Chapter 20
The viscount rapped softly on Lizzie’s bedroom door a few minutes after midnight. Lizzie watched sleepily while Gladys let him into the bedroom, only to see her depart with her knitting and her book tucked under her arm.
He entered with a brooding air, tension radiated from him. Lizzie tried not to stare or leap to dire conclusions. He walked to the fireplace and rested one hand on the mantle. She stayed curled up in her bed where she had been dozing until his knock woke her.
“Is Anston worse?” she asked.
“He took laudanum and is sleeping.” The viscount smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m sorry, I forgot the time,” she said. “Gladys didn’t wake me. She doesn’t know about my obligation to go to you at midnight.” Lizzie could think of nothing else she had done to give him a fit of the sullens. Surely he was not going to break the pact because she was a few minutes late offering herself to him? She had meant to go. She was wearing her nightrail and her new gloves.
“It doesn’t matter, not tonight. I want to thank you, Lizzie, for all you did for Angel. He can be difficult and you did not meet him at his best.”
“He wasn’t so very bad, at least he didn’t try to climb the chimney to find heaven, or mistake me for my mother.” Lizzie closed her eyes and stretched, she stifled a yawn. She opened her eyes to find him standing over her with a Felmont glint in his eyes.
“May I use your bed?” he asked. “May I join you?”
“If you agree to leave it when you have finished,” she replied primly, suddenly not the least bit sleepy, though she had not been able to keep her eyes open until midnight.
She turned from him to untangle her nightdress, and hoped he had not taken a notion to having her naked skin against his every midnight. It was far too disturbing to feel him that way. She tugged her gloves up past her elbows and closed her eyes.
“Lizzie, don’t fall asleep,” he commanded in a low voice.
She turned her head to look at him. He threw off his robe, dropping it on the chair by the hearth without taking his eyes off her. His high cheekbones and long Felmont face looked almost handsome in the soft candlelight. But there was something in his eyes she distrusted, something hidden there she could not read.
“Dear heart, I have a proposition to put to you.” Clad in his nightshirt, he perched with one hip on the edge of the bed. “If you let me stay the night with you, I shall let you sleep unmolested by my lust.”
She raised herself up on both elbows. Was he jesting?
All good humor was drained from him. She certainly did not want to be taken by him in his present state. Did not want to be taken at all, she hastily amended. Male lust was something men inflicted on helpless females, though even she couldn’t quite believe that now. Not when her body enjoyed his touch.
“Unless you’d prefer me to....” He drew back the covers.
Lizzie rushed to answer. “Not in the morning, not then instead of now, Felmont. I shall not agree to be subject to you in daylight. You cannot sleep in my bed and take me in the morning.”
“You tempt me, dear heart, to make love to you till the dawn streams through the window, with curtains open and you on the floor beneath it, warmed only by my body and a sunbeam. Do you doubt I can do it?”
Lizzie knew better than to challenge him. “I seek only to understand what you offer, dear husband.” She called him by an endearment. He could not fault her. Her body chilled at his tension. Something was not right with him.
“Then, dear Lizzie, I ask for the night with you, untouched by lovemaking. Note, I do not say untouched. I intend to lie with you without subjecting you to the worst of my lust.” He reached for her hand, pulling it slowly towards him, his warm hand caressing her gloved fingers. “I am sorry if I frightened you. I’m blue-devilled tonight. Forgive me.”
“You are forgiven, and I agree to what you ask.”
Still he hesitated. His eyes sad and fierce at the same time. Such a strange expression on his face.
“Do get into bed, Felmont. I’m cold.” Lizzie lay down with her head on the pillow, her toes in the cold depths of the bed.
He smiled in a mocking quirk. “At last, you admit I have a use.” His body slid down next to hers.
So warm. She shivered against him. He wrapped her in a tight embrace. Pulled her against him and buried his face in her neck. “Would it distress you if I asked to be allowed to unfasten your hair, Lizzie? I’d like to spread it over my pillow. It won’t hurt, if you don’t try to get away.”
She knew he was not to be trusted! How was she going to sleep with him wrapped in her hair? Drat the man. Next, he’d want her nightdress removed.
His hands untied the ribbon holding her plait. Did the man not bother to wait for an answer?
She let him do it. He smoothed the lot of it over his pillow and rested his head on it.
“Ouch, you are tugging on it, Felmont. You cannot expect me to sleep like this?”
Obviously he did. His only answer was to place one enormous hand on the back of her head to bring her to share his pillow so she must lie next to him and let him kiss her into a sinful state.
Her controls began to crumble alarmingly after the first hour. She whimpered and rubbed herself against him.
“What’s wrong, dear heart?”
His voice didn’t help stop her squirming.
“It aches.” There, she had said something inappropriate. She could only hope he didn’t ask what ached. When she was upset, every thought tumbled out of her mouth unless she kept it resolutely closed. Think of all the confidences she’d entrusted to Edward Anston. He was certainly not a cherubim, nor a seraphim!
The viscount stopped kissing her neck to stroke her cheek. “Are you not recovered yet from our last time together?”
