by Lisa Torquay
It wasn’t a kiss that started tentative, asking permission, entrance. No, oh, no. He invaded her with his full tongue, tasting, demanding, taking. He devoured her lips as a starved man, adrift in an ocean of need.
He realised the mistake he made. A foolish, stupid mistake to kiss her. Because it seemed someone had tied him to an anchor and thrown him at sea. He was drowning, drowning helplessly in the feel of her. And he wanted more, so much more. This insanity had never happened in his life. No kiss had ever had this blowing effect on him. He pressed her more against the wall, kissing her deeper, as if she could prevent him from drowning, even if he thought solely to sink further.
If Philip drowned, Selene was in free fall from a precipice. Going down and down, dizzy, swamped with alien sensations, mimicking what he did to her, in utter delight. She didn’t care a whit. Her bare fingers entangled in his sleek, smooth hair, pulling him closer. Falling, falling. She felt his hard muscles, his hard desire, making her crave him so fiercely, she thought she’d faint.
Then he pressed her further into the wall and she took him, whatever he gave, whatever he demanded. Not enough, darned little…so little. They should be doing this for an eternity.
Their mouths detached in search of ragged air. He breathed hard, strolling his open mouth down her neck, as she clung to him as a lifeline, his lips spreading pure fire wherever they went.
He made the way back and pillaged her mouth again, deeper, more erotic, hungrier. She opened more for him, capitulating shamelessly. He inflamed her, she got hot in places alien to her and there came this humid sensation that made her empty and needy. She moaned in frustration, so he pressed a thigh in between hers. Poor solace, it made her desperate for even more.
He turned his head seeking more access to her and she moved hers to allow it. They were so glued to each other, so tangled, so oblivious to the world outside, totally immersed in their own passion. It glowed, burning them almost to ashes.
A door opening sounded bellow stairs, church over. It made Philip, with his military training, surface from his haze. Gently, he took her by her shoulders and put distance between them. She made a sound of protest in her throat, reality hitting her altogether. The house seemed to awake with the movement of the staff downstairs. Philip, looking thorn with frustration, left the landing silently. She took a moment until her legs felt firmer and walked back to the hallway.
The memory of that kiss would not leave her, she thought days later. Not when she read in the library, not when she visited her friends, not when she managed the household, not when she lay her head on her pillow. Even less then. Her body reacted to the memory and her mind produced the most inappropriate reveries.
Her very first kiss. Real kiss. She touched her lips in the hope to feel it again. She never thought it could feel this way. So overwhelming, so sweeping, a whirlwind that assailed her senses in every possible way. She kissed him back the way he kissed her because it’d melted her deliciously and she’d wanted him to have the same. First kiss, and unforgettable. Dangerous, if repeated. He meant ruin, total, irreversible ruin, from any angle you looked at it. She couldn’t let it happen again, she’d be lost. It’d be social suicide, the route to bitterness and lonely days. He’d have his fill of her and set her aside when he tired of her. She’d heard he’d done it before. Women fell on him to the dozens. Fortune, title and looks favoured him. Falling for him would be a stupid error she wasn’t about to incur in.
He had to have her. Soon. Repeatedly. Philip thought as he paced his chamber impatiently. He hadn’t been able to sleep all these nights, since that heavenly mistake. A thousand times he opened the door to go to her. A thousand times he closed it again just to have acid frustration as a bed mate. And sexual frustration was driving him mad, turning into obsession, fixation. No! He had to have her or he’d lose it.
He raked his hand through his hair and paced some more. What if she decided to remarry? Hell forbid it! The thought of her with any other man wrenched his guts. But a young woman certainly would wish for a family, children. Pregnant by someone else? Never! He’d never allow it. The Duke of Crompton had power and means to prevent it and he would!
A light knock at the library’s door announced Jenkins. “The Earl of Cunningham and his mother to visit you, my lady. Are you home?”
