Seducing Mr. Sykes

by Maggie Robinson

  She sighed back.

  What would she do if he kissed her breasts? Through the fabric, of course—he didn’t want to rush her.

  Much.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She was still sitting up, so he slid up and leaned against his smashed pillows. There was scarcely a foot between them. He could feel the heat of her body, smell her rose-infused perfume, hear her shallow breathing.

  There was no point to overthinking what would come next, but he’d need both hands. He set hers carefully down on the bed, then erased the space between them. Tristan silenced her gasp, his mouth covering her lips. After a few long seconds, she responded.

  Ah, this was more like it. Warm woman, mild September night, the future unfolding kiss by kiss. She allowed him to embrace her and loosen the tail of hair that was tied by a plain ribbon. His fingers were nimble even in the dark, and he lost himself for a moment in its scarlet silk.

  Focus, Tris. Her chest was touching his, and he edged her away so his hand could perform his heart’s desire. Her softness was everything his touch had told him before. Her nipple peaked under his care, and he broke the kiss to attend it.

  Sadie’s stifled groan was most gratifying. She might pretend to be aloof, to have no interest in the physical side of their marriage, but Tristan knew better. She was as responsive as any husband could wish for, relaxing in his arms. Her fingers curled in his hair, keeping him in place.

  As if he wanted to be anywhere else.

  The nightgown was thin, presenting no serious barrier to his indulgence. The fabric tasted sweet, but not as sweet as her bare skin would, he wagered. He laved until the wetness revealed the pink underneath the white, and he suckled harder. She bucked against him.

  “Easy, my love,” Tristan whispered. “There is much more to come.”

  Chapter 27

  Sadie couldn’t take much more. Honestly, she couldn’t. It should have been repulsive having a grown man at her breast but somehow it wasn’t. Each tug and touch shot fire straight to her center, traveling a secret, sensual path she’d heretofore never known existed.

  She was not a total innocent. There had been Dermot, clumsy and earnest. But she was a virgin, and had planned to stay that way until a time of her choosing. She’d always defied convention—why shouldn’t she take a lover once she came into her independence, if someone worthy was to be found?

  Four years from now.

  Tristan definitely had other ideas. And if she didn’t stop him, she would lose her virginity in approximately four minutes.

  But no. He’d made no effort to divest himself of his smalls, nor had he eased her nightgown over her head. He seemed perfectly content doing that extraordinary thing with his tongue over her fabric-shrouded nipple, and she had half a mind to ask him to do the same thing to the other one.

  Half a mind. Face it, Sadie, you have no mind left at all.

  And he had promised not to...not to ravish her, although the prospect of ravishing did not seem entirely unappealing.

  Sadie had always believed sexual congress to be somewhat violent. She’d seen enough of nature amongst the animals at Marchmain Castle, and had been vehemently warned by Miss Mac all through her adolescence, not that she’d paid attention. Dermot was proof of that.

  But whatever Tristan was doing was not violent. His hands smoothed over her body, which was still completely covered by the rough cotton. The friction was almost like a tickle, but she wasn’t laughing. In fact, Sadie was making sounds she’d never made in her life.

  She felt the panic rising. “You mustn’t—”

  He placed a finger on her lips and raised his head. “I know. I won’t. It’s too soon. But trust me.” She thought she could see his smile in the dark.

  Each short sentence confused her further. She needed to be left alone, or something awful was going to happen.

  And then it did. His hand slipped under the hem of her nightgown, which was somehow now at her knees. Up her thigh it crept, until it touched the dark red curls of her mons. She twitched as one finger dipped into the seam.

  “You’re wet.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Sadie said, mortified.

  “Don’t be. It means I’ve been doing my job.” His finger stroked carefully between her nether lips, smoothly navigating her inner skin. The rubbing felt peculiar. Wonderful.

  “Oh! Stop!”

  He didn’t. “Do you really want me to?”

  Sadie was silent, and Tristan took it for the permission it was. He continued the delicious torture until she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out, and then shifted his body down on the mattress.

  She shivered as he lifted the nightgown, grateful it was dark. This was so embarrassing. So wrong.

  So right.

  He was going to kiss her there. She had never in her life expected to find herself in this position.

  Legs splayed.

  Wanton.

  Willing.

  Her stomach did a flip, and she held her breath in anticipation.

  “Down there? Really?” she yelped.

  “Really.”

  Trust me, he had said. For some reason, she did. She just didn’t trust herself.

  Both hands were parting her now, and she could feel his warm breath on her body. Tristan’s tongue licked a hidden spot and she thought she would simply die of lust.

  For that’s what this was. He’d made no claim to love her, not that she would believe him if he had. They’d agreed that romantic love was not for the likes of them.

  But once he’d loved. Could he again? Would anyone love Sadie for who she was, faults and all?

  So far, no one had.

  She would take these next few minutes as a substitute. Pretend he truly cared. Any man who was as talented as he was with this kind of kissing—and the conventional one, too—was worth a bit of fantasy.

