The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne

by Jayne Fresina

  “Haste, Vyne,” he bellowed again, hands behind his head, half-propped up on pillows.

  His manner was cool, even detached. Ellie tried not to notice. After all, she knew what she was getting into when she suggested this arrangement. She had no one to blame but herself.

  She tied the silk belt around her waist and stepped out into the firelight. His eyes narrowed. He went very still, reminding her of a panther at the zoo, waiting for the keeper to lower a lump of raw meat into its cage.

  “About time,” he said.

  She couldn’t agree more. He beckoned with one finger. Moving closer to the bed, she boldly placed her hand on his thigh. He was warm when she touched him, and the hairs on his body were soft, the muscle beneath hard as steel. Lying stark naked there before her, blue eyes afire and hair warmed by soft candlelight, he looked like a debauched archangel.

  “You must have had many propositions like this one,” she teased, “with all this male beauty fallen to your lot.”

  His thigh flexed under her stroking palm. “Have you made many such propositions before?”

  “Countless. Haven’t you heard the rumors about me?”

  He exhaled softly. “What exactly did you have planned for me, Vyne?” Now there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

  Her gaze traveled upward to his face, not skipping an inch, and her breath quickened. “Whatever you desire.”

  James hitched onto his hip and patted the mattress beside him. “Then we’d best get started.”

  Ellie felt her pulse flutter wildly. Candlelight danced over his hair, catching on the hint of gold and polishing it. One by one, she took stock of his features again: the slender nose, artfully sculpted lips that were always so quick to sneer at her, high cheekbones, and eyes of a brilliant, tropical hue tonight. The bruise around his right eye lent an air of danger, brought his proudly angelic features down to earth and within reach of a naughty little devil like her.

  “If I must be used as a breeding device, Vyne, I’d like to get on with it.”

  Clearly he was ready. There was no hiding his arousal.

  Dear God, what was she doing? She shook her head and laughed gently. God had no answer for her, but the devil might.

  ***

  As she fussed over the knotted belt of her lacy bed robe, he recognized her intent to delay again. James grabbed her around the waist, pulling her onto the bed and securing her quickly beneath his body. When she first stepped out from behind that screen, the firelight behind her, he saw she still wore her corset and chemise beneath the robe, but these items didn’t keep him from admiring the shape of her legs or from seeing she wore no drawers.

  His reaction was instant, and when she touched his thigh, he’d almost erupted on the spot. Now he ground his arousal against those flimsy fripperies she insisted on wearing to bed. She blew curls out of her mouth, her cheeks pink, eyes shining up at him, her warm sumptuousness separated from his hard, naked body by an almost transparent linen chemise, a bit of lace, and a corset. His heart thumped away, shuddering through his body.

  Having approached him warily, like a wild animal cautious of a trap, she now laughed at him again as if he was there solely for her damned amusement. Each gasping breath made the swell of her breasts push upward into his chest. Her skin was fine, smooth. Not as pale as fashion decreed for a lady, but glowing in the warm, pulsing light.

  “Are you ready for your first servicing?” He parted her legs with his broad thighs, his hands firm around her wrists, holding them to the pillow on either side of her tousled head. “I’m not of a mind to delay.”

  She strained forward and reached for his lips, but he didn’t give them just yet. She arched, and he moved his hips, ensuring she felt every inch of his desire for her. For the last few nights he’d endured this state of agitation and had no opportunity to soothe the pangs with a good release. It was all her fault, because he hadn’t been able to look at another woman since the night he found her in the count’s bed. Now he finally had this notorious temptress beneath him, restless, throbbing with barely restrained energy. Wanting him to give her a child. She spoke as if the child would be hers to raise—not theirs. She did not expect him to be around much or take any interest in fatherhood. As if he could donate his seed and not care. That was how little she thought of him.

  James no longer felt the cold damp of that dreary day; his aches and pains swiftly dissolved. He was less than an inch from impaling her, his sac tight, blood filling his cock, his seed rushing. He stared down at her face amid the mess of dark curls. Desire flooded her eyes. She didn’t try to stop it. Unashamed. Incorrigible. Downright impertinent. And beautiful.

