A Scoundrel by Moonlight

by Anna Campbell

  And none too soon. For hours, Leath had been on a tight rein, knowing that what he did tonight set the tone for their affair. Yet still he’d hurt her.

  Then everything, praise heaven, had come right.

  Quivering with reaction, she stretched beneath him. He kissed her with all the reverence in his heart. She was beautiful. Magnificent. A woman in a million. He didn’t deserve her, but by God, he meant to cherish her. While breath remained in his body, nobody would harm her.

  He closed his eyes and at last sought his own pleasure. The measured, deliberate thrusts became choppier. Still, he didn’t let go. He remained desperately aware of her innocence.

  She closed her eyes and her breath emerged in uneven gasps. Her hands linked loosely around his neck. Through the building storm, he saw that she looked utterly exhausted.

  It had been a long night. And he was about to close it with a climax like none before. The surge of power began at his toes, flooded up through his legs then concentrated in his balls. The pressure was everywhere. His head. His lungs. His gut. His cock.

  His muscles tightened to shredding. His heart hurled itself into his ribs. He sucked in a breath, then released it on a long, shuddering groan as his seed spurted into her.

  He jerked once, twice. Then again.

  The pounding rush extended beyond his experience. Whatever magic this woman possessed, he wanted more of it. This was a night of miracles.

  She cried out with pleasure as every bone in his body dissolved to water. He hardly had energy to breathe. The urge to collapse upon her was overwhelming, but at the last minute, he rolled aside, taking her with him. The arms he lashed around her were heavier than stone.

  “James…” she murmured sleepily, pressing her head to his galloping heart. “Dear James.”

  The sound of his name blasted through him like cannon fire. The glow remained from those blazing moments when he’d spilled into her. He felt extraordinarily weary. As though he’d climbed the highest mountain or dived to the depths of the sea.

  “Are you all right?” He couldn’t forget how tight she’d been, how tight she was now.

  He spread his hands across the damp skin of her back and brushed his cheek against her ruffled hair. Her scent surrounded him, redolent with fulfillment.

  She pressed closer. “I’m… wonderful,” she said, sounding awed.

  “You are indeed wonderful.” He’d been awestruck himself, and he had a deal more experience than the virtuous Miss Trim. Except as he’d slid into her slender body, he’d felt untouched and renewed. Only with Eleanor could he call this an act of love.

  Because he did love her.

  Damn him for a numskull. He’d loved her for weeks, but he’d been too thickheaded to see it.

  Joy flooded him. He’d never imagined falling in love. He had nothing against the idea, but he’d grown up without intimate friends and he’d never before felt a deep connection with a woman. He had colleagues, he had mentors, he had acolytes. The occasional lover. But nobody who addressed his soul as its equal.

  From the first, Eleanor Trim had done that. Only she had seen him for the man he was.

  She shifted, murmuring lazy satisfaction into his chest, and their bodies separated. He felt brief regret, then remembered that this was merely the beginning. They’d stay in this cottage a week and make plans. He couldn’t ignore the demands of his real life, but somewhere he’d find room for Eleanor.

  The inescapable fact was that lying here, holding her, listening to the rain patter against the windows—the storm had calmed even as lightning had flashed in this room—this moment felt more real than anything before. His so-called real life was unimportant compared to his need to keep this woman. She was as essential to him as air.

  He already saw that there would be repercussions. He was accounted a brave man, but apprehension at what he’d started here pricked cold and sharp at his contentment.

  Leath told himself that powerful sex turned his mind to mush. Tomorrow, his brain would return to its ruthless, ambitious, logical ways. No man made a lifetime commitment to a paramour. He owed his family a brilliant aristocratic wedding and political success at the highest level. A temporary mistress couldn’t upset plans made in his cradle.

  A temporary mistress…

  Eleanor snuggled closer. The way she drifted off in his embrace moved him in ways he couldn’t explain. He shifted to settle her more comfortably and drew the covers to keep her warm.

