He wanted her.
He wanted the shy woman he’d married for money. His attentions had not been feigned. His scorching passion in the music room had been real. Her stomach upended like a tipped teacup. Oh dear. She hadn’t permitted herself to even think of sharing the marriage bed with him again. It was far too tempting, far too dangerous to her heart. But part of her didn’t care. Part of her longed for passion. For him.
His hands were gentle as they righted her gown over her bared shoulders before reaching round the back to redo the hidden procession of buttons. “May I come to you tonight?”
The request sent her heart into a wild rhythm as passion slid through her body like warm honey. She closed her eyes for a moment, uncertain of what her answer should be. Very probably, it ought to be an outright “no”. And yet, she couldn’t deny she was drawn to him as ever. What could be the harm? It was only her heart at stake.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You may.”
e’d won. Already.
Will lingered in his study long after dinner’s end, nursing a brandy and soda water, brooding. He’d finally gotten what he wanted. His cock had been hard as hell for the duration of dinner, but he’d wanted to give Victoria time to prepare herself for his visit, so he’d gone off to his study.
The trouble was, once alone, his conscience had set in, the very conscience he’d no longer thought he possessed. He cursed and tossed back a bit more of his drink, disgusted with himself. Returning to the country had turned him maudlin. Somehow, over the course of the time he’d been at Carrington House, he’d grown to like his wife. He admired her for her skills at running his household and for her strong will. Back in London, he hadn’t considered the particular conundrum in which he now found himself so precariously mired.
He was poised on the precipice of success. In less than a sennight, he had wooed his wife into accepting him in her bed again. He should be thrilled. Christ, he should be stripping her out of her naughty French undergarments and sliding inside her sweet little cunny right now. He shouldn’t be hiding away in his study.
With his ultimate goal so close at hand, he wasn’t supposed to be feeling empathy toward his wife. She was a means to an end, a necessary duty. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be so achingly attracted to her. Bloody hell, feeling anything at all most certainly was not part of his plan.
Yet, he did.
Yes, he liked her. He liked her sharp mind and the way she pursed her lips when she was mulling over something and the way she held herself with quiet grace when she entered a room. He liked her snapping eyes and her long, luscious blonde hair, and good Lord he positively loved helping to unleash the wicked streak within her.
This was a strange development indeed. Of all the women he’d flirted with and bedded in his life, and it was an admittedly lengthy list, he could honestly say he hadn’t truly admired many of them. Perhaps he hadn’t even admired any of them, now that he thought on it.
A conundrum indeed, one of the worst sort. Victoria was waiting for him in her chamber, willing and ready. And yet here he lingered in his study with a tumbler of spirits, realizing he harbored an alarming depth of sentiment for his wife, the very woman who had been foisted upon him, the woman he’d spent months resenting, the woman he’d thought he could so easily forget. But he wouldn’t forget. Not now. Not her.
He tossed back the remainder of his brandy and soda water. It was foolish to linger any longer like a callow virgin on his wedding night. He was no callow virgin, and he’d already had his wedding night. Even so, he had a bothersome feeling that what awaited him would leave him forever changed.
Victoria had dismissed Keats. She wore only a silk wrapper and a few dabs of orris root at her throat and wrists. Will had told her he preferred the scent.
Will.
Her husband.
It seemed so odd, so improbable, that the man whose presence she eagerly awaited was the same man who had wed and abandoned her, the same man she’d sworn she’d never forgive. Her mind told her she was a candidate for the lunatic asylum. Had she learned nothing from the five months of loneliness and swirling scandal she’d had to face alone? Perhaps not, for all she could think of now was the devastating way he’d looked at her for the duration of dinner. Like he wanted to devour her.
He had kissed her as if he were a starving man and she the feast before him. He touched her and set her aflame. She wanted him very much, wanted more of what had happened in the music room. At that thought, a solid series of knocks sounded on the door joining their chambers together.