  Beautiful trouble. He’d always known it, always tried to look the other way and avoid temptation. Stood aside and watched other men dance with her, laugh with her, whisper in her ear.

  No more.

  Here was the woman so long forbidden to him, and now he would take what he wanted.

  Those long legs stroked his thighs, his hips, and his flanks. The urgency between them both was about to overflow.

  Finally he released her wrists and kissed her, his hands in her hair, binding it around his long fingers. He thrust his tongue and his hips at the same time, and he could have possessed her there and then, if not for her chemise—that thin barrier still in his way. All that wriggling had gathered the silk up to her thighs, and there it bunched, moistened by their mutual heat. It teased the head of his cock, caressing it. He wanted to rip the material aside and plow forward to claim her.

  Somehow he reined it in. He had told her he was in no mood to delay, but having waited this long, perhaps he could wait a little longer. He’d make her wait too.

  When he slid down the bed, the impertinent miss demanded to know where he went. Her hands clutched for him as he slipped from her grasp.

  His palms flat to her inner thighs, he pressed them wide apart and then settled his shoulders between her knees. “Woman, you are altogether too impatient, too wanton. Please show a little restraint.”

  As he rolled her chemise up over her hips and out of his way, she tried closing her legs, but he had her trapped, spread now for his teasing. He pressed a gentle kiss to her sex, barely touching. Was that a purr he heard that rumbled softly down her body? If not, there was a kitten somewhere, hiding under the bed. He licked her just once, very quickly. The divine, creamy sweetness burst upon his tongue, and he wanted more, but he made her wait until she lifted off the mattress in frustration. Then he kissed her intimately again, lingering this time, letting her tender flesh bloom wet and hot under his lips.

  “James,” she groaned as her fingers scrabbled for his hair, “what are you doing?”

  “This is one of five nights, woman. I’m not going to rush it.”

  He wanted Ellie Vyne completely at his mercy, because he was very nearly at hers.

  Slowly he lapped at her sweetness, relishing the wickedness of teasing her, enjoying his treat. Her breathing changed, quickened. Shattered gasps broke over his head. James swirled his tongue against her soft, hot flesh and slipped inside. He closed his eyes. The need swelled within his loins, clamoring to be satisfied. His erect, throbbing shaft rubbed against the mattress.

  She was trembling. Laid out for him. Breathless. Her fingers tugged on his hair, almost pulling it out by the root.

  Close to giving in and letting her peak, somehow he held back again, delayed just to torment her. He drew a breath and then another as she squirmed before him, straining to close her thighs, wanting more, demanding he let her finish. She was a hair’s breadth from implosion. Finally he touched his tongue to her sex again.

  ***

  She closed her eyes as the tremor shook her violently. Lord, what had he done to her? Was that sound her own exhale, broken into a low, throaty moan of a most uncivilized nature? Her fingers were bunched tight in the sheet, and yet she was flying, soaring.

  This is one of five nights, woman. I’m not going to rush it.

  True to his wo
rd, he took his time. She certainly could not complain. Finally reassembling her wits, she opened her eyes and found him leaning over her again, watching her face. Even through shadows and dim, flickering light, she felt the searching blue intensity in his eyes. She read his thoughts. He was well aware of the trouble they were getting into and couldn’t prevent it any more than she could. They were hopeless cases. This forbidden desire had built in them both, and there was only one way to vanquish it.

  “Turn over then,” he whispered huskily.

  “What?”

  She felt the vibrations of his low chuckles. “Corset. Laces. Off.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Ellie rolled over so he could tackle the job. “Hurry,” she urged.

  His lips moved wetly across the nape of her neck, and she felt his teeth nibbling her skin gently. “If you want to be mounted properly by this stallion, you must have patience, my naughty filly.”

  But Ellie found she had little left of that commodity. The sad remains were fast dripping through her fingers. “I wonder what your grandmother would say if she saw you now.”

