation. “God, you’re tight.”
She whimpered.
“Am I hurting—”
Her eyes blazed up at him. She shook her head furiously, and her inner muscles flexed, milking his cock. “No . . . please, just move.”
Thank God. He dropped his head into her neck with a groan, withdrew and pushed back in again, slamming deep and touching heaven.
Sensation rippled down his spine. He buried himself deep. Again and again. Deeper than he ever thought possible. She came, shuddering, with a shrill cry.
He continued to drive into her, increasing his pace, amazed that he had stayed away this long. Her nails dug into his hips as he worked over her, the sound of their bodies smacking together in sweet song.
Unintelligible sounds choked from her lips. She was close again.
He reached between their bodies and found her sweet bud, rolling it once before pinching it firmly. That’s all it took. She came apart in his arms, shuddering and gasping. His arms slipped around her, hugging her close as he followed, his climax rising up in him and tightening his skin. He slammed into her one more time before pulling out and spilling himself into his hand, a jagged cry ripping from his throat.
“Wow,” she panted, propping herself up on her elbows.
Max stood and moved to the washstand, feeling shaken and glad for something to do. It had never been like that. Even the last time with her. As sweet as that had been, this was even better. Hell, this girl was wrecking him.
Finished cleaning up, he returned to her and sank back down on the chaise lounge. She studied him warily, and he knew she expected him to take his leave. As though he wanted her only for one thing and now that he’d gotten what he was after he would depart. His stomach knotted. He had done that. He had given her that impression of him.
Settling beside her, he plucked up her sketch pad and said mildly, “What have you been working on?”
Aurelia stared at him in astonishment. “You want to see my sketches?”
He nodded. “They’re important to you . . . yes, I want to see them. And you know I’ve always thought you were brilliant.”
She stared at him like she didn’t know him at all. “It’s been a long time since you—” She cut herself off and shook her head, and he guessed she was forbidding herself from talking about the past.
Blinking, a slow smile curved her lips. “Thank you.” Her hand smoothed over the outside of the pad before opening it. “This is my newest sketch . . .”
The days passed in a pleasant blur. Max spent every night in her bed. He loved her with his mouth and hands and body so thoroughly she almost convinced herself that it did not matter that he did not love her with his heart.
She began to convince herself that this was enough. The nights were enough. The fact that he still held himself back, that he kept himself scarce and largely unavailable during the day, would be fine. He didn’t need to say the words. She didn’t need to hear him profess his eternal love to her. This would work. They could even have a good life together.
Until the third morning she woke up sick to her stomach and had to face the fact that a good life with Max might not be her fate.
It had been over two weeks since that morning with him, but a sinking realization rooted inside Aurelia.
It might be too soon to know with any certainty, but she was late. Late when she was never late. And she was not the only one who noticed.
Cecily knew Aurelia’s habits as well as Aurelia herself, and she had voiced the possibility a week ago, making it nearly impossible for Aurelia to stick her head in the sand and ignore the possibility.
Aurelia swung between elation and misery. She had never overly contemplated motherhood, and following Max’s revelation that he had no intention of being a father, she had accepted that motherhood would not be in her future. And now this.
With every day that passed and no arrival of her menses, her certainty grew, squashing the denial. Apparently, Max’s preventive measures did not work. She would have to tell him eventually, but dread held her back. She would say nothing for now. Cowardly, perhaps, but she was not eager to ruin the delicate harmony between them. It would shatter the instant he learned of her condition. Besides, she could be mistaken.
“You truly think this is wise?” Cecily asked, standing to the side as Aurelia searched among the gowns in her wardrobe. “Considering your condition . . .”
Aurelia whipped through dress after dress, scarcely seeing them.
“Wisdom has naught to do with it . . . nor does my possible condition prevent me from attending a dinner party. I’m not trekking across Great Britain on some great journey, Cecily. Max said he would not be home for dinner. Why should I stay home when I could spend an evening out?”
“Possible? You are clockwork with your cycles.”
“Possible,” Aurelia repeated, pulling a dress from the armoire and glaring at her friend.
“When will you tell him?” Cecily pressed.
Her stomach twisted sickly. Tell Max? She shook her head. Tell him that he was going to be a father when the very last thing he wanted in life was to have a child? Watch as their peaceful existence crumbled to ash? No. No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not yet.
“When I know for certain,” she replied vaguely.
Cecily made a humming sound, refraining from insisting they already knew for certain. Instead, after a few moments watching Aurelia tap her lip and blindly study her assortment of slippers, she asked yet again, “You truly mean to go, then?”
“Yes. Why not? I’ve been stuck in this house long enough . . .”
“No one has forced you to stay here. And you haven’t. You’ve called on your family . . . your mother, Rosalie and Violet. Walked in the park yesterday.”
“You know what I mean. Society, Cecily.”
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Cecily shaking her head. “Even though your husband expressly told you not to go?”
