Chapter Seven
Her mother and sister were not speaking to her the next day. Her father called her solemnly into his office and she sat nervously at his desk while the fire in the grate crackled and popped.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Mr Storm.’
She blushed just to hear his name.
‘Your colour tells me everything I need to know.’
Susanna twisted her hands in her lap. ‘I feel a certain – affinity for the man, father,’ she said. ‘But not at the expense of my mother or sister’s feelings.’
Edward waved his hand impatiently. ‘Your mother be damned.’
She gaped at the sedition.
‘The man asked for your hand, Susanna. He sat before me and assured me in all honesty, with his hand on his heart, that he would love and cherish you for the rest of his life. And you rejected him summarily!’
She kept her head bowed. ‘I don’t believe a word he says, father.’
‘And why the devil not?’
She couldn’t tell him about Elijah’s bold, lascivious behaviour. About their intense sexual chemistry that she suspected would fizzle out once she had to wake up next to him every morning and sit opposite him at the breakfast table for the rest of her life.
‘I don’t think he wants me for the right reasons.’
‘He wants you for the right reasons, my girl. You’re proud, headstrong, intelligent, and fiercely independent. In short, his perfect match.’
‘He said that?’
‘In so many words. You’ll give him a run for his money. Do you really think your sister could tame a man like him the way you could?’
She stared at him. ‘Is that what you think? That I could tame him? That he wants me to tame him?’
‘Yes.’
She dropped her gaze, fingers plucking nervously at a loose thread on her gown. ‘I can’t, father.’
‘Child, what am I going to do with you?’
She shook her head miserably, and knew the real reason for her reluctance. She was altogether too afraid of the strength of her feelings for Elijah.
The following day was bright enough to venture outside. Susanna bemoaned the loss of her favourite cloak, bonnet, and gloves to Elijah and hoped he wouldn’t be foolish enough to attempt to return them. She wandered over the lawns and down into the woods, kicking her way through piles of red and golden leaves, listening to the crackling underfoot, the melodic sound of birdsong overhead. She heard the rushing of the river, swollen from the torrential rain that week, as she stepped into the clearing and realised that, actually, lightning did strike twice.
A midnight black horse stood tethered to an oak. A pile of clothes lay on the bank. In the feisty current, Elijah Storm swam naked.
Susanna stopped dead.
He spotted her instantly. He stood, the water lapping around his bare, muscular chest. ‘Miss Seymour, as I live and breathe. I have items of your clothing awaiting you at my home.’
She glowered at him. ‘Why are you permanently undressed?’
‘I thought you liked me that way? You yourself undressed me one evening as I seem to remember. You tore at my breeches like you were opening a box of chocolates.’ He smirked. He walked closer to the bank and she watched the water fall slowly down his rippling torso, revealing a line of dark hair that disappeared down his belly. She swallowed. His biceps were huge, as though he felled trees for a living or indulged in other manual labour. The power of his body awed and disconcerted her.
‘An accident,’ she said, her voice small.
He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer still so the waterline fell to the dark hair at his groin, and she nearly whimpered. ‘See anything you like?’ he asked teasingly, standing still.
She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together.
‘Then perhaps I should climb out.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said hastily.
‘Why? Worried you won’t be able to control yourself?’
She laid a hand on the horse’s flank for reassurance. ‘The only one of us who exhibits loss of control on a frequent basis is you, Mr Storm.’
He laughed loudly. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin. ‘If I undressed right now, you would be unable to stop yourself rushing from the water to claim me, am I right?’
He regarded her with his head cocked on one side as though trying to work out if it was a trick. And it was. She would not end up in the same compromised position as last time with him. Instead, if she could turn the tables she would tease him so badly he would finally realise he was never going to get anywhere with her and abandon the chase. A little ache in her chest was easy to dismiss.
‘No,’ he said stonily. ‘If you wished me to stay here and admire you from afar, I could do that.’
‘Could you?’
‘I could, although I’d rather be over there pinning you to that tree and driving into you.’
