Too Wilde to Wed

by Eloisa James

  “North!” She sounded fierce, like a thwarted warrior queen.

  He drew up her nightdress, allowing moonlight to glimmer over giving, soft thighs. Perfect thighs.

  A groan burst from his chest. Between her legs was a twist of red hair, strawberry-colored, lighter than the hair of her head. Below it, the perfect pink of a wild strawberry, gleaming with moisture and desire.

  He came up on his knees, letting her see everything he had: thighs and chest corded with muscle, and arms the same. No softness, because if there had been any, it had been carved away by war.

  His cock was thick and broad, standing out from his body and straining toward her. He watched her eyes go up and down his body, fascinated. Pause on his balls, which felt heavier than ever before.

  Back to his cock.

  “Even an expert like yourself might still have a question or two,” he said, reaching down and gripping himself. He felt as if his loins were on fire.

  Her eyes widened as he ran his hand down his cock, and pulled upward with a twist of his wrist. It was all he could do to keep his eyes on her face. Not to look down her body.

  She sat up and her slender hands closed over his.

  “Do it again,” she whispered. A moment later she batted away his hand and took over, her hand surprisingly strong, pulling his cock just right.

  He forced his hands to stay still and allowed her to play with him however she wished. She stroked him, one hand clenching, the other wandering. Each time a groan erupted from his lips, she would repeat what she’d done less tentatively, until she had him trembling like a boy of fifteen, head thrown back, his entire body focused on the deep burn in his balls.

  Hell, the only mistress he’d had, years ago, hadn’t figured out how to pleasure him like this.

  When he couldn’t take it any longer, he shifted over her in one smooth movement, pushing her gently onto her back. “If you touch me like that much longer, I’ll come. I could do the same for you, and we can save the ravishing for another day.”

  “This isn’t ravishing?” Diana’s eyes were sparkling and her lips had the curve that he’d fallen in love with, as if joy was air she breathed.

  “I am ravished,” he said, meaning it.

  She pouted, an expression he’d never seen and instantly approved of, and said, “I want more.”

  His body flamed with the absolute determination to give her whatever she wanted.

  “Please, North.”

  Without hesitation, he shifted back, pried her luscious thighs apart, and lowered his head so that he could lick her. She tasted like tart honey, perfect Diana: fresh, lovely, and unlike any other woman.

  He banished that thought. He hadn’t had another woman since he met Diana. He didn’t even want to think about another woman, ever again.

  He concentrated on this moment, this pink, beautiful pussy in front of him, Diana squealing, writhing, grabbing his hair to hold him in place. Her hips arching in the air, her hands tightening, a breathless cry, another—

  Silence because she was shaking so hard she couldn’t make a sound. If he’d had to guess, he’d say that Diana was an expert in many things, but perhaps not in this.

  Sure enough . . .

  “What was that?” She sat upright, sweat-drenched hair, wild eyes, happy mouth.

  “That was the beginning.” He couldn’t wait any longer. “I’m going to make love to you now, so this is your last chance to avoid being ravished.”

  She fell backward. “If that was the beginning, I could never refuse.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Still, he bent over her, catching her eyes, because, damn it, they weren’t married. He was taking a risk, a gamble, and so was she. He was gambling with his heart, and she with the virtue that no one believed she still had.

  “Yes.” She sighed, and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. “Kiss me, North.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Diana and Rose had been young girls when their mother addressed the topic of conjugal intimacies with them. She had been brisk but detailed. Very detailed. She had bluntly told her daughters that she hadn’t married into the gentry by being a prude.

  “Your daughters can be prudish,” she had told them. “You still need to overcome the grocer.” That was how Mrs. Belgrave referred to her own father, as “the grocer.”

  Her mother’s instruction had gone on to detail the services a woman can offer her husband.

  So far this night, North was playing Diana’s body as if it were a violin, and Diana hadn’t used any of her expertise. Fragments of her mother’s advice drifted through her head.

  “He might wish to spurt on your breasts. Hold them like this.” Her mother had pressed her hands together. “Let him spank you.”

  North was smoothing a French letter onto himself, just as her mother had demonstrated on a cucumber.

  “Did you bring that with you?” she asked.

  He nodded, and gave her a smoldering but bluntly honest look. “I started carrying it lately. Just in case you allowed me to seduce you.”

  Given her sister’s experience, there was something to be said for waiting until marriage. Unless—Diana thought with a surge of independence—your reputation is already ruined, and you’ve turned down the only marriage proposal you’ve ever received. Twice.

  “Diana,” North said softly. He had secured the French letter and was hovering over her. “Are you quite certain?”

  Her smile came straight from her heart, meant for this thoughtful, intelligent, blindingly handsome man who had become a true friend in the last few days. A friend was so much better than a betrothed.

  “Yes,” she said. “I just want you to know that I will put all my expertise to work when I catch my breath. I know I haven’t been doing it right.”

  He had an odd look in his eyes. “There’s no right or wrong way.” When he finished kissing her again, they were both panting. Diana braced herself.

