He stroked harder and grunted as pleasure built deep in his loins, increased with every stroke and every thought of her.
Taking her had been as fantastic as he had always imagined, but in his excitement he had done it too quickly. He could well imagine how incredible it would be to drag that pleasure out. To use all the techniques he knew to make love to her for hours at a time, until she was weak from orgasm after orgasm, until she ached from release and trembled like a virgin on her wedding night.
Only then would he come. Only then would he find his own pleasure.
His cock spurted and splashed seed across his stomach and bed sheets and John flopped backward against the pillows with a groan of relief.
He lay there for a long moment, enjoying the blessed emptiness of his mind. It didn’t last. Almost immediately, his thoughts returned to Mariah.
Right now she was probably out seeking a new lover. And once she found one, she would be faithful to him. Any chance John had to press himself inside of her, to make her scream and cry out and declare him her best lover, was over.
And he longed to have her one last time before that happened.
He covered himself and rang for his valet. Thomason entered the room almost at once and nodded, unfazed by John being abed so late in the afternoon or by his general state of undress.
“Yes, sir?” he asked.
John sat up. “Did you do as I asked and ascertain the schedule of Miss Desmond?”
Again the valet did not appear surprised by this request, nor had he when John made it a few days before. “I did, sir. Miss Desmond is currently at an afternoon gathering at the home of Miss Manning.”
John frowned. Just as he had expected, she was back out on the prowl.
“Go to my wardrobe,” he ordered the servant as he threw back the covers. “I will be joining their party and I must make haste.”
Mariah was doing her best to keep a seductive smile on her face and a flirtatious manner to her speech, but it seemed to be a losing battle. Certainly the task was far more difficult than Vivien made it look. She would really have to talk to her friend about how she did it.
But first, she would need to survive this gathering. After a chat with Viscount Rossington, she had then talked with Mr. Ward, a very rich second son of a duke or some such thing. And now she had moved on to the Earl of Bosforth. At least he was younger than the others, but his wit left a great deal to be desired. However, Vivien had pointed out that he had settled his last two mistresses very well, which meant she was a fool not to examine him closely as a prospect.
All of the men were clearly examining her with equal zeal. Her bosom had been the recipient of several long conversations. It never replied, but she did her best to fill the gaps.
Was this truly how women found men for this position? Because it was exhausting and more than a little disheartening.
She glanced over her current companion’s shoulder into the center of the room in hopes she could catch Vivien’s eye and perhaps maneuver herself into a moment away from leering eyes. Instead, she saw Viscount Rossington slipping through the crowd, his dark gaze fixed upon her.
She sighed. He was the one who insisted on speaking to her breasts. But she managed not to scowl as he inserted himself into her conversation with the earl.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “But do you think I might steal Miss Desmond away for a stroll on the veranda?”
The earl pursed his lips but nodded. “Miss Desmond, I hope we will have a chance to speak again before the afternoon is over.”
Mariah smiled and took the viscount’s arm. She didn’t really want to go with him, but a breath of air on the veranda sounded delicious. At least she could enjoy the scenery while they talked.
The viscount held the door for her and she was allowed to release his arm as she stepped outside. She took full advantage and walked to the terrace wall where she looked out over Vivien’s beautiful gardens.
Few knew it, but her friend tended several of the little plants herself, nursing them from baby seeds all the way to mature bushes with blooming roses or other fragrant flowers. Of course she had a fleet of gardeners to do the same, but she always told Mariah that she wanted something for herself. Mariah knew the feeling.
“Miss Desmond, I must say that although I am surprised to find you available for a new protector already, I am pleased,” Lord Rossington said.
Mariah forced her attention back to him. His direct statement certainly made him more interesting. His face was rounded, soft and with a few fine lines around his mouth and eyes. There was gray at his temples, and not just a smattering. But he was not entirely unattractive. He had nice eyes. Except when they were roaming southward…yet again.
She gritted her teeth.
“I hope no one will judge me too harshly on returning to the field so soon after Owen’s death,” she said softly. “His loss pains me greatly, of course.”
He nodded. “It was a great shock to all of Society, I assure you. But I doubt anyone would think much of you coming back to the world. After all, it wasn’t as if you were his wife. You must look out for yourself, musn’t you? To the satisfaction of a great many men, I assure you.”
Mariah supposed he meant that comment as a compliment, but his words cut. They were a reminder that mistresses were seen as a commodity. Like a servant, except for the bedroom. No one had questioned it when Owen’s housemaids sought new positions immediately. Why would they blink at her doing the same? Her heart, her feelings, her memories meant little to anyone.
She was, in some ways, seen only as the body Lord Rossington couldn’t stop staring at.
“But we should not speak of such things,” he continued and stepped closer. She could feel his body heat now. Smell the faint remnants of whatever scent his valet sprinkled on his clothing.
“What should we speak of?” she squeaked, hoping she managed to sound flirtatious.