Susanna’s face flamed. She pictured the image all too well. She put her hands to the fastenings on her bodice and he stared, eyes riveted. She unlaced deftly and pulled the gown down her arms to her waist, standing in her restrictive corset with breasts bulging from the top. Elijah licked his lips. A slight flush rose over his cheeks. The water lapped at his belly, receded; for a moment she saw the head of his cock, tumescent.
He was always so hard for her. The knowledge made her legs shake and her fingers tremble as she unlaced the corset and bared her breasts proudly. Elijah drew in his breath. He ground his teeth.
‘God in heaven, woman.’ He stumbled to the bank and she reared back, pressing against the tree. Elijah stood there in the shallows with his hard prick dripping water, his heavy balls tight and swaying. It was all she could do not to run and fling herself upon him.
‘Stay right there, Mr Storm, or I shall scream,’ she informed him.
He gave a little growl. ‘Then show me,’ he said. ‘Show me everything or God help me …’
Susanna leant back against the tree, breasts thrust out. She cupped them in her hands, squeezing, massaging, and pinching the nipples between her thumb and forefinger until they stood taut like ripe cherries. Elijah’s gaze burned her.
‘I would taste you,’ he declared throatily. ‘I would taste every part of you when you are mine.’
‘But I will never be yours, Mr Storm,’ she shot back. ‘This is our swansong. You shall realise there is nothing between us but need.’
A dark shadow fell across his face, his eyes turning icy. ‘And need is a fine thing to start a marriage,’ he declared. ‘As God is my witness, you would not leave my bedchamber for a week.’
Susanna’s heart surged and her underwear flooded. ‘You wish me as a toy for the bedroom, yes? You have nothing to offer me but a hard prick, Mr Storm!’
A sardonic smile failed to reach his eyes. He curled his hand around the aforementioned prick and started a slow stroking. ‘Isn’t that just what you need, Miss Seymour? My cock stoking your insides until you scream.’
She tried to tear her gaze from the sensual motion of his hand. His erection glistened with water, a pearly drop rolling from the tip.
‘Now show me,’ he said. ‘Show me how you pleasure yourself when you think of me.’
She bit her lip to hide a furious cry, then scooped up her skirts and thrust a desperate hand down her drawers. His glance fixed on her groin as she started to rub her wet slit frantically, watching his wanking hand all the while.
‘Marry my sister,’ she said, panting.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Marry me.’
‘No.’
‘Then I will marry someone else and, one day, I will come back here, and next time I catch you in these woods, you will be mine, Susanna Seymour. No false modesty, no pretence. I will throw you down and I will have that carefully preserved maidenhead of yours.’
She blanched. ‘You would take me by force, sir?’
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Force? You little minx.’ And suddenly he launched a c
harge, water showering him as he lurched up the bank, thundering towards her. Susanna shrieked, ran from him with her skirts bunched and her breasts exposed.
Her speed was no match for his. He gripped her arm, pulled her to a halt, and sat down abruptly on a tree stump. Her momentum carried her face down over his lap, where he held her with a cool, heavy hand on the small of her back.
‘Let me go!’
He ignored her. ‘This is what you deserve, and it’s what you shall have.’ He raised her skirts, yanked her underwear down.
She wriggled and gasped before he brought his hand down on her bottom in a slap. Susanna cried out.
‘Hush.’ He spanked her again. ‘The more noise you make, the more I shall spank you.’
Susanna bit her hand. She wailed around it as he spanked both cheeks soundly until they glowed. But the position of submission was startlingly pleasurable for her, even though she would never admit it to him. She was wet between her legs and she writhed on his lap with his naked cock pressed into her belly.
He touched her, sliding a finger along her slit, gathering the moisture and circling her bud. She hissed, gripping at handfuls of grass, the blood rushing to her head. Elijah laughed softly. He parted her buttocks with one hand and circled her most intimate area with a wet thumb while his finger continued to torment her clit.
