Wicked Christmas (Regency Sinners 8)

by Carole Mortimer

  Her arms moved up to encircle his shoulders, her fingers digging into the material of his superfine as he suckled her nipples into his mouth, one at a time, teeth gently biting, his tongue a rough rasp against that highly sensitive flesh. At the same time, long and firm fingers parted the slit of her drawers, along with the petals of her cunny, seeking out the swollen nubbin there, before stroking it in the same rhythm as he sucked on her nipples.

  It was—

  Dear God, it was delicious!

  Pleasure unlike anything Monique had ever felt before or even knew existed until this moment.

  “Please,” she groaned, neck arching, as the culmination of that building pleasure seemed to be just out of her reach. “Please!” She moved restlessly on the chaise, seeking, needing… God, how she needed!

  She had every reason to believe Martin needed that same release too as she saw how his thickened cock pushed against the front of his pantaloons.

  Martin had known he was attracted to Monique, but he had not planned nor intended this to happen between them today. Or any other day! But he had gone too far now to stop. To want to stop. He could deal with the repercussions of his behavior later.

  Much later.

  He released her nipple, its swollen redness slick with his saliva. “Part your legs,” he encouraged gruffly. “A little more,” he instructed, watching how his fingers stroking over her plump labia lips produced a fresh gush of her creamy juices.

  He gathered up some of that rich cream to stroke higher, continuing to watch as the press and kneading of her erect and swollen clitoris caused that tiny organ to pulse and throb.

  He licked his lips in anticipation. “Drape your legs over my shoulders,” he encouraged as his head lowered and his tongue had its first taste of that thick cream. It was both deliciously salty and sweet at the same time, and utterly addictive as he began to suckle and lap in earnest.

  Monique was aware of nothing else but Martin’s tongue lashing and then sucking the sensitive bud between her thighs, building the pleasure to an unbearable level, one in which she was sure she was about to explode.

  As his other hand recaptured her nipples, squeezing and rolling the turgid flesh, she did explode.

  Hot and uncontrollable waves of pleasure washed over her for long, unimagined minutes, fanning out from her core to take possession of the whole of her body, but centered on that pulsing nubbin still held captive in Martin’s mouth.

  It was beyond anything—

  Monique tensed, eyes widening, as a knock sounded on the door.

  “Would you and Miss Dupre care for a tray of tea before I leave, Dr. Easton?” the housekeeper enquired into the tense silence.

  The darkness of Martin’s gaze held Monique’s captive as he answered his housekeeper. “Miss Dupre will also be leaving shortly. But thank you for offering.”

  She was being dismissed, Monique realized as she broke free of that dark gaze and allowed her legs to slide from over Martin’s shoulders. She sat up before hastily standing to straighten her undergarments, continuing to avoid meeting that coal-black gaze as she quickly gathered up and pulled the gown on over the dampness of her drawers and chemise.

  “Monique—”

  “Do not say so much as a word. Or touch me again,” she warned through gritted teeth as she stepped away from him to refasten the back of her gown as best she could unassisted. Even the lightest touch of Martin’s hand might shatter the thin veneer she currently held over her motions.

  “I deeply regret—”

  “Save your regrets.” Her chin rose. “I will not, of course, reveal any of this to the duke or duchess. I am sure they, at least, put value on your abilities as a doctor. If you will excuse me?”

  Martin could only stand and watch as Monique swept from the room with every ounce of ladylike refinement one might expect of the Duchess of Stonewell herself.

  What had possessed him to behave in such an unprofessional manner with Monique?

  What had he done?

  Chapter 8

  Monique was intensely relieved to learn Martin Easton was not to be a guest at Stonewell Park for dinner again that evening. It would be difficult enough for her to keep up a façade of holiday cheer during the long-drawn-out meal with the seven titled gentlemen and their wives without the added strain of having to do so in front of the doctor too.

  Much as Monique tried not to think of the events of this morning as she dressed for dinner, those thoughts kept creeping inside her head until she could ignore them no longer. And every time they did, she was beset with memories of the intimate touch of Martin’s hands and mouth on her body. Of the way in which he had taken complete control of her and her pleasure.

  While taking none for himself.

  It was this fact which Monique puzzled over the most. She knew little of physical intimacy between men and women, but from the gossip she had heard in the households she had visited with the duchess in the past, or that she had overheard between the society ladies, it had sounded as if most men were more concentrated on their own pleasure than that of the woman they were making love with.

  Martin had not done that.

  Oh, there was no doubting he was a man who would have enjoyed controlling her pleasure. Monique knew him well enough to recognize that control for what it was. But he had not attempted to free his own thickened cock, nor to have her do it for him. Instead, he had concentrated solely on bringing Monique to release.

  Of course, they had been interrupted by Mrs. Hodges, but even so, Monique would have thought—

  “You seem very lost in thought this evening…”

  Monique gave herself a mental shake before turning to smile at the intuitive and discerning Duchess of Stonewell. That lady had sat down in the chair next to Monique’s, the guests all once again gathered in the drawing room as they waited to be called in to dinner. “Dr. Easton believes I need to wear glasses.” She chose the safest subject of distraction regarding her visit to the doctor’s surgery earlier today, knowing the duchess was bound to be curious as to its outcome.