  He tugged on her corset laces with far more strength than required, in the manner of an extremely surly, and incompetent, lady’s maid. “I’m sure her words would be plentiful, whatever they were.”

  Ellie laughed. He did not.

  As he knelt astride her legs, she jumped at the sensation of his naked manhood touching her bottom. The heat almost melted the thin material of her chemise. “I find it hard to believe you’ve never unlaced a woman’s corset before, Hartley,” she complained and gripped the pillow with both arms.

  “I’ve never unlaced your corset before,” he replied. “For some reason, I’m all thumbs in your case.”

  Startled by his candid confession, she lay still, her complaints sunk into the pillow, her body attuned to the touch of his fingertips, willing them to go faster, willing them to have sudden dexterity. The anticipation might kill her slowly, but she was certain he could revive her from death itself. The way he kissed her was unlike anything she’d ever known. The senseless delight that skipped through her at his every steamy, blue-eyed glance was likely to cause her injury if she didn’t soon do something about it.

  He pressed his lips to her shoulder, while his fingers continued pulling her laces free. His breathing was haphazard, each branding kiss to her flesh pressed a little harder, left a little longer, following the last much more swiftly. As he loosened the corset, he pulled down on her chemise, exposing her spine to his lips, one vertebrae at a time, one shiver per breath.

  The last lace was almost free, and his kisses had reached the hollow at the base of her spine, when it suddenly occurred to Ellie that the intrusive thumping sound was neither her heart nor large hailstones falling against the roof. Someone was at the door, pounding on it with their fist.

  ***

  James swung open the door, breeches and shirt pulled on in haste, his mind boiling, hands ready to crush the windpipe of whoever had disturbed his night.

  It was Grieves.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the valet murmured, “but something has arisen of a most unfortunate nature.”

  Behind him he heard the sounds of Ellie scrambling off the bed, rushing behind the dressing screen. Frustration bubbled in his veins and uncomfortably heated certain parts of his anatomy.

  “What is it?” he hissed. “Has the other one got out?”

  “No, sir.” Grieves lowered his voice to a whisper. “That item is still safely secured and sleeping like a pup, having imbibed a jug of cider.”

  “Thank Christ! Then what on earth—?”

  “I had the idea of staying drier in the carriage, sir, but upon entering, I made a sudden, alarming discovery.”

  James realized his valet had a bundle of something at his side. In the shadowy light of the passage, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and then the bundle looked up at him and exclaimed, “I told you I was running away. Men never listen.”

  He cursed under his breath.

  “Indeed, sir,” Grieves remarked. “A substantial snoring noise alerted me to the young lady’s presence, and when I lifted the seat, there she was, inside the luggage compartment, tightly curled in the manner of a prodded woodlice.”

  Lady Mercy Danforthe yawned while both men looked down at her, one in bemusement, the other in despair.

  “I can’t have this, for pity’s sake,” James muttered. He had enough trouble trying to keep an eye on the Vyne woman, who may or may not be part of some dastardly blackmail plot, using her body, her lips, and her eyes to beguile him completely. His hands were full already, and the last thing he needed was this troubled little creature hanging onto his boot heels. He clawed a hand through his hair. His heated blood still hadn’t yet returned to normal, and the beast of reckless desire still had some control of his voice. “What are we supposed to do with her?” he croaked.

  “I can send her back to London, sir, with an escort. If someone trustworthy can be found. Perhaps—the item stowed in the buttery might be of some use.”

  “Good God, no!” Ophelia Southwold was the last woman he’d entrust with the care of a child.

  “Or I’ll take her myself, sir.”

  But James wasn’t having that either. Things tended to go awry for him when his valet wasn’t around to help, and it was a long way to send her back. He didn’t want the blame falling upon his shoulders if anything happened to the wretched girl. “No, no. Let her brother come and get her. It’s time he took the responsibility upon himself.”

  The short young lady regarded James with huge, cowlike eyes but said nothing.

