Too Wilde to Wed

by Eloisa James

  “If you conceive a child, we marry.”

  “Are you hoping it will happen that way?” Diana asked.

  “No,” he said. “But I would like one last memory. Unless you disagree?”

  Diana shook her head. “I too would like that,” she whispered.

  He undressed her as tenderly as any devoted lady’s maid and laid her on the bed. Being completely naked when a man in formal attire stood by was shiveringly erotic.

  “Diana.” North’s voice made her toes curl. It was deep and dark and full of promises.

  “Yes?” Diana rolled onto her stomach and dropped her head over the side of the bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Pulling the pins from my hair,” she answered. “If I shake my head like this, I can get rid of most of the powder.”

  She wriggled a few more times, making sure to tilt her arse into the air. Then she edged fully back onto the bed, rolled over, and raised her hands to give her hair a final shake. A bosom as generous as hers was at its best when her arms were over her head.

  “Bloody hell,” North grated, staring down at her. “Every time I have the upper hand, you find a way to counter me, don’t you?”

  She smiled and drew her fingers through her hair again, letting it fall around her on the pillow.

  “You are a little devil,” North said hoarsely, coming down on one knee. “I need to tame you.”

  Diana laughed aloud at that one.

  Then he explained how sweet and cold the pudding was, and how it reminded him of her breasts, and she fell silent, caught in an erotic haze. She enjoyed every moment as North painted her breasts with delicious blancmange and then licked it off, pretending to ignore her gasps and wriggles.

  “Oh, look at these nipples,” he crooned. “So red, so abused. We’d better cool them down again.” So he did. Diana could scarcely remember her own name by then. She kept trying to pull him down to the bed, but he evaded her.

  She pleaded and begged, but he merely held up the bowl and looked her over. “I wonder where else you might enjoy a cooling sensation?”

  Diana promptly allowed her legs to fall apart.

  “Are you asking for something, Miss Belgrave?”

  “Hell’s bells, North,” she cried, losing all control, “give me that bowl, won’t you?”

  “All you had to do was ask.”

  She kept her eyes on his face, slid her finger through the pudding, and applied it to the hottest part of her body. It felt so good that she let out an involuntary moan.

  North responded with a good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon oath. He put a knee on the bed, but she held up her hand.

  “Remove your clothing, if you please.”

  She swirled her finger while she watched the most beautiful man at the ball disrobe. She pressed down as his breeches flew to the ground. A thin line of hair bisected his muscled stomach, leading to his tool.

  Cock, he called it.

  He pulled her legs apart, and replaced her finger with his tongue.

  And later, his tongue with something else.

  “I love pudding,” she murmured in the middle of the night, when the castle had quieted and the musicians were gone.

  “I love you,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear the words.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  North woke the next morning curled around a sleeping Diana. He got out of bed, taking care not to wake her, and hauled on his breeches, thinking about all the vows he’d made to himself that he had broken. Making love again hadn’t changed anything as far as those vows were concerned.

  Diana hadn’t enjoyed herself during the ball, for all she danced with every man available. Even from afar, he could tell. Lady Gray wouldn’t pay for her niece to have her own establishment; why would she?

  But he would. In fact, it was the only thing he would accept. Diana needed a house of her own. He could send that young footman, Peter, along with her, because he trusted Peter and she would need help. Perhaps Frederick too. Not Mabel.

  Maybe—

  No.

  He would give her a house and an annual allowance, and then he would leave for Rome, and not visit her until he was married. Perhaps after he had children.

  Diana’s eyes opened then and she smiled at him. He couldn’t bring himself to smile in reply because, damn it, there were limits to a man’s endurance. A rumpled Diana, with swollen lips, skin reddened by his stubble, and sleepy pleasure in her eyes?

  “We must discuss your future,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  She blinked, and pulled herself upright, tugging at the sheet to cover herself with. It didn’t quite reach her breasts, so he pulled it free.

  “I don’t believe you’ll enjoy living with Lady Gray,” he said, pushing away the idea that he might have seen her breasts for the last time.

  “Artie will be awake, if she isn’t already,” Diana said, avoiding the topic. “She sometimes wakes at dawn.”

  “She is no longer your responsibility,” North stated. “Your reputation is restored, and ergo, so is mine. Being seen caring for Artie, when there are so many guests in the castle, would be to undo those repairs.”

  Diana nodded.

  “You risk confirming the rumors that I trapped you into servitude,” he added.

  “I understand.”

  “You must behave like any other guest in the castle. That means archery this afternoon, dinner and card games tonight. Whatever Ophelia has planned.”

  “I understand,” she said again. Her voice was dull, and everything in North rebelled. But he couldn’t seduce her again; last night shouldn’t have happened.

  Diana climbed out of bed, went to the basin, and poured water from the pitcher. North silently watched her wash herself, a rough cloth passing over all the places he’d licked and kissed and caressed the night before.

  But for quiet splashes when Diana rinsed the cloth, the room was silent.

