“I say, Clarendon, you seem a bit distracted.” Dressen regarded him through his quizzing glass.
“My apologies.” He pulled his attention away from Arabella and tried his best to concentrate on what the man was rambling on about. He’d already gotten his assurance he would vote in favor of the bill. Now he was regaling Nash with stories about his hounds.
More animals. He was truly cursed.
He finally disentangled himself from Dressen and hailed Lord Tamlin. Twice, his conversation with him was interrupted by promised dances to young ladies. In the meantime, he’d lost track of Arabella. He’d catch her laughing and dancing with some gentleman, and then she’d be gone again.
The orchestra had been silent for some time when Nash finally realized the music had stopped. The noise from all the various conversations was beginning to give him a headache. He said his farewell to Tamlin and began to search for Arabella. He turned suddenly when there was a light tap on his shoulder.
“The orchestra is returning. It is time for the supper waltz.” Arabella beamed at him, causing him to break into a smile. She was flushed from all the dancing, her hair was not quite as set as it had been when they’d arrived, and she looked absolutely beautiful.
“It appears you have been having a good time.” He took her hand in his and kissed the back of her wrist, wishing it was bare skin and not her glove.
“Yes. But I believe I am ready for some supper, and then maybe a return home?” Her voice was low and sultry, and she tilted her head in a coquettish manner.
His blood boiled, and his cock shouted “hurrah.” Precisely what he had in mind. The first notes of the waltz began just as Lady Walthrop tapped him on the arm. He’d completely forgotten about her and now wished he had left earlier. Arabella viewed her with raised eyebrows.
“I believe you indicated your desire to have me for the supper waltz, my lord?” She held up the dance card dangling from her wrist, her eyes telling him she worded her statement as she had on purpose.
He turned his head to where Arabella stood next to him. He could probably cook his dinner over the steam coming from her ears. He stepped closer to Lady Walthrop, afraid for her well-being. His wife took in an exceptionally deep breath and raised her chin. “I will see you after supper, my lord.” With that pronouncement, she turned on her heel and moved away from him.
Lady Walthrop gave him a siren’s smile. “The music is starting.”
He took her hand in his and led her to the dance floor. He kept a decent amount of space between them, even though his dance partner seemed to have other ideas.
Bloody, bloody hell.
…
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. The words pounded in Arabella’s head as she pushed her way through the throng of dancers and headed for the ladies’ retiring room. She kept a smile plastered on her face.
How dare the man arrange to have the supper waltz and meal with that trollop? She was hanging all over him, patting him on the chest, and staring up into his eyes. Eyes she wanted to scratch out.
Is Lady Walthrop his mistress?
The thought almost brought her to her knees. She’d best take a deep breath and compose herself. She was beginning to think like a jealous wife. She was not a jealous wife. If he wanted to take mistresses, it would not be her concern.
Then why did the thought of Nash doing all the wonderful things he did to her to another woman cause her stomach to cramp? Too confused and hurt to overly examine her feelings, she almost made it out of the ballroom when Lord Munro stepped in front of her. “Lady Clarendon! Certainly, surely you are not without a partner?”
“It seems I am, my lord.” Well, apparently, her brain and mouth still functioned.
“Then I must rectify that situation immediately.” He extended his arm, a broad smile on his face. She looked up at the man towering over her. Not classically handsome, nevertheless his strong features drew the attention of many of the young ladies. He was slender, yet still filled out his jacket well. His dark hair was done in one of those fancy styles she did not particularly like, but overall, his appearance was quite pleasing.
Why should she sit out the dance and supper in the ladies’ retiring room? Hadn’t she done enough of that before she married, avoiding the old men her mother pushed on her? She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “I will be happy to accompany you, my lord.”
He swept her into his arms, and they joined the couples on the floor. He was an excellent dancer and kept up a lively conversation.
But he wasn’t Nash.
Lord Munro turned her, and she got a glimpse of Nash and Lady Walthrop. She was happy to see Nash looking around, his lips tightening when his eyes rested on her. She took the opportunity to gaze up at Lord Munro and laughed as if he’d said something funny.
They spent the rest of the dance glaring at each other every time they came into view. The supper was no better. Lord Munro offered to have them sit with Nash and Lady Walthrop. She declined, since she wasn’t completely sure she would not dump her supper plate in the woman’s lap.
He seemed uncomfortable with the situation, and even though he tried, very hard, to entertain her, she only gave Lord Munro scant attention. No sooner had she put down her fork than Nash was by her side. “I believe you indicated a desire to return home once supper was finished?”
Arabella looked around, but Lady Walthrop was nowhere to be seen. “Yes. I am feeling a bit weary.” She smiled at Lord Munro. “If you will excuse me, my lord.” She stood and took Nash’s arm, and they strolled around the room on the way to the exit. They were stopped a few times and exchanged pleasantries.
The entire time Arabella was stiff as a board, and the muscles in Nash’s arm were tight under her hand. Neither looked at the other, and their comments to other guests were no more than inane platitudes.