  He’d never slept with a woman. It would never have occurred to him to linger cuddling the experienced ladies who had shared their favors. Yet while Eleanor’s nearness stirred his hunger—he had an almighty hunger to appease—he didn’t wake her. Not just because only a brute would use her again so soon.

  The fire died down. He probably should do something about stoking it, but he was too contented to budge. Through the shadows, he watched Eleanor’s beautiful face. She was so lovely. The sight of her made his heart dip in delight. It always had. He should have long ago realized that he was in love.

  He closed his eyes, yet something clawed at him, rattled his peace. As he stared into the night, he realized that it was a single word.

  Temporary.

  Nell stirred to warmth and a glow of happiness. Strong arms encircled her. Musky scent teased her senses. She rested her head on a man’s bare chest and his heart thudded beneath her ear. She nestled closer to that reassuring sound.

  It was early. Pale light edged the curtains, but the sun was yet to rise. The room was dark. The fire had died long ago.

  “Good morning,” a deep voice murmured above her head.

  She stretched against James, loving the hot slide of his skin. So far, life as a fallen woman was full of splendid surprises. She hadn’t expected the pleasure she’d found last night, especially after the awkward beginning. She hadn’t expected to feel so blissful waking in the marquess’s arms.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she whispered back.

  “I was James last night,” he said softly.

  “James.” She said the word slowly, relishing the mellifluous hiss.

  She kissed his chest, the hair tickling her nose. Luxuriously she rubbed her foot along his leg, feeling the rasp of hair there too.

  “If you keep doing that, there will be consequences,” he said on a rumble of amusement.

  “How terrifying,” she said drily. He started the day interested, she discovered.

  She gasped when he tipped her onto her back and rose above her. “You’re an impudent baggage.”

  Breathlessly, she laughed, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “I don’t think you should call me names.”

  “I do.” He glanced a kiss across her nose. “Sweetheart.”

  She shivered at the playful contact. The last traces of sleep ebbed.

  Another kiss between her eyebrows. “Darling.”

  A squeak of pleasure escaped. She liked him to tease her. She liked it even better when he kissed her at the same time.

  “Dearest.” Two kisses this time, one on each fluttering eyelid. “Sweeting.”

  She tilted her chin in silent invitation. This game was diverting, of course it was. But her lips tingled for the taste of his.

  “Beautiful girl.” A kiss on her ear and a subtle puff of breath that made her toes curl.

  She caught his arms in eager hands. “You won your point, my lord.”

  “My lord again?” He nibbled a line from her jaw up to her ear and nipped at her earlobe. Another shivery ripple had her squirming into the sheets.

  “Perhaps I want to call you names too.”

  He bit her earlobe again, then tugged with his teeth. She caught her breath. Who knew that something as humble as her ear offered such pleasure?

  “Call me James, Eleanor.”

  “Will you kiss me if I do?”

  “I won’t if you don’t.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Last night, she’d learned many things about James Fairbrother, Marquess of Leath. One was tha
t she wielded more power over him than she’d credited.

  She tried to read his expression, but the darkness defeated her. Instead, she sought other clues. His jagged breathing. The heat of his skin.

  “You want me,” she whispered, walking her fingers across the taut line of his shoulders and delighting in the way his skin tightened under the caress. She bumped her hips up to confirm his readiness. “You can’t hide it.”

  He groaned and scraped his teeth down her neck. His beard chafed her delightfully. “No, damn you, I can’t.”

  “That makes me happy.” She tugged at his hair and he grunted as he kissed a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

  “I’d like to make you happy.”

  “Then you know what to do.”

  “Witch.” He raised his head. “You’ll still be sore.”

  She shifted, lifting her knees. Her thighs brushed his hips and she tilted into his pulsing virility. Pulsing virility that would soon be inside her if she had her way.

  A wriggle to test for pain. She experienced a few twinges, but nothing to compare to her need. Even if he hurt her, the profound union when he joined his body to hers outweighed all discomfort. “Perhaps if we’re careful.”