“He is not the final authority on everything. Especially not on the matter of where I can and cannot go.”
If she remained in these walls, fretting about the future, about Max, the child—their child . . . she would go stark mad. She needed a diversion. And there was that part of her that chafed at Max forbidding her to go to Struan Mackenzie’s dinner party. He didn’t get to issue ultimatums and then ignore her day after day, coming to her bed only at night, effectively reminding her precisely how low her importance was in his life.
“I think it’s a mistake,” Cecily said. “You should just talk to him, Aurelia.”
He had said everything there was to say. Theirs would be a marriage without love. Without children. She shivered, thinking of his reaction when she revealed that one part of his grand plan was no longer even possible.
“Perhaps,” she allowed, looking her friend squarely in the eyes, and shrugged. “But then it wouldn’t be my first mistake.”
Max returned home early. He couldn’t help himself. Staying away from her a moment longer felt like punishment, and he wasn’t keen on punishing himself. He’d never been one to refrain from taking his pleasures where he saw fit, and it turned out that his wife was a great pleasure indeed.
He nodded to a footman positioned in the foyer near the base of the stairs as he headed up the steps to his chamber, his boots biting into the plush runner with dogged res
olve. Silence hummed through the house. The dinner hour had passed. Aurelia would likely be in her chamber by now.
Entering his room, he tugged his cravat loose with an aggravated yank. Things could not continue as they were. Avoiding her during the day. It was ridiculous. He wanted her. She wanted him. They were married. There was no reason why they couldn’t be enjoying each other more frequently.
He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. God knew he didn’t want any other woman. He’d tried. He hadn’t returned to Sodom, but that didn’t mean opportunities hadn’t presented themselves in the course of his daily customs. Except there was only Aurelia. In his mind. Under his skin. In his blood. He wanted her in his bed. Even after these weeks, they’d barely scratched the surface of all the things he wanted to do to her.
He stopped and caught sight of himself in the cheval mirror. He looked like hell. Eyes red-rimmed. Face drawn, hair mussed from constantly running his hands through it. He couldn’t go on this way. He’d been with many women . . . but none had ever reached inside him. None had rooted so deeply.
The problem was that Aurelia wanted everything. She wanted the fairy tale. She was still the little girl with big dreams chasing puppies. He’d seen that dreamy look in her eyes these past weeks. Even though he had put their relationship into perspective at the beginning. No children. No love. She still hoped for it. He knew that. She wanted what he couldn’t give—the kind of marriage Dec and Will shared with their wives. He wouldn’t be like his father, quick to eat a bullet at the inevitable loss of love. He wouldn’t.
He stopped before their adjoining door. They could still have a good life without love. They could have a life in which they came together and enjoyed each other. Only, perspective must not be lost. It wouldn’t be right for either one of them to come to expect or rely on each other in any regard. Even shagging. It didn’t have to be messy or complicated.
He was certain if they just spent more time together—in bed—he could purge her from his blood. And that would be best. For both of them. He knocked once at the adjoining room door and entered.
“Oh,” Cecily softly exclaimed as he stopped in the threshold. She straightened from where she held a stack of linens, her big brown eyes blinking owlishly.
“Pardon me.” His gaze flicked around the chamber as though he would find Aurelia lurking in some corner. “I was searching for my wife.”
Cecily cast her eyes downward, her hand smoothing over the linens. “She is not here, my lord.”
He took one step deeper into the room. “Where is she?”
“She went out for the evening, my lord.”
“Out where?” he persisted, feeling unaccountably annoyed. This wasn’t what he had anticipated. She was supposed to be here.
She looked at him and away again. “Oh . . . I believe she mentioned a dinner party . . .”
“A dinner party?” His nape prickled, even though a dinner party sounded innocent enough. It was the woman’s manner. The hesitation in her voice.
He knew Aurelia had ventured out before. She had called on her family, as well as Rosalie and Violet, of course. She often took tea with her mother, who would be leaving for Scotland soon.
“What dinner party?” he demanded. “Whose?”
Sighing, Cecily lifted her gaze and faced him, grim acceptance in her eyes. He knew the answer then. She didn’t need to say it. He could read it all over her face.
He was beside himself with fury. He had expressly told her not to attend, and she had anyway. He would settle this once and for all. He wasn’t a caveman. He simply did not trust Mackenzie . . . nor did he like the man knowing any of their secrets. And Aurelia frequenting Sodom’s was very much a secret. One word would fan the rumor mills and she could be ruined. It pained him to think of Aurelia subjected to Society’s cruel judgments. He’d spare her that. Even if meant he had to suffer through a dinner party and endure the likes of Mackenzie eyeing his wife as though he would like to get a glimpse beneath her skirts.