When a widow came to half-mourning period, social life slowly resumed. Receiving calls would become more and more frequent now.
Selene preferred to talk to the insipid earl and the gossipmonger of his mother than sit there ruminating about servant stairs and Sunday mornings.
“Yes, Jenkins, I’ll be there shortly. Take them to the blue room.” Jenkins bowed and left.
She raised from the armchair, checking her dove-grey high-waist dress and patting her hair to see if it remained in place.
Selene entered the blue room and received warm greetings from the earl and a long inquisitive look from the dowager countess. Tongues might start wagging, she thought. Resuming social life wouldn’t be smooth. A young widow and the new duke, in the same house? Those ladies with unfulfilled lives would bask in the fantasies they’d weave and pass on as fact.
She rang for tea and sat with them.
Philip rang for Jenkins, the butler appeared at the study door. “Please, send Her Grace here, Jenkins.”
“Her Grace has visitors, Your Grace.”
Philip got immediately alert. “Visitors?”
“Yes, my lord, the Earl of Cunningham and his mother.”
“Thank you, Jenkins.” The butler bowed and left.
Bloody hell! Cunningham went about looking for a bride with a notable dowry, since his estates needed money badly. His father had dissipated most of the family’s assets and the son had to rebuild them. The vultures started early over the rich widow. He’d go there. No man would lay a finger on her. Not if he had a say in the matter.
As he entered the drawing room, the earl smiled flirtatiously at Selene and his mother nodded approval. The boy was five and twenty at most. Too inexperienced to deal with her eagerness. His body reacted at the memory of how eagerly she’d kissed him back. Damn it to hell if he wasn’t punching the blasted boy. Soon! To flirt with her so openly.
“Lord Crompton!” Lady Cunningham sang.
“My lady. Lord Cunningham.” He bowed over the old lady’s hand.
“We were just talking about your trip, Your Grace. Can’t you humour us with some traveling stories?”
“I’d be delighted but my step-aunt and I have a pressing appointment. I came to remind her of t.” He didn’t look in her direction. She’d be fuming.
“What appointment, my step-nephew, pray tell.”
She wouldn’t give in so easily, the witch! “The milliner, step-aunt.”
The milliner? What was this blasted devil up to? Such a long time she hadn’t been in society and he wanted to interfere now? Oh, no, sir.
“Indeed?” She placed a finger on her chin. “I’ll send the footman with a message cancelling.” She smiled triumphant.
“I think that would not be possible, step-aunt, the milliner is traveling to Paris early in the morning, if you’ve forgotten.” He smiled blandly, victory underlying it.
Lady Cunningham observed the exchange avidly. “Oh, if this is the case, we’ll call on you another day, Lady Crompton.”
“Please, do.” He answered before she had the time say they could stay. The reprobate, the scoundrel, the darn devil!
Philip rang for Jenkins to show the visits out. The Cunninghams bid farewell and left before Jenkins closed the door.
Chapter 8
As soon as they were alone, she turned to him, ire flashing in her vivid green eyes. “What the blast was that?”
Philip looked at those intense eyes, his passion igniting. “They are after your money.”
“What do I care what they are after?” Her hands flew to her slender waist.
“The vultures started the rounds.” Her grey dress had a less austere neckline and he coul
d see a little of the top of her breasts. He fisted his hands in an attempt not to go there and touch those delectable globes.
“I don’t care! A simple visit is harmless enough.” Why did he have to stand so close? She walked to the other side of the room.
“It starts like this. In no time you’ll be at the altar.” Wouldn’t she understand he couldn’t bear the thought?
“What does this have to do with you?” Her voice low and fierce. Being far from him did nothing to dispel his magnetism.
“Do you want someone to marry you for your money?” What he wanted was to go there and kiss her again. Senseless.
“I’ll marry whoever I want, for whichever reason I want!” She had to leave the room. Immediately.
“I command you not to marry anyone I don’t approve of!” He wouldn’t approve of anyone, of course!
