by Tanya Wilde
“Yes, I think I’d prefer them over your scruples. Especially when it feels like there is a fire inside me, making my skin burn with want.”
Sebastian’s heart nearly exploded. He did not say a word; his body didn’t allow it. He simply leaped up from the chair, finding her lips the moment he hit the bed, while his body shook, bloody well shook, with need.
There would be no turning back now.
Chapter 13
The exasperation that had taken hold of Anastacia over Sebastian’s refusal to grasp her hints was forgotten the moment his lips crushed against hers. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. Like, thank you for saving her. And, she enjoyed his lips on hers. And, she did not just simply want him spellbound, she wanted him to love her. And also, she might be falling for him.
But these weren’t words ready to pass her lips.
Their attraction, the pull between them, made it impossible for Anastacia to think straight. She knew he felt that same pull. What she did not know was if he felt more than mere attraction, or whether he lusted after her only in body. A part of her argued that a man such as he did not marry a woman just because he lusted after her. But another part, rooted deeper in her mind, thought her hopes wildly ridiculous.
“Your body is exquisite, my love,” Sebastian murmured against her lips.
My love.
Dear lord, what those words did to her!
Anastacia squirmed as his hands roamed the length of her body. His lips tempted and taunted, her every nerve awakening at his touch. Did he not know she was burning up with desire, her blood on fire?
“I want to kiss every part of you.”
Yes, please.
No.
Or make it quick.
Anastacia could not take much of what he was doing before going up in flames. Unfortunately, her husband was inclined to take his time. His lips dropped the arch of her neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone until he reached her shoulder. He lowered even more until the moist heat of his mouth found the tip of her breast.
Her breath hitched on a gasp.
He stayed there for a while, his tongue alternating between her breasts, teasing the tips of her mounds, flicking and sucking until she cried out in pleasure, her hands buried in his hair.
She writhed beneath him.
A slow hungering need ached between her legs, begging to be alleviated. Sensing her crisis, one of his hands lowered until he cupped the juncture at her thighs. His fingers teased her, explored her folds.
Anastacia bucked against his hand, wanting more—needing more.
He chuckled against her breast. “So eager . . . so lovely.”
Yes! She wanted to shout, but no words managed to form as he inserted one finger into her. She couldn’t breathe, much less move as his finger started to match the rhythm of his tongue.
He moved over her and Anastacia felt the tip of him at her entrance.
He was naked!
She had been so consumed, she’d missed that. Nerves fluttered in her belly. She wanted this.
Moving her hands to his back, she squeezed and he began to press against her. Her body strained to accept him, but then with one smooth stroke, he was buried inside her.
“Sebastian,” she rasped when he began to thrust gently, the slight sting at his entry disappearing when he nuzzled her neck, whispering soft words in her ear. She clung to him as tiny waves of pleasure built inside her, his lips moving to tug at her swollen nipples.
He thrust again and again, harder each time until he lost himself in the rhythm. She did not hold back, matching his movements with wild ones of her own. The pleasure was so deep, so intense; it felt as though she might burst into a million pieces. Perhaps she already had.
It did not take long for that deep, wickedly delicious sensation to explode, and Anastacia hardly heard her own cry as he whisked her over the edge.
More words were whispered into her ear. Anastacia did not hear any of it, lost in a haze of pleasure. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his back, holding on as he pounded into her, his movements now frenzied as he sought his own release. And she kept holding onto him until he, too, exploded, and even after that, she did not let go.
***
Sebastian lay awake in the darkness, his wife nestled up against his side. So this was how it felt to sleep in a woman’s arms, limbs entwined, bodies sated from raging desires. It felt oddly peaceful. Strangely pleasant. The sensation was such a first for him he had almost left the bed, as rakes were wont to do after a hot steamy night. Two things had stopped him, however. His trembling limbs. And the feeling of Anastacia’s arms still wrapped around him.
So Sebastian had settled into the mattress and wrapped his arms around his wife, who had promptly fallen asleep. Because honestly, why not embrace the sleeping arrangement fully, if one had to do it anyway?
At that moment, Sebastian could not think of any good, sound reason he ought to let her go. Instead, he thought of all the reasons why he should never let her out of his sight again. Of course, that line of thinking was much better, and his heart slowed its rapid beating that had spiked at the mere notion she might not be in his life forever.
Reasons he should never let her out of his sight again: she was his wife—one did not let one’s wife go. After tonight, she might very well be with child. But let’s not think about that, because then Sebastian would have to start thinking of himself as a father. His heart accelerated again. Thirdly, his wife was beautiful. And with all his rakish knowledge, it was clear one did not let breathtaking wives out of one’s sight. In fact, he would move that reason straight to the top. And lastly, there was the case of her uncle.
Nasty business, that.
He pulled her tighter against him.
Sheffield was a real threat. Ever since they had set off to Scotland, he had been concocting a plan to deal with the man. It was a risky scheme, and it might not work, but neither could he sit back and wait for her evil uncle to catch them unawares. No, it was always best to be prepared and take proactive measures. Sebastian would get in touch with his friend, Dalziel, as soon as they reached London.
