The sensation soothed her.
Carrville had not insisted that she perform the horrid act. But he had kept other mistresses who indulged that particular vice and he had never hidden this from her.
It was hard to believe that Adrian was so different in his lusts and sexual tastes than other men.
But she loved him all the more for his kind lies to reassure her.
Yet, it would kill her, inside, if he were to turn to another woman, even just for this one thing.
In an ironic gesture, Adrian was the one to drop to one knee, as he rolled removed her garters and then rolled her stockings down.
Rage pulsed within Adrian, though he sought to hide it from Miranda. God, how he hated Winterton.
Even Miranda’s innocent delight in the gift of the house, of the welcoming warmth of the fully decorated bedchamber had brought to Adrian’s mind how much Winterton had to answer for.
For Christ’s sake, she was a duke’s daughter.
She should not be on the verge of tears of joy to have been gifted with such a modest house. And that she was only brought to mind just how deprived she had been in parts of her life.
She should have grown up surrounded by luxury, in the security of her noble father’s love, if not his name. She should have long since been endowed with a fat dowry and wed to a wealthy merchant of high standing or a knight or baronet who was appropriately dazzled by her beauty to overlook her illegitimate birth.
Adrian ought to have taken Baron Drake’s offer to simply have Winterton “disappear” perhaps in the wild mists of Scotland or wherever these things were done.
Drake had certainly alluded to being an expert.
But now such a death seemed too easy for the heartless, sadistic duke.
Miranda had grown up without a father’s love. She had grown up watching her mother’s only worth being her youth and beauty, and when that youth and beauty had worn thin, Miranda had witnessed the duke’s insane, vengeful act. Something no young woman should ever see, much less enacted on her mother by her own father.
Miranda had known such pain and isolation in her life and she had borne it all with the spirit of a fighter.
He would make sure she never had to fight alone again, not as long as he drew breath.
He wanted to surround her with luxury. He didn’t care how hard he had to work to do that.
But he wanted something else too.
He wanted to lavish her with sexual pleasure, but sex motivated and gentled with love. He wanted to give her such a grand storehouse of memories of their lovemaking that she would forget the things she had seen that night when Winterton had attacked her mother.
He pushed his anger down and placed a kiss where her garter had left a slight indentation in her ivory flesh. “You have the most perfectly lovely legs.” He ran his tongue along the inside of her thigh, lingering and sucking her sweet, tender flesh at the junction of her leg and pelvis.
Her body trembled against him and she moaned.
He raised his head to observe the red patch he’d made there. His cock throbbed with the savage feeling of possession he took from marking her like that.
It said the word “mine” far more eloquent and lasting than mere words.
He wanted her to remember him and his possession of her even when he could not be with her.
She would feel and see that little mark of love and remember the touch of his tongue on her, making her come.
He took a ragged breath and forced himself to ignore his aching cock and let his tongue drift slowly upward until he reached the satiny heat of her sex.
Unlike with other women he’d known, being with Miranda, becoming more and more familiar with her every nuance only whetted his erotic appetite for her.
The salty taste of her wet, warm, velvety core, the musky scent of her arousal, the feel of her nub as it grew rigid and throbbing against his tongue, the sight of swollen, deeply pink, glistening flesh, it all threatened to drive him insane with desire.
He loved nothing more than the feel and taste of her like this.
He could never get enough of this.
He loved making her come with his mouth. And come and come again until she was exhausted.
And suddenly, he could wait no longer. On a low growl, he stood and swept her into his arms and bore her to the bed and laid her on the soft featherbed.
She stared up at him with eyes gone dark with desire, her auburn hair fanned out around her head, a vivid contrast with the purple bedspread.
He knelt between her legs and he cupped her lips. “Mine?” he asked.
“Yours, all yours.” She all but sobbed the words as she arched herself closer to his face.
That was gratifying, he couldn’t deny it.
He gave slow, long licks to her entrance, to her folds, feeling her grow wetter and wetter. That was the most arousing thing, watching her grow ever more aroused.
She clutched at his head, pressing him closer. He chuckled. “My lady is especially greedy today.”
“Adrian, Adrian, Oh God, God!” She panted between the words, her thighs hugging his head, her nails beginning to dig into his scalp.
He knew that part of her excitement, her surrender to the pleasure he could give her, was due to the gift of the house. Well, all women wanted, needed security. And security had been all-too-hard for her to acquire.
He applied deft strokes to her throbbing, straining nub and she gave a soft shriek, one that sent pleasurable shivers all through his body. His cock ached with the need to thrust deep into her hot, silken, wet depths.
But he denied himself, held off. He always lavished her with pleasure first. He redoubled his efforts to tease and torment her erect and throbbing pearl, then drew it into his mouth and applied a gentle suction.
She clutched at his head tighter and uttered a long, low wail, a sound of pleasure and frustration for she loved a stronger suction. He knew it. But he liked to hear her beg to come.
