by Debra Glass
Bram seized her hips and buried his face in her essence while she rode out the first climax she had ever experienced at the touch of a man.
As she sank limply to the rug, he followed, kissing her, licking up her honeyed nectar. Resting his head on her thigh, he closed his eyes, still holding her hips, still fanning hot breaths on her center.
What had he done?
And what sort of power did this woman have over him that he had gone against the rules he had set for himself? He had sworn never to defile a virgin, especially a member of the ton. Yet here he was, thoroughly unmanned and wedged between her legs like a lovelorn suitor instead of the man in control he forced himself to be.
This was no maid he could tumble at a whim. She was a lady.
A misguided lady but a lady nevertheless.
A lady he had no business tonguing to orgasm.
Now was the time to release her. Now was the time to announce he had been aware of her deception from the beginning.
But what deception? What was her purpose here? The thought struck that perhaps she was here to land herself a husband and, while the thought of marriage to Katrina Hartford was not entirely repugnant to him, Bram had made a vow to himself that he would never marry as long as his father was alive. He would not give the old duke the satisfaction of thinking his bloodline would continue after his death.
Bram inhaled sharply and his senses filled once more with the scent of his virgin lover.
No. Now was not the time to expose her.
He drew away from her and clambered to his feet. “Undress yourself.”
She stared up at him, dazed, her legs still spread wantonly wide, displaying her glistening folds. Beautiful. Wet. Ready. Willing. Bram’s cock leapt and his unquenchable, uncontrollable desire infuriated him.
“Blast, girl, get up and take off your clothes!”
Scrambling, Kitty lurched to her feet and began shucking her apron and dress. This time there was no hesitation as she yanked off her chemise.
Good Lord, she wants it!
Bram stared, knowing she wanted him to fuck her—knowing he wanted to fuck her. Why could he not control what words sprang from his lips? Damn and blast!
“Get in my bed.” Inside, he cringed. That was the last place she needed to be. Naked and warm and curious—and in his fucking bed. Had he gone completely mad?
Uncertainty flashed in her deep blue eyes before she bent to pick up her discarded clothing.
“Leave them,” he said, holding her gaze as she straightened and then moved toward his bed.
“Take down your hair and take off those bloody spectacles,” he ordered before he scooped up her clothes and tossed them on the fire.
She gasped and his gaze shot to her once more. Shockingly beautiful, she stood, her blonde tresses curtaining her shoulders, her swollen lips parted in surprise.
“You won’t be needing those anymore,” he said as he poured himself another drink. This was sheer insanity. But until he found out her reason for being here, he could not have her amongst the other servants.
Forcing himself not to watch her crawling into his bed, he returned to his chair. Before he lifted his snifter to his lips, he savored the taste of Kitty’s cunny once more. It would be heaven to sink his cock into her, to feel her arms around him, her fingers weaving through his hair…
The fantasy was a new one. Normally he imagined bending a woman over, and once he had aroused her to a fever pitch with welcomed punishments, he would fuck her into oblivion and then leave her until the next time she came begging for more.
With Kitty, he wanted something more. He wanted to share the experience instead of controlling it.
The need rattled him to the core. He had never been unsatisfied after expelling his seed, but this time was different. He still wanted to fuck more than her pretty mouth. And the care, the tenderness with which he had made certain she had achieved satisfaction was so uncharacteristic he hardly knew himself.
He glanced at his bed. At least she was still. She was probably already sleeping. But Bram knew that one word, one plea from her pouting lips, one entreaty to partake of the treasure between her legs, and he would be at a perfect loss.
No, he thought as he swirled the amber liquid around in his snifter. He would spend the night right here in his chair. Turning up his glass, he downed the contents, chasing away the taste of Kitty’s cunny from his mouth and the ragged urge to fuck her from his body.
* * * * *
Sleep was impossible. Kitty had no idea how much time had passed since Bram had sent her to bed. For the first hour she awaited him to join her. She wanted him to come to her and strip off his clothes. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, his fingers probing her, his mouth on her breasts and on that place between her legs again.
Squeezing her thighs together, she twisted under the soft covers.
He had thrown her clothes on the fire. All of them. Some part of her thrilled that she would remain naked in his service and she anticipated all the things he might do.
Just this morning she had been intent on exposing him. Now she was the one who was so utterly and thoroughly exposed.
She bit her bottom lip, recalling how he had buried his face between her legs and suckled her. She had never in her life felt anything so exquisite, so perfect. And Kitty knew she would do and say anything to get him to do that to her again.
The hillock between her legs pulsed and Kitty raised herself onto her elbows and peered through the darkness but all she could see of Bram was his forearm, bare where he had turned up his sleeves, and his long fingers relaxed on the arm of his chair.
What would he do if she went to him? Would he take her in his arms? Would he bend her over his knee like a wayward child and give her a sound thrashing?
Her heart raced at either option.
But then something ugly ripened in her thoughts. What if this initiation was for every maid in his service? What if she was not special?
She drew in a deep breath and then blew it out. What could possibly come of this other than appeasing her curiosity and gathering fodder for her article?