  Her mother had been very clear about this moment. “Scream whether it hurts or not,” she had said. “The man deserves your virginity, and sometimes the pain is a mere pinch. He expects it. Without the knowledge of your lost virginity, your marriage is already on the wrong footing.”

  She and Rose had looked at each other, mouths open. “It’s deranged,” she had told her sister later. “Your husband wants you to be in pain? Absolutely deranged.”

  “I’m ready.” She smiled at North, smiled because he would never want her to experience pain in the act of making love.

  Sure enough, he hesitated. “There may be some discomfort.”

  She burst into giggles. “I was just remembering that my mother told me to scream so you would know you got your money’s worth, to put it bluntly.”

  His jaw tightened, and he muttered something about her mother.

  Diana couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Do you know what happens to your breasts when you giggle?” North asked, his voice strangled.

  She looked down. “They wobble like pudding?”

  “I love pudding,” he murmured, moving his mouth to her breast. Diana forgot about giggling; heat blazed up her body, making her aware of sweat at the backs of her knees, and trembling in her fingers.

  Her legs fell apart and suddenly, North wasn’t doing enough. She needed more, she needed him, all of him, now. The fact she could feel his cock nudging her below made it worse.

  Her hands went to his shoulders and curled over all those muscles and then she arched toward him. She was breathing fast and shallow.

  “Easy,” North murmured, leaving one breast and switching to the other.

  Not easy.

  “Lie still.” He sucked hard. She couldn’t lie still. Even though her mother—

  Enough. She banished every thought of Mrs. Belgrave.

  “I can’t just lie here,” she gasped. Her hands slid down his back, loving the way corded muscles flexed under her fingers. “Please, North, please.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll l
ose control.” His voice growled from deep in his chest.

  “Please do.” She arched her back again, and he slid a little way inside.

  His brows knit. “I will go as slowly as I can, Diana. I’ve never felt . . .” His voice trailed off and she realized his braced arms were shaking.

  She wiggled impatiently. “Hell’s bells, North, what are you waiting for?”

  He choked out a laugh and thrust slowly forward. Pulled back and pushed again, and again, until finally his hard, heavy cock bumped home.

  Diana had never imagined anything like it. A wave of feeling spread out from her hips. He paused, eyes wild. He more than fit. He fit her, in every way possible.

  “Pain?” he rasped.

  “No! No.” And: “Please, North.”

  He drew back and lunged, his heat and weight sending another streak of feeling down her legs.

  “I love the way that feels,” she cried, when she had her breath.

  With a choked laugh, he pumped again, and again, and with every movement of his hips he buried himself inside her, and every time, the sensation spread through her. She couldn’t keep her legs flat on the bed. First she bent them, and even then they shook uncontrollably, until she wound them around his hips.

  When she arched her back, he bit back a curse, his eyes fixed on hers.

  “Too fast?” he growled.

  She shook her head.

  “Too strong?”

  “No!”

  He bent his head to her nipple again and sucked hard.

  Diana grabbed him, trying to find purchase on his sweat-slicked back, greedily welcoming the pleasure she felt with every thrust.

  Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she couldn’t get her breath. All she could do was cling to him, shuddering, a jolt running through her body every time he filled her.

  He dropped his forehead until it touched hers, a guttural moan breaking from his chest. “I’ve never felt anything like you, Diana. You’re killing me.”

  “Don’t stop,” she cried, only half listening because she was concentrating on the burning sensation in her limbs.

  She was vaguely aware of a bitten-off groan, but then he reared back, and one hand settled on her hip and pulled her up just enough so that he could pump into her at a deeper angle. Diana squeaked, need pulsing through her.

  Her breath was sobbing from deep in her chest when her legs began to pulse, frightening her a little. North leaned over. “Give it to me, Diana,” he ordered, that big hand holding her body up to meet his thrusts. “I want all of you.”

  “I can’t,” she sobbed, disoriented.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She forced them open. North was staring down at her, jaw taut. He thrust forward slowly, pressing down in a way that made her let out a little shriek. “Why not?” For all the uncontrolled ferocity in his eyes, his voice was tender. His throat corded with the strain of keeping himself still.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  A smile curled the edges of his lips. “Don’t ever be afraid of me, Diana.”

  “Not you,” she managed, and then, “Oh, God!” because he was slowly, slowly bearing down on her again, filling her up. She tensed, waiting for the moment when he was fully inside. Uncontrolled fire raced through her body.

  “No,” she sobbed. “It’s too much. I can’t.” Her legs were pulsing and she was close to being . . . to something frightening.

  North lowered himself onto his elbows, his body deep inside hers, and brushed his lips across hers. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling.”

  How could he say that? He was between her legs, filling her. He was looking at her as if she were the only woman in the world. As if he owned her. Loved her. He did love her. He said so.

  She was shaking.

  “Diana,” North said, kissing her again. “Do you want to stop?” His voice was hoarse, hungry for her, but calm too.

  That was North. “Your eyes are a beautiful dark blue,” she said, gasping.

  He waggled an eyebrow at her. “They’re only one color. Your eyes have two.”