  The other woman’s brows rose. “Is that the reason for the severity of your headaches?”

  “The doctor believes so, yes.”

  The duchess laughed. “If that is what he said, then no doubt it is the truth of it. I have complete faith in Dr. Easton’s diagnosis, no matter what my husband’s opinion of the man might be.” She shot the duke a teasing glance as he stood across the room chatting with several of the other gentlemen, a look he answered with a questioning raise of one dark brow.

  “The duke does not share your confidence in the doctor’s abilities?” Monique prompted curiously.

  “Oh, I am sure that he does.” The duchess gave another chuckle. “It is only that my husband does not like the thought of any other gentleman examining me intimately, even if he is a doctor, as is necessary when a lady is expecting a child.”

  Monique’s brow cleared at this explanation. She could well imagine the duke, as possessive as he was of his wife, would find such an intimate examination of her unacceptable. She changed the subject to one less controversial. “It does not seem possible that tomorrow is Christmas Day.”

  The duke having insisted upon refunding her the money she had paid the prison guard to help bring about her release, Monique had lingered in the town for another hour or so after her visit to Martin Easton’s surgery so that she could buy small presents for each of the children currently residing in the Stonewells’ nursery. To buy ones for the adults of the party seemed presumptuous on her part, given her previous role as lady’s maid, but she felt sure none here would object to her buying inexpensive gifts for their offspring.

  “I should like to return to London immediately the holiday is over,” she now told the duchess in a firm voice.

  The other woman frowned. “Does the doctor think you well enough to travel again so soon?”

  “I did not ask him.” The firmness of her tone implied neither would she.

  The duch
ess bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. “I do not believe the good doctor has made any more favorable impression on you than he has my husband.”

  “Martin Easton is…exceedingly arrogant.”

  The other woman bit back another laugh. “But arrogant gentlemen can, I have discovered, possess an attraction that is uniquely their own.” She gave her husband another affectionate glance. “That arrogance can become a challenge in and of itself to the discerning lady.” She eyed Monique curiously.

  She was well aware of that, still could not believe the coldly remote Martin Easton had caressed and kissed her in places no other man had ever seen, let alone touched.

  She was also totally aware of the duchess’s assessing glance. “Thankfully, there will be no reason for me to ever need to see the doctor again once I return to London.”

  “You—”

  Both ladies turned to look at the Stonewells’ butler as he appeared at the duchess’s side.

  “Dinner is ready to be served, Your Grace,” Foster told her quietly. “Also, Dr. Easton is here asking to see Miss Dupre.”

  Monique felt her cheeks burning at having attention drawn to her in this way. It was unacceptable Martin should now do so when she was doing her very best to be as unobtrusive as possible during her stay here.

  It also made nonsense of her claim that she doubted she would be seeing the doctor again.

  The duchess raised auburn brows. “Did you inform him we are about to go in to dinner?”

  “I did explain that to Dr. Easton, yes.” The butler nodded. “He insisted he only needs to speak with Miss Dupre for a few minutes. I have put him in the blue salon. He is not dressed for dinner,” he added loftily.

  Angelique Sinclair rose to her feet. “I will bring our guests through momentarily.”

  The butler bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Monique had no idea what Martin Easton thought he was doing, intruding into the Stonewells’ household in this way, and just when they were all about to go in to dinner too. “Please do not delay serving dinner because of me,” she urged the duchess. “If it comes to it, I will be happy to have dinner on a tray in my room.”

  The other woman laughed softly. “In fact, you would prefer it?” she teased.

  The warmth increased in Monique’s cheeks. “I hope I have not appeared in the least ungrateful for the help you and the duke have given me this past week.”

  “Not at all,” the older woman assured. “But I am aware we are seven happily married and openly demonstrative couples, and that you might feel a little…uncomfortable in our company. I had hoped…”

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. Easton is a very worthy and handsome gentleman,” Angelique announced frankly.

  And the duchess, Monique realized belatedly, had been attempting a little matchmaking between the two of them, both yesterday and today. “He is far too worthy for one such as I,” she assured dryly.

  “I disagree.”

  “Then we must agree to disagree.” Monique smiled to take the sting out of her words. “If you will excuse me? I doubt the worthy and handsome doctor likes to be kept waiting.”

  Angelique gave her an admiring glance. “With the doctor so dark and you so fair, you really do make a most striking couple.”

  “Except we are not, and never shall be,” Monique stated firmly, effecting a brief curtsey before leaving the crowded room.

  She drew in a long and calming breath once she stood outside the noisy drawing room, having no idea how she was to face Martin Easton again after their intimacies of earlier today.

  “I believe our son and heir to be in need of a younger sister.”

  Dante St. Just, the Duke of Huntley, stared at his wife in some surprise. She had not mentioned such a subject before now. “Are you telling me…?”

