Tempted by the Viscount

by Sofie Darling

  “Then how did Mina become yours?”

  “By the grace of whichever god you worship.” He swung his legs off the reclining chair and stood, tension coming off him in waves. “Six months later, one of my uncles fell ill with a malarial outbreak in Singapore. The company needed me to captain the ship the rest of the way to Dejima to offload the cargo. It was my first opportunity to captain a long-haul ship, and I couldn’t refuse. My first night back on the island, a note slipped under my door. Clemence wanted to see me. I would have ignored it but for a line that caught my eye, There isn’t much time.”

  He strode to the edge of the roof, placed a hand on a low parapet, and peered down at the street below. He was half a world away and completely alone in his memories.

  “I rushed to Dr. Oelrichs’ house, and still I was nearly too late. Clemence had contracted a childbirth fever.” He faced Olivia, his back propped against the low wall, catching her gaze with his tormented one. “I don’t remember ever having been afraid of anything in my life until that day, not the way Clemence brought the fear of God home to me. Fading before my eyes was a Clemence quite unlike the one I’d known. Or, I should say, the Clemence I thought I’d known. I hadn’t taken the time to truly know her, or to truly love her. Not the real her.”

  Olivia wanted nothing more than to go to him. To lay some part of her body on his. To comfort him. Her feet, however, possessed more sense than her heart and refused to move.

  “She begged me to take the child as my own. Neither her father nor the Kimura family would agree to take the babe.”

  “Who wouldn’t make that promise to a dying woman?” Olivia interjected, unable to help herself. “Even if it was a lie?”

  “Maybe they had. I don’t know. But Clemence understood the truth of the matter.”

  Olivia’s hand found its way to her mouth as the horror of the dangerous and bleak future that had stretched before a motherless and fatherless Mina unfolded in her mind.

  “Clemence died in the small hours of morning. I found a wet nurse willing to travel to Singapore, and we left Dejima within two days’ time. I let everyone believe Mina was my by-blow from a relationship with a Japanese servant, and, in the blink of an eye, I was the father of a beautiful, squawking baby girl.”

  Olivia saw that the fact bewildered him to this day, but that it also enlivened him. Pride sounded in his voice, powerful and fierce.

  “And that was the end of it until recently.”

  Olivia’s head cocked to the side. “Until recently?”

  Jake startled as if her query had drawn him out of a trance. “It is none of your concern.”

  Curiosity bade her probe the point, but good sense had her hold her tongue. His tone brooked no rebuttal. Instead, she pivoted and asked, “Does Mina know?”

  “She always knew the basics, but I told her the full story two years ago.”

  Olivia thought her heart might burst with unnamed emotion. There was something he needed to hear, and she would say it. “You should feel proud, not only of Mina, but of yourself.”

  His eyes shifted, as did his feet. Her words didn’t sit right with him. His was the bearing of the guilty. “Pride isn’t the first word that comes to mind.”

  “You took Mina when no one else would,” Olivia persisted. “She is yours as surely as if she was your flesh and blood. You did what no one else would do.”

  She paused to slow down the conversational pace, to consider carefully her next words. To consider whether or not they should be her next words. “I am quite in awe of you.”

  His mouth twisted. “The threat of public humiliation is a powerful motivator. Never underestimate its ability to reveal the true measure of a man.”

  “You were a young man. None of us can account for our twenty-one-year-old selves. We move beyond who we were then, if we’re lucky.”

  Again, she paused. Again, she considered. Again, she spoke. “You aren’t the sort of man who lets a woman fall.”

  “Aren’t I? Haven’t I?”

  “I’m not speaking of the man you were then. I’m speaking of the man you became. You did right by Clemence. Your true measure was revealed. Adopting a child is an uncommon step in our society. It was brave of you.”

  “Hardly brave,” he said. “Some years ago, one of my uncles took in a boy named Nylander. He and I were near an age, and we came up together. I knew from early on there was nothing to the nonsense that blood will out, but to the world, Nylander carries the stigma of illegitimacy.” His arctic blue eyes went hard and cold, impenetrable ice. “No such stigma will ever attach itself to Mina’s name.”

  Fierce. Protective. Olivia now understood the reason behind that ferocity and protectiveness. An emotion that she refused to name, or even acknowledge, slithered through her body and wrapped its tentacles around her heart.

  “This is the real reason you need a wife of impeccable reputation. A Society marriage would be the deflective shield Mina needs to protect her. Yet I’m curious,” she continued, a thought just occurring to her. “Why is it you never married? Surely it would have been easier to raise Mina with a wife all these years.”

  An ugly chortle escaped Jake, one directed at himself, not at her. “No woman would saddle herself to the likes of me, not if she knew the truth. I’ll take a Society marriage and have the stepmother Mina needs.”

  “Every woman in London would leap at the chance of being saddled with the likes of you,” she shot at him.

  “Every woman in London?” he shot back.

