Beverley Kendall

by Sinful Surrender (lit)

  “Milord, will you be needing my assistance?”

  “Yes, make sure I have hot water for my bath,” he replied, his hands releasing the buttons on his lawn shirt.

  With a brusque bow, Randolph left to do his bidding, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

  Fifteen minutes later, steam wafted over the porcelain tub as James settled in. He had sent Randolph on his way, in sore need of the solitude and soaking. His bunched muscles released its tension into the soothing heat of the water.

  James hadn’t a clue how things had gotten so bad, but Missy had become a distraction he couldn’t afford. He spent considerably too much time thinking about her and worse, measuring every woman he met up against her. That wouldn’t have been so tragic if they hadn’t all come up wanting. The damned chit had somehow bewitched him.

  It was obviously a purely physical attraction that would eventually burn itself out, and until it did he’d be living his greatest nightmare. Wanting her and knowing he could never have her.

  God, his reaction to Granville—damn, who was he fooling, his reaction to any man who glanced at her twice—set his teeth on edge.

  If she’d only been a pretty face with a delectable figure, the whole situation would have been far more bearable. But she wasn’t. She had a refreshing candor, which had always amused him. She was keenly intelligent. Even at the age of fifteen, she’d been well read—more so than some of his own counterparts. It was unfortunate her development into womanhood had cost them their easy rapport and friendship.

  If only he could stop the savage stab of lust from overtaking him whenever he came within twenty feet of her. If only he could wipe from his memory the sight of her berry nipples and their exquisite feel and taste as he’d suckled them to hard little points with the hunger of a man long denied.

  The hot water didn’t stop his cock from growing stiff and straight as a flagpole. A groan of disgust and desire rent humid air as his head fell back onto the rim of the tub, his eyes closed. He cursed the betrayal of his body. He cursed her for being able to so easily bring him to this state. He didn’t want to feel this for Missy; didn’t want to feel this all-consuming kind of lust for any woman at all. Groaning, he grasped his erection and took his current dilemma in hand.

  Chapter Eleven

  Twice now she had visited James’s residence. If her brother or mother were ever to discover, they would bundle her up like a fattened calf bound for the slaughterhouse and send her back to the country.

  Missy’s gaze roamed the library while she waited for the butler to summon James. The morose-faced butler hadn’t blinked an eye upon viewing her at the door. He had silently permitted her entry and then left to check if his employer was in for callers, returning soon afterward to lead her to the library to await his arrival.

  After Missy had begged off from accompanying her mother and sisters to call on her mother’s good friend, Mrs. Roland, the need to see James again overwhelmed her. She reasoned she needed to apologize for her atrocious behavior toward Mrs. Laurel in person.

  Thankfully, her mother had not deemed it necessary to rake her over the coals the day following the incident, but her disapproval had been duly expressed and noted. Missy had penned an apology to Mrs. Laurel and the viscountess had insisted on sending along a bouquet of fresh-cut daisies from the garden. A thank you note from Mrs. Laurel arrived the following day.

  She had intended to apologize the next time she saw him, however, James had never materialized. For a whole week he had been absent from every notable social event. He no longer accompanied Thomas when he called, and had even missed a small celebration her mother held for Sarah’s fifteenth birthday.

  His appearance at the townhouse earlier that day had made her determined to finally put an end to their estrangement. If he would not come to her, she’d have to go to him. And so here she stood, awaiting him in his library.

  The room smelled of James, sandalwood and something else indefinable. Heavy green draperies covered a bank of windows, which lent the perfect view to watch the sun set. Papers littered the desk along with a stack of leather volumes several feet high.

  The room lacked the artifice most of their peers tended to display when decorating. Every stick of furniture appeared solid and sturdy, yet fashionable without being coarse.

  Despite seeing him hours earlier, Missy started when he entered. She had come prepared for the meeting but still he caught her off kilter, her heart knocking frantically in her chest.

  He appeared freshly bathed, his dark hair damp; and he sported a new set of clothes. Missy found it hard to pull her gaze from the glimpse of dark chest hairs revealed by the opening at the neck of his shirtsleeves. Her regard crept higher, only to encounter features formidable in their severity.

  “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he bit out, his tone rank with sarcasm. He remained guarded at the entrance, his tall frame not allowing the double paneled doors to close.

  Missy balked and briefly considered leaving right then. It appeared his anger hadn’t abated since the incident with Mrs. Laurel.

  “Does your mother or brother know you’re here? Did you even have the sense to come with an escort?” His lips twisted in something resembling a sneer.

  Her spine stiffened reflexively. “My footman is waiting outside.”

