Oh dear. She had sworn she would not again wind up in such a position, at his mercy. As his willing dupe. “I didn’t know you favored the piano,” she said stupidly. But it was true. She hadn’t. This music room had been meant for her, not for him. That they stood in it together now seemed almost surreal.
“There are a great many things you don’t know about me.” One of his hands slid up her back to tangle in the hair at her nape. His fingers flexed, catching in the strands. “Just as there are many things I don’t know about you. I want to learn, Victoria. I want to learn you.”
“It’s too late for that.” Even if his bold proclamation did create a pang in her heart that echoed the pulse of need growing elsewhere.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt it like a kiss. “Are you certain, my dear? It doesn’t feel too late to me.”
“It felt too late to me the moment you left for London,” she snapped, holding fast to her frustration, her anger. It was the only shield she had remaining, for her body was about to become limp and pliant and eager in his hands.
“I’m here now.” He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest, just above his thumping heart.
She tried to twist away from his grasp, but he refused to allow her retreat, holding her still. Thump, thump, thump went his heart. Such a visceral reminder that he was only a man, after all. “You’re here until you get whatever it is you’ve come for.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’ve already told you what I’m here for, my dear. I’ve come for you.”
The Lord must have had a laugh when he bestowed that beautiful face on such a rotter of a man, she thought. That face was inconstant. Untrustworthy. That face was faithless. Fathomless. She looked away, staring at the striped wallpaper. “You think me a fool, then. Is that it?” Her eyes flew back to him and she made another failed attempt to snatch back her hand. “Does it entertain you to win me and abandon me for a second time?”
He released her hand. “And yet you were just spouting of freedom and divorce, my lady. Tell me, which is it? Do you wish me here or do you wish to leave me?”
Her face flamed in embarrassment, for he was right. The truth of it was, she didn’t know what she wanted, not any longer. Not as her husband plied her with charm, holding her in his strong embrace. Not as his mouth lingered so near to hers. Not as every bit of her clamored for more. Her body responded to him now as it always had, and her weakness was a devil of a thing.
“I want a divorce,” she said softly. “I want to return to New York. You are unencumbered by me. Go back to London and your beautiful Signora.”
His mouth hardened. “I don’t want you in New York, damn it. I want you here where you belong.”
How did he dare to think that what he wanted was of any consequence to her? “I don’t belong here. I never did.”
“Tell me, what has changed? All this time, no one was holding you here against your will. You could have gone back to New York a dozen times by now, and yet you stayed. You redecorated the music room and tuned the piano. And here you are, in my arms.”
She didn’t want to think about the last five months, about how she’d agonized, torn between hurt and anger, duty and indifference, fear and indecision. Longing and resentment. “Someone needed to care for this place and these people.”
“It needn’t have been you, my lady, and yet you remained.” He held up his hands between them like a supplicant. “Even now, you could push away from me at any time. I’ll not stop you. Walk away.”
What a terrible, shameful shock to realize that it was she who held him now, one hand still above his steadily beating heart, the other on his shoulder. He’d drawn her into his web in true spider fashion.
She extricated herself as quickly as if he were made of flame, pushing him away from her. “Don’t you dare toy with me. Have you not already done enough? Are you not satisfied?”
“Walk away, Victoria.” His expression had grown hard. “Walk away before I do something we’ll both regret.”
The old bitterness cut through her. “It would merely be one more in a vast ocean of them. Go ahead. Do your worst.”
He caught her arms in a punishing grip, spun her around, and pressed her back to the wall of the music room. His mouth came down on hers, hungry and demanding.
He kissed her with the fury and tumult raging through him. Will was angry with himself, angry with her, angry at the position in which he found himself. Freedom is not claptrap, she’d said with her naïve American ideals. There was no freedom, not for either of them. There never would be. They were inescapably trapped by their union, by duty, the duke, society. Damn it all to hell. Damn everything and everyone but this.
Her.