“Don’t talk to me of wicked things!” Lizzie was loathe to admit she ached anew. Ached and burned to be his, while his hands grew idle and his kisses stopped.
Her husband propped himself up on one elbow, careful not to lean on her hair. “Lizzie, why did you stay at Felmont’s Folly after your mother died?” he asked.
He stared down at her sadly.
She sighed. “I didn’t stay for you, dear Felmont, so why does it matter?” The scent of him pleased her. She sniffed at him, taking care not to allow herself to taste him.
“I’d like to know. If you spill all your secrets to a man you have just met, you shouldn’t mind repeating them to your husband.” He tickled her waist until she giggled in his arms.
“Very well, I shall tell you.” Lizzie paused to catch her breath. The tip of her tongue licked his chest, high up where his nightshirt gaped, a small gesture she hoped he didn’t notice.
She did not think she had successfully conveyed the reason to Angel Anston.
“My mother loved my stepfather. When she was ill, he visited her every day. He admired her beauty, her toilette, her everything. In sanity and in madness, she waited for his visits. He never failed her. He never failed to comfort her. She died in his arms.” There she had explained it. She had not wept. Her mind felt numb.
Numb was a blessing.
“It must have been a very distressing time for you, Lizzie.” His voice, a low rumble of sympathy, almost made her weep.
She scrunched her toes furiously.
“Do you have a cramp in your leg?” he asked.
“No.”
“Jim told me your stepfather attended your mother’s funeral and then went searching for her. That must have been upsetting.”
“Your father threatened to have him locked up. But I had no intention of leaving my stepfather to your father’s tender mercy. How could I go? How could I leave him with no one to comfort him as he had comforted my mother?”
Her eyes stung with tears. She was not going to weep in front of him. She sniffed and searched for a handkerchief. He handed her one from the table beside the bed. “Thank you, Felmont.”
She was exhausted.
“Hush, Lizzie, go
to sleep.” His hand rubbed the back of her neck, and slid lower to stroke the length of her spine. She melted into his embrace. Her heart beat in time to his touch. A sigh escaped her.
“Take this off. I want to feel you, not your nightdress.” He pulled it up and over her head before she could do more than squeak a protest. He flung it on the floor, deliberately, so she could not put it on again.
“Does your thigh hurt? Did Angel do much damage?” He swept the covers down, leaving her naked.
Lizzie sat up to see. The teeth marks showed dark against the white skin on her thigh.
He caressed the mark gently, then brushed her hair away from her breasts. He kissed her cheek. “Lie down with me, Lizzie.” He held the covers up until she wriggled down beside him. Her hair was spread over his pillow and he brought her hips to rest against his.
“I have promised, Lizzie. I shall keep my word. Lie still, go to sleep.” He pulled her leg over his thigh. One hand held her ankle until she stopped trying to make him release her. He slipped his thigh between her legs. The battle was lost.
Every time he traced the curves he should not touch, her hips gave a little involuntary twitch.
His sex strained against her belly. His nightshirt kept him from touching her with it, but he was fully aroused. Lizzie closed her eyes. If he made love to her, then he’d have to go.
He flipped her over, being careful to raise his head so as not to tug on her hair. He held her away from him to stroke her back with both hands. “You are so very enticing, Lizzie. My body cannot understand why I must deny myself the joys of your body.”
He pulled her closer, hugging her, until his hands slid up to touch her breasts. Those traitorous parts of her ached for his touch. His gentle tug felt like his mouth on her.
She was wicked! Enticed and sinful, just like her mother had been. Willing and eager for his touch. It was wrong. Down that path lay disaster.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice dark with lust.
Lizzie’s body was ready to forgive him anything. Anything but him leaving her bed with a mighty groan.
He stood beside the bed looking down at her. “It seems I am more a Felmont than I knew. I can no more lie with you and leave you alone than I can make love to you and want to leave you afterwards.” He gave a lust-driven sigh and made for the door.
“Goodnight, my love, sleep well. I shall not try this experiment again. Until the next midnight.” He gave a slight bow.
The door closed with a sharp click behind him.
Lizzie rose to her knees.
He had gone. Inflamed with lust. He had gone!
Quentin Seraphim Dacey Felmont loose in London, inflamed with lust. Whores on every street corner. Brothels for every taste. Lizzie scrambled out of bed. She could not find her dressing gown. The Beast had left his on the chair. She put it on to cover her nakedness and wrapped the long belt twice around her waist, girding her loins for what must come next.
She crossed the hallway to open his door. There he was, dressing to go out. She had caught him about to go in search of a whore. How dare he? He stood in his small clothes holding his trousers, bare-chested. One shoulder covered by a bandage. How could he?
Lizzie shut his door, rested her back against it. He’d go out to catch a disease, would he? Anger roiled through her, so hot he should have burst into flames at her glare.
“What’s the matter, Lizzie?”
“Beast! Bastard! Damn you to hellfire!” There she had told him.
He threw his trousers on the chair. “What is the matter with you? I did not—” He stopped. “Lizzie, are you angry because I didn’t make love to you?”