Mrs. Bush’s words echoed in her head. Do not take on any childish hopes he will take make you his wife, or even as his mistress for that matter.
Kitty’s breath froze in her lungs. What was she thinking? Surely she was not considering, even fantasizing, about being Bram Barclay’s wife! That was stupid.
Would any other man could command her mind and body the way Bram did?
Now that she’d had a taste of physical pleasure, Kitty longed for more. So much more.
Before she could stop herself, she threw back the covers and padded quietly across the room to where Bram slept in his chair.
Asleep, he lacked the hard lines that were etched into his face during the day. He looked younger and Kitty realized she had not given any thought to what his age might be. Here, in the flickering firelight, he looked to be in his early thirties.
In one hand he loosely gripped the neck of an empty brandy decanter. His snifter had toppled to the floor by the edge of his chair.
Kitty resisted the overwhelming urge to brush the lock of black hair away that had stolen across his forehead. He had removed his neck kerchief and his shirt gaped open to reveal a smattering of black down on his chest. Without his vest and coat, she could see his taut stomach. What would those rippling muscles feel like under her palms?
Cream gathered in her channel and she realized she was standing naked before one of the most debauched man in all of London. Oddly, her nudity no longer bothered her. Instead she felt free and, although for all practical purposes she was the earl’s prisoner, this experience had liberated her in a way she had never dreamed possible.
Boldly, Kitty moved closer. The sharp, woody scent of brandy met her as she eased the decanter out of his fingers to place it on the floor.
He jolted awake and his eyes widened.
Kitty did not hesitate. She took his hand in hers. “Come to b
ed.”
He rubbed his face with his free hand as he stood but he allowed her to lead him. Kitty’s heart thundered as they neared the bed. Her entire body shuddered with the need to feel his hard, masculine length, his heat, near her. But there was also fear. In a bed, under the covers, she knew if he pursued her sexually she would submit willingly. The idea of opening her thighs, of feeling his thick heat move over and then into her, sent waves of desire undulating through her.
Bram sucked in a breath and Kitty wondered if he was truly awake or blindly allowing her to lead him. Once he reached the edge of the bed he stumbled, and Kitty caught his shoulders and righted him. His breathy groan told her he was practically sleepwalking.
“Take this off,” she whispered, unfastening the buttons down the front of his shirt. His fly was mostly undone but she managed to loose those buttons as well to get him out of his clothes.
Light from the fire illuminated his body and Kitty’s breath caught in her throat. He was glorious. Naked, he looked leaner than he did in clothes. His musculature was as perfectly sculpted as Michelangelo’s David. Broad shoulders, strong arms. The flat plane of his chest was dusted with sparse black hairs, which tapered into a line aiming at his phallus. Kitty longed to taste that part of him again. Only this time, she wanted to explore those other fascinating parts of his body. His heavy scrotum swayed as he climbed onto the bed.
Kitty followed him and drew the covers over their bodies.
He emitted a velvety moan as he dragged her into his arms, pulling her head down on his chest. Kitty’s breath froze as she grew accustomed to being so intimate with a man. For some reason, this was far more personal than the sexual escapades they had shared. Sleeping with someone meant giving up far more than control. It meant trusting someone implicitly.
Disappointment that he did not claim her vied with relief and Kitty knew this was insane but, above all else, she wanted it. She wanted to sleep here in this man’s arms, to feel the slow, even rise and fall of his chest, to breathe the scent of his skin and his sex.
She closed her eyes and slept.
* * * * *
When Kitty opened her eyes the next morning, realization flooded her that she was naked and snuggled against the back of a man who, for all practical purposes, she was supposed to loathe. She froze, too terrified to move, but when her eyes focused she was unable to stifle a gasp.
Etched into Bram’s back were deep, old welts that, on closer examination, Kitty realized were scars. She bit her lip. Who had inflicted these wounds on him? Some ardent lover?
Someone like the Duchess of Blakemore?
Something ugly roiled inside Kitty and she could not believe she would be envious over a man like Bram.
These scars were evidence of torture, however. They were nothing like the sensuous spankings Bram had meted out to her. Each welt was proof that his skin had been ripped open and had bled. Kitty bit her lip. He had been ripped open enough to leave deep, disfiguring scars. Unable to resist, she lifted her hand and traced one of the welts with the tip of her finger.
Bram abruptly flipped around, his eyes wide and fierce.
Kitty shrank.
For a moment he seemed confused. His gaze raked her face and bare shoulder and then he looked down at his naked chest. His eyes narrowed as, obviously, realization flooded him. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice rough with sleep.
“Nothing…”
His eyes turned to cold steel. “What did we do?”
“Nothing…Master.”
And then, as if he did not believe her, he sat up and jerked back the covers. Kitty’s cheeks burned as she realized he was looking for the blood of her maidenhead on the sheets.
He seemed relieved when he did not find it and then he slid out of the bed, immediately turning so she could not see his back. Kitty tried not to stare as he drew on a burgundy silk robe but it was hard not to look upon his exquisitely sculpted body. In the daylight, he was far more comely even than he had been in the glow of the fire and Kitty struggled to shake the haze of lust in order to think clearly.
