“Are you?” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.
She opened her eyes. His eyebrows were two black hooks and his smile was one she’d not seen before, teasing and devilish, making him resemble an evil satyr. His finger remained infuriatingly still.
“Yes,” she rasped.
“Yes, what?”
She glared at his reflection. “Yes, Adam. I’m wicked.”
His eyes darkened but his hand remained still.
“You thought to control me—to make me come in your hand, didn’t you? Or against your sweet, naked bottom.” He thrust against her to illustrate his point.
Her jaw dropped at his raw words.
He released her and stepped away, his ice blue eyes intent on her reflection.
“Remove your gown.” All traces of the satyr had fled and he was every inch the cool aristocrat. She hesitated. How could he be so calm when she was ready to burst? It was annoying. It was humiliating. It was—
“Mia.”
She huffed out a sharp breath and lifted the loose, flimsy fabric over her head, flinging it to one side.
His eyes flickered up and down her body, and then darted back to her navel. His lips parted. “What the devil?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before dropping to his haunches. He lightly brushed the ring and small jewel with his index finger and glanced up. “Does it hurt?”
She smiled. “Not even a little.”
His mouth pulled into a lopsided smile that robbed her lungs of air.
“I have never seen such a thing,” he marveled, glancing from her eyes to her navel, a grin on his face. The awe in his tone told her there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen when it came to women’s bodies.
He fingered the skin around her piercing in suggestive circles, appearing to have forgotten about her sex, even though it was mere inches from his face.
He stood, his eyes still on the small jewel. Judging by the movement beneath his robe he was not disgusted by her as LaValle was. She reached out and tugged on the sash that held his banyan closed. The robe parted to reveal a narrow strip of pale, hard body.
Her eyes settled on the part of him that was not pale. “Oh.”
He shrugged and the robe fell to the floor.
They stood staring at one another, exploring each other’s bodies with their eyes.
His penis rose from a tangle of black curls, the smooth head resting against his muscled abdomen. He was ... perfection. She took a step toward him and reached out a hand to touch him. Before she could take a second step, he scooped her up and closed the short distance to the bed. His mouth crushed hers and he thrust into her without tender preamble. Mia opened beneath the onslaught and took him deeper, their tongues tangling while her hand found the part of him she wanted.
Again he moved away, shaking his head.
“Didn’t we just talk about this?” He cocked one black brow at her. “It’s my turn first.”
“Your turn?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He ran one finger down her jaw, his lips curved in a way that made her shiver. What she wouldn’t give to know what he was thinking.
* * *
Just looking at her responsive body was causing Adam to unravel. What would being inside her do to him?
His eyes dropped to that intriguing ring in her navel. He wanted to tongue it and suck it. To catch it between his teeth and tug. To lick and probe her delicate dimple. To—
He reined in his rampant arousal. If he mounted her right now he would ride her hard and fast, taking his pleasure with no care for hers.
“Lie back,” he said, giving her a gentle push.
She obeyed with a swift compliance at odds with her sensual half smile. She was a vixen. A mocking, teasing siren. She was danger in a dozen forms and Adam would only allow himself to touch her with one finger.
Only one finger. How could he lose control with only one finger?
He began at her brow, smoothing the graceful auburn wing that arched beneath his finger, almost losing himself in her brilliant green eyes. He lightly traced the blue vein that pulsed in her temple, moving over the slight down of her jaw toward the pulse at the base of her neck. His finger lingered in the soft depression and his lips curved at the quickening he felt. Her delicate nostrils flared at her body’s betrayal of her need. Adam smiled and resumed his exploration.
He drifted over her lightly freckled breastbone to her breast, avoiding her already pebbled nipple and instead stroking the sensitive skin on the side of her breast. She thrust herself against his hand but he continued his downward journey without so much as a flick or a pinch. It was a Herculean struggle to force his resisting finger to move on. Every particle of his being wanted to linger, to torment each perfect breast, to take her in his mouth and suck her until she screamed. But his finger moved on, like a nomad rejecting the mirage of a desert oasis.
He sent the fortunate digit across her quivering stomach, circling and grazing the jewelry in her navel several times before inexorably continuing to his target.
His finger stopped above the damp curls that protected her sex and his hand shook as he captured her eyes and held them, pushing slowly but deliberately into the most private part of her. Her hips rose to meet him and she groaned and closed her eyes.
And that was all it took.
His fingers broke ranks and his hands rebelled, refusing to obey his brain any longer; his treacherous mouth joined the mutiny and hurried to claim a breast for itself. His tongue, lips, and teeth feasted on her body like a glutton in Dante’s inferno while his fingers stroked into her silken heat, seeking the only thing that would ease his hunger.
When she began to come apart, he pushed a finger inside her to share in the pleasure he’d unleashed. She convulsed around him and he teased one last shudder from her before pushing her thighs farther apart and guiding himself to the entrance of her body.
He went only as deep as his aching head before stopping. A bead of sweat broke from his temple and trickled down his jaw as he stared down into her slitted green eyes. His control strained at its tether like a rabid dog on a leash. Once he began moving, there would be no finesse.