Despite knowing he would be coming to her, she started, a bout of nerves gripping her. She tightened the belt at her waist and consulted her reflection in the looking glass. Her hair was down, a curling sweep of locks to her waist. The lamp light was low, bathing the chamber in a warm glow.
Another knock interrupted her worried contemplation. Her mouth went dry.
She took a deep breath. “Enter.”
The door creaked open and she thought she must have one of the footmen oil it. Then her husband filled the doorway and she quite forgot everything. He wore a black dressing gown, his large feet and strong, masculine calves peeking beneath its hem. Her face went warm and she was sure she was flushed as a ripe apple. Her eyes traveled up from the tie drawn at his lean waist to the sliver of his bare chest visible. Their gazes clashed as a delicious tide of longing washed over her.
“Victoria,” he murmured. “I was afraid you’d have fallen asleep.”
She swallowed, opting for levity. “Of course I couldn’t sleep for fear of another midnight invasion that required the aid of Mr. Dickens.”
He winced. “My nose is still tender to the touch.”
“You didn’t even bear a mark,” she returned, not believing a bit of it.
“Spoken with nary a trace of regret.” He tapped the facial feature in question. “Truly, it will never again be the same.”
“A lifelong reminder never to sneak into my bedchamber uninvited.” She kept her tone tart. Oh, what was she doing, trading barbs with the man who had caused her such heartache these many months? She tried to cling to the endless list of ladies who’d been connected to his name in scandal, but they’d begun to fall away like the petals of a rose the first time he’d looked at her and truly seen her as a woman.
Perhaps she had revealed the wayward path of her thoughts, for his expression shifted, his jawline hardening. “Are you certain you’re ready for me tonight? I will wait, Victoria.”
No.
But she couldn’t tell him as much. Wouldn’t tell him as much, for she didn’t want to let him think he possessed that much power over her emotions. “I’m ready. Please, come in.” She could do her duty—for that was what this truly was, after all. She mustn’t allow herself to think otherwise. Tonight was duty and pleasure bound into one.
He’d been lingering at the threshold but at her urging, he finally crossed the invisible boundary between his chamber and hers. The adjoining door squeaked closed again at his back. He was unbearably handsome. His thick hair was ruffled, as if he’d been passing a hand through it. Had he been as nervous as she?
They both began moving toward each other, meeting in the center of the room. She gazed up at him, framing his beautiful face with her palms. His cheeks were slightly scratchy with the texture of the whiskers he’d shaved that morning. She rather enjoyed the prickle against her skin.
She searched his eyes but found them unreadable. “This isn’t a lark for you, is it?” Somehow, there was an important distinction.
His expression tightened, his smile fading. “It isn’t a lark. I want you.” He guided her hand down over the silky robe to the rigid outline of his manhood, pressing himself into her. “There’s no feigning my reaction to you.”
“Good heavens.” She touched him, hard and heavy, as an answering blossom of heat opened deep within her.
He slid his arms round her waist and drew her more firmly against his body. “It’s been far too l
ong since I’ve made love to you, wife.”
Victoria lost the ability to speak. Without the proper layers of clothing, boning, and petticoats between them, she could feel the strength and maleness of him in a way she never had before. His body molded to hers was a new and enticing experience that sent an exquisite ache to her core.
She liked it.
He lowered his mouth to hers, giving her a possessive kiss. She opened, playing her tongue against his. He tasted of spirits. Her hands settled on his shoulders, soaking in his potency. A spurt of restlessness kicked up within her stomach, longing settling lower along with a languorous throbbing.
The kiss deepened. He cupped her bottom through her thin wrapper, ensuring their bodies touched in all the right places.
“Finally,” he muttered, tearing his lips from hers. “I don’t have to wrestle with hectares of fabric.”
She laughed despite the heady mix of sensations setting her at sixes and sevens. “A gown with a train is in fashion.”