  She put on a chemise and stays, and then pulled a yellow morning dress over her head. It wasn’t saffron-yellow, but softer, the color of cowslips in springtime.

  Still, he sat silently, watching with hungry eyes as he memorized every soft curve. The way she lifted her silky hair from the neck of her chemise. The way she drew the strings of her stays together, and how it supported her breasts. The way her gown’s bodice complemented the swell of her breasts.

  Only when she began brushing the last of the powder from her hair did he find words and return to the subject he’d raised earlier. “You won’t be happy living with Lady Gray.”

  “I may marry in the near future.” Her tone was indifferent. She had once told him that she would marry only for love. He choked back a response.

  “If I am not enjoying life with Lady Gray,” she said, looking into the glass but not meeting his eyes there, “I shall leave, but I would never take money from you, North, if that’s what you are intending to offer.”

  The firm, set lines of her face made him want to howl as no gentleman should. “You are my responsibility.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “I want to buy a house in the country for you. I’ll send Peter with you, to ensure your safety.”

  “You have no responsibility for myself or Godfrey,” she said, steadily brushing her hair, as if the conversation was trivial.

  “If I had never asked for your hand, would you be in this situation?”

  “What is the point of that sort of thinking?” she asked. “If I hadn’t refused Archibald, would Rose be alive? My mother thinks so.” Her voice grew tight.

  “Your mother is deranged.”

  “If you hadn’t called up a regiment, would those boys you told me about be alive?”

  “Perhaps not,” North said.

  “I was not for sale when my mother tried to sell me to a Scotsman, and I am not on the market now,” she said. “You have absolutely no responsibility for me whatsoever.”

  North stood up and went to the window, his back turned. “Is
anything to be gained from splitting hairs?” he said, wheeling around. “I saw you; I lusted after you; I bought you with a combination of my rank and wealth. Your mother was angry when you spoiled the transaction.”

  Diana’s self-respect strangled any response she could have made in her own defense. She wasn’t for sale, but the wax doll her mother had created? That Diana had been for sale. North had bought her. He was right.

  To hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes, she bent over and pulled on her stockings. She used to think North was an unbending poker of a man. Now she knew he was all that on the surface, and a protective, primitive warrior underneath.

  “This is all the fault of my impulsiveness, and has nothing to do with you,” she said, once she had her emotions under control and her stockings in place. “I ran away from you, thinking only to save Godfrey. We both know it was a foolish decision—as was allowing Lady Knowe to believe Godfrey was yours.”

  She moved toward the door. “I must go down to breakfast.”

  “Three hundred a year? And a house, or even just a cottage?”

  She froze, a hand on the latch. Three hundred pounds? Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have known what that meant. That was when she was an heiress, able to buy any frivolous pair of shoes that took her fancy.

  Now she knew differently. With three hundred pounds and a cottage, she could live comfortably with Godfrey. The blaze of longing that accompanied the thought was the final straw in her humiliation.

  When she turned around, North’s face was blurred from the tears that came with rage, or at least that’s what she told herself. Somehow she had been stumbling along, hanging on to her self-respect. Telling herself that she had had no choice when she agreed to be a governess.

  Would he pay visits to the house he was paying for? Probably not, because he was a decent man. If he did, they would go to bed together, because she couldn’t be in the same room without thinking of it.

  Even now, erotic longing clawed at her. She wanted him. She wanted to fall backward on the bed and pull up her gown and chemise, let her legs fall open. She wanted him to pounce on her with his thick, hot length and . . . and service her.

  A cottage in the country, and North walking in the back door, that glint in his eyes?

  Hell’s bells. Yes.

  No.

  The three hundred pounds would come at a terrible price, for herself and Godfrey. She took her rage and let it fill all the fearful, aching, lonely spaces in her heart that seemed to have imprinted themselves with North’s image.

  “I admit that I took this position under false pretenses. I gave no thought to how it would affect your reputation. But I have worked hard for my wage. No one has ever given me money.”

  He moved toward her as she blinked away the tears. “We’re friends, Diana. Friends. Why can’t I help you?”

  “No.”

  “What else can you—” He sounded exasperated.

  “I am not that woman,” she snapped, trying to stop him from saying whatever he had in mind.

  A look of horror crossed his face. “I would never ask you to be my mistress.”

  His recoil shouldn’t have felt like an insult. In fact, if she had been capable of it, she would have been amused by the evident distaste on his face.

  “I know that,” she answered. “But nothing that has happened between us requires you to be responsible for me.”

  “My rank made it impossible for you to refuse my offer of marriage,” he said, obstinate as a mule.

  Diana almost laughed. “If my mother hadn’t been blackmailing me, you would have been refused so quickly that your wig would have spun around.” Then she flinched. Would she never learn to hold her tongue and not say the first thing that came to mind?

  “I see,” he said stiffly, the future Duke of Lindow very much in evidence. “Is that why you gave such little weight to your promise to wed me?”

  “I would have kept my promise, under ordinary circumstances.” By which she meant, if she’d wanted to marry him.

  If she hadn’t been forced by her mother.