An uncomfortable hardness rose in his trousers at the thought of Aurelia naked. She was magnificent. Her body was lush and sweet and as tempting as Botticelli’s Venus. That dark hair . . . those ripe breasts. Groaning, he shifting himself, trying to restrain his cock. How could he keep his hands off her now that he knew how truly brilliant it could be between them?
Without a word, he spun around and strode from the room, knowing exactly where he could find her.
Chapter 22
The gentle hum of conversation mingled with the chords of a pianoforte and a gentleman’s drifting baritone. Aurelia sat very straight upon her chair, telling herself to relax. Venturing out from the house, beyond the comfort of her close circle of family, was good for her. She couldn’t cloister herself away forever.
The evening hadn’t been so bad. The food was delicious. Even the company had been pleasing. It was good for her. At least that’s what she continued to tell herself. Getting out of her comfort zone and engaging with Society. Taking her mind off the shambles of her life.
Struan Mackenzie’s Mayfair mansion was the height of opulence. The dinner had been no less lavish, a meal fit for the Queen consisting of too many courses to count. The finest food and drink for a couple dozen guests, all titled. All of whom she knew either in name or acquaintance. Clearly the gentleman was all about making connections in the highest echelons of Society. There were at least three marriageable young ladies present, all of whom cast admiring glances his way. She had no doubt he would soon find himself a bride to his liking.
The young ladies in attendance were actually kind to her. That was a novel experience she credited to the fact that she was married now and not a threat to their prospects with Mackenzie. They were no longer competing. And he was clearly the catch they were all vying for.
“I’m sorry that Lord Camden couldn’t attend tonight.”
With a fixed smile, she looked away from the young lady playing the pianoforte to Struan Mackenzie as he stepped beside her. “He was most sorry to miss it as well,” she managed to say without choking on the lie.
Mr. Mackenzie stared at her overly long, and she was almost certain he sensed the falsehood . . . that he knew Max knew nothing about her being here tonight.
“I confess I am a little surprised to be included in your dinner party, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“And why is that?”
She shrugged lightly. “You could have invited an eligible young lady rather than me.” That would have better served his interest.
He smiled slowly, his teeth a blinding flash of white against his golden skin. “I invited you and your husband because I find you both interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“Amusing,” he amended. She frowned, not sure she liked that any better than being called interesting.
“I did not realize we were the subject of your amusement.”
“I was curious to see how the two of ye are getting along in your new marriage.”
And she had come here alone. Without Max. What must he think? She stifled a cringe and told herself she did not care what Mackenzie or anyone else thought of her.
“We are doing quite well. Thank you for your well wishes.” She smiled tightly, well aware that he had not precisely wished them well.
He angled his head. “Your husband is an interesting man.”
Interesting? Max? That was a fair assessment. He had long fascinated her.
Mackenzie continued, “I was not at all surprised when I learned the news of your marriage. Not after Lord Camden paid me a call.”
She whipped her head around, scrutinizing him anew. “My husband paid you a visit?” Max made no attempt to disguise his dislike for Mackenzie. Why would he call on him?
The Scotsman nodded as though it were of no real significance. “Yes. Following our encounter at . . .” His voice faded but she knew to what he was referring. Max had called on him after he returned her home from Sodom. It would have been very late. Practically the middle of t
he night. Why would he have done such a thing?
Mackenzie must have read her bewilderment. He stepped closer, his deep burr a low whisper. “I believe he wanted to guarantee my discretion on your behalf. I assured him he need not concern himself on that account. It is no’ a hobby of mine to ruin young ladies.”
She flushed and nodded once. Max had done that? She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He had always expressed concern for her reputation. Perhaps she should have been more concerned about Mackenzie’s inclination to keep her secret.
“Lord Camden takes his responsibilities very seriously.” If her voice sounded strained, she was hopeful he did not notice.
“Verra seriously indeed.” He chuckled, his gaze skimming her appreciatively. “And ye were one of his responsibilities even before marriage? Now that is what I find most interesting.”
Her flush burned deeper, and she knew she must be blushing bright red. She watched as his moss green eyes traveled over the length of her before settling on her face.
“Then I suppose you weren’t surprised to learn we had wed.”
He chuckled deeply again. “Ah, no. Not at all. Considering the real purpose of his visit was to warn me off you—”
“What?” She turned and faced him fully, not even pretending interest in the couple at the front of the room anymore.
“Are you so astonished? He warned me to stay away . . .”
“Away?”
“Yes. He warned me away from you.”
Aurelia blinked and stared unseeingly at the elegant folds of his cravat for a long moment, trying to understand what he was saying. Max had warned Struan Mackenzie to stay away from her? It all clicked into place then. “That’s why you did not call on me again?”
Mackenzie shrugged. “We came to a gentlemen’s agreement.”
About her. They came to an agreement about her. As though she weren’t a person but a piece of meat to be fought over? A matter—not a person—upon which to be negotiated. It wasn’t to be borne.
“He wanted my promise not to marry you,” he elaborated. “I gave him my word.”
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