“Beast!” she cried again. “You are going out to find a whore! Don’t deny it!” Her jaw clenched in a shudder making her teeth chatter. “You are going out to find a whore! After all I promised so you would not do it!”
“Keep your promise, Lizzie, keep it now.” He was on her in three strides. He stopped a breath away. “And I shall keep mine. Do it, Lizzie, or I swear you have lived by your pact the last time, for you have called me Beast twice. Didn’t I warn you about that, my love?” He kissed her violently. Pushed her against the door, lifting her off her feet the better to kiss her.
Lizzie kissed him back. Furious at him, hating him, wanting him. She kissed and licked, and gasped for breath. Her belt dropped to the floor, he held her by her upper arms, raised her to suck and bite at her breasts until she cried out in pleasure.
“You are mine now, Lizzie. Agree to do anything I ask or your pact is dead,” he warned.
“Go to a whore and I shall kill you!”
“Murderous female!” He laughed holding her close to carry her to his bed. He fell upon it, still holding her. She helped him rid himself of his smalls. For the first time she saw his sex curved thick and strong. She wanted him, she wanted it.
He saw her glance. “Touch me, Lizzie. You have worn gloves to bed for the last time. Remove them.”
Lizzie tore them off and flung them on the floor. She reached out to encircle him.
“You are so wet, my love.” His fingers pressed into her.
She curled around his hand, helpless, her thighs trying to close.
“No, Lizzie.” His knees pressed down to hold her open for his hands.
Lizzie shrieked a protest.
Her body liked it.
Pleasure. Awful, guilty pleasure. He growled. “Must. Forgive. Can’t wait.” He plunged into her with a fierce moan. “You are mine, Lizzie. Mine.”
She met his strokes, cried out for mercy and urged him on, but part of her mind held back, afraid to be lost in his magic. Afraid she’d tell him she loved him.
Too late. Her body bucked beneath him. Sizzling hot, wanting, wanting that awful mindless pleasure. She’d give him anything and everything for an eternity of this sinful bliss.
“Good, Lizzie, good, good Lizzie.” He was still inside her, praising her traitorous body with his eyes closed, his hips gently swaying, while her female part clutched at him still.
Her treacherous body moved in time with his. He was sin personified.
“Stop,” she begged. Even to her own ears her voice sounded wanton.
He obeyed, pulling out of her body with a look of crazed desire on his face. He kissed her savagely, kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts.
She gasped at his mouth between her legs. “No! Don’t!”
He laughed under his breath. “Anything I want, you promised. Obey me or your pact is dead.”
Her body moved against her will, she fought herself for control and lost. Again and again, she lost herself and was mindless for endless time until he stopped. Why had he stopped?
He flipped her over. Lizzie gave a shriek of protest.
She scrambled on her hands and knees across the bed.
He caught her, drew her hips down to press urgently with whispered pleas, until he slid gently into her. She stilled, sitting on his thighs with her back against his chest. As full of him as it was possible to be.
“Hush, my lady.” He held her shoulders to keep her from raising herself from him. “Sit still, Lizzie, I am in no rush to finish this,” he said in a low voice. “I can feel your womb moving against me with every breath you take.”
He nibbled on her neck.
She could feel herself tightening almost painfully around that part of him deep inside her.
“I adore you.” He reached around her to gently stroke her breasts. “You are lovely, here and here. See how they fit in the palm of my hand? They are my treasures, Lizzie. Small and perfect. What a shame I cannot take them in my mouth from this position.”
“They are too small. Don’t mock me.” But she knew he wasn’t. His sigh, his touch, his words convinced her she was the object of his lust.
“You know I am not, dear heart.” He stroked his hands down to her belly. “Can you feel me inside, all the way to here.” He stroked so skillfully above the fullness inside that she ached and silently begged for more
.
If his hand had not moved down to touch her, she might have resorted to the sin of touching herself.
“Lean forward.” He positioned her like a doll. “On your hands and knees, Lizzie. That’s right. No, bring your hips down, rock back towards me. Move as much as you like, or as little.”
His warm hands at her waist compelled her to move away from him and then back, to be filled with monumental pleasure.
Her body caught the rhythm. She needed no guidance from him, her hips thrust back to take him. She could not stop. The terrible sweetness grew until each thrust took her closer and closer to losing control over her entire body.
“Move your knees wider apart, Lizzie. So beautiful, my love, take me to heaven with you.”
Too late, her body moved in spasms of pleasure she could not fight. Back against him she slammed, each thrust creating such an intense pool of pleasure that she cried out and wept as she crumbled to pieces in his embrace.
He grabbed a pillow and tucked it under her belly, gently urging her to lie face downwards on the bed.
He followed, moving inside her, sweeping her hair from her back to kiss her shoulder blades, stretching her arms out away from her body. Moving, thrusting until she felt nothing but ecstasy, from her toes upwards. Every inch of her body spiraled in intense waves she was compelled to ride to the end.
At last, he groaned and collapsed beside her.
He lay quietly, stroking her back, playing with her hair. His voice rasped with emotion when he spoke. “You have no need of a pact, my love. I am your slave.” He gave a groan of delight and leaned over to place a kiss on her shoulder.
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 30