She smiled lazily, tilted her hips, and took him inside her.
“Ah, God.” The words burst from him like a plea for mercy.
Any vestige of control disappeared, and his best intentions with it. He used her with a savagery he knew would shame him later but he was beyond caring. He thrust into her as if he could drive away the unwilling yearning she aroused in him. As if he could fuck his obsession into submission. His vision went black and his body exploded. He crushed her hips in a punishing grip and held her still as he filled her and claimed her.
Mine.
He exhaled raggedly and rolled over, not wanting to crush her. Her legs tangled with his and she turned with him, a girlish giggle breaking from her when they tumbled onto their sides, still connected at the hips, their faces inches from each other.
Adam looked into her flushed, joyous face and his heart beat a deafening tattoo in his ears.
She kissed his chest, closed her eyes, and snuggled into his arms, completely unaware of the damage she’d done—the damage she was still doing. She pulled his hips tighter with her slim but powerful legs and went on to destroy him.
“That was delicious, Adam. I am very happy you are so skilled at pleasuring women.” He could only stare dumbly as his body throbbed at her words. She sighed again. “I have not climaxed with a man before.” She inched closer, squirming and pushing at his chest like a cat kneading a pillow. “It is so much nicer than pleasuring oneself.” The last words were distorted by a huge yawn.
Adam couldn’t have said which stunned him more—that a woman of her obvious sensuality had never had an orgasm with a man, or her open admission of masturbation. Either way, he’d hardened again, still buried inside her. A distant part of his brain pointed out that was no mean feat for a man on the far side of thirty.
He smoothed back the tangle of copper curls to look at
her face. She smiled drowsily but didn’t open her eyes. Adam felt a terrible stiffening sensation, this time in the vicinity of his heart.
He dropped his head onto the bed and shook it from side to side. His body was exhausted but his mind spun with the implications of this evening. He was not going to be tired of bedding her tomorrow. Nor the day after. Or anytime soon.
He ground his palm between his eyes, trying to massage away the chaos in his head. Somewhere in the room a clock ticked, a steady counterpoint to the anger, frustration, and confusion that chased one another around inside his addled mind.
He yearned to pull the blankets up over them both and drift off to sleep, molding her delicious shape to his. Instead, he left the warmth of her body and bed and shrugged on his discarded robe before turning back to look at her. His new wife was lying atop the covers, naked and entirely desirable. His body and brain engaged in a brief, violent struggle and it took every last scrap of his shredded self-control not to slip off his robe and crawl back in beside her.
Instead, he covered her, extinguished the candles that still guttered in their sockets, and returned to his room.
Adam lay in the darkness in his massive bed and told himself this was where he belonged. The logical part of him, a part that seemed to be eroding fast, argued that sex with any woman—not to mention one as unrestrained and sensual as his wife—triggered unexpected sensations. It only followed that the more physically intense the experience, the more important it was to keep a proper distance.
That was the answer: distance. It also happened to be the one thing she’d asked for in this marriage of convenience.
Chapter Fifteen
Mia woke up to midmorning sun streaming across her bed. She knew without looking that she was alone. She lifted the blankets and glanced down at her body. She dropped the covers and grinned at the blue damask canopy over her bed. She was naked and deliciously sore, so it hadn’t been a dream.
She wasn’t surprised to wake up alone. A man like Exley would have clear lines drawn about such things. What had surprised her was last night. Not so much his lovemaking, which had been commanding yet generous, but the night itself. It had been delightful to observe his interaction with his friends and to play cards with him. He’d been ... human.
But even at the peak of his pleasure last night, she’d sensed a reserve in him. It was as though his self-control was so much a part of him it could never slip. Mia sighed. She should be grateful for the distance he maintained. After all, it would make leaving him that much easier. And that, she reminded herself sternly, was the entire point of the marriage.
Memories of last night—of his dark eyes and near-feral expression at the moment of climax—assailed and aroused her. Her hand slid between her legs. She wanted him again—now. It was . . . frustrating. She snatched her hand away from her pulsing, nagging sex, and sat up. What was wrong with her? One tumble with a decent—well, superb, actually—lover and she was enthralled. What would she think after the next bedding? Would she be questioning her plans for escape?
She frowned. Last night wasn’t about love; it was about business. Well, and maybe a little lust. The marquess wanted an heir, and he had taken steps to get what he wanted. The fact that he’d made the transaction a pleasure rather than a chore didn’t alter the truth. He didn’t want a wife or a lover or a friend. He wanted a child. She was a broodmare and it was her duty to breed. Period. He’d come to her, serviced her, and departed as soon as politely possible. She would do well to keep that in mind. Just because he was tender in bed, did not mean he was tender in general. He was pursuing his reason for marriage just as she would pursue hers when he dumped her at his country home.
* * *
The few hours he’d managed to sleep had been flooded with images of his new wife. None of the images had been the type to encourage peaceful slumber and Adam awoke feeling edgy, but also resolved. He thought about how close he’d been to carrying through on his schoolboy infatuation and sleeping in his wife’s bed and shuddered. Well, his brain shuddered but his treacherous cock kept reminding him why waking in his wife’s bed would be a much more rewarding experience than waking alone.