  He dropped his head and took her mouth in a tender kiss. Her lips parted on a sigh.

  Even through the dim light, she felt his heated gaze. “I love that you’re not coy. From the first, I wanted your honesty.”

  “I thought you wanted my surrender,” she said, only half joking.

  He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “That too.” He kissed her again, running his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened. “I’m merely human.”

  “Show me how human, James.” She stretched up to prolong the kiss, using her tongue.

  He lowered over her. His kiss spoke of stirring passion, but tenderness lingered like a star through mist. “With pleasure.” He paused. “But, Eleanor, if you want me to stop, I will.”

  “Oh, my dear.” She curved her hand around his strong neck. Her tone wasn’t teasing. Instead she sounded like she choked on the love flooding her. He made her feel as fragile as lace and as strong as steel. She swallowed, moved to tears. Now was no time to yield to emotion. She’d entered this arrangement knowing that a mistress was neither permanent nor essential in a man’s life. Yet every moment strengthened the bond between them.

  If she started to believe in forever, she asked for a world of anguish.

  She didn’t know if he heard the betraying wobble in the endearment. She suspected he did because his kiss was sweet.

  She caught his shoulders and angled forward in blatant invitation. He stroked her, there where she wanted him so badly. She shuddered and a whimper of enjoyment escaped. Before consenting to be his mistress, she’d come to terms with loving him. Now every touch left her shaking with desire.

  Last night, he’d built her arousal slowly, but this morning he seemed, like her, impatient. His thumb brushed that place that shot thrills along her veins, then he shifted and hot thickness pressed into her.

  She prepared for pain. But he slid into her smoothly and her body welcomed him the way the earth welcomed the sunrise. She gasped with wonder.

  He shuddered into stillness. “Am I hurting you?”

  She arched, changing the angle in the most delicious way. Another sigh of pleasure.

  “Eleanor?” His voice cracked with strain. “Answer me.”

  She tugged him down for a hungry kiss. His hips flexed as he pushed deeper.

  In the early light, she caught his faint smile as he raised his head. “I’m taking that as permission to continue.”

  She luxuriated in the long, slow glide of his body. How had she lived without this? But of course, she’d waited for the right man. As Leath circled his hips, setting off a fresh cascade of sensations, she knew he was the lover that she’d dreamed of all her life.

  “Yes,” she managed to say before closing her eyes on a moan as he thrust more purposefully, so deep that surely he must touch her womb. A declaration of love surged, but he shifted, withdrawing with a voluptuous languor that banished everything but pleasure from her mind.

  He moved again and again with a primeval rhythm. Last night, she’d scaled the ladder to heaven. But this powerful possession of her body—a possession that extended to her heart too—proved that a thousand roads led to paradise.

  Her hands trailed up and down his back, feeling his muscles tense then relax with every thrust. Ruthlessly, he tipped her, changing the angle again. Fresh heat seared her. She moaned when he kissed her tight nipples.

  This time she dared to explore further. He plunged hard as her hands fluttered over the small of his back, then discovered two intriguing dimples on either side of his backbone. She’d always known he was a well-built man, but his naked form was pure power. She felt surrounded, conquered, devoured. She felt strong and fulfilled.

  She ventured lower to caress firm buttocks. He jerked and bit out a curse when she scraped her fingernails across his flesh. The air was heavy with the scent of their mating.

  He nipped her neck, making her shudder. The feeling that rose each time he entered her body surged. But he went still before she reached her climax.

  “Not… yet,” he gasped against her damp skin.

  “I want this.” She was barely aware of what she said. She plowed her fingers into his buttocks, compelling him to move. “I want you.”

  “Keep wanting me.” He retreated and advanced.

  She bowed up in response. His face filled her vision. Stark with arousal, flushed, mouth stretched over his teeth.

  She hovered so close. So tantalizingly close. Again he stopped before she toppled over the edge. “You’re torturing me.”