Eventually they found themselves in the entrance hall, waiting for their carriage. Nash helped her on with her pelisse and handed her reticule to her. They were the only guests waiting for a carriage, since the orchestra had started up again.
Arabella had her arms wrapped around her body, trying to protect herself from the feelings racing through her. She had never wanted any of this. Why did she care if he preferred someone else? They had no claim on each other. Husbands and wives were not supposed to live in each other’s pockets anyway. From what she’d seen, many of them did not even attend the same affairs.
She had a nice life. Mother was taken care of, she had her animals, a lovely home, and one day there would probably be a child or two.
An heir and a spare, then you go you can go your own way, too.
There was no fighting it. For better or worse, this was their world.
Nash took her arm and helped her down the stairs. Once she was in the carriage, he held the door open and called up to the driver. “Keep driving until I tap on the ceiling.”
Whatever did that mean? If he thought to complain to her again about the men she’d danced with, he would find she had quite a bit to say to him, as well.
Nash settled in across from her. They remained silent until the carriage was well on its way from Kensington’s townhouse. “Did you have a nice time this evening?” The tightness in his voice sparked something fierce in her.
“Oh my, yes. I had a wonderful time. I enjoyed so many dances with so many handsome and attentive men. It was truly delightful.”
“Don’t…” He growled. His eyes narrowed, and his finger tapped a cadence on his thigh.
She raised her brows at him. “Don’t?”
“Do not say anything else.” He rolled his neck as if to relieve tension.
“I am sorry, my lord. I was under the impression you asked me a question.”
Before the words were completely out of her mouth, Nash reached across the small space and wrapping his hands around her arms, pulled her over to his side. She landed on his lap. “What—”
He placed both of his hands on her head and took her mouth w
ith a savage intensity.
Chapter Seventeen
Still gripping her head, Nash pushed her back, staring into her eyes, seeking consent. She watched him back, not with fear or anger, but with a passionate fire he’d never seen before, but certainly recognized.
With a growl worthy of a wild animal claiming its mate, he regained her lips, crushing her body to his. He was not looking for softness or gentleness tonight. What he needed from her right now was brutal, passionate surrender. To show her to whom she belonged.
He was crazy. That was the only explanation. He had lost his mind. This woman had turned him into an addlebrained fool whose future, no doubt, rested in Bedlam. Watching one man after another stare at her beauty, receive her smile, and ogle the creamy expanse of skin above her neckline had pushed him over the brink of the sanity he normally possessed.
Mine. Only mine.
Releasing her lips, he kissed her cheek, her closed eyelids, her jaw, her neck. Yes, her neck! He sucked on the skin there and nipped the soft flesh. She would have a bruise in the morning, and he cared not. He needed to mark her as his for all the world to see.
Grabbing the flaps of her pelisse, he jerked it apart, the fasteners flying in every direction. With a soft moan, her head fell back, and he yanked the garment off her shoulders, down her arms, and tossed it on the floor. He burrowed his fingers in her hair and sucked her earlobe. “I need you tonight.”
“Yes.” Her whispered consent spurred him on, adding to the craziness.
He spoke against her lips. “Right here. Right now.”
“Yes, yes.” She turned in his lap, her legs straddling him, her gown up around her thighs. She took his face in her hands and sucked his lower lip, then swept her tongue into his mouth. His hands slid under her gown, up her legs until he cupped her soft, plush bottom.
His entire world had narrowed to this small space where breathing was rapid and loud, clothing was in the way, and the scent of their passion filled the air. Arabella pulled at his cravat, almost strangling him until he took over and untied it, pulling it off and dropping it.
He kneaded her buttocks, pulling her closer to his cock, straining to get out of his breeches and slip into her warmth. Her lips, plump and moist, teased him, dared him, challenged his power. Power to own her, mark her, make her completely his. There was no tenderness in their need for each other tonight.
Nash fisted the edge of her gown and pulled it down, the sound of a tear competing with their raspy breaths. He groaned at the sight of two perfect, fleshy breasts with dark pouting nipples.
“Nash, you tore my gown.” She spoke against his lips.
“I hate this gown.”
“You said you loved it.”
“I lied.”
His mouth found other, more important uses than conversation. He sucked her breast into his mouth, then used his teeth to graze over the nipple. Arabella jerked and frantically shoved his tailcoat off his shoulders. Next went the waistcoat, and finally, he released her breast to pull his shirt over his head and added it to the pile of clothing on the floor.
Arabella rose up on her knees and rubbed her breasts against his chest and once more grabbed his head, running her fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling as she dragged him to her mouth for another searing kiss. He had no sense of time and place. He felt as though he had been born here and never wanted to leave.
She released him, and with a devilish smile moved her hands to his falls. Staring at him intently, she slowly opened each button, pausing to lick her lips between each one, until he thought he would lose his mind.
She reached her hand in and took his cock into her fist, running her fingers up and down his length. Before he realized what she was about, she climbed off his lap, knelt on the floor of the carriage between his legs, and wrapping her arms around his waist, took him into her mouth. He nearly jumped off the seat. She looked up at him, laughter in her eyes.