They’d barely spent any time at all together and she’d already invaded his hard-won peace of mind and caused havoc. Who knew what would happen if he were to indulge his obsession and enjoy her company as freely as he seemed to want? Of one thing he was certain: only rigid control would answer.
To that end, he commenced his morning with a freezing bath. Once he’d extinguished his insistent arousal, he sent word to saddle his newest hack. Phoebe was an unusual silvery gray mare with intriguing white spots scattered across her withers and flank. She was as eager as she was beautiful and the perfect companion for a bruising morning ride.
The park was almost deserted and Adam rode her like a demon. His mount was cursed with as much excess energy and tension as her master, and Adam returned to Exley House as lathered as the mare. Unfortunately, he was still brimming with mental energy, no matter how savagely he’d abused his body.
He snatched a quick breakfast while still in his top boots, bolting down a cup of coffee and ordering a pot for his room, just in case his new wife proved to be an equally early riser this morning as last and surprised him in the breakfast room.
After another bath—this one less icy than the first—he spent a few hours in his study, looking at the latest bills from the army of workers he’d employed to repair a massive and somewhat hideous building off Tavistock Street in the Strand. Adam had won the building from a man who’d had more luck making money speculating than he did keeping it at the card table.
Based on the latest report from the architect supervising the work, it should be ready for its new residents before the end of the year. After a brief meeting with Hill regarding his plans to remove to Exham, Adam ordered the phaeton brought round and went to look at the ongoing renovations in person. He killed an hour examining a cracked lead roof and rusted drains before going to his club.
At White’s, he checked the betting books and found his wife’s name almost conspicuously absent. He smiled. Mia was now off limits. At least to any man who wished to continue breathing.
He’d just finished reading the last of several newspapers and was contemplating calling on Danforth when the man himself wandered in.
Adam set aside his paper.
“Hullo, old man.” Danforth signaled for a footman before dropping heavily in a chair. “Brandy and coffee. In that order.”
Adam arched an eyebrow. Danforth’s clothing was meticulous, indicating he’d just been prepared and released into the world by his valet, but his eyes were red-rimmed and watery.
“Hitting it a bit hard, Danforth?”
He grunted. “I went out last night after the play.”
“Oh? And how was it?”
Again he grunted. The waiter arrived with his drinks and he took the brandy with a shaking hand, tossed it back, hissed through his teeth, and frowned. “My sisters informed me this morning that I’m overripe for a repairing lease.”
“You look like hell, Danforth. I’d advise you to heed them.”
“And when have you ever heeded a woman, Exley?” Danforth asked, his expression uncharacteristically arch.
Adam ignored the question and led the discussion into safer areas. They argued over the last Peninsular clash, the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro, which was still a heated topic for debate even weeks later.
Adam did his best to dampen the younger man’s desire to purchase a commission and do his duty. “You must stay alive and succeed to the earldom, Danforth. You are the only real means of security and support for Octavia and Olivia.”
His friend flushed at the mild rebuke. “Yes, yes, I know. It would be foolish and cruel to risk their future, but—”
Adam stood, tired of a subject that would do his young friend no good. “Join me for a session at Beaulaux’s?”
Danforth scowled up at him, aware he was being rudely managed
.
“Come, it’ll be almost as fun trying to kill me as it would killing Frenchies.”
“More fun,” Danforth muttered.
Beauleaux’s was an elite fencing club where Adam spent a good part of each week. Danforth was not a member at the expensive club for the simple fact that he couldn’t afford it. Adam was one of Jean Beauleax’s most valuable customers and he brought the younger man as frequently as he could, contributing to a silent membership for Danforth, unbeknownst to the impoverished, but proud, viscount.
Adam first took his scheduled period with the great Beauleaux himself. It would be far better to expend some of his energy on a more worthy foe before beating on the enthusiastic, but less skilled, Danforth.
Adam and Beauleaux worked hard on each other for over an hour. A small crowd of regulars gathered to watch in the gallery that surrounded the larger of the fencing arenas. He could see by Beauleaux’s satisfied smile at the end of their exhausting bout that the crowd was much more rewarding to him than the actual fencing. Adam suspected the business-savvy Frenchman allowed his touches, merely to keep him coming back and drawing more clientele in his wake.
“Gad, Exley.” Danforth shook his head as he approached. “Aren’t you beat to death? Are you sure you want more?” He stood back and took a few swipes at the air, as if to convince Adam otherwise.
Adam barely suppressed a smile as he watched Danforth duel his imaginary foe. “Make sure your mask is secure,” he cautioned the younger man, switching his foil to his left hand.
Danforth dropped his arm. “Well, that’s good! Bloody wonderful, in fact.” His usually mild-mannered face settled into mulish lines. “Are you quite sure you want to use your left hand? Perhaps you’d feel more comfortable using one of your feet?”
Adam closed his mask before grinning. “Come, come, time is wasting, stripling.”
The two friends were actually well matched when Adam used his left hand. Danforth was able to get in several touches, even without Adam’s complicity. After the fifth, and most painful, touch even Adam had had enough.
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