by Thea Devine
It was an imponderable question, heightened now by Innocenta's insistence Wick would choose her, and by Jenise's own deliberate and calm silence. It only served to enrage Innocenta more as she emptied the decanter and continued her rant.
And finally, she sank back into her chair, and Jenise put out her hand, and said gently, "Did it never occur to you that someone—Wick—might be able to see us and hear everything we say?"
Innocenta paled and choked.
And Ellingham appeared just outside the shadows.
"Chaste, my dear, come. It is your turn to meet Wick."
******************
She had of course seen him from afar now and again. But up close, the lines of dissipation and weariness were that much more pronounced on his angular, ascetic, and extremely handsome face.
He was tall, well but plainly dressed, and so bored, it seemed, as he hunkered down in a worn leather chair, that he didn't even condescend to look at her as she entered the room.
She had been dreading this? A spoiled, jaded, and patronizing nobleman without grace or manners or even commonplace politeness?
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This was a one with whom she could deal. And Innocenta could have him. A lifetime of legacy could not pay her to consider wedding him. The first cut was done, and it remained only to see the path by which she could exact some penance for his seduction of Julia.
"You did well to hold your peace with that virago." His voice startled her; it was rich as syrup and honeyed as a hive. Danger lived in that voice, and a thousand surrendered hearts.
So she had divined the truth. Everything in this manor was bent to his perversions, and nothing was secure or secret from him. Truly, it didn't do to underestimate him at all.
She held her tongue, and Wick slowly eased himself up from the chair to get a better look at her.
Up close, he was not a little intimidating. There was something in his height, in his face, in his opaque black eyes. He walked around her, viewing her form from every angle, and stepped away from her so that he could see her face and her figure taken as a whole.
"Chaste, is it?" He moved directly in front of her. "Are you? Chaste?" He cupped her chin and lifted her head one way and the other. His touch was hot, his fingers long and strong and commanding against her skin. So he would be in his life—strong and commanding. And too easily distracted.
"I am not a melon to be poked and prodded to test my ripeness, my lord. Mr. Eliingham has done a thorough job of that. And that should be your answer."
He let go of her abruptly. "Ah, so it has a voice—and some spleen, too. But that is the point, my dear Chaste. To poke and prod your virgin fruit, else why are you here?"
Oh, now was not the moment to cave under that voice and those eyes. Now was the time to stand up to his nonsense, his sense of entitlement. Now, now, now—
"Why am I here, my lord? You have had your fill of women to last an eternity. You surely cannot have summoned me merely to observe my face or my demeanor. Mr. Eliingham vetted those already. Tell me what you require of me, and we shall go on from there."
162 / Thea Devine
"Oh, my lady Chaste is quite the romantic," Wick drawled. "Can't wait to drop her drawers and let me fondle the merchandise. If my lady is even wearing drawers. Which I would think she is not." He circled around her again, appraising her from every angle. "No, this chaste mistress has quite the curvaceous figure under that narrow skirt; quite the trim ankle; and a delicious, swanlike neck. Quite clever the way you have neatly outfitted your body to excite a man's interest. I think I am taken with such forethought. So considerate of my pleasure, when I've gone without it for so long. Yes, I think ..."
He cupped her chin and lifted her face. "I think Ellingham was exactly right..." Slid his hand down to stroke her throat. "A man's pleasure ..." Slid his hand still farther to rest on the swell of her breasts. "... a man's pleasure is incalculable when he's foresworn it for weeks in order to possess such white-hot purity..."
He stared into her eyes. "Such white-hot fury ... such ..." His fingers rooted in her bodice and found one taut nipple, that stiffened as he caressed it. "... a hot, luscious nipple...."
Her body shuddered with shock at the first feeling of a man's fingers invading a private place. She utterly froze, her mind shifting apart from her body, almost as if it couldn't contain the reality of what he was doing, and even though she had known it would come to something like this at the outset.
But how could anyone be prepared for something like this?
Not an inexperienced woman alive could be prepared for this:
his will and his whim worked on her body however he
wanted, wherever he wanted, whatever he wished to do with
her.
Things I can never tell...
She felt as if she were standing outside herself, watching, assessing, forcibly keeping restraining her first strong impulse to flee.
Here, at this moment, the question must be answered—just what was she willing to do, how much was she willing to bare—of her body, of her nature, and her soul—to exact revenge?
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It was far easier to contemplate than to experience the reality; she wasn't experienced enough to know how to repress her shame and repugnance as he expertly fondled her breast and watched her, a fox savoring the fear of the doe.
But worst of all, that which was meant to disgrace and degrade her instead generated intense feelings of swamping pleasure within her, and that was the most unexpected, the most horrifying thing—that sumptuous sensation emanating from his flicking his fingers back and forth all over her virgin nipple.
She was transfixed by it, seduced by it, helpless in the face of it; her body went weak, and some other sensation, utterly foreign, spiraled downward from the pressure of his fingers like liquid silver.
And then he didn't move; just held her there like that, his fingers surrounding her nipple, as if he knew, as if he was completely aware of the stunning shaft of pleasure still piercing her deep in her core.