There was no doubt. She would kill him before the night was over.
He took about as much of that as he could before he grabbed her under her arms and hauled her back onto his lap. He fumbled with the fastenings at the back of her gown, and eventually it went the same way the pelisse did. Fastenings pinging against the walls of the carriage.
Within minutes he had her completely nude except for her jewelry, long white satin gloves, and silky white stockings. Just that slight bit of clothing tantalized him like nothing else. If he didn’t have her now, he would explode. His hips rose, and he slid his breeches off then positioned her over his straining erection and eased her down over his length. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes at the sensations running through him.
He took a breast into his mouth and suckled hard. She moaned and wiggled around.
“Darling, you are killing me.” He barely got the words out with his breathing so ragged that he felt as if he’d just gone through five rounds at Gentleman Jackson’s.
Gripping her hips, he moved her up and down until she caught the rhythm. Then rising up onto her knees, she took over, holding his shoulders as she moved. Her motion was perfect, her head thrown back, the beady points of her nipples teasing him as she shifted, her breasts swaying with the flow of her body.
“Nash, it’s coming, I can feel it,” she gasped, her voice raspy, her breathing erratic. Her hair had come undone, the riot of brown and golden curls falling over her shoulders, down her back.
He felt all her muscles tense as she tried to reach her climax. Helping her along, Nash reached between them and took the stiff piece of throbbing flesh and rubbed his thumb over the slick skin.
“Yes, yes. That’s it.” Her movements grew more frantic, and he gritted his teeth struggling to hold on until she reached her release. Just as he believed he could not wait a moment longer, she threw her head back and a low, keening sound came from her throat.
Nash let go and poured himself into her, pumping until every drop of fluid left his body.
…
Arabella was plastered against Nash’s body, gulping air, trying to return her heart to a normal beat. It didn’t sound as though he was doing any better, either, as he rested his chin on her shoulder. His sweat-dampened hair rested on her cheek.
She could not understand how they could be so mad at each other one minute and then tear each other’s clothes off in a frenzy.
But it had felt good.
She had behaved the wanton. Now that she was coming back to her senses, she squirmed a bit with the memory. For goodness’ sake, they were in a moving carriage! Had the driver heard them?
Nash moved his hand up and slowly massaged her head. “Do not fret, sweetheart.”
She shifted and looked over at him. He gazed at her, a slight crooked smile on his lips. His swollen lips. Had she done that?
“You are beginning to experience some sort of remorse or guilt.”
“How do you know that?” Lord, her voice still sounded raspy. Had she screamed her release?
“Your body stiffened. You began to shift around, and now as I study you, a lovely red flush is climbing up your body.”
She pushed back, resting her hands on his sweat-slicked shoulders. “We are in our carriage.”
“I know.” He grinned.
The wicked man.
“The driver probably knows what we did.”
He shook his head and pushed back the hair from her face. “No. Believe me, sweetheart, with the horses’ hooves clopping along, and the wagon wheels creaking, he heard nothing.”
“I’m getting chilly.”
“Yes, I imagine you are.” He reached to the floor and pulled up a mass of entangled garments. “We’ll need to get this all sorted out. We don’t want you entering the house in my cravat, and me in your gown.”
She burst out laughing at the image, needing the release of tension.
Nash held up her stays. “This I would like to burn.” He ran his hands over her breasts. “I like you much better this way.”
“No respectable wo
man goes without her stays.”
He grinned. “Who says I want a respectable woman?”
“Pardon me? Is not that what you have been chastising me about since we met?” She grabbed his cravat and wrapped it around his neck, as if to strangle him.
He covered her hand with his. “Yes, I want a respectable countess in my home, at social affairs, and everywhere in public. On the other hand, I want a wanton trollop in my bed.” He winked.
Lord, if her face grew any hotter she would burst into flames. Taking a deep breath to bring up the subject troubling her, she twisted a strand of her hair and asked, “Nash, is Lady Walthrop your mistress?”
Nash reared back and sucked in a huge breath of air, then began to cough until Arabella had to pound him on the back. “Whatever made you ask that?”
Arabella drew circles on his chest. “Lady Humphries told me tonight that all men keep mistresses. Since you saved the supper waltz for Lady Walthrop, I wondered…”
He groaned and dropped his chin onto his chest. After a few moments, he looked up, staring in her eyes. “Hear this, Wife.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe I’m even speaking with you about this.”
Her muscles tensed while she waited for his answer, and she pulled back. He wrapped his hands around her upper back and drew her forward until they were practically nose-to-nose. “When I was a single man, I maintained a mistress, as most men do. However, once we announced our betrothal, I dismissed her. I have no intention of breaking my marriage vows.
“As to your other supposition, Lady Walthrop spends a great deal of time inviting men into her bed. Even if I were in the market for a liaison, I can assure you, it would never be her. The reason we had the supper waltz was because when she handed me her card and insisted I fill it out, I wrote my name, not looking at it. I just wanted to be rid of her.”
Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords & Ladies in Love) Page 17