  Sadie kept her eyes shut and allowed herself to feel everything. She cupped her own breast, shocked at the hardness of the point she strummed to even greater heights. Her body was a jangled combination of rigidity and languor, alternating as Tristan worked his magic.

  Tristan’s mouth was around something inside her she had no name for, swirling and suckling until she thought she would go mad.

  Then that madness strained, rose, and slipped free.

  Sadie was tossed into unknown territory. Wave upon wave of incredible sensation crackled through her, right to her toes. It was fire, it was ice, it was a sort of heaven that owed nothing to angels.

  She might have screamed. Hopefully no one would come rushing in to save her from her devilish husband.

  Sadie didn’t want to be saved.

  He seemed to know when she could endure no more. Returning to the pillows, he folded her trembling body into his arms and kissed her forehead.

  Sadie was speechless. Witless. So this was what the fuss was all about. All the giggling and blushes amongst her married female acquaintances. If such could be achieved with a mere tongue, what would happen to her when Tristan’s member was put to use? She could feel it now against her hip, iron and unyielding. If she could move her hand, she’d be tempted to touch it, to bring him the kind of joy he’d given her.

  How very frightening to think along those lines. Years of virtue—or semi-virtue—thrown away in the aftermath of carnal pleasure. She would need to guard herself against such brazen behavior. It would only result in her humiliation. Tristan would think she was weak, putty in his hands or beneath his tongue. She would lose herself, her very Sadie-ness, become just one more simpering woman suffering from infatuation.

  She’d been there. Done that. She’d found a way to repel men and keep her independence, even if it had resulted in society thinking her a madwoman. That’s why she was here in Puddling, wasn’t it? But could she keep Tristan Sykes out of her bed?

  Did she want to? Was there a way she could seduce him and protect herself?

  It was a conundrum that would requi
re further thought, and right now Sadie was in no position to make sense of her conflicting emotions.

  “All right?” he asked, a certain roughness in his words. He released her and rolled a few inches away.

  She willed herself to sound normal. “Quite.” She nearly managed to pronounce the one syllable without a hiccup.

  She could feel his examining gaze in the dark. Thank heavens the light had been extinguished; she must look a wreck. Guilty, too. What they had just done—what he had done—couldn’t be considered proper. Her response to it was also disturbing.

  She had lost all self-control.

  My God. Did all married couples throughout England engage in such play? Sadie wouldn’t be able to meet Mr. and Mrs. Stanchfield’s eyes for weeks. Even worse, ancient Mr. and Mrs. Fitzmartin? The mind boggled.

  Of course, if see was seeing them around the village, that presumed she truly was not running away with her diamonds. That perhaps she would go to the store on an errand for Mrs. Anstruther. Sit in the humble Norman church and repent for her sins. Live in Puddling-on-the-Wold because she wanted to.

  Because she was Mrs. Sykes.

  Sort of.

  Sadie was absolutely sure that, unlike his employer, Mr. Anstruther would never partake in such activity with his wife. Perhaps that was why they were separated. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “What is so amusing?”

  How did he know? She hadn’t made a sound. Maybe he could see in the dark, like some large feral cat.

  “Nothing.”

  “As I’ve already said, I think we should begin as we mean to go on. Speak the truth when at all possible. We owe each other that much.”

  How could she tell him the direction in which her mind was running without total mortification?

  “I know you have a history of falsifying things,” he continued, reminding Sadie of a schoolmaster. “I warn you, I will not tolerate that sort of betray—um, behavior.”

  “I only lie when I need to,” Sadie said, irritated. How had he gone from lover to prig so quickly? She remembered the disapproving man she’d met that first day in the Stanchfields’ store. The one who had looked down on her.

  Literally. From his great height, those expressive eyebrows indicating his disgust. He had been so very disdainful. So cool. Icy, really.

  Bollocks. She didn’t want to be married to that man.

  “You will not need to anymore. Your father is out of the picture, at least after tomorrow. Your previous fiancé as well. You’ll have two less men to bedevil. I expect you to deal honestly with me.”

  “I’m not sure I remember how.” She wanted to stick out her tongue, but he probably would see that somehow.

  “I’ll help you along. Did you enjoy that?”

  Was he fishing for compliments?

  “What?” she stalled.

  He chuckled, the smug bastard. “The cunnilingus.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. My governess never mentioned that word in my studies.”

  “I imagine not, or your father would have sacked her. When I kissed you. Down there, as you put it.”

  He was making fun of her. Sadie couldn’t help it if she was ignorant of sexual terminology. Women were supposed to be ignorant. It was a wonder she knew as much as she did.

  “The truth? Yes.”

  “You won’t elaborate?”

  “What else am I to say? It was very shocking. But pleasant.”

  He snorted. “All right. I guess I deserve that. But I want to make you happy in bed, Sadie. You must tell me what you like, what you want, and I shall endeavor to do it.”

  She sounded like a chore to him. “I am hardly one to direct you. You have far more experience than I. You have been married before, after all. I am just a virgin ninny, dependent upon your manly expertise.”

  It was so unfair. Sadie had never felt less sure of herself.

  He went quiet for what seemed like forever. “We won’t consummate the marriage until you are ready. But for all intents and purposes, to the outside world, we have.”