“You can command as much as you like. I’m not asking your permission!” Their eyes clashed, temper and desire battling.
The indomitable chit! The fire in his blood won over any civilized posture. He pounced to where she stood by the fireplace, laced her slender waist, lifted her off the floor and they were levelled. He saw her blushing as his breath quickened. “Neither am I asking yours then! He seized her mouth with his in a carnal kiss that took them off balance. He moaned with the fervour that she received him. Her fingers went to his hair and she kissed him back with equal hunger.
They were lost. Lost to reality, lost to the world, lost to decency. The kiss became deeper and deeper and soon they had to come up for air. Their eyes met and held for a long time, breaths ragged, lips parted.
“God help me, but I want you like crazy!” His husky voice only for their ears.
He went back to kissing her as he put her back down on the floor sliding her along his own body, her middle caressing his rock-hard erection. He was past any common sense. Hunger and need drove him. Wanting all of her, he left her mouth and nearly devoured her neck with open mouth. Her head fell down while she sighed.
Her damned dress in the way, he tugged it down, baring her breast. She gasped; he touched it with reverence, caressing the hard nipple between thumb and forefinger.
She was going to die. This, or she’d evanesce in a sea of fire. His caress provoked her, melted her and created more need all at the same time. She emitted an impatient sound.
“I know, I know.” He grumbled.
And then his mouth fell on the globe, nibbling, sucking, torturing. She pressed his head down on her, consumed by sensation. Her hands sought to touch more of him. He had too much clothing on, but her fingers crept under his coat, touching his broad chest, revelling in the ripples of muscle.
He lifted her again, walked with her to a settee, sitting her there. Kneeing in front of her, he uncovered her other breast and treated it to maddening attention. The ache in her middle became unbearable. Restless, she contorted on the settee in search of something to alleviate her agony.
One of his hands crept under her dress and kept going up her legs, bringing her skirts with them. His deft fingers found her drawers and reached her hot, moist womanhood.
She startled and tried to sit up. “Shh. You will like it, I promise.” He muttered in her ear and nuzzled behind it.
The problem was that she was already enjoying it shamefully. His fingers circled right where she ached, as if a treatment for her desperation.
Soon, he cruelly stopped. She looked down at him and he had a wicked look in his clove eyes. Her skirts came bunched to her middle, her drawers torn; he brought her to the edge of her seat. She gasped with surprise and before she realised his intention, his mouth descended on her and hell met paradise in the flapping of his tongue. The insistence of his tongue made her crave something elusive. Delightful, his never stopping flapping dissipated her until she became a quivering bunch of nerves and need. Something neared, the sensation more acute. Explosion. Her body disintegrated in thousands of waves engulfing her. She arched back, head pending from the low settee, as she sobbed uncontrolled. His tongue still provoking until she became completely spent.
He pulled her down to his lap and held her firmly there, her head resting on his shoulder. Giving her pleasure felt like one of the most rewarding things he’d ever done in his life. He wanted to do it again. And again, even if it made him heinously hard, as he was now. There could be no doubt that he’d make her inexorably his. They were meant to be lovers, whatever the world might think. He didn’t give a damn to the world outside.
After some time, she moved, her hands roaming over him aimlessly. “I want you to…”
He caught her hand. ”No. I’ll take care of it.”
She eyed him quizzically, as if she didn’t know what he meant. Strands of rich brown hair fell around her face, her cheeks flushed, a satisfied air about her. Beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world. He put a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her chin.
“Time to get dressed for dinner.” He said, even though he wanted to carry her to his room and take her all night.
She stood up, rearranging her hair and left the room without looking back. He waited a couple of minutes before he followed.
What the darn had happened there? Selene thought exasperated. She had never, never experienced that level of…enjoyment, never! Hadn’t imagined such a thing even…existed! Now that she knew it did…
No…he was not dangerous. He was a menace to all she held important in her life. Now that he’d shown her this, she’d lust after him to no end. Where would that leave her? No, oh no… Something had to be done. Soon.