His tongue sank into her mouth, tasting, claiming, seeking. He cupped her face, his fingers sinking back into the soft cloud of her hair. Too many pins, too many coils. He plucked the pins free, wanting to see her long, burnished curls by the light of day, hanging to her waist. He caught the fullness of her lower lip between his teeth, needing to consume her. She tasted of bergamot and honey.
She clutched at him, and he didn’t know if she intended to push him away or pull him closer, but she made no move to protest. She wanted him, even if her wounded pride wouldn’t allow her to admit it. Her hair had come unbound now, heavy waves spilling down her shoulders and back.
He broke the kiss and stared down into her upturned face. The green of her eyes was especially vivid, her lush mouth swollen. There. Proper progress. He tested the unruly skeins of her hair, letting it sift through his fingers. With his other hand, he caught her chin, swiping the pad of his thumb over her parted lips. The freckles on her nose beckoned. He kissed them and just barely refrained from licking them as though they were tiny specks of sugar on her skin.
Jesus, what was wrong with him? Was he depraved? He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. He needn’t seduce her. All that was required of him was an heir. A quick coupling and a spend. But he couldn’t stop. Didn’t, in fact, want to stop. For now, he was kissing her neck, nibbling at the sensitive cords where her pulse told him she was every bit as affected as he.
Some darkness inside him made him long to rattle her. No, he bloody well was not going to stop until he had her precisely where he wanted her. She could only hold on to her anger for so long. He knew how to dismantle any woman’s defenses. No one was immune. Not even the wife-turned-temptress in his arms.
He sucked her earlobe, found the hollow behind her ear with his tongue and tasted violets. She moaned his title. Pembroke. A sigh. A spurring plea. He’d never been so aroused by the sound of his name on a woman’s tongue.
“Yes, darling,” he murmured against her skin as he gave her little nips and soothing kisses. He caught her lace and silk skirts, dragging them upward. His hand traveled from the curve of her knee to the tie of her stockings, then higher. “I warned you to walk away, but you didn’t. Now you have to pay the price.”
He licked behind her ear again, the spot that was driving her mad, just as he nudged her thighs apart and found the slit of her drawers. Hot, slick flesh welcomed him in. He circled her pearl and worked the engorged nub gently at first and then with increasing pressure as she pressed into him.
She cried out. He slid a finger inside her. Ah, Christ. She was hot and tight, and suddenly he couldn’t be deep enough, couldn’t have as much as he needed. He had to taste her. He sank to his knees, holding the flounces of her skirt to her waist. For a moment, he took in her petite ankles and well-shaped calves encased in silk, and then he saw only the erotic sight of his hand disappearing in the opening of her drawers. He teased a second finger inside, curving it to intensify her pleasure.
“Hold your skirts,” he ordered her, not wanting to be encumbered by the heavy impediment. All of his focus, all of his energy was about to be devoted to one task: making her come. This was how he would win her. This was how he would break her.
“You must stop,” she protested, but her tone was weak and breathless,
and she made no move to curtail him.
“I’m going to put my tongue on you, inside you.” He met her gaze, withdrawing his fingers almost completely before thrusting them back inside and wringing another moan from her, another buck of her hips. “Hold your bloody skirts, darling.”
Her eyes went wide. He’d shocked her with his boldness, but he’d also intrigued her. There was no mistaking it. Her hand fisted in her skirts, holding them in place. At last, he thought, his mind half mad with the urge to claim her. At last.
He withdrew from her long enough to unbutton the waistband of her drawers and yank them down over her hips. He guided her left knee over his shoulder, cupped the warm swell of her derriere, and sucked her into his mouth. She jerked, her skirts slipping down to rest on his head, but he didn’t mind. His tongue explored her, learning her. He ran it beneath her pearl and then gave her a gentle tug with his teeth. So sweet. Sweeter than honey. More. He wanted more.