She felt naked, wholly and completely naked. She felt invaded, and she felt the power of her body and what it could do, what it was meant to do. A woman's secrets, the things men knew by which they had seduced every willing woman since Eve. Empires had fallen for this, women enslaved themselves for this.
And this was but the first taste of what was to come.
This was the moment where there was no turning back, the place where she had to commit her mind and body to whatever excesses he might demand of her, where she had to shake off the paralyzing and decimating fear of the unknown and surrender to the inevitability of what was to come.
This was the turning point. He was watching her closely, seeing every nuance of feeling that played across her face, knowing what his caress of her nipple made her feel. She could hardly think straight—she hadn't expected this, not at all— could never have conceived of this slow, lush seduction by this one hard point of pleasure she never knew existed.
"Ah, Chaste, you are a revelation," Wick murmured. 'There is nothing like the hard, hot thrust of a virgin nipple....
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I need to see that which gives me so much pleasure...." He waited a moment, a palpable beat in the thick silence of the room, to see if she would protest.
She held herself preternaturally still; this was the moment of no return, and she made no protest as he pushed aside the frill of her bodice and pulled the thin gauze down over her breast.
Heat suffused her body, tingeing her neck, her breast. Her exposed nipple tightened still more as she stared down at it as if it were something alien.
But it was—it was a thing apart from her, with a sensational greed all its own that was mindlessly seductive—a thing if virgins knew, they would throw themselves on a man's mercy and do anything for one naked caress.
Things he did I'll never tell...
Oh dear heaven—this? Of course, this—and so much
more. ..
She closed her eyes. This. Part and parcel of all the things she did not know, and would soon find out. And what next, what?
"You must let me nip and lick," he murmured as he gazed at her nipple, and then, as she said nothing, just stared at him with flashing eyes, he bent his head to her breast and slowly took the nipple into his mouth and compressed his firm lips around the hard tip.
The liquid silver turned molten between her legs, hot and thick and melting like tallow as he expertly sucked and squeezed her nipple ... the way he must have expertly sucked and squeezed and licked and tugged ... pulling the pleasure from deep inside her, inside who?—until it was something tangible, explosive, and sweet.
And then, as he sucked hard on her nipple one last time, her body caved; he caught her with one arm, never relinquishing his possession of her nipple as he pulled every last ounce of pleasure from her with his mouth and tongue, and she hung onto him as if he were her savior.
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But this was no savior; as he slowly eased his mouth from her breast, all she saw was a certain triumph in his eyes, and she instantly turned cold and pushed him away. This was commonplace for him, women melting for him like that. Women fell all over him, displayed themselves for him, begged him to do exactly what he had just done to her, responded in the same way, holding him and fawning all over him for his skill with his lips and tongue.
This was not for her, to be one of them. She must not lose sight of that in the maelstrom of new sensations that threatened to overcome her reason. He would know just how to make any of them capitulate; he would win them over with his hands and his mouth, with his body, with their desire to do anything he wanted in the name of getting him a son, and getting themselves a life of luxury predicated on fifty thousand a year.
They—no, she alone—must never forget this was a man bent on finding a virgin sow, and responsive nipples were presumably low on the list of attributes he required of the mother of his heir.
"Don't cover up that succulent nipple," Wick said, coming at her as she began to set her gown to rights. "You will sit—at the edge of the desk, I think—and allow me to admire it."
Damn the man; this part of the test was not yet over? She felt the edge of the desk hit her thighs and she braced herself against it.
"Yes, this is good, your back arches just so, your nipple entices me yet again. It is no small thing for me to desire a woman's breast so quickly after I have had it, Chaste. And yet, I'm avid to suck the other one, to see if that nipple is as hard and—come—let your untutored hands bare that luscious breast to me."
She took a deep, shuddering breath. This was it—she wanted to flee; she wanted to stay. She wanted to feel his mouth on her breast again, to feel those mind-sapping sensations of pleasure and submission that even at this moment warred with her flaming desire to bring him down.
166 / Thea Devine
Who knew? What sheltered virgin could ever know? This was the commitment, the moment, the now—
The things I did I'll never tell...
She slowly lifted her hands and pulled the bodice away from her breast.
Chapter four
He was not done with them yet. Jenise and Virtuosa sat primly at the dining room table, not even acknowledging the other was there, while Ellingham escorted Innocenta to Wick.
It was the most hateful thing, for Wick to take each of them on in private while the other two waited, knowing, imagining all that he might do in the name of his will and his whim.
How had he tested Virtuosa? What would he do with Innocenta? Jenise furiously shook off the thought. Don't play his game; that was what he wanted, for them to be curious, competitive, combative. They were the final three after all. He must choose one. So keeping them together in the aftermath of his first test of their tolerance of his advances was meant to make them all the more eager to please him and best the others.
Dear heaven, it was a wicked and wily devil they were dealing with.
How did one deal with the devil when he had all the sensual power to render them wax in his hands?
She couldn't stand the suspense, or Eliingham's amused glance as he rejoined them at the table.