And she did, arching her hips, writhing and clawing at his hair. “Oh Adrian, oh Adrian, please, please!” Her begging became more strident and then became a scream as he finally gave her all the suction on that precious little part of her.
He made her come three times, teasing her, holding her off then when he finally allowed her to come, he used all his skill to drag the sensations out, to give her a deep and lasting climax.
When he finally moved to mount her, to take her, her body was still quivering, still pulsing with her last orgasm, And when he entered her, she began coming again, her sex bathing him in what felt like cascades of hot wetness.
He wanted to come inside her. Desperately. And he knew he dared not. But was part of that desperate hunger for something more from her.
With a groan, he thrust into her harder, stronger, deeper.
He wanted to be close to her, closer than seemed possible. He held her hips in an iron grip, driving into her with such intensity that his head spun and sweat poured from his body and hers.
Her cunt contracted on his, fierce spasms that almost forced his climax too soon. He groaned and gritted his teeth, resisting the force of it whilst allowing her to have her orgasm with his thick length inside.
She threw back her head, moaning that last cry of pure surrender as her spasms subsided.
He tore himself from her and his seed came surging up his shaft and jetted onto her stomach in thick, white ribbons. The savage pleasure and satisfaction consumed him.
And it was almost enough.
“I can’t come here tomorrow,” Adrian said.
She’d been living in the Chelsea house for a few weeks now and he had spent a part of each day with her since then. His lovemaking had fast become a habit. Perhaps even an addiction.
She didn’t know how she’d bear even a day without his touch. But she
shrugged and smiled up at him, completely prepared to play the perfect mistress. “You’ll visit me when you can.”
He gave her a penetrating look.
> “You needn’t explain yourself to me,” she continued, feeling a little too exposed under his scrutiny. “I don’t expect anything.”
He laughed softly, though he used it to cover sudden ire. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ever lie to me.” He grasped her shoulder and rolled her onto her side. “We both know how much we need each other, how hard it will be to spend a whole day apart.”
She gaped at him, with her mouth slightly parted.
He swooped down and captured that enticing mouth in a deep, hard kiss.
Miranda’s desire flamed to life, again, as she savored the feel of Adrian’s tongue caressing hers, ravishing hers. She clutched his shoulders, wishing he could stay even longer in her bed. But the afternoon shadows were lengthening and she knew he wouldn’t give up his evenings’ earnings at the card tables.
Not even for her.
He lifted his head and she saw that look of determination that he got when he was leaving her.
“I have to spend the morning with Davey.” Something in his tone told her that there was something very wrong with Davey. Adrian was downplaying the significance.
“With Davey,” she asked, her heart contracting with worry.
Half-dressed in his breeches, shirt and stockings, he sat on the bed beside her. “He’s been having nightmares again.” He took a long, weighty breath. “About Jane.”
“The woman in the white dress.” Miranda remembered how hollow and sad yet awestruck Davey had been when speaking of this dream.
“Oh my darling,” she said, caressing his face.
He stretched out beside her and drew her into his arms, the act telling Miranda just how overset he must be with this situation. He never lingered over their goodbyes. Once his mind was made up to go, nothing could change it.
“I don’t understand it, Miranda.” Worry lent a ragged edge to his voice. “The doctors assure me that a boy his age should forget and get about the business of just being a child and doing his growing up. But he continues to grieve deeply, apparently. And he is starting to get stomachaches and headaches. He is losing much sleep, picking at his meals. I am going to take him for a day out on the town, to see all the sights that a young boy enjoys.”
Adrian’s deep love for his sons was one of the things that had softened her to him. She loved him all the more for his parental devotion. She put her arms about him then kissed his cheek. “You should take him to Applewaite for a week of riding out of doors or hunting or whatever is suitable for a boy his age.”
“I wish I could.” Adrian’s voice sounded heavy as lead.
“Why can’t you?”
“I would miss too many chances at the gaming tables.”
“Then miss them.”
“I can’t, Miranda. It is how I earn my living. It is how I earn back my sons’ inheritances. It is how I pay for your lodgings and coach-and-four. And—” He glanced at the sideboard, now strewn with soiled dishes and the remains of their noontime feasting. “—champagne luncheons with strawberry preserves and pineapples.”
Accused, she started. Then she frowned, truly concerned now. “You must let all those things go if one week away from the gaming tables will really make such a difference.”
“I cannot take the chance.”
“You must. Nothing is as important as your son’s well-being.”
His expression hardened and he rolled away from her then arose from the bed. He gathered his strewn clothing and began to dress in jerking motions.
“Adrian!” she exclaimed, unable to believe he wouldn’t even consider dropping everything to take his son to the country.
“You understand nothing.”
“I understand that nothing is more important to a boy than his own father’s time and attention.” She took a deep breath, quailing inside at her daring to confront him, a nobleman, on something so personal. But passionate feeling drove her on. She couldn’t bear the thought of Adrian shirking his paternal duty. She could never truly love a man who didn’t do right by his children. “I have often wondered why you allow Davey to live with relatives and not with you.”