He licked her seam and then pressed deeper, inside her. Wet. Divine. Delicious. This woman was his, his in a way no other in the world would ever be. His and he would prove it to her. He would brand her, take her higher than she’d dared to imagine. He replaced his tongue with his fingers and sucked her again. Her skirts fell over his head entirely, enveloping him in darkness, but it somehow only heightened his arousal. There was only her scent, earthy and floral, the secrets of her body to savor. She surrounded him. She consumed him.
Her orgasm was sudden and violent when it came. She shuddered, tightening on his fingers, her wetness dripping warmly down his hand. He didn’t stop licking, sucking, and thrusting, drawing out her spend, making it last as long as possible until she wilted against him. With shaking hands, he pulled her drawers back into place, re-buttoning them before he emerged from her skirts. He remained on his knees, his mouth slick with her essence, forcing her to meet his gaze.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, looking stricken, as though she couldn’t believe what she’d just allowed him to do to her. Her emerald eyes were wide. For the first time since his return, she was speechless. Very well. He collected the jagged ends of his thoughts—shattered by the sheer bliss of bringing her to her pinnacle—and forced them into a semblance of order.
“I won’t stop the next time, Victoria.” The words were torn from him, part promise, part warning. But she ought to know who he was. Let her not be fooled again. “I won’t stop until I have you beneath me, and I’m sliding my cock so deep inside you that you come undone a hundred times harder than you just did with my fingers and tongue.”
Her cheeks went crimson. Making a strangled sound, she spun on her heel and fled the chamber, the door slamming at her back.
Yes, he was depraved. Even more depraved than he’d ever supposed, for he was enjoying this game they played. But he would enjoy winning it even more.
t seemed unseasonably warm as Victoria wandered about in the gardens, even for summer, sun beating upon the pathway she walked. The heady scent of roses in bloom wafted to her. She would, she thought with a touch of sadness, miss this vast estate and its old world beauty. But the time had come for her to leave.
She feared she could no longer remain at Carrington House as long as her husband insisted upon taking up residence there. Oh, the wicked things he had done to her body! She’d known he was a hedonist, but when he’d used his tongue on her, he had proven it tenfold. It had been sinful. Shameful.
Wonderful.
She’d thoroughly enjoyed every second of it, much to her eternal embarrassment. But Victoria considered herself a practical person, and there was no sense in denying the truth. She had liked what her husband had done to her. She’d reveled in it. If she gave him another opportunity, she very much doubted she’d be able to deny him what he’d promised to take.
All of her. She shivered now despite the heat of the day, recalling his words. I won’t stop the next time. Dear heavens, never mind that. She wouldn’t wish him to stop. Something had clearly addled her mind, but the part of her that was rational and reasonable still remained.
She didn’t want to give him the opportunity to cause her any further hurt and humiliation. She couldn’t trust him, no matter how effortlessly he had unlocked all the mysteries of her body, showing her what she enjoyed on an elemental level. No. She couldn’t allow him to make a fool of her again. If he didn’t wish to return to London, she would in his stead. It was decided, the servants already going about the task of packing for the trip.
The only glaring trouble with her resolution was that she had yet to inform Pembroke.
A heaviness settled in her heart as she paced. Carrington House’s elaborate gardens were one of the few things that had given her life as the Countess of Pembroke a sense of purpose. When she’d arrived, they had been dreadfully in need of care, despite the admirable work of the estate’s capable Head Gardener. His focus had been more put upon the fresh vegetables and fruits grown to be sent up to the London townhouse. She took great satisfaction in admiring the beauty produced by her efforts, but today those efforts were lost upon her.
The crunching of gravel startled her, interrupting her musings. She turned to see her husband round the bend, stalking in her direction. He wore trousers and a plain coat with no neckcloth, almost as though he hadn’t finished dressing. His expression was thunderous.
Oh dear. Perhaps he’d somehow caught wind of her plans.
He didn’t stop until he towered over her. His eyes snapped, his mouth flat with obvious displeasure. “Madam.”