“To hell with fashion. Have you any idea how many silly trains I’ve trampled at balls?” He caught the ends of the tie at her waist and pulled. Her wrapper gaped, revealing nearly all of her breasts. One more tug and the ends completely fell apart. He ran hot palms over her shoulders, shucking the garment from her body entirely. “I prefer you naked.”
And naked she was. Victoria fought the urge to cover herself. She stood very still, watching from beneath lowered lashes as her husband’s warm gaze ran over her body. She waited, knowing she was no beauty, that she was in fact rather small and spindly without all her trappings. Keats was very adept at showing her to advantage, but now she had no such assistance. She was sure he must have seen lovelier women, perhaps even his Italian opera singer. The thought made her stiffen.
“Why the ferocious frown, my dear?” He traced her lips with a light touch, running his finger down her neck to her breasts. He circled her nipple in a lazy path that had the bud tightening and her body aching for more. “You are more beautiful than I recalled.”
He thought her beautiful? Her gaze snapped to his face, searching his expression for the slightest hint of insincerity. There was none. His eyes were direct, his expression frank and admiring. No man had ever paid her a compliment as kind in her life. True, there had been her fair share of effusive flattery by gentleman who looked at her and saw her father’s fat purse and not her true self. But this was somehow different. Was it the way he’d said it, or simply that he had said it, that mattered so much?
A sudden surge of courage overtook her. She wanted to see him as well. She made short work of the knot at his waist. His dressing gown slid to the floor in a soft whisper of sound. He was breathtaking. The knot of desire building within her grew. He was lean yet muscled, his chest broad and defined. But what truly attracted her attention was not his taut stomach or the long, strong lines of his legs. No indeed, it was the rigid arousal jutting proudly from the apex of his thighs.
Good heavens. She nearly swallowed her tongue. She certainly hadn’t seen that on their wedding night. Blushing furiously, she forced her gaze back up to his face. The grin on his sensual mouth was positively wicked. Perhaps she’d wandered into water that was well over her head. She felt very much as if she were drowning.
It seemed he sensed her sudden worry. He tipped her chin up. “Don’t fret, my dear. We shall go as slowly as you like.”
It wasn’t precisely the speed of their joining that concerned her, but rather the mechanics of it. Now she well understood the stab of pain she’d felt the last time. Would it hurt again?
“You’re worrying your lip.” He cupped her face in his large, capable hands and delivered a tender kiss to the lip in question. “You mustn’t think too much. Only feel.”
“Feeling is what lands me in trouble,” she couldn’t resist pointing out. She certainly felt too much for the debonair man standing nude before her.
He grinned down at her. “What is life without a spot of trouble now and again?”
Easy, she supposed, for him to say. He’d never had to move an ocean away from the world he knew only to be abandoned in a countryside with naught but a gaggle of servants for company. But holding on to resentment couldn’t be beneficial to the tentative truce she’d struck with her husband, and she knew it. Perhaps he was right after all. Maybe she should trust him.
Could she? Though it was balmy in her chamber from the warmth of the summer sun, she shivered.
“Cold?” He scooped her up into his arms in one effortless motion. “I can warm you.”
No one had ever carried her before either. Apparently, it was to be a night of many firsts. Victoria threw her arms about his neck to hold on to him as he crossed the chamber to her bed. She took the opportunity to study his handsome profile. His jaw was strong, stippled with the day’s growth of dark whiskers. Unlike many English gentlemen, he eschewed a beard and mustache. She found it enhanced the physical beauty of his face. Mesmerized, she lifted a hand to again feel the rough texture of his stubble against her palm. He turned slightly to press a kiss to her inner wrist. A jolt of pleasure shot through her. You mustn’t think too much, he had said. Only feel.
How freeing it would be to do so with him. To trust if she dared.
He laid her gently upon the bed before joining her, his long form stretched out alongside hers. Their bodies were intimately pressed together for their entire lengths. She was so petite that her feet only reached his calves. His arousal jutted against the nip of her waist. Victoria kept her gaze locked on his, almost afraid that if she looked away, she would become lost in the stormy seas of emotion attempting to carry her off.