Then there was the matter of Anastacia’s inheritance, which if he understood correctly, would cripple Sheffield and leave him a pauper. Pauper dukes had no friends, not ones who counted, in any case. And no powerful friends meant no authority to wield against them.
He smiled in the dark, gazing down at his wife. Would he ever tire of calling her his wife? Probably not.
It made him hard just thinking about it.
Which reminded him . . .
He slid out of his wife’s embrace, intent on finishing what he had started earlier: kissing every inch of her body. She ought to know better than to fall asleep naked beside a rake.
Sebastian’s lips took on a wicked curve.
He ran his hand down to her belly, his tongue darting into her navel as he lavished kisses all over her skin. Still she slept soundlessly. He skipped over the exotic part of her, tugging away the covers as he once again started to trail kisses along her ankle, working his way up.
Sebastian took his time tasting her, enjoying her soft moans, the slight increase in her breathing. Even in her sleep, she responded to his kiss.
And then his mouth found the folds between her legs. She tasted sweet, delicious. He could lick and kiss her all night. Every night. When her hips bucked, he grabbed hold of them, his tongue dancing around her hidden bud.
A soft moan of pleasure announced his wife’s return to consciousness.
“Sebastian.”
His name was a plea, one he was all too happy to oblige. Inserting a finger into her, he explored and worshiped the gentle folds of her sex until he felt her shove her hands in his hair, gripping tight and writhing beneath him.
His world dismantled.
With renewed vigor, he centered his attention to her swollen crest, not stopping until he felt her quiver and her body tense before she cried his name in pure ecstasy.
> He raised himself up, his eager cock desperate to plunge into the warm depth of her walls while she was still in the throes of her orgasm. She offered no maidenly resistance, parting her thighs to make room for him and he wasted no time thrusting into her, claiming her hard and fast.
Years of rakish exploits and never had Sebastian felt anything like this. Nothing that even came close. He was falling apart for this woman; every wall he had ever erected unraveling.
He thrust harder, deeper, and she took every inch of him, clawing at his back and buttocks. Sebastian’s vision filled with stars as pleasure erupted, his breathing ragged and harsh as something else exploded within him as well, something very akin to love.
Chapter 14
A fortnight later, Anastacia knew she could not, in her right mind, be in love with her husband. His actions were beyond pale. And by actions, she meant lack thereof. Frustration, anger, and utter vexation plagued her as she roamed the halls of the home she shared with Sebastian.
Who exactly was this man she had married?
After their wild passionate night together, he had completely shut her out. In fact, the only time she had seen him in the past two weeks was when he had drunkenly swaggered into her room, stared at her with droopy eyes, cursed, and swaggered out.
And, to her further consternation, he had left explicit instructions with his man of affairs, who in return informed her that she was not allowed out of the house until the situation with her uncle was resolved.
All this might not have rankled her so if she had not fallen hopelessly in love with the scoundrel. What had begun on her wedding night, or possibly long before that, had blossomed into a full-fledged fever with every recollection, every frustration, and every night falling asleep wanting him beside her. As a result, she drifted around in a constant state of daydreaming. And this, unfortunately, left her hungering with only more need. Need, that remained unfulfilled because her devilish husband was absent from her bed.
Well, she floated in the clouds no longer!
Which brought her back to the matter at hand. Obviously, Sebastian regretted marrying her. Clearly, he did not love her. It was the only sensible explanation. He’d possessed her body and had already tired of the actual reality of marriage. But still, she had done nothing to foster such frigidness from him.
What vexed her even more was that even knowing all this, she still wanted him. In her bed. In her life. In her heart.
Curse his rakish hide!
Why did it matter anyway? She had gotten what she wanted: protection from her uncle, and, once he was no longer a threat, freedom to live her life.
In truth, Anastacia realized the problem lay with her. It was unfair to expect that Sebastian feel any form of emotion for her. He’d said he was “spellbound” but that could be lust more than love. And therein lay her misery. Now that she loved the infuriating man, she wanted him to love her back.
The weight of that longing bore her down. Never had Anastacia felt so much of a burden as at that moment. Why her husband took great pain to steer clear of her begged the question of why had she gone and done something as foolhardy as fall in love with a rake.
There was a part of her that felt she ought to be sad for the turn her life had taken. She was the Duchess of Blackcress, but could not bring herself to summon any joy at the prospect.
Perhaps she should leave. She saw no reason to stay here under lock and key while Sebastian dealt with her uncle. Besides, he had been gloriously absent after they had escaped him in Scotland. Perhaps her uncle had admitted defeat. And even if he had not accepted she was lost to him, Anastacia could not go on living as a prisoner in her own home, not when she’d only just escaped another.
She wanted to be free from her restraints, wanted to dance, make friends. As if to prove her frustration on the matter, she plucked all the pins holding her hair together on the top of her head, flicking each pin to the ground.
A senseless act of rebellion.