Why would it matter to a man like him if he sullied a lowly maid’s honor? And, more importantly, what had happened to his back to cause those unsightly welts? Everything inside her screamed to ask him what had happened and why, but she knew better.
“What am I to do, Master?” she asked softly.
He turned and Kitty felt gloriously naked under his lurid gaze. The muscles in her thighs tightened and for a moment, she thought he might ravage her.
“Set this room to rights,” he said, dashing her hopes as he gathered his clothes and then left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Kitty stared after him. Bram Barclay was a man who harbored more secrets than she had ever imagined.
Chapter Five
Bram had never once dressed himself in any room of this house other than his own. His jaw clenched as he tugged on his suit coat. He had never intended to sleep next to her. He had never intended to let her get that close.
Something warm spiraled downward inside him at the memory of her naked in his bed. Her blonde hair looked so beautifully soft and inviting, fragrant with the warm scent of her. He had wanted nothing more than to roll her onto her back, climb on top of her and thrust his cock into her sheath. His body tensed at the thought.
When had he crawled into bed with her?
He rubbed his aching temples. His head was pounding. Vaguely he recalled he had drunk far too much.
How stupid and how dangerous!
He sank into a chair in the guestroom and buried his face in his hands. The rough stubble on his jaw scratched his palms and it occurred to him that he needed a shave but today, he would just have to forego it.
Bram sighed. This was ridiculous. It was time to put some respectable clothes on her and send her away. If it was a wedding ring she wanted, then maybe he could arrange something with an acquaintance. She was certainly attractive enough.
I deserve my punishment. Please spank me, Master…
His cock jerked against his breeches.
Finding a husband for her would not be a problem. It was time to put this farce to an end.
Inhaling, he stood and stepped out into the hallway.
“My lord,” his personal servant, Cavanaugh, called.
Bram turned.
“There’s an urgent matter for you to attend.”
“What?” Bram asked impatiently.
“The Duke of Whitfield’s barrister, Montgomery, is in your study.”
Bram stared. The well-trained valet showed no emotion on his face whatsoever so Bram could not read him. Still, why would his father’s attorney be here?
“Shall I tell him you will see him?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Yes, yes,” Bram said, torn. “No. Wait. I will go directly to him. Please see that…the woman…in my room gets some breakfast and has absolute privacy.”
Cavanaugh inclined his head, spun on his heel and set off while Bram strode toward his study.
As he reached for the knob, his stomach knotted with tension. The reaction irritated him. Blast, he was an adult. His father had no power over him anymore. Steeling himself, Bram pushed open the door and faced his father’s barrister with his chin held high. He strode to his desk, ignoring the barrister’s respectful bow. “State your business, man.”
Long and thin with sparse hair the same color as his ruddy skin, he stood, clutching his satchel and glancing at a chair, awaiting Bram’s invitation to sit. He looked rather like a weasel.
Bram gestured with his hand and Montgomery sank into a chair.
“Your father has drawn up a marriage proposal for you to offer,” the weasel said.
Bram could hardly contain a burst of laughter. He leaned back in his char and steepled his fingers under his chin as he leveled his gaze on Montgomery. “Marriage?” he asked, though he was hardly surprised.
Katrina Hartford’s presence here suddenly made perfect sense. But why her? She was only the da
ughter of a baron and, despite her beauty and intelligence—and incontrovertible sensuality—marriage to her could not possibly offer him any advantages socially, politically or financially.
No doubt his father had hoped he would compromise her and then be forced to marry her. A pang struck Bram in the heart but he quickly quelled the unwelcome emotion. He had resolved long ago never to let his father hurt him again.
“Listen up, Montgomery,” Bram said, looking down his nose at the scrawny weasel. “I know all about the old duke’s plans. You can go back and tell him I have not sullied the girl’s reputation in any way and that he cannot force a marriage on me.”
Montgomery’s forehead crinkled. “I am certain I do not understand.”
“Does he take me for an idiot as well as a lecher?” Bram asked, anger replacing the earlier hurt he had felt.
He wondered how far Kitty was in on this scheme. Quite the actress, indeed. Bram burned when he thought of how innocently she’d looked at him with her dark blue eyes, how responsive she had been. Oh, how well they had trained her!
Somehow he knew this was all his father’s doing and that Kitty was an innocent victim. She seemed so sincere. There would be far worse things in life than marrying Katrina Hartford. Still, the idea his father had tried to cuckold him scorched Bram to the core.
“You go back to my father and tell him for me that I won’t have his little baroness. No matter what his reasons,” Bram said.
“Baroness? The Duke of Whitfield requests you make the proposal to the Earl of Marchester’s daughter.”
Bram stared. The Earl of Marchester? How could he have been so wrong? He inhaled sharply. “Just as well. I have no intention of marrying.” Impatient, he shot to his feet.
“My lord, I think it is imperative that you know your father has…ulterior reasons for wanting this marriage contract.”