  His grunt might indicate frustration or amusement or both. “I want to show you what we can create together.”

  The light now was bright enough to reveal every strained line on his face. Deep brackets framed his mouth. She hooked her legs across his back, linking her ankles.

  “Let go,” she crooned, running her hands over his shoulders. “Let go.”

  “Eleanor, you destroy me,” he gasped.

  He jerked forward, claiming her, and this time as she rose, the wave was too great to stop. On a cry she broke through to the summit, then the whole world crashed around her in a rain of fire. The pleasure dashed her against the sky then back to earth then back to the sky.

  Through the blinding tempest, she heard his guttural groan. Her body clenched anew against the surge of liquid heat and her fierce response drowned everything except joy.

  And the fact that she’d love him until she died.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nell woke in Leath’s—James’s—embrace. Briefly, she basked in voluptuous memories of the night. When she wriggled free, he made a sleepy complaint, but didn’t wake. The morning was brisk, and she rubbed her arms as she studied her lover.

  The light revealed signs of tiredness, but he looked more at ease than he had at Alloway Chase. Only last night had she realized that the sexual pull between them had worn at him as it had worn at her. She had a feeling that if she woke him, he’d assuage that sexual pull again. But the weariness in his face—and knowing that she’d have his attention later—led her to kiss his bristly cheek, then collect her clothes from the floor. She blushed to remember how they’d got there, although surely a woman who had passed such a wanton night had no right to blush.

  She washed and dressed in the small room adjoining the bedroom, wincing as muscles she’d never used before protested. Not that she minded. She felt as though the world was painted bright gold.

  The world in fact was dark gray. Rain struck the windows with a force that made Nell grateful to be inside with the man she loved. A faint smile curved her lips as she wondered whether he’d take her back to bed this morning. She hoped so. Last night had hinted at oceans of sensuality waiting to be discovered.

  She wandered downstairs to the kitchen, set
ting up breakfast and making tea. After missing dinner, James would be hungry. Then she tidied the parlor and set the fire. The housewifery was second nature. She’d run her stepfather’s house since her mother’s death. But she’d never worked for the comfort of a man who shared her bed.

  Braving the weather, she retrieved a few bedraggled late roses from the bushes around the door. Upstairs all remained quiet.

  Nell turned her attention to the entry hall, where James had flung his greatcoat and luggage before he’d carried her away to heaven. Usually he was the most orderly of men. She smiled to think that he’d arrived in such a fever he hadn’t even stopped to hang his coat to dry.

  For a lost moment, she hugged the damp greatcoat. This morning her progress was woefully slow. She kept stopping to recall the night: a daring caress; a tender kiss; wild sensations sizzling through her. The thought of James Fairbrother left her staring into space for minutes at a time. If she wasn’t careful, she’d turn horribly dreamy. She’d never been in love before. The emotion’s all-encompassing power astonished her.

  Sighing at herself, she hung James’s hat and coat beside her cape on the hooks near the door, then turned to his bags. He’d brought only a leather valise and a satchel of papers. The satchel was familiar from their first encounter in his library. In the days when she was convinced that the Marquess of Leath was evil personified. How far she’d traveled since.

  After lugging the bags into the parlor, she set the valise near the stairs. When he woke, he’d want his shaving gear and a clean shirt. She rubbed her face with one hand. He’d chafed her last night. And, she blushed to note, not just on the face.

  She lifted the satchel onto the mahogany desk in the corner. The bag was heavier than expected and not fastened properly. When she slung it up, the contents cascaded across the priceless Turkey rug.

  She smiled to think that even here, he brought work. Then she glimpsed her name on some legal document.

  Curious, she gathered the papers and bore them to the couch. A quick glance at the document revealed that it set out Eleanor Charlotte Trim’s agreement to become James Fairbrother’s mistress. She didn’t read it from beginning to end—it was dauntingly thick—but the man so thorough in political and estate matters had been equally thorough when it came to her ruin. There were provisions for allowances and gifts. And children.