Silence greeted her question.
“How dare you ignore my question?” She heard the icy, imperious tone of her own voice.
She’d heard that tone before.
In Winterton’s voice.
She was his daughter. She did see his traits from time to time. And this seemed like the situation for her to take a firm line with her lover.
If you loved someone, you didn’t allow them to be less than they ought to be, right?
Still her heart was thundering in her ears.
Only when Adrian had finished tying his cravat, did he turn back to her. “I understand that you say what you say, in that disrespectful tone, because you are driven by concern for my son.” He paused and pursed his lips, as though trying very hard to control his own rising ire. “I thank you for that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her face flame with the intensity of her emotions. “But you won’t consider bringing him back home with you?”
He stared at her, all but glowering at her. “I keep late hours and I live an inconsistent home life. That’s not something that can give a small boy the security he needs. And I have no wife to give him the softness and nurturing a child ought to have.”
“You could nurture him yourself, if only you would. I saw you do so at Applewaite. You choose not to. All your reasons are merely excuses.”
A stricken expression flickered across his face. “Miranda,” he said, in a hard, censuring tone, “how can you say such things to me?” His expression hardened again. “How could you ever believe such things of me?”
He collected his coat and boots and strode from the bedchamber.
She was too heartsore to follow after him.
Chapter Eight
The piece of cake on a white china plate painted with blue roses and embellished with gold blurred. Adrian closed his eyes and resisted the urge to rub them. A slight headache had begun to throb between his temples and he also had to resist the urge to massage his neck. Hushed laughter and polite chatter filled the dining chamber. His heart beat surged as a wave of panic hit him.
What day was it?
Where should he be right now?
He opened one eye and glanced over to the clock on the mantle.
Oh, yes… right. Relief washed over him.
Only six in the evening.
Wednesday.
He suppressed a yawn. He had been awake the entire night before, with Miranda’s words going round and round in his mind.
She didn’t understand.
He did everything he did for all of them.
He’d rather be with her now, so that he could try and better explain himself. Instead, he had come here to pay respects at this gathering at his second cousin, the Earl of Ruel’s house in Mayfair. After this, he would make the rounds at the card tables in all the usual places.
He didn’t want to. Worry for Davey consumed him. The boy had been so pale, with dark circles under his eyes.
But he must discipline himself and do what was necessary for Davey and Brentwood’s future.
He opened his eyes and turned to his side and let his gaze rest on the Countess of Ruel. Anne’s dark blue eyes sparkled with happiness.
It was the Countess’ birthday and this was a small gathering limited to family and close friends only for the lady was visibly with child.
The candlelight caught the blue lights in her black-as-ebony hair glisten and made her olive skin glow with extraordinary radiance as she shared a laugh with Rebecca, Lady Drake. Some jest at Lord Ruel’s expense. Adrian had not caught all of the details.
It was most surprising—the close friendship that had developed between the two ladies, for Lady Drake had once been Lord Ruel’s long-term mistress.
God, how he had once envied Jon’s possession of her, for Rebecca had the soft features and gentle, meek manner
Adrian prized in a woman.
Or at least the gentle, meek nature he had once thought he’d prized in a woman.
Lady Drake was only beginning to show her pregnancy and she was here alone.
I will not have him near my countess and children.
Jon’s once spoken words echoed in Adrian’s memory, clipped with disdain and an undeniable note of protectiveness.
Protectiveness that was well deserved?
Perhaps.
The man exuded mystery and danger.
There was a reason that he had been whisperingly recommended to Adrian to take care the problem of Winterton.
Certainly, it was no secret that the enigmatic Baron Drake wasn’t welcome at Lloyd House.
In fact, the only other men besides himself and the earl, was their cousin Mr. Charles Sutherland.
Jon had asked Adrian to stay a little longer and share a drink in his office. Having once been an officer in the Dragoons, Jon had retained a sense of being entitled and duty-bound to mold and shape the destiny of those he deemed under his responsibility.
Adrian, being a younger cousin, as well as fatherless, put him squarely into that category.
Adrian sat in Jon’s study, letting his gaze roam slowly over the familiar dark wood and green painted décor, waiting for the lectures and unsolicited advice to begin. However, he was bound by moral and familial obligation to indulge the older man.
He owed Jon that much respect.
For several years during his adolescence, Adrian had looked to Ruel more as an uncle than a cousin and benefited from his well-thought and freely given advice and at times, his generous financial help.
Adrian could certainly be a little patient now.
In a nearby chair, his cousin Charlie scoffed.
The sharp sound cut through Adrian’s musings and he looked up.
Charlie frowned, his attention focused on the glass of pale amber fluid that Ruel held. “Is that Scotch… watered?”
An amiable expression softened Jon’s rugged features. “When the children are in residence, I allow myself only one full-strength brandy a day, and that I save for right before bedtime.”
A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) Page 9