  She was pulsing between her legs, her body sending frantic messages, but Diana ignored that for the moment. “When we were betrothed, I used to sneak glances at your body,” she gasped. She was sweating, so it was absurd to feel heat rising in her cheeks, but she did.

  North planted one hand on the bed and thrust forward again.

  Diana arched and cried out. Her body felt fluid, like water, like fire, rising to meet his, wringing grunts from his chest every time he pumped into her. He was relentless, savage with hunger and lust. She gritted her teeth, almost surrendered, caught herself, because . . .

  “I love the way this feels,” she gasped, her voice raw. Her fingers curled around his arms, holding him as tightly as she could.

  “Hell, Diana.” Something rasped in his voice. “You’re unmanning me.”

  “You don’t feel unmanned.” She rubbed against him like a wanton woman, shameless because it felt so good. The delight of it spread to her fingertips, reminding her that he was still there, connected to her. And if she tightened—

  This time his curse was a good deal harsher.

  “You can feel that?”

  His lips curled back from his teeth and he grunted. Diana smiled to herself and tightened again. He pulled back and buried himself to the hilt, again, again . . .

  The sensation wasn’t as terrifying this time. She kept her eyes on North’s face. He was braced on his elbows now, only his hips pumping slowly. It began building again, and she couldn’t stop herself from rising greedily to meet him, her fingernails clutching his forearms, their ragged breath interlocking.

  He was ravishing her and she loved it. It was worth every exhausting moment as a governess. “Do you know why this is so good?” she whispered.

  “Because it’s you,” North growled, not looking away from her eyes. “Because I’m making love to you.”

  “Because I’m not giving you this in order to lure you into marriage. Because we both—” She broke off with a sharp gasp.

  He lifted her hips again and drove into her. She couldn’t . . .

  The ripples she felt encompassed the two of them. She saw in his eyes, felt it in the sharp jerk of his body, the way he thrust faster, harder, making the feelings racking her body last longer, until her body spasmed and milked his over and over.

  When Diana let go, a shudder of relief, joy, plain damned lust, went through North like a bolt of lightning. When she finally quieted, head back, gasping, he carefully rolled the two of them so that she was on top. His expert was so tired that she didn’t sit up—in fact, he had the idea that she’d never imagined such a thing.

  She could ride him some other time. What he wanted was to be skin to skin, the weight of her trembling, sweet body anchoring him to the bed.

  When she raised her head, eyes hooded and satisfied, he rolled his hips up and watched her eyes widen. Her throaty giggle was heaven.

  He grabbed her head, winding his fingers into her hair, holding her still so he could slide his tongue into her mouth. “Next time we’re in the punt in the lake I’m going to lick all your honey until you scream into the open air,” he told her, his cock pumping up, filling her again and again. “Then I’m going to roll over on my back and you’re going to ease down on me, greedy for what I can give you.”

  “I’m greedy now,” she whispered.

  He filled his hands with her round ass and pumped, holding her tight so she couldn’t move, watching to make sure she didn’t wince.

  Her eyes fell to half mast.

  “Frightened?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  She clenched around him again, holding him in every way there was. Pure need cascaded through him.

  He flipped her at the last second so that he could pin her down with his solid bulk, own her, keep her, take her mouth. His lusty, independent girl. Not his duchess.

  His Diana.

  He let it all go, g
iving himself, spilled himself, heart and soul, deep inside her.

  “Hell’s bells,” she whispered, an eternity later. There was awe in her tone, exhausted pleasure.

  Love.

  He took care of the French letter, cleaned them both with a cool cloth . . . went to sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, Diana found Mabel unenthusiastically dusting the nursery. “Her Grace took both children to see the peacock.”

  The nursemaid’s eyes skated down Diana’s black dress and she shook her head. “You need to wear something different.” Mabel straightened, tucking the duster under her arm. “At breakfast this morning, we decided you still have a chance.”

  “‘A chance,’” Diana echoed. “What do you mean?”

  “A chance at being duchess,” Mabel said. “A chance at him, at Lord Roland.”

  Diana’s mouth fell open.

  “I know, it seems barmy, doesn’t it, after all that happened? But listen to me,” Mabel said, lifting a finger. “First thing, he’s a gentleman. More than others are, if you know what I mean. Not as wild as most of the Wildes. Right?”

  Diana nodded.

  A second finger. “He’s not angry. We thought as how he might get nasty about the fact you ran away, and about the boy, but he didn’t. He knows it all, and he doesn’t even care.”

  “Lord Roland is a remarkable man,” Diana said, nodding.

  “Third, and this is the important one, the man went unhinged over there in the colonies. You may not have seen it,” she said, in response to Diana’s frown, “but it’s the truth. You know Daisy, the upstairs maid? She says that he doesn’t ever sleep. And he doesn’t eat, either.”

  “I don’t think he’s unhinged, but even so, what has that to do with me?”

  “You were the one who told Chef to make those English dishes, weren’t you? Prism said that’s all he ate last night, the things you ordered. He’ll likely starve if you don’t marry him.”

  She raised her fourth finger. “No real lady is going to want him after the scandal. They all think he turned up your apron and then left you in the nursery.”