He slid a possessive arm around her, anchoring her to him even more firmly. “I want you.” His mouth was close to hers, his breath warm and intoxicating. The low growl of his deep voice went directly to her core.
With a moan, she ended the distance between them by kissing him. She opened to his questing tongue, tasting him, wanting to devour him the way his kisses threatened to consume her. She threaded her arms around his neck, fingers sinking into his dark hair. He invaded her senses. She tasted him, smelled his scent, so deliciously male and his.
He threw a lean leg over her, pinning her to the bed. She was at his mercy now, and it sent a decadent sluice of desire over her suddenly heated skin. Every bit of her had come to life. Her nipples ached for his mouth and touch, her core for his driving possession inside her. If he wanted her, she wanted him more, with an intensity that drove her near to madness.
Their kisses ended. Will dragged his mouth down her throat. She tilted her head back against the pillow to allow him better access. The hot, moist pressure of his lips upon her sensitized skin was enough to have her squirming for more. He groaned as if he too felt the same undeniable pull, its wild thrill, sense of overwhelming pleasure. He kissed his way to her breasts, cupping the tingling mounds in his large hands before lowering his head to suck a throbbing nipple.
Victoria arched into him, incapable of stopping the moan that fled her lips. He tortured her flesh, alternately sucking and rolling his tongue over and around the engorged bud. While he plied an equal seduction on the other breast, his fingers skipped down over her belly and dipped into the wet slit of her sex. He teased the oversensitive nub hidden within her folds, and she jerked into his knowing hand. He continued on, sucking and rubbing her, sucking and rubbing, until her body was working against him in a primitive rhythm.
Her breath tore from her in fast gasps, mewling cries of passion caught in her throat. Surely, she managed to think through the murk of her wanton mind, this was heaven on earth. Nothing could ever again feel so incredible. She felt as if she were about to burst.
And then she did, shaking against him, her eyes closed tightly to savor the amazing sensations rocketing through her. There were no words for it, save—
“Pure bliss,” she murmured, aware that he’d addled her so much with his lovemaking that she was becoming nonsensical, speaking her private thoughts
aloud.
“I agree.” Her husband kissed the inner curve of her breast, then raked his teeth delicately over her nipple once more. His finger traveled lower, sinking inside her.
Her breath escaped from her lungs. She wanted—no needed—to feel him inside her. She ached with wanting more. In and out, his finger pushed, delving inside her so deeply that she feared she’d burst again.
“Are you ready for me?”
She nodded, eyes still closed.
“Look at me, Victoria.”
Startled by his use of her name, she obeyed, blinking to find his handsome face still perilously near to her bare breasts. Her nipples were pink, glistening with the wetness of his kiss. She glanced lower, to where his hand pressed between her thighs. Embarrassment hit her. Her skirts had obscured her view of him pleasuring her in the music room. This was different. All too wanton. She turned her head away, staring instead at the drawn drapes over her window.
It was the window where she’d held a constant vigil in the early days of her abandonment, hoping to see him return. She’d never told anyone, not even Maggie in one of the many rambling letters she’d sent, bemoaning her loneliness.
Suddenly, it all seemed too much, the mingle of pleasure he’d given her with the awful hurt. She stiffened, uncertainty reeling her in. But the passion remained, soothing her traitorous body into wanting him, regardless of the past. Confusing her.
“Don’t pull away from me.” His tone was firm, allowing no opposition. “Let me bring you pleasure. Let me make you spend.”
It didn’t escape her notice that he spoke of pleasure and not of love. Had she expected him to fall at her feet like a lovelorn suitor? The same man who had coldly told her he had no need or want of a wife? Perhaps her heart was too fragile to allow him this breathtaking intimacy.
He nudged her legs apart and came over her completely, his manhood resting heavily against her, his knees at either side of her hips. She didn’t want to see him, for if she did, she would give in. She laid very still, eyes fixed on the drapes.
Her Errant Earl Page 7