“Good morning, Pembroke,” she greeted, wary. She’d been attempting to escape without his notice, without further opportunity for him to do as he’d threatened.
He sketched an abbreviated bow that seemed at odds with the tenseness hovering in the air between them. “Would you care to explain why I’ve been informed that you are traveling to London?”
Her hopes sagged. “I haven’t the slightest notion why you were informed as I specifically directed the servants not to.”
He looked arrogant and sinfully handsome at the same time. “Why would you keep it from me?”
Victoria aimed her gaze at a safer point over his shoulder. He was too gorgeous to look at, and doing so would only melt her determination all the more. She couldn’t stop thinking about how that beautiful mouth had felt upon her most sensitive flesh, and no amount of perseverance and common sense appeared to lessen the effect he had on her.
She flushed. “I should think that’s obvious.”
He took her hands in his and she wished she’d worn gloves. She would have, but she’d thought she’d be alone and she couldn’t abide by standing on ceremony when no one else was about to judge her. The contact sent her mind spinning.
“Are you running from me?”
“Of course not,” she lied.
“Look at me.” He caught her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I was right yesterday, though you attempted to brazen it out. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be preposterous,” she snapped, irritated that he had chosen now of all times to become observant for the first time in their union. It was too late for him to be the husband she’d yearned for. Wasn’t it? Yes, of course it was.
“I don’t think I’m being preposterous,” he said slowly, his fingers still lingering on her face. His eyes searched hers. He leaned into her, bending his head so that she was certain he would kiss her. “Not at all.”
And then as if suddenly losing interest, he released her and stepped away, leaving Victoria bereft and disappointed on the path. Had she imagined the heat in his gaze, the suggestion in his touch? The cool man before her seemed very much at odds with the passionate rake who had yanked up her skirts and pleasured her against the wall of the music room.
“I understand you have taken our gardens here under your care,” he said, surprising her with his change of subject. “I must say, the transformations you’ve wrought are incredible.”
She hadn’t expected that he would care enough
to ask the servants about her. She certainly hadn’t expected that he would praise her efforts. Warmth unfurled within her belly, in spite of herself. “Thank you.”
“I have it from the Head Gardener himself that you put an admirable amount of effort into restoring the grounds to their former splendor.” His back was to her as he sniffed a luscious red bloom. “I expect the gardens hadn’t been properly looked after since the times of the Tudors at least.”
He turned to face her once more, a teasing grin on his lips, a rose in his hand. She wondered how he’d picked it without being pricked by a thorn. But then, he was Pembroke, beautiful and sleek and rife with charm. If anyone could fall into a rosebush without getting a single scratch, it would be him.
“Not the Tudors, I’m sure,” she murmured, nervous to be at the center of his attention and compliments. Wasn’t this precisely what she’d sought to avoid?
“Perhaps I exaggerate.” He winked and closed the distance between them, holding the rose for her to smell.
She inhaled deeply of its glorious scent, never removing her gaze from his. “Roses possess the loveliest aroma, do you not think?”
“Not the loveliest.” His expression sobered. “I prefer your scent.”
Her heart took up a gallop. He had noticed her scent? Or was he merely continuing his aggressive campaign of wooing her? She decided to put him to the test. She was no longer as easily won as she once was. He’d seen to that himself.
“And what is my scent?”
“Orris root,” he answered without hesitation. He dragged the silken petals of the rose down her bare throat. “I never realized before just how desirable I find it.”
He’d known. She licked her suddenly dry lips. He was doing wicked things to her senses, making her want what she’d be better off not wanting. “Desirable?”
He nodded. “Almost as desirable as you.”
His mouth brushed hers ever so softly, his lower lip slipping between hers. Just a whisper of touch, and yet it held so much fiery promise. This was different than the kisses they’d shared before. This kiss gave more than it took.
Her Errant Earl (Wicked Husbands Book 1) Page 5