  “Not yet,” Bella assured ruefully. “But I believe we have discussed how we would both like a large family.”

  They had, Dante acknowledged, mainly because the two of them had both suffered in different ways during their own childhoods. “I am happy to have another child whenever you are.” As he had known she would be, Bella had proven to be the best of wives to him and a doting mother of their eight-month-old son, Michael, Marquis of Cornwall.

  His wife smiled widely. “I have become quite jealous these past few days, seeing so many other babies in the nursery and several of our friends expecting more.”

  Dante smiled ruefully. “It has not escaped my notice there has been an explosion of new life within the previously exclusive circle of the Sinners.”

  “Exactly.”

  Dante’s arms moved about the slenderness of her waist as he pulled her in close against him, leaving her in no doubt as to his own arousal at the suggestion of the two of them making another child together. “I admit to also finding you even more desirable than I usually do when I know my child is growing in your belly.”

  Bella’s fingers lightly caressed his cheek as she laughed huskily. “Is that possible?”

  Probably not; Dante found it difficult to keep his hands, or anything else, off his wife at the best of times. But when she was with child, her belly swelling, breasts growing heavy, his desire for her became insatiable. “Perhaps we might go upstairs now and begin conceiving this second child?”

  Bella’s eyes darkened with the same desire. “Do you think Angelique and Nik will mind?”

  “I believe the two of them would do the same if they felt so inclined.” Dante swung his wife up into his arms, having eyes only for her as he carried her up the stairs to their bedchamber.

  Chapter 9

  Monique’s silk-slippered feet dragged reluctantly as she slowly made her way down the hallway to the blue salon, where she knew Martin Easton was waiting to speak with her.

  All the time, she wondered why he was here. The two of them had not parted well earlier today. Nor did she wish to discuss their intimacy together, if that was his intention. She could imagine nothing more embarrassing.

  Martin contemplated the snow falling outside the window. Several lamps were alight outside the house, enabling him to see the rapidly increasing snowfall settling on the driveway. The tracks made by his own carriage had already been covered in the few minutes he had been here.

  He dismissed that worrisome thought as he heard the door to the room opening and then closing, signaling Monique’s entry. He turned to step forward into the room as Monique continued to stand beside the closed door, as if readying herself for flight if it should become necessary. She looked utterly beautiful in a gown of green silk.

  Martin’s mouth tightened at the expression of wariness on her delicately beautiful face. “I have not come here to repeat what happened earlier today,” he assured stiffly, hands clasped tightly together behind his back so that he should not be tempted to make a liar out of himself.

  “No?”

  “No.” His jaw tightened. “I am well aware of how unacceptable my behavior was this morning, and I have come to apologize.”

  Her brows rose. “Now?”

  His nostrils flared. “I was assured by one of the estate workers that there would be a heavy snowfall overnight, preventing me from traveling here tomorrow.”

  Blue eyes glanced to the window behind him. “It appears your informant’s prediction was tardy by several hours.”

  “Yes,” he conceded tightly.

  “Did Mrs. Hodges manage to depart before the snow began to fall?”

  “She did.”

  “Will she have had time to reach her family before the worst of it, do you think?”

  “I am sure she did.” Martin’s frown was somewhat quizzical. Even in the midst of her own problems, whatever they might be, Monique showed concern for his housekeeper’s wish to spend Christmas with her family. “Monique—Miss Dupre,” he corrected the informality. “I have not… I was not… I wish to stress that I have never before behaved with a female patient in the manner I did with you earlier today, and I give you my word, whi
lst you remain my patient, such a thing will not happen again. Please accept my heartfelt apology.”

  Monique was able to hear the anguish in Martin’s voice—she really could not continue to think of him by his full name, or even as something as impersonal as a doctor after their intimacies earlier today—at the admission. “You expressed your regrets earlier. There really was no need for you to have put yourself to the trouble of coming here this evening to do so again.”

  “The abrupt manner in which you departed Rochester House shows there was every need—” He broke off abruptly as he seemed to become aware of his forcefulness of tone. “Not only were my actions unprofessional but… The duke already seems to have found reason to dislike me.”

  Her brows rose. “Stonewell?”

  “Yes.”

  Monique eyed him mockingly. “So you are not actually here to apologize to me but rather to ensure my silence on the matter to the duke and duchess. But most especially the duke?”

  “No!” Martin scowled. “If I gave that impression, then I—”

  “Express your regrets again?” she derided.

  His eyes narrowed. “I do not regret what happened between the two of us, only that it happened under those circumstances.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I would make love to you again in a heartbeat if I believed you wanted it too.”

  “As long as the duke does not find out?”

  His jaw tightened. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Do I sound as if I am?”

  “You appear to be enjoying my discomfort rather too much, yes.”

  “Do I?” Monique stepped farther into the room, feeling less awkward by the second now she knew the conversation was not to be about her responses to him earlier today. “Does your livelihood in the district depend upon you remaining in the duke’s good favor?”