  On a different night, his question would fluster her and send her running for safety, but not tonight. She’d intuited something vital to this man, and she wouldn’t let it go. “You seek to punish yourself. That is the reason you won’t allow yourself to marry for love. It’s the reason you allow yourself to be beaten to a pulp.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s the only reason.” His translucent blue gaze pierced straight through her. “Or even the primary reason.”

  Her body went hot, but she wouldn’t be unsettled or distracted. “You’re afraid.”

  “Aren’t we all?” he threw back at her.

  “Of yourself,” she returned. He flinched as if she’d physically struck him. “You don’t trust yourself when it comes to love. You think love will turn you into a monster. But look at Mina. You will never let her down.”

  “It’s different when it’s your child, but Clemence . . . I discarded her like a worthless piece of lint.”

  “She betrayed you. One doesn’t easily forgive that sort of betrayal, or forget it. You must find someone worthy of your heart.”

  His inward gaze suddenly reflected out and struck her with a penetrating acuity. “Such idealistic words from a woman who has sworn off love and marriage.”

  Her heart thundered in her chest. “My circumstances aren’t the same.”

  “Are they so different?”

  The intimacy of yesterday and tonight’s confessions hung between them. The truth of her marriage. The truth about Mina. He should understand those confessions revealed the past, but changed naught in the present. He needed the sort of wife that she could never be for him.

  She’d found her house, and Mina had found her school. They were done. Utterly done. Nothing bound them together. Except for one thing: they remained stranded on this roof together.

  As if he’d arrived at the same conclusion, he said, “We may be here all night.”

  “Oh, dear,” Olivia began, her voice cracking at the feeble attempt at a rejoining lightness, “the Duke and Lucy think me at a supper party”—It became easier to affect lightness with each word she spoke—“My first act as owner of this house will be to have that lock repaired.”

  “My man Payne knows I’m here, so rescue will arrive at some point. We shan’t starve.” He took his seat beside hers. �
��We could start shouting. That might yield quicker results.”

  “I would rather starve than pay that particular price.” Even as the words left her mouth, she was uncertain they were as true now as they’d been a few days ago. Very little from a few days ago seemed as true now.

  His eyes searched hers. “Would you?”

  Her insides tumbled over themselves, and her body gave an involuntary shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  She nodded. Exhausted by the revelations and near revelations of this night, she lay back and snuggled deep inside his voluminous wool overcoat. “Silly on an April night.”

  Before she had a chance to review the import of her words, he’d already begun a course of action.

  Namely, he slid off his chair and knelt beside her. “As you already have my overcoat for warmth, all I can offer you is the rest of me.”

  Chapter 21

  Olivia rolled onto her side and lifted the edge of Jake’s overcoat.

  His gaze serious and, oh, so attractive, he asked, “Are you certain?”

  “Quite.” These last few days, she only felt this certain when her body was near his and instinct was given free rein. Except it wasn’t simple instinct that drove her.

  Something deeper. Something . . . right. Something . . . so wrong.

  He slipped in beneath the coat, their bodies close, but not touching. The cool and crisp night air turned warm and soft in the space that lay between them, the world shrunk down to him and her.

  “This doesn’t have to lead anywhere,” he said, his words a low rumble that shook every cell in her body.

  She nodded, closed her eyes, and allowed her other senses to take over. Indeed, the warmth of his body did satisfy a certain skin-deep need. But it also sparked another want deep within her. Experience had taught her that this budding feeling of desire wouldn’t be placated by the constrained nearness of his clothed body. Such an obstacle only increased its appetite.

  Two days ago, she’d allowed her desire to conflate reality and fantasy into an extension of her dream state. As if the self-deception absolved her of culpability in the matter. Tonight, separated from his body by a stretch of air at once insignificant and unbearably tremendous, she didn’t want absolution. Tonight, she would claim and own her actions.

  On this particular night, beneath these particular stars, in this particular moment, this particular man would be hers. He would never be husband to her, but he would be her lover one last time.

  Her eyes blinked open, unsurprised to find his serious gaze steadily, patiently, observing her. What an aphrodisiac his seriousness was. She’d never been the focal point of such reflective attention. It emboldened her. It made her want to act in a way outside herself. It made her want to seduce him beyond the limits of his self-control. She reached out to touch his face, her index finger trailing along the fine ridge of his cheekbone.

  “Olivia—”

  The tip of her finger continued its trail to his firm lips before pausing. “And if I want this to lead somewhere?”

  Across the few inches separating their bodies, could he feel her pulsing with desire for him? It had begun with a simple, excited acceleration of her heart that with each successive beat spread a thrum through her body. She would vibrate off this reclining chair if she didn’t steady herself with the full length of his body hard against hers. The light touch of her index finger wasn’t nearly enough. Too few nerve endings made contact with his skin. She wanted more. But not yet.

  Her finger continued its way across his chin, its golden stubble picking up flickers of moonlight, and down his neck before hooking his cravat and untying its knot in a few economical motions. Then her finger resumed its course, sliding along the seam of his shirt until it fell open to his waistcoat. She pushed it wide for a better view of his chest when she noticed the shadow of a bruise located directly over his heart.