  “Lying, Mr. Sykes?”

  “Reluctantly. A necessary evil. But no more lies from you to me.”

  Truth was what he liked. What he wanted. But Sadie wasn’t sure her heart knew the truth.

  Chapter 28

  His bride snored. Tristan had noticed that last night as well as he’d alternated fitful sleep with wakeful rumination. He hadn’t done much of the first and too much of the latter.

  Well. His first encounter as a new husband had had its ups and downs. Tristan knew he had to be conscious of Sadie’s mixed feelings—she had resisted marriage ever since her debut. It had been less than twenty-four hours before she’d run off at the thought of it after Islesford’s ultimatum, and Tristan liked to think it wasn’t because he was such an awful prospect.

  He wouldn’t take it personally. She had a long history of being rebellious. That was why she was here in Puddling, for heaven’s sake. It would take more than one month in the Cotswolds and one masterful kiss down there to change her mind.

  He didn’t quite trust her not to leave again, although this time the handcuffs would stay in their drawer. They’d caused enough trouble. Unless, no, he really could see Lady Sarah Marchmain as anyone’s willing submissive. More than likely she’d prefer to tie him to the bed, and that thought gave Tristan an unexpected frisson. He could easily picture her over him, having her wicked way, all white limbs and sinewy grace, her red hair tumbling down.

  Only in his fantasies.

  In reality, he needed to persuade her to stay by other methods, to accept her fate, and had gone some way in that effort tonight.

  That persuasion had done nothing for his own needs, however, and he was still hard as stone.

  Tristan was adept at taking care of himself. Since Linnet’s death, he had deliberately not sought out a mistress or a compliant widow. His celibacy was his way to assuage the guilt that he felt for the utter failure of his marriage.

  The punishment was not so severe after all—he was still very much alive, unlike poor Linnet. He had a hand, and a good imagination. And since his father had left him in charge, Tristan had had no opportunity in Puddling to alter his singular state, not that there was anyone suitable in the locality who held his interest. The village’s former schoolteacher Rachel Everett had been sweet, but not for him.

  She had been his brother’s first and only love. Tristan hadn’t wanted to court his father’s disapproval twice over. And anyway, she was a viscountess now.

  Good for her.

  His abstinence was a thing of the past. Or might be, when Sadie resigned herself to their situation.

  How grim. Surely he wanted her to be more than resigned. An enthusiastic partner. Tristan felt she had the capacity. She’d shown fire both tonight and last night, which boded well for their future. At least they would find some comfort in their mutual physical attraction.

  He heard her gentle snuffles, could feel the warmth radiating from her body. And he could smell her too—roses and arousal.

  Dear God.

  He turned away from her and gripped his cock. It wasn’t difficult to bring himself off. He remembered how she lay open before him. How she tasted. How soft her skin was beneath his hands and mouth. The fullness of her incredible breasts. The helpless cries as she came. He had to bite his cheek to prevent his own as he came hard onto the sheet.

  His heart turned over. How long could he keep away from his own wife? He wanted to respect her reservations. Knew he had to, if they were ever to forge ahead. They had to get to know each other, if not in the Biblical sense.

  He knew already that she was not the spoiled, self-centered girl he once thought her to be. Her upbringing had been difficult, and caused her to cope with her misery by doing foolish, self-destructive things.

  “What are you doing?”

  Bloody hell. He thought he’d been quiet enough
.

  “Saving you from my carnal appetites. I made a promise, but one part of me did not quite agree,” he said lightly, hoping she’d go right back to sleep and assume this conversation was a dream.

  “Your—your cock, you mean. You were touching it.”

  Just hearing her say the words made him stiffen again, which should have been biologically impossible. “Just so.”

  “May I see it?”

  Good God again. He was not in his prime at the moment.

  “I’d have to get up and light a candle. Perhaps we should wait until morning.” He usually awoke to a magnificent cockstand.

  “I may have changed my mind by then.”

  “And that will be fine. I’m not going to rush you into intimacy.” Damn it all and his honor.

  “Looking is not precisely doing. I confess I’m curious.”

  Young ladies were not supposed to be curious. What had Tristan expected? His new wife had been unusual all her life. And, to be fair, many women her age were married and mothers.

  “Surely you’ve seen books. Visited museums.”

  “Well, of course. But I’ve never had the opportunity to explore a living man before. Examine all the nooks and crannies. Without those pesky marble fig leaves.”

  “I should hope not.”

  The covers rustled, and his bride sat up. “What if I had? Would you divorce me?”

  A cloud of dread swirled around him in the dark. Lady Sarah Marchmain had gone out of her way to test boundaries. Had she truly overstepped? He couldn’t—no, God would not be so cruel to curse him twice.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Why is it all right for men to have experiences, but a woman is expected to remain pure until she marries?”

  She sounded absurdly naïve. “You do understand about conception? There’s a very practical reason men seek virgins, or at least someone who has been sufficiently chaste. Another man’s son should not inherit.”

  “Oh.”

  “I agree ignorance is not always bliss for the woman. But a good husband will cherish her and teach her—”