He smiled, so she must have succeeded. “Perhaps we should not speak at all.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face up. His mouth came down and then his lips were on hers. Mariah squeezed her eyes shut and did not pull away, even though a deep part of her wanted to refuse the kiss. This was what and who she was, there was to be no simpering about it.
Except, as Lord Rossington parted his lips over hers and pushed his tongue past her lips, Mariah felt nothing. There was no disgust, thankfully, but no desire, either. There was not even the pleasant tingle associated with the act of kissing this man. She felt no attraction to him whatsoever.
He continued to kiss her and even dragged her closer, but her mind raced. How would she make love to him if she felt nothing?
She couldn’t.
With a gentle hand on his chest, she pushed away and took a step back.
“I-I’m sorry,” she began. “But I cannot do this.”
He stared at her and suddenly those dark eyes grew far less kind. He sneered as he looked her up and down, no longer lustfully, but disdainfully.
“What do you mean you cannot do this?” he repeated. “This is what you do.”
She drew a short breath. There was no use becoming angry or upset by his demeanor. It was best to stay calm.
“My lord,” she began, hoping deference to his place would smooth the situation. “You are correct that a woman like me is in a certain…position. But I’m afraid I must feel some kind of connection to a gentleman before I can develop a relationship.”
He arched a brow and his disdain seemed to deepen. He looked at her like she was trash. “A woman like you doesn’t get to say no.”
With that, he grabbed her arm and yanked her against him a second time. His mouth ground on hers again, this time punishing and cruel. Her arm hurt where he manhandled her and her mouth stung from the hardness of his kiss. Fear rose up in her, but she was soothed by the knowledge that just a few steps away were people who would come to her aid. Vivien would likely come looking for her in a moment.
And yet he continued t
o kiss her as punishment, even as she struggled for escape.
“My lord,” she insisted against his mouth. “Please!”
She said nothing more because suddenly her companion was torn away from her side. She staggered backward, nearly ending up on her ass as she watched John grab the man and throw him aside like he was made of paper.
Lord Rossington fell to his side on the hard veranda floor, but was up quickly, especially for a man of his years.
“And just what is this, Rycroft?” he barked.
John moved toward him in one long step and Rossington retreated just as quickly. Mariah could scarcely do anything but stare as John leaned over her attacker.
“Touch her again and I rip your head off,” John growled. And it was truly a growl, like an animal being held just at bay by an unseen master.
He turned toward her now, and the anger in his stare didn’t diminish even as he moved toward her.
“Are you hurt?” he bit past thin lips.
She opened her mouth to speak but could find no words, so instead merely shook her head.
“Not yet,” John muttered and shot Rossington another glare. The other man was dusting himself off.
“Please, Rycroft,” the viscount said with a dismissive glare. “She’s nothing, certainly not worth making an enemy in me.”
Mariah held her breath. The viscount was right in some ways. He had a title and position in the world. And John, while rich and the son of a second son, might not want to cross him. Certainly a great many men would throw over a no one of a girl like her long before they treated Rossington with disregard.
But John didn’t even hesitate. He looked Rossington up and down in much the same way Rossington had looked at her—with pure contempt dripping from him.
“You are a worm of a man. You have what…five thousand a year to your name and an estate that your poor management is running into the ground? I would wager that in ten years, you’ll be lucky to drag in thirty-five hundred per annum.”
Mariah stared at the viscount, who shifted under John’s words. His face darkened and she knew what John said was true to its core.
But he wasn’t finished. He continued, “You should more fear losing my regard than trying to intimidate me with the loss of yours. I should scarcely notice it if it were gone.”
He reached out and took Mariah’s elbow, though there was no violence to his touch. None of the anger that seemed to make his eyes glow.
“Come, we’re leaving,” he ordered and marched her not to the terrace door leading back to the parlor with the others but to another empty parlor.
She hesitated as he dragged her inside.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Taking you home,” he finally admitted and she caught her breath in surprise and a desire that seemed to flame up from nowhere.
“I thought you were finished with me,” she said softly.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Apparently not.”
Chapter Five
Mariah had been curiously quiet on the drive through the busy city streets to his London townhome. He had expected her to resist, argue, perhaps even try to bolt…a dozen things except what she was doing—sitting across from him in the carriage, arms folded and face utterly unreadable. Her stare was only made more uncomfortable by her absolute silence. He had no idea what she thought about his sudden intrusion into Vivien’s party, his sweeping her away or his forcefulness when it came to Lord Rossington.
His blood boiled at just the thought of the man. When he stepped onto the terrace to find Mariah fighting to get free from the other man’s unwanted embrace, something in him had snapped, as it hadn’t since…well, for a great many years. He could have killed the viscount in that moment. Only a great deal of restraint and common sense kept him from doing so. Being transported was not a pleasant future and he had no interest in it happening.