Susanna tried to jerk away in outrage as her entrance fluttered around his touch. He took no notice but continued to rub and press until his thumb penetrated her. She cried out. He pushed two fingers into her wetness, and used his other hand to rub her clit. With those talented hands, he rubbed and fingered and fucked her all the way to a screaming climax.
She clenched around his fingers, wave after wave of intense contractions until she fell limply on his lap, almost rolling off before he caught her.
She dimly heard Elijah laugh. ‘How many more times do I have to make you come before you marry me?’
She struggled to stand, pulling her drawers up over her ravaged, red backside. ‘A hundred,’ she said defiantly, stuffing her breasts back into her corset.
Elijah grinned, licking at his fingers. ‘A helping hand would not go amiss,’ he said, motioning to his straining cock.
‘Go to hell. Playtime is over.’ Susanna stalked away through the trees, fastening her dress as she went.
Chapter Eight
In the war against Elijah Storm, Susanna declared that she had won this round. Although she hadn’t intended to be caught by him and spanked soundly, nor driven to an orgasm against her will using her most taboo hole, nonetheless, she had climaxed, and he hadn’t. Just like last time. As far as she was concerned, his balls must be near blue by now. She grinned to herself as she lay on her bed later that day, lingering on the scene in her mind. Nonetheless, she hadn’t achieved her intended aim – the withdrawal of his proposal and the transfer of his affections to Lucy. She would have to accept that, sadly, her sister was not going to gain a husband out of this wild man. It was for the best.
What she needed was to get rid of Mr Storm once and for all and empty her heart and body of his presence. She hit upon a plan. She would take Lucy to London to stay with their Aunt Georgina and there woo the most eligible of men.
Her mother offered barely a protest, confined to her room in mourning. They set off a week later, Lucy sullen by her side but coming to accept after long explanations that Susanna had not sought Mr Storm’s attentions and did not intend to usurp Lucy in his affections.
By the time they stopped at an inn for supper, Lucy was positively excited about their upcoming visit and the chance to meet so many eligible bachelors. Susanna was less so. The cold knot below her ribs told her she pined for Elijah in the most shameful of ways. This could not go on. She would have to lose herself in merriment and flirting for the duration of their trip.
They arrived next day and Georgina, their mother’s sister, greeted them effusively at the door of her townhouse. Never married, she had a certain reputation with Elizabeth – flighty, flirtatious, and fond of dangerous assignations. Susanna suspected Elizabeth’s disapproval was based on envy. It seemed to her that Georgina lived the most exciting and free of lives – no one to answer to, no one to please but herself. Why would every woman not want that? Perhaps Susanna could have it too. Maybe her father would be willing to set her up in a small house near to her aunt and she could embark on the same sort of thrilling life as Georgina. But Mr Storm crept into her thoughts again. If he married someone else, it would kill her, she knew.
The first night was a dance at the stunning mansion of an acquaintance of Georgina’s. Mr Craig was a silver-haired bachelor in his 50s and was so delighted to see her aunt that Susanna wondered about the true nature of their friendship. Susanna and Lucy danced all night, wooed by a succession of rich, titled men, and Lucy came away breathless, eyes shining, clearly having forgotten all about Mr Storm.
Susanna, however, had not. She compared them all to Elijah and found them wanting. Angrily she argued with her subconscious. What exactly was there to admire about this man? His sardonic nature? His wanton sexuality? Or the way he looked when his erection was deep in her mouth and he trembled on the brink of climax? She shook when she thought about it. A certain kind of vulnerability had been revealed that night. A chink in his armour. Instead of exploiting it, she had allowed him to take the upper hand once more. But there was no denying she preferred it that way. Being mastered by him.
The next day, Lucy and Georgina both pleaded headaches so Susanna took the carriage into town alone. Too much wine, she knew, and while her own head was delicate, it wasn’t enough to keep her to her bed. Plenty of fluids and fresh air would do the trick. She wandered the squalid streets of London, looking in shops, giving coins to beggars and street urchins. She bought her mother and father trinkets although she wasn’t sure her mother deserved a present.