  “Very good, sir, I shall send a messenger to the Earl of Everscham and let him know his sister is safe and well.”

  “And in need of a ride home. He can surely abandon his pleasures in Town long enough to fetch her.”

  Grieves bowed. “Sorry to disrupt your evening, sir, but I did not know where else to put the young lady. She could not very well remain in the luggage compartment.”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Because it was very cramped,” the child exclaimed. “I’m sure it has quite ruined my best sprigged muslin, and the fur trim on my coat is all crushed.”

  Suddenly, a soft voice emerged from behind the screen. “That’s quite all right, Grieves, we were done in any case. The young lady can come in and have some supper.”

  Grieves, who seldom changed color, could now pass for a boiled lobster.

  James began tucking his shirt into his breeches, and annoyance ripped through him. She thought they were done, did she? Au contraire! He grabbed the stowaway by a fistful of cloak and drew her into the room. “Lady Mercy, do meet my fiancée, Miss Mariella Vyne.”

  The girl glared at the dressing screen. “Fiancée? Fiancée?”

  Victory! The chit was no longer gazing up at him with limp-eyed adoration.

  “Very pleased to meet you, Lady Mercy.” Ellie stuck her hand out around the side of the screen.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then the small, angry creature opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and let out an ear-splitting shriek of horror. Fearing it could bring every soul in the inn to their chamber door, James attempted to cover her mouth with his hand. The result was a bite so hard that he swung his hand away and almost hit Grieves, who had the presence of mind to step back but, in so doing, knocked over the decorative suit of armor. James was cursing, doubled over and nursing his hand, when the armor fell upon him, followed by the pikestaff, sending him to the floor with a bang.

  The last thing he remembered before someone blew out all his candles and thick darkness descended was the taste of dust, the clamorous cries of Lady Mercy, and the rapid approach of Ellie’s slippers.

  ***

  “Is he dead?” Lady Mercy squealed as she fell to her knees. “Oh, my beloved James! I’ve killed you!”

  Grieves helped Ellie lift the pieces of dented armor from the prostrate man. She couldn’t believe it was heavy eno
ugh to fell him like that, for he was no small weight himself, but the pikestaff had hit the back of his head quite hard. Alarmed, she saw blood on his forehead where it had smacked into the floor. He was pale, his eyes closed, no movement.

  “We need a physician at once,” she exclaimed.

  “I shall be hanged for a murder of passion,” sobbed Lady Mercy, tears streaking her face. Ellie had no idea who the child belonged to or why she was following James, but it was nothing shocking to find women of all shapes and sizes trailing along in his wake. Half of them, she was sure, never knew why they did it either.

  She reached out to reassure the child, but Lady Mercy shrank away as if she had leprosy. “Dreadful person. He was supposed to marry me.”

  “Let’s not worry about that now. We ought to take care of James, don’t you think?”

  The girl sniffed, and a tear wobbled from her chin. “Poor, dear James.”

  With Mr. Grieves’s help and Lady Mercy’s hindrance, Ellie was able to get him onto the bed. She washed the blood away, using one of her own kerchiefs and some water from the ewer behind the dressing screen. Lady Mercy stood at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands with remorse. As soon as Grieves hurried off to find a physician, the patient opened his eyes.

  “Oops. My head hurts,” he groaned.

  “I’m not surprised.” Now she’d cleaned off the blood, there was only a miniscule bump on his forehead and a little scratch, nothing monstrous. Men always made more than necessary of a tiny wound. “Lie still.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” he muttered, and his eyelashes flickered shut again. “I think I will, if it’s all the same to you, my lady.”

  Ellie squinted down at him. My lady?

  His voice drifted sleepily. “I won’t be any trouble.”

  “Poor, darling James!” Lady Mercy rushed around the bed and seized his hand in both her much-smaller ones. He certainly had a knack for rousing female sympathy.

  “I must get back to work,” James mumbled, managing a weak smile.

  Work? Now Ellie began to doubt that was such a small knock to his head after all. The damage could be worse than it looked.