A wide grin spread across her face.
It would not come as a surprise to Anastacia if her husband demanded to receive hourly reports from the servants. Let them make of her scattered pins what they will! Her heart wanted freedom.
She glided down the main hall to his study, rifling through his drawers for something to scribble on. Taking a seat, she retrieved the necessary implements to pen her husband a note.
Could she do it? Could she leave him—even if only to take a stand?
Her heart balked at the idea, but he had left her no choice. They both deserved better. And if her husband did not wish to reform his old ways, Anastacia would rather spend her life alone than watch him take lovers by the score. She had not meant to intrude upon his solitary life, which he seemed to prefer above his wife. It also appeared that their night of pure magic had meant nothing to him. At least, not as much as it had meant to her.
Anastacia sighed.
Best if she let him off the hook so that he would not feel obligated to pursue her. He could remain in the city while she resided in the country. That seemed like a plausible solution, one that would suit them both.
Taking great care with her words, Anastacia penned down her assurance, hoping he would understand, trusting that he, too, would see it better for their futures. Or perhaps give chase and claim his undying love.
A lady could hope, could she not?
With a miserable sigh, she left the note on his desk and turned to leave, letting her husband go.
***
Sebastian stared at the note his wife left him, anger mounting with each passing moment. He was pretty sure his face was flushed the color of crimson and veins were protruding from his neck. Closing his eyes, he embraced the fury, allowing it to simmer through his blood, clenching the note in his fist.
His wife had left him.
Left him.
No one left him. And most especially not those he had saved. Because he never saved anyone. And Anastacia would bloody well not leave him! By gods, it was unacceptable. And leaving the note for any servant to come across? Just what the hell was the matter with her? Was this one of those things wives did when they were unhappy with their husbands? An act of defiance because he had withdrawn from her? He had done that for a good reason. And why not just confront him?
Instead, she ran away.
And just what the hell did she mean by this note?
Sebastian had kept his distance, because it seemed that the only time he could breathe without her scent tempting him to toss her over a desk and hike up her skirts was when he was not in the same room as her. Being in a perpetual state of lust, as some of his fellow peers could attest, dulled a man’s wits, and Sebastian needed his wits to deal with her uncle.
In retrospect, he perhaps should have explained his reasoning.
He tossed the note in the fire and swallowed a glass of golden liquid down his throat, the burning sensation settling on his tongue.
Damn the woman!
He had wanted to give chase and take her over his knee, had been halfway out of the door to do just that before he realized with a belated sense of shock, he did not know where she had gone. To friends? One of his other estates perhaps? It appalled him to discover he knew so little of his wife, that he had never taken the chance to become acquainted with her likes and dislikes.
It had been a mistake to avoid her for two weeks. But what choice did he have? Anastacia was too perceptive for her own good. He would never have been able to conceal the truth from her had he stared into her soft blue eyes. Two truths actually. Her uncle’s veiled threats, threatening to snatch her from his clasps, and Sebastian’s overwhelming fear of losing her.
Both were crippling.
Once he found her, he would take her over his knee and then shackle her to his side, as he had wanted to do since the night of their marriage. But first, he would find her.
Sebastian stared broodingly into the fire, considering his options for hunting his wife down. The good news is that he’d stationed a man
outside the house to watch for her, and trail her every step if she left. Her safety had been paramount. It was another truth he had concealed from her and the consequences of which he’d need to deal with later, even if the perks now clearly outweighed whatever outrage Anastacia might have over the matter. In any case, he’d have to wait for the man’s note. He imagined as soon as Anastacia stopped at an inn or wherever his wife had decided to go, the man could then find a messenger to send a note with her whereabouts. But that could take bloody forever.
“Well, well, well, aren’t you looking a touch put out? Dare I hope my niece has put the fire in your eyes?”
Sebastian whipped around, coming face to face with the barrel of a pistol.
Not—bloody—now.
“Ah, the evil uncle reveals himself, how good of you to join the fray.”
Sheffield’s smile never wavered. “Where is my lovely niece?”
“Out and about.”
“It’s midnight.”
“So it is.”
That seemed to do the trick. Sheffield’s jaw clenched and his lips curled into a snarl. “Do not play with me, boy.”
Sebastian’s brow rose. “So where is your lapdog, Bloomington? Hiding behind the drapes?”
A vein ticked in the evil one’s forehead. “Bloomington, you can come out.”
Sebastian laughed when Bloomington, indeed, appeared from behind one of the drapes. So bloody predictable, the lot of them. It nevertheless irked him not to have noticed a man hiding behind his curtains. And the note, had they read it?
“I will ask once more, where is my niece?”
Apparently not.
“I do not know where my wayward wife is.”
“Bullshit! You will tell me, or I will put a bullet through your weasel heart.”
He shrugged. “I am telling you the truth. Your lovely niece left me.” Who would have thought there would be a situation in which Sebastian would feel relief that his wife had walked out on him.
“She would never do something so foolish,” the man sputtered, clearly astonished.