"Dessert, my ladies? Wick is particularly fond of strawberries and clotted cream."
Jenise slanted a covert glance at Virtuosa; Virtuosa of the stone-hard determined look in her burning eyes.
168 / Thea Devine
They all meant to win, to become his bride. And he could only choose one of them.
What was he doing to Innocenta? Innocenta who was certain she would be the one ... was he tasting her nipples now? Sucking them and tugging them as hard as he had hers, demanding of Innocenta everything he had taken from her?
Self-absorbed Innocenta—would she please him with her virginal worldliness or would her temper come to the fore?
No, of all of them, Innocenta had the most invested in pulling a proposal from Wick. She would not do anything that would cause him to reject her.
What was he doing with Innocenta?
Stop it! she told herself. She ought not care. Her emotions were not at risk in this. But dear heaven, she had not expected to feel this thrill of rivalry with these women. She hadn't expected to be so utterly seduced into giving Wick her breasts. She had expected to resist and repel him, she had expected to make him work for the privilege of even touching her.
How naive was that? And even worse, she had never expected the shimmering, shattering sensations he aroused just by sucking at her. That was more shocking than anything. It had taken nothing at all for her body to betray her, and Wick was such a master, she had never seen it coming.
And the sheer hell of it was, she secretly yearned for more.
Why did no one ever tell them?
Now that she knew, she was in a deeper place with this plan of revenge than ever she had contemplated. And more susceptible to him than any of them. Pleasure and anger went too well hand in hand and at any given moment, one easily overrode the other.
And she wanted to win. How could she win, divided as she was like that? She must win. For a dozen good reasons, and half of them to do with his too-easy conquest of her breasts. She vowed she would win, no matter what he required of her, no matter what she had to do.
And so, she was intensely heartened to see that Innocenta
Her Lord and Master / 169
returned to the table much sooner than had either she or Virtuosa, with Wick following at a leisurely pace behind.
"So," he said, seating himself at the opposite end of the table from Ellingham, "I trust you've called for dessert."
"I had assumed you'd had that," Ellingham said, casting him a knowing glance, "but it seems you've only dined on the first course."
"A luscious first course nonetheless," Wick murmured. "The appetizer can be amazingly filling to a starving man. But now—dessert... my favorite, I trust."
"We are served even as you speak," Ellingham said, nodding as Mrs. Wilton entered bearing a large silver tray on which there were five cut-glass plates, and two serving bowls full of fruit and cream. These were set out and she retired from the room while Ellingham served.
This was a play, Jenise thought, and he and Ellingham had done some variation of this scene throughout Wick's libidinous career. Ellingham was too well versed at it, and Wick had that smug, satisfied look of a cat waiting to leap and lap.
What would his next whim be? One could easily imagine— one or all of them naked and laid out on the table, perhaps, all covered in cream ...
No—dear Lord, such an unladylike, such a salacious thought; it had to be the atmosphere, thick with anticipation and nuances, and each of them with her own approach to him, her own sense of what had just transpired between them.
What had that man done to her? And if he could do it to the most skeptical of virgins, someone like herself who abhorred and despised him, how had someone like Julia stood any chance against him?
He must be paid in hi
s own coin. She could not let the fact she was in this isolated place with no witnesses to her own weakness sway her desire to bring him down.
That was the point. That was the promise.
... He was speaking, and she hadn't heard a word.
"Come, my beauties, I need to taste cream on your tongue. A creamy kiss for me. Who will come to me first?"
170 / Thea Devine
Now there was reticence. Now neither Virtuosa or Innocenta rushed to the front of the line. And Jenise was so immersed in her own thoughts, she barely comprehended what he was saying.
"Chaste, then, I will taste Chaste's kisses first," Wick decreed. "Come to me here, Chaste, and give me your tongue."
She rose up slowly, aware of the vicious looks she was getting from Virtuosa and Innocenta, as she made her way to Wick's side.
He lifted his bowl full of fruit and cream and spooned off a dollop of cream. "Lick that, right on the tip of your tongue, don't swallow ..." as she made a move to retract her tongue. "Now bend your head to me—just so ..." He slanted his head and met her tongue with his own, foraging and sucking cream from the tip, and then hotly enveloping her mouth with his.
She almost swooned at the shocking heat, and total subjugation of her tongue to his; she braced her hands against his chest, and he caught her just at her knees. As he deepened into the kiss, she felt his hands sliding down her legs and working the hem of her dress up, until he could stroke her naked flesh.
She shuddered at his touch, but he wouldn't relinquish her mouth.
Nor did she want him to; she liked it too much, and she felt a pure revulsion at the fact that she liked it that much.
And then she felt the shock of his hot hand sliding up her legs to her bottom, felt him cup the soft flesh, and feel the firm set of her buttocks. Felt him stroking them lightly, coaxingly, all over so that she didn't want to move, didn't even feel that this was any kind of violation, felt as if she had been waiting her whole life for some man to discover this precious erotic point of her body.
How did he know—how could he know how much her body loved this light, lush touch; how everything inside her seemed to liquefy as he continued his beguiling fondling of her bottom?
