“Very soon, if you do not stop that.” He kissed the tight tip of one breast, then the other.
Stopping her hips meant suffering without that small relief. Flicks of his tongue sent currents of exquisite torment down to the sensitive, weeping void where all the sensations pooled and waited.
He aroused her until she could barely see, barely breathe. She thought she might die from it, or scream. She held on to him, hard. Her body moved again, without her direction. Her knees pressed his side, and her hips insisted on that slow rock.
He had given fair warning. Now she learned why. Restraint fell off him like armor dropping. He commanded a new wildness in her with scorching, biting kisses and the most possessive caresses. His hand slid down between them and pressed her mound, then ruthlessly sought the places that made her cry. He forced her higher, to the peak, and with one devastating stroke sent her careening into the glory of completion.
No slow recovery this time, however. No floating in a cloud of perfection. Another touch, lower, deeper, sent shudders into her contentment. He shifted, and raised one of her legs onto his hip. Within the tremor a fullness filled the ache of want that had tortured her.
More fullness made her gasp. His strength hovered above her, taut and hard while he thrust deeper. She welcomed the relief but feared it too. He both awed and frightened her.
He took her then. There was no other word for it. Too ignorant to take, too, she could only wonder at the power controlling her. Engulfing her. Her past did not prepare her for this. For him. The sensation of his movements made the echoes of her completion go on and on until at the end, deep in her mind, she cried out yet again.
* * *
When something close to clear thinking began returning—and it took a good while to do so—Ives experienced a curious moment similar to what he knew after thrashing a man after succumbing to an abrupt outburst of anger. His sensible self tapped his current self on the shoulder and asked, What in hell are you doing?
Enjoying the rarest peace with a lovely woman. Go away, you self-righteous idiot.
Unfortunately, he could not avoid thinking forever. And so amidst the tangle of limbs and sheets he made with Padua, a few solid ideas made their way into his head.
Being with a tall woman indeed had its benefits.
He had ravished her. He had not intended to, but there was no other word for it.
She had not been a virgin. That she might be had entered his mind rather late, when he was long past caring too much about it. He doubted that thieving rogue had had her more than a few times, from her ignorance, but at least Lord Ywain Hemingford had not just assaulted an innocent.
She lay beneath him still. He looked down at her long, white, shapely leg sprawled to his side. He raised himself up on his arms and gazed at her face. Her thick, dark lashes feathered her snowy cheeks, and her lips remained slightly parted. Deep breaths did not sound like those of sleep, but of someone recovering from extreme exertion.
You ass. Look at her. What in hell were you thinking?
He had been thinking nothing at all. He had left rationality in his own chambers. He had been little more than a chaotic collection of hungers and raw need when he came to this door. If she had sent him away, he probably would have howled like an animal.
Only she hadn’t. And he had repaid her generosity by battering her like a whore.
He eased off her. Her lids fluttered when he withdrew, but she did not open her eyes. He settled beside her, propped on his arm. He caressed her cheek with two fingertips.
“I hurt you.”
She shook her head. “I am not frail. Far from it.” Her lashes rose and she looked right into his eyes. “I liked it.”
Now, that was interesting. “And here I was forming an apology.”
“Please don’t. That would make it sad.” Her lids lowered again. An impish smile curved her lips. “If I am going to be scandalous and irresponsible, I would prefer passion to politeness. I would prefer the wicked Ives to the upstanding Lord Ywain.”
Even more interesting.
Absolved of his bad behavior, he pulled her over and tucked her against him. She required no apology, but the upstanding Lord Ywain sat on his shoulder, reminding him of other matters that should be addressed. Not now. He shrugged the inconvenient ideas away.
“Do you think to do this again?” she asked.
“Not for half an hour.”
Her head jerked around and she looked up at him. “Oh.”
“Ah. You did not mean now.”
“No.”
“I think the future is up to you.”
“Not entirely.”
She did not mean it was up to him too. Like most women she probably assumed men would take pleasure if they could get it. Which was true. She was thinking about the reasons they should not even be enjoying one night.
“It is a choice to be made in the light of day, I think.” He thought himself damned noble saying that. In truth he wanted to establish his rights clearly and unmistakably while she was too sated and dazed to know better.
“Probably so,” she murmured, her head now resting on his chest. “No negotiations, however. No jewels and such.”
She would not agree to be his mistress, she meant. She would not be one of those women. That was something best left to the light of day too. If she held to it, he would find ways to take care of her that did not reek of her being bought. Right now she needed someone looking after her, whether she accepted it or not.
He drifted on the edges of sleep. The little conversation repeated in his head many times. The notion joined them that the light of day might bring decisions he did not like. One impulsive, insane, ill-advised night might be the sum of their affair.
The lawyer in him began marshaling the arguments he would use to convince her otherwise. The rogue in him imagined all the pleasures he might never know.
“No negotiations, you said.”
Her crown moved as she nodded.
“Good.” He lifted her shoulders. She blinked, confused. “Here. Like this.” He guided her until she straddled him, sitting on his hips, looking down. Her dark hair fell in a tumble all around her face and shoulders. “Stay like that.”