  On an impulse, she bent her head and pressed her lips to bruised skin. Her eyes lifted and found him quietly regarding her. The kiss might not solve anything, but sometimes an instant of grace was all one needed to get through to the next moment.

  Ever lower, her finger trailed until it reached the top of his trousers. His hand darted out and covered hers, stilling it. “Not like this. Not again.”

  She arched an eyebrow in silent query.

  “Are you still cold?”

  She shook her head. “I’m burning up.”

  “Good.”

  He swept away the overcoat and sat across from her. Drawn in by his action, she followed his lead, now facing him, each anticipating the other’s next move. He leaned in and reached around to flick open the three pearl buttons that held her bodice together. Her eyes fluttered shut and she inhaled as his open shirt brushed the silk of her bodice, completing her sensory overload with his scent and his heat.

  Task complete, his hands fell away. Her eyes flew open. She was both needled and aroused by his action, by the idea of him withholding himself from her. The light of challenge within his eyes spiked her desire higher. The next move in their game was hers.

  She unfolded her legs and came to her feet beside him, his mouth a breath’s distance from the hollow of her neck, this self-assured man in the supplicant position. Her position as woman on top felt good. Better than good.

  A feeling stole across her body, inch by inch. The feeling of power. She went lightheaded with it. To have a man like this, the most desirable man in London, at her feet . . .

  A single shrug of a shoulder, and her bodice fell to her waist. A bolt of triumph shot through her when his gaze could no longer hold hers. As if he would starve if he didn’t feast his eyes upon her flesh this very instant.

  When his eyes traveled their unhurried way back to hers, they were near black, pupils dilated to the outer edge of the iris. Oh, how wicked and gratifying.

  He shrugged out of both his waistcoat and his shirt in a single economical motion, leaving his own chest a bare feast of corded muscle. A man’s hardened body was new to her. Percy had been lean and thin in the way of a youth recently become a man. But Jake was lean and muscular. His body was just so indecently carnal.

  Again, it was her turn. With a subtle undulation of her hips, her dress slid to the ground, leaving her clad in only silvery blue garters and white stockings with slippers to match. She’d never acted so brazenly, so without fear. Neither had she been so aroused. Her mons pubis must be dripping its arousal for his unblinking eye.

  His move.

  His hand snaked down to unlace his pants as he made to stand. On a sudden whim, she laid a staying hand on his chest and lowered to her knees before him. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she had an overwhelming desire to touch him with her tongue as he’d done to her.

  Her fingers slid down the tensed muscles of his chest and lower belly to tease apart the opening of his pants, freeing his turgid member from the confining fabric. Straight and long and impossibly thick, his shaft was perfection. Reverent fingertips brushed across its velvety surface.

  As she held his gaze, her tongue touched his thick base and slowly stroked the length of him all the way up its pulsing column to its very tip. A shudder ripped through him, and his head arced back. “Olivia,” he growled.

  She repeated the motion, squeezing her thighs together as her own lust threatened to overwhelm her intention. Then she drew him into her mouth, inch by inch, her hand holding him at the base to guide him in. Tongue swirling around the tip, her mouth and hand moved in unison up and down his smooth length in a steady rhythm.

  “Olivia,” he all but growled, “I might lose my mind.”

  Sucking him in deeper, she increased the rhythm, carried along by a lust stoked hotter by the pleasure she gave. She moaned in a mixture of frustration and desire.

  “Olivia,” she heard again as his hand
cupped the side of her face. “I’ve reached the edge.”

  She pulled away from him, inch by excruciating inch, giving him one last lick before sitting back on her heels. “Your move.”

  He reached across the empty space between them and lifted her to a stand. Unexpected move. She’d thought he would ravish her on the ground, perhaps, even hoped it.

  He slipped thumb and forefinger into his mouth before reaching out to take one of her nipples between them. Her breath caught in her chest. She might never breathe again. She grabbed his shoulder lest her legs give way. Pleasure cascaded through her in tiny waves that grew larger, bolder with each ensuing ripple, insistent, demanding more. He feathered his other hand down her stomach to the mound above her quim.

  More was so close, so very, very close . . . A groan borne of lust and deep, unfiltered frustration tore through her.

  His head snapped up. “Do that again.”

  Again, she groaned, and his fingers slid along the wet folds of her sex. Her hand clutched tighter at his shoulder. More was almost . . . almost . . . there.

  “Again,” he demanded.

  Again, she complied. One finger slipped inside her as his thumb began strumming her outer sex. Her nails dug in, and another moan escaped her.

  Another finger slipped inside, filling her, taking her higher than this rooftop, higher than the sky above. Oh, how the stars twinkled for her tonight.

  “Jake,” she called out, unsure of how much more of this exquisite pleasure she could take before she shattered into a million sparks of light. She wanted him inside her, his skilled fingers suddenly a poor substitute for the real him. “I want you . . . all of you.”

  The words had barely left her lips before the two of them were on the ground, him poised above her, his eyes locked onto hers. In a sure swift motion, he sank into her, and nothing else mattered.

  “Yes,” her voice ground out.