  If she’d loved him.

  His eyes, furiously angry now, were locked on hers. “What if we had married? Would you have played me false because you didn’t really mean your vows, owing to these ‘out of the ordinary circumstances’?”

  “No!”

  A harsh sound came from his throat. “I don’t believe you. You took the easiest road, allowing people to believe what they wished, and the devil with the consequences. It was easier for you to accept my hand than not, so you did so, telling yourself your promise wasn’t important, because of ‘circumstances.’ When I no longer served your purpose, you left without farewell or explanation.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It was easier for you to tell my aunt that your nephew was mine, rather than tell the truth. There are those who would say that you sacrificed my reputation as a man and a gentleman in order to allow you and the child to live in comfort in my family’s home.”

  “You think—” she cried, and stopped. She had done all those things, though they hadn’t been easy. None of it had been comfortable. “I meant to marry you, and I would have been faithful,” she said, her voice shaking.

  His eyes met hers, level. They weren’t contemptuous or bitter. He had assessed her—and she had been found lacking.

  If anything, he looked sad.

  Nausea washed over her.

  “It’s not really your fault,” he said, as if he could hear her thoughts.

  She couldn’t find words. North pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and blotted a tear from her cheek. “I apologize,” he said, sounding tired. “My emotions are overwrought. My lack of insight is no excuse for behaving like an ass.”

  “It didn’t cross my mind to leave you a letter, but I shall always regret my lapse.”

  In another man, that might have been a recoil. His eyes turned a shade darker.

  “All my attention was on Godfrey,” she added desperately, her stomach twisting. No matter what she said, she seemed to be making it worse and worse. She hated that he was making her feel not just humiliated and apologetic, but crushed. And yet she felt she deserved every word he said.

  “Whereas all my attention was on you,” North said, between clenched teeth. Then, abruptly, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he stepped forward and drew her into his arms. His kiss was violent and possessive. Their tongues warred, making her body ache so that she writhed against him.

  Her back thumped against the door and the wood creaked again as he thrust his hips against her. Again and again, until she was aching for him to tear open his breeches and thrust inside, holding her so tightly that she wouldn’t have to make a decision and could simply surrender to the moment. To the pleasure.

  But he stopped the kiss as abruptly as he had begun it.

  Diana fell back against the door, one hand instinctively coming to her lips. They felt hot and swollen. North stared back at her, his face once again unreadable.

  “I will support you and the boy, Diana,” he stated, his voice harsh. “If you need anything, anything, you will write to me, and no one but me.”

  Her breath was so lost somewhere in her ribs that she couldn’t shriek at him, which was just as well. The children were not far away.

  “I will never again treat you as any less than the lady you are.” He sounded as if he was making a promise to himself.

  North might promise to treat her as a lady, but his promise was as thin as hers to marry him. He had kissed her as if he couldn’t control himself. The night before, in a fog of champagne and desire, she had grabbed the pudding, and had done—other things.

  Unladylike things.

  He opened the door and strode down the corridor without a backward glance.

  If he were to hide her away in a cottage, it would be found out. He was dreaming if he thought a sordid fact like that would remain a secret for long.

  Even worse, she suspected they woul
d be unable to resist each other. She’d be damned if she let him turn her into a notoriously fallen woman—again.

  The fact she had loved every sinful moment they’d spent together?

  Not the point. Women loved all sorts of things that were bad for them. She smoothed her skirt with trembling fingers.

  Rose would have wanted Diana to raise Godfrey with love, even if love came with uncertainty and dirt. Diana had no particular fondness for hard work, but it was tolerable.

  Intolerable would be if she—if North kissed her like that again, after she had taken money from him.

  She had to get out. Now.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The next day

  “I don’t wish to live with you and Lady Gray,” Diana told Lavinia. Her cousin’s face fell. “I am so grateful that my reputation is restored. I truly am. But I don’t want to marry the Baron of Houston, nor dance with him again. I’m not made for this life.”

  “Because you are in love with North?”

  Diana was folding Godfrey’s shirts and putting them in a valise. “No.” She looked up. “Did you enjoy the ball?”

  Lavinia scowled. “Parth Sterling was rude to me.”

  “Why does that always happen?” Diana asked. “He is such a gentleman to me, and I mean that in the best of ways.”

  “He saves his true self for me,” Lavinia said, then shook her head. “Enough of him. If you don’t live with us, Diana, where will you go? Obviously, I will support you and Godfrey. No more governessing.”

  “I don’t mind work,” Diana said.

  “I mind you doing it,” Lavinia retorted. “I don’t ever want to see you in a dress like that black rag again.”

  “I thought I might live in Manchester,” Diana said, avoiding the subject of work. “It’s not terribly far away. I can bring Godfrey to pay visits to Artie.”

  “But not when North is in residence,” Lavinia said shrewdly.

  “It wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

  Lavinia pressed her lips together, thinking it over. “I shall accompany you to Manchester,” she said, finally. “I must know that you and Godfrey are safely housed before Mother and I return to London.”