He could see her clearly this way. He watched her while he caressed her. Her expression displayed her reactions to what he did to her. She watched, too, from beneath lowered lids. Her lips trembled when he slowly teased at her dark, erect nipples. His erection swelled and prodded against her bottom.
He pulled her down over him so he could use his mouth the way she liked. Trembles of pleasure shuddered through her, into his hands, where he held her waist. Her faint cries rained down on him. He pushed her further, until she whimpered with need.
He set her back, upright. She was wet now, and lost in her abandon. So beautiful in her abandon. “Up.” He urged her to her knees so she towered over him, her white body and lovely limbs open to his gaze and his hands.
He slid his fingers between her thighs and stroked. A thousand stars glinted in her eyes. He explored the folds of flesh and watched desire overwhelm her. She swayed, unsteady, unable to control what the pleasure did to her. A primitive wildness entered her eyes.
She surprised him then. She turned her body so she faced away from him. Her lovely back and rounded bottom enticed him. He caressed her cleft in a long path that ended again at the hot velvet of her swollen lips. As he did, he felt her take his cock in her hands.
It could not last long, their mutual pleasure. His arousal took on an edge he knew too well. He grasped her waist and lifted her enough to slide out from under her.
She looked over her shoulder and began to turn.
“No. Stay there.”
She looked over her shoulder again, confused. He pressed her shoulders down. She looked back once more, but this time she understood.
She hugged the mattress while on her knees. Her bottom rose, round and taut. He caressed its swells, and her hips circled subtly, tantalizing him.
&n
bsp; He rode the erotic torment a little longer. “What do you want, Padua?”
Her bated breath told him. The small of her back dipped, raising her bottom more. He reached low and caressed her. “This?”
She cried out and nodded. “Yes, please, yes.”
He kept his hand on her until she moaned, then begged. Head hot and jaw clenched, he replaced his hand with his cock and pressed slightly, so its head entered her. He paused and sought an anchor in the storm breaking in him.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He thrust into her, stayed to savor the sensation, then withdrew. She moved her bottom, impatiently. He thrust again and she cried out.
The storm claimed him then. He let the fury rule and let the pleasure own him, until the excruciating tension snapped in a profound relief of sensation.
In the sensual stupor afterward, he bent and kissed the small of her back. And while he did, he used his hand to send her to her own ecstasy, one that left her screaming into the sheets.
CHAPTER 14
Standing beside the bed, Padua looked down on the evidence of the night. The bedclothes appeared as if marauders had fought in them. Half the pillows lay in the wrong places. Ives, sound asleep, lay naked, sprawled in abandon. She reached for an edge of a sheet and dragged it, so he might be covered from the waist down at least.
She donned her undressing gown and padded into the dressing room. The sky outside had lightened to a dark silver-gray.
The servant girl scratched on the outside of the dressing room’s door to the corridor. That had never happened before. Yesterday when she heard Padua up and about, she just came in.
Padua wondered if the woman suspected there was a naked man in the apartment. If she did not, she probably began wondering when Padua would not let her in, and insisted she would do for herself this morning.
She pried the pail of hot water out of the servant’s hands and shut the door. She gave herself a thorough washing. Ives had affected her body enough that she still felt as if he were inside her. If she closed her eyes, she sensed the echoes of his thrusts still making her throb.
She had been very bad last night. Self-indulgent and irresponsible. She might well regret every minute one day. Right now, however, she did not. Could not.
The light outside had turned from gray to gold when the door to the corridor opened again. Eva walked in. She wore a morning dress and a cap festooned with lace. She carried a stack of garments in her arms.
“I saw your maid near the stairs, so I knew you were awake. I am grateful someone else is.” She set her burden down. “I always rise early now. It can’t be helped. Lying abed becomes uncomfortable.”
Padua casually positioned herself between Eva and the bedchamber door. “What have you there?”
“Three dresses, a spencer, and two pelisses. This red pelisse was purchased in Florence for my sister, who is taller than I am. Not as tall as you, but it will still be easier to alter. This overdress is fairly long, and with some nimble sewing should appear correct if used for the same purpose for you. Then over here are some embellishments, lace and feathers and such, that I pulled off some old clothes that the last duchess wore.”
“They are all lovely,” Padua exclaimed. Loudly. She held up each one, and went into raptures of excitement. “This fabric is perfect.” She twirled around in a little dance, thumping the floorboards. Noisily.
“I had hoped you would be pleased. Your enthusiastic appreciation gives me heart,” Eva said. “Now, slip on this wool so we can see what must be done.”
Padua slid the green wool dress over her chemise. Eva stood back and peered at it. She glanced to the windows and shook her head. “This will never do. We will have to fit it in the bedchamber, where the light is stronger.” She lifted all the fabric, and clutched the sewing basket’s handle.
Padua backed up and positioned herself at the bedchamber door. “Will that not be inconvenient? Pins and such should be in the drawers here, I think.”