As the carriage rumbled along the uneven street, Susanna glanced into an alleyway and was startled by what she saw. A woman who must have been in her 60s trying to fight off two ragamuffins, intent on grabbing her bag and rifling through her pockets.
‘Stop!’ she cried to the driver, rapping the underside of the carriage with her umbrella. The horses lurched to a halt at his bidding and she jumped down at the mouth of the alley. Making a terrific noise and holding her umbrella like a weapon, she charged into the chaos with more courage than she really felt, her heart hammering. By this time the woman was on her knees and the boys had taken a small, drawstring bag from her. They scampered away at Susanna’s approach.
Susanna crouched and looked at the badly shaken woman. Her bonnet was gone and her carefully coiffured grey hair fell loose over her face. She was attractive, but looked unwell, with dark circles under her eyes, her skin tinted a waxy colour.
‘Let me help you,’ Susanna said, placing a hand under the trembling woman’s elbow just as Georgina’s carriage driver arrived on the other side.
The woman glanced up, fixing pale blue eyes on her. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured in a soft expiration.
‘We’ll take you home,’ Susanna said, and the driver lifted the frail woman into his arms and carried her from the alleyway.
The woman dozed, seemingly exhausted, all the way back to a smart Chelsea townhouse. The driver lifted her down from the cushions, and Susanna hurried to the door and rapped.
The liveried butler who answered gaped at them and stood back at once, allowing admission. ‘Mistress,’ he said, wringing his hands. ‘What has happened?’
‘She was set upon by some boys,’ Susanna explained.
‘Shall I go upstairs?’ asked the driver.
‘Yes,’ Susanna directed, ‘and fetch the doctor,’ she told the butler.
The man scurried off and Susanna ascended behind the driver. He carried her into a woman’s bedchamber and laid her down on the bed. A fire burned cheerily in the grate as Susanna bent and removed the woman’s shoes before pulling up the quilt from the foot of the bed, covering her to her neck.
<
br /> The woman blinked sleepily at her, reached for Susanna’s hand. ‘Thank you to you both.’
Susanna pulled up a chair. She held the woman’s hand and stroked it with her other while the driver hovered by the fire.
‘Do you want to leave me here?’ she asked. ‘I’ll wait until the doctor comes and send a note for you to bring me back.’
He inclined his head. ‘Very well, miss.’
When he had gone, the room was silent save for the crackling of logs in the hearth and the soft, sighing breath of the woman in the bed. Susanna sat content to hold her hand as the woman slipped into slumber. As her eyes grew heavy in the soporific heat, a commotion downstairs roused her, voices raised before thundering boots sounded on the stairs.
Susanna braced herself for the anxiety and upset of a concerned relative as the door burst open. She almost reeled back in her chair when confronted with Elijah Storm.
He saw her instantly, his face turning from grief and worry to startled surprise. Then his attention switched rapidly to the woman in the bed, and Susanna hurriedly pushed her chair back as he stalked around the foot of the four-poster.
‘Mother,’ he said, reaching for the woman’s hand, and Susanna wondered then why she hadn’t seen it before. The woman’s attractive face carried more than a hint of her son’s beauty.
‘It’s all right, Elijah,’ Mrs Storm murmured softly. ‘I have been in good hands.’
Elijah turned his crystal blue gaze on Susanna and she blushed, hands twisted together, awed by him as she usually was.
A sharp knock sounded at the door, and Elijah called admittance. He strode quickly to greet the small, efficient looking man with the medical bag. ‘Doctor Tully, thank you for coming.’
The doctor nodded, approaching the patient. ‘Mrs Storm,’ he said, and the patient reached out for his hand with a tired smile, obviously on good terms with the man.
Elijah gestured to Susanna and she hurried to the door with him behind her. He closed the door and instantly had her hemmed in against the wall.
‘Miss Seymour,’ he said, his eyes large with sorrow and ardour. ‘I have no words to express my gratitude.’
Seducing Mr Storm Page 5