The time called for evasive strategies. She didn’t think herself a coward, but she wouldn’t expose herself unnecessarily either. The immediate solution would be to leave the town house, for the manor. Yes, that seemed like a good decision. She’d be far from society, but only until she…cooled down and got a hold of herself. Before dawn she’d leave, she planned. She rang for her lady’s maid and gave her instructions.
The pressing matter now. Dinner. No possibility of pleading a headache, she’d have to go down and endure the whole thing.
Why was she late? Philip wondered, already sitting at his place by the table. He felt agonisingly restless, his body demanding relief, demanding her.
He heard the door open. Selene stepped into the room dressing a dark grey high necked dress. She murmured a ‘good evening’, sat down at the opposite end and took her napkin, never looking at him. He observed her puzzled. That demure behaviour in a widow appeared somewhat out of place. He’d thought about inviting her to spend tonight together. Her skittish outlook didn’t encourage such things, though.
During dinner they talked amenities, as he hadn’t dismissed the footmen. Never once did she meet his eyes. Intriguing. He had to find out what went through her mind. Fine, so she’d given herself to pleasure in an abandoned way. It might have been new to her. She’d been married to an older man, he understood it. But this shuttered expression? Strange, very strange.
Not that he disliked her attitude. It meant she didn’t adopt a…prodigal stance toward men, which he considered utterly positive. Nevertheless, her withdrawal excited the predator in him. Again. And he wouldn’t leave it be. Not a chance in hell of this happening!
After dinner, she gave some lame excuse and retired hurriedly. Well, so it’d be another lonely night for him, he concluded. Resigned, he took himself to his study.
Next morning, Philip took his time. He ordered a bath, soaked in it, dressed leisurely. Sitting at the breakfast table, he read the newspaper calmly, while having a coffee. In general, Selene had her breakfast earlier and went about her chores. He’d work a couple of hours in his study and head to the club. After club…in the dead of the night… His body went to bursting point.
As he walked to his study, Jenkins came down the hall holding some candelabra he’d replace somewhere. Thinking of it, the house seemed unusually quiet.
“Good morning, Jenkins.” He greeted the butler. “Her Grace is in the library, I sup
pose.”
“Good morning, Your Grace.” He bowed. “No. Her Grace left for the manor before dawn. I thought she had informed you.”
Philip didn’t know if he felt more enraged, surprised or confused. Rage prevailed. The elusive witch!
“No, she hadn’t.” He answered casually. “Thank you, Jenkins.” The butler bowed and continued on his way.
The carriage ride took six hours to Brighton. She might have arrived, the stubborn witch! What was she afraid of, damn it?
He climbed the stairs two at a time, rang for his valet and gave instructions for a valise and his horse to be saddled. Her lady’s maid had remained in the house, his valet informed him.
The Duke of Crompton was seen riding his stallion at breakneck speed towards south, a grim expression on his clove eyes.
Philip’s thoughts rounded in a whirlwind, faster than his horse. Anger, frustration and desire battled with confusion, working him up in a state of restlessness and blotted reason that even the speed didn’t make subside. The early spring view of the roads passed blindly by his eyes. He saw red, the thrill of the chase flaring in him. The woman knew how to keep him coming for more, he’d give her this.
Stopping only to refresh his horse, he made it to Brighton in five hours.
The view of the manor had always made him feel relaxed, but this time he didn’t even notice the huge construction in classical style, surrounded by gardens and woods. He dismounted hastily and left his horse to be tended. The twilight tinted the walls a shade of purple.
The butler opened the front door. Philip entered in rushy paces, took off his hat and coat, giving them to the other man.
“Where is she?” He asked curtly.
“In the study, Your Grace.”
He strode resolute, his eyes fixed blink-less as if on a target, his face a marble mask. Stopping by the door, he gyrated the door-handle and entered abruptly. Of course, he could do it; he owned the house!