“I have my basket,” Eva said. “It contains all that we need.” She heaved all of the fabric onto her left arm, and reached for the door latch with her right.
Padua braced her arm against the jamb, to form a physical barrier. “I would prefer you did not go in there.”
“Why?”
“I made a mess last night. So bad that I did not want my maid to set it to rights, and I have not had the chance yet to straighten it myself.”
Eva laughed. “Do not worry about that with me. I doubt it is too big a mess. What can one woman do in one evening?”
“Still, I would prefer if—”
“Oh, nonsense.” Eva grabbed the latch, turned, and pushed.
Padua felt the door open behind her. She knew Eva could see the whole chamber, even if she remained blocked from crossing the threshold. Eva’s attention focused on Padua, however. She frowned suspiciously, as if their entire exchange had suddenly struck her as odd.
Then Eva’s gaze shifted to the space behind Padua’s shoulder. Her eyes widened.
“You certainly did make a mess, Padua. It will take some doing to put to rights.”
Padua almost fainted with relief. Ives must have heard the conversation and slipped out of the chamber.
She turned to lead the way in. And groaned inwardly.
Ives still slept. He had moved just enough to uncover one finely formed leg, up to the hip. An arm crooked behind his head made his torso very taut.
Padua closed her eyes, mortified.
“Oh, my,” Eva said. “He is sleeping very soundly. If that is his habit after—well, after, he should have left last night.”
Padua could not remember any decision being made about that.
“I suppose those women he normally takes up with are not too particular about such things. They probably sleep until noon, too, and their households would know the arrangement.” Eva slipped past Padua and set her armful of garments down on a chair. She began sorting it out.
Padua inched into the chamber. “Are you going to fit this dress while he is right there? What if he wakes up and sees you?”
“What if he does? I am not naked. He is. If it will embarrass him, he should have thought about that several hours ago.” Eva shook her head. “I do not know what happened to him while we were gone. He was always so sensible, at least when he was not angry.”
“Perhaps I should wake him, so he is not sneaking back to his chambers in dishabille when the entire household is up and about.”
Eva held up a dress and scrutinized it. “That might be wise. Rumor has it Aylesbury has issued some ridiculous edict. It would not do to find out if he is actually serious about it.”
Padua walked over to the side of the bed near Ives. She jostled his shoulder.
His lids rose. He looked over, confused, then smiled. His arm circled her neck and he eased her face down toward his lips.
Padua squirmed to avoid being dragged into a kiss, and heaven knew what else. “Uhh, Eva is here. Look.”
Ives’s expression fell. He looked down the bed and through the chamber, to where Eva continued to debate the dresses. He grabbed a knot of sheet to cover himself better.
“Eva.” He laughed a little, very awkwardly.
“Good morning, Ives.”
“You are up early.”
“You are not.”
“No. Quite.” He looked at his situation. His gaze slid to where his clothes were heaped on the floor. He looked at Padua helplessly.
“Perhaps you would return to the dressing room for a few minutes, Eva,” Padua said. “Then Ives can get out of the bed and dress and leave.”
Eva faced them. Her gaze skewered Ives. “I am waiting for him to request my discretion, Padua. You do want that, don’t you, Ives?”
“Of course.” He cocked his head. “Are you angry with me, Eva?”
“I think I am. Padua is not an opera singer.”
“I know that.”
“Then do not be so careless with her reputation in the
future, please.” Eva marched into the dressing room and closed the door.
Ives threw off the bedclothes. He went to his garments and pulled them on. “She is right. I was careless.”
“I just woke ten minutes ago,” Padua said. “Day has barely broken.”
“I should have left last night, or at least woken you with kisses if I indulged myself by sleeping with you in my arms.” He came back to her and embraced her. “We will tour the estate this afternoon, if you like. By then I expect you will have decided if you are angry with me too.”
He gave her a kiss, and walked out the door.
* * *
Lance had finished his meal when Ives entered the breakfast room. He sat at the table drinking coffee while he flipped through the mail.
“You are up early,” Lance said without looking up.
“As are you. Is this a new habit?”
“It is the result of unending ennui. I sleep early to escape it, only to have more hours in the morning to suffer it.” He paused over a letter, and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Belvoir has mail. Sent here by Langley House. Two letters.” He set the one in his hand upon another over to the side. “One from a friend, and one from a lawyer, I would say.”
Ives cast his gaze on those letters. While he did, Lance paused again, frowned, and reached for the opener that the butler had placed on the table.
Ives ate the hearty plate he had put together. He had woken hungry on several counts. That of the stomach he could at least sate. As to the other—he imagined taking Padua away to a cottage where relatives did not feel free to intrude on a bedchamber at ungodly hours of the morning.
He expected the entire household would know by noon. Eva might be discreet as she promised, but it would not matter. The maid would see that bed and know what had occurred. His manservant would report Lord Ywain had not slept in his own bed. Gareth would guess just from looking at the two of them, assuming Eva’s discretion included her husband, which it probably did not.
The only person who might remain ignorant was Lance, and only because his self-absorption these days blunted his normally sharp insights into people.
Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy) Page 15