His footman opened the door to the carriage and Mariah took the hand he offered before John could exit the rig. She swept up the stairs as if she owned the place and past his gaping butler, Swanson. She had been to John’s home with Owen many a time and moved into a parlor without asking his leave.
Despite the situation, John couldn’t help but smile at her boldness and he lifted a hand to show Swanson that this odd turn of events was acceptable to him.
“No interruptions,” he said to the man. “Thank you.”
He shut the door firmly behind him and turned to speak to Mariah. Instead, she folded her arms and began the conversation herself.
“John, you do vex me,” she said.
John blinked. “I—I beg your pardon?”
She shook her head and paced to the sideboard where she poured herself a scotch and took a sip. She grimaced at the strength of the liquor and continued.
“While I do appreciate the sentiment behind your little rescue this afternoon, your heavy-handedness cannot be borne.”
John blinked. “I believe it was more than a ‘little rescue’. That man had intentions—”
She tilted her head. “Indeed, he did. And they were far less than honorable. I had already told the viscount no and he did not seem to understand that word, especially coming from a person who he would deem…actually did deem…a whore.”
She said the words so very calmly, but John could see from the brief flash in her eyes how deeply those words cut her.
“Still, I do not think I was in any true danger,” she continued. “After all, the parlor was a mere three feet away and Vivien would have come to rescue me eventually.”
“Eventually,” John repeated blankly. “How can you dismiss what was about to happen so easily? That man would have raped you had he had the chance.”
She flinched and it took her a few seconds to respond. “I suppose that could have happened, yes. But my virtue was sold away years ago. What happens to my body has less effect now than it once would have.”
John stared, eyes wide. “That is the worst fucking thing I have ever heard. You are not a whore, no matter what he said. Even if you were, no man has a right to force himself on you in such a manner. It is disgusting.”
She lifted her eyebrows delicately. “I appreciate that you think highly enough of me to believe I have a right to decide what my path and who my lover should be. I hope there are more men out there like you. But honestly, John, you are the last person who should have ridden to my rescue today. You were not invited to Vivien’s gathering, for one.”
He pursed his lips. That was true. When he burst into the parlor, Vivien had appeared quite annoyed with him. Despite that fact, she hadn’t stopped him when he’d gone racing to the veranda, nor interfered when he swept Mariah away like the Gothic hero of some ridiculous novel.
“Secondarily, and perhaps more importantly…” Mariah hesitated. “You have made it more than clear that you do not want me.”
John blinked. Had those words just come from her mouth? Did she truly believe that after he had spent three days pleasuring himself to forget her, thinking of her constantly, and then racing to her side like a forlorn puppy?
“I don’t want you,” he repeated with a shake of his head.
He didn’t think of what he did next. It was all instinct and drive that made him clench his fists and storm across the room to her. He caught her arms, drew her against him and kissed her.
She was still for a moment, but then she made a muffled groan. Her arms came up around his neck and she lifted herself against him, driving her tongue to meet his. He felt and tasted her desire. Her surrender. It was heady and sweet against his lips. He wanted so much more of it.
Without his saying so, she obliged. Her hips began to lift in a slow, steady rhythm against his and he was lost. He pushed her backward until they hit the wall next to the window.
He cupped her backside to lift her against him and she moaned as their eyes met. He smiled and began to slowly shift his weight against her in slow, sensual circles. She shivered and he could tell he was hittin
g her in just the right spot to make her wet with wanting, a theory he was very excited to test. But not yet.
Instead, he continued holding her against him with one hand and with the other he found her breast. She gasped and her back arched as he cupped her. He hadn’t stripped her of her gown the last time they made love. Everything had been so heated and fast in Vivien’s parlor that he wouldn’t have been able to wait.
Now he could and he wanted to see her naked. He wanted to feel the full softness of her body pressed to his and watch the way her skin flushed and her nipples pebbled when he worked her in this way and that.
He released her and swiftly turned her to face the wall. She gasped, but lifted her backside against him with another moan of pleasure as her hands fisted and flexed against his wallpaper. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of her neck, suckling her tender flesh as he flicked open the buttons of her gown.
He pushed the gown forward and she gave him enough space that he was able to strip it to her waist, followed swiftly by the sheer chemise she wore beneath. Then he turned her back toward him and stared to his heart’s delight.
Mariah’s dark auburn hair was complemented perfectly by her pale skin. Her breasts were the ideal size to fill his hands and their peaks were topped with pink nipples that were currently swollen and hard with desire.
He leaned forward and sucked one into his mouth. Mariah’s hands slid into his hair and she held him steady as she gasped and moaned in time to his tongue. He swirled it around the bud, laving and sucking, nipping and gently scraping his teeth over the peak.
She mumbled an indiscernible sound of pleasure and shimmied her hips out of the remainder of her gown so that she stood utterly naked before him.
For Desire Alone Page 4