  A derisive laugh rumbled from his throat. “Apparently, the fair maidens of the ton have found yet another task for the overworked footman. Let us hope they know how to hold their tongues.”

  “I would hardly—”

  “Your brother would blister your hide if he knew of your activities.” He raked his hand through his hair, leaving clumps of strands spiked in its trail. He regarded her with a narrow and intent focus. Missy shifted, uneasy under the scrutiny. The James of her youth was now a distant memory and in his place was a moody stranger who proved to be even more sinfully attractive, if far more foreboding.

  “What are you doing here?” The curt question cut through her musing with a stinging sharpness.

  She advanced a step and James retreated almost into the hall, as if threatened by the move. He wore the kind of shocked expression indicating he himself was as surprised by his action.

  His unease was palpable. She unnerved him. The knowledge, the indisputable proof in his reaction, gave her a sense of power, going far to equalize their footing, this emotional seesaw she’d ridden for years and years.

  “I feared you had dropped out of Society. The ton is abuzz with rumors of your deflection.” Hardly the makings of an apology but to issue one so readily would bring a swift end to her call. She intended to prolong it for as long as she could.

  “So you’re here to make sure I’m still about. You saw me this afternoon. You needn’t have come to my home.” He widened his stance and folded lean-muscled arms across his chest.

  Missy moistened her lips with a sweep of her tongue. “That is not why I’m here.”

  James’s eyes followed the movement, his jaw tightening. He gave her a wide berth as he crossed the room to the sideboard, his tread barely perceptible on the rich Aubusson rug. Missy thought she saw his hand tremble as he poured himself a drink from the decanter.

  “Well for God’s sake, would you please tell me why you’re here so you can hurry and be on your way.” His voice had lowered to a growl and he kept his back to her while he took a deep swallow. Slowly he turned to face her.

  Missy cautiously approached him. If possible, his face grew harder, like granite, and his jaw began to tick. As she stood facing him, she had to forcibly resist the urge to touch him, trace the bristled line of his jaw. She kept her hands at her sides.

  “I still owe you an apology for my behavior at supper last week,” she said softly. “I would have offered it this afternoon when you were by, but…”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Yes but you were otherwise engaged, entertaining. Tell me, has the esteemed Lord Granville finally asked for your hand in marriage? Am I in the presence of the future Duch
ess of Wiltshire?” He took another swallow of his drink before dropping the glass back down with a clatter on the dark wood of the sideboard.

  She looked away, her face suffusing with heat. He made a derisive sound at her obvious embarrassment. She had answered his question with just a look.

  “And what was your response?”

  She could see he attempted to goad her in to an argument. She hadn’t come for that. She’d come here to…What had she really come here for? Because she hadn’t been able to help herself.

  “I told him I did not want to marry him. Perhaps, I’m not ready for marriage.” Certainly not if I’m not to marry you.

  He laughed darkly. “Yes, perhaps not marriage but you’re ready for something.” He raked her figure with an angry stare, and then strode past her to throw himself down into the brown leather armchair.

  To respond to such a statement would be a mistake, so Missy ignored it and followed him, seating herself opposite him on the edge of the sofa, her fingers plaited together in her lap. James watched her in brooding silence.

  “As I said, I came to apologize. I’m terribly sorry for what I said and how childishly I behaved. I had intended to apologize earlier but you’ve made yourself scarce this past week.”

  “Ah yes, Sophia did tell me you sent an apology along with flowers. You could have sent a note.”

  “I tried but—well, it just did not feel right. I felt I owed it to you in person. We are hardly strangers.”

  His eyes blazed. “Is that the only reason you’ve come? Because if you’ve come expecting anything else you will be sorely disappointed. I already have plans this evening.” Missy reeled under the cruelty of the inference as a tide of red hot jealousy rose up to envelope her whole.

  James finished off the snifter with one last swallow and dropped it on the brushed mahogany side table, where it landed with a distinct thud. He came to his feet in one fluid movement and regarded her, his eyes cold.

  “I accept your apology. There, apology delivered and accepted. I believe you can find your way out.”

  Missy blinked rapidly, taken aback by his abruptness. By the time she opened her mouth to issue a retort, he was halfway across the room. Stunned seconds later, he had disappeared through the arched doorway.

  Before she allowed herself time to think, she was on her feet, following him out into the hall. Drat the man, he was impossible. Without looking back, he took the stairs as if he had the devil himself at his heels. He disappeared into one of the upstairs chambers by the time she arrived at the foot of the stairs.

  “May I help you, miss?”

  Missy turned to find the butler standing by the dining room entrance, disapproval etched around his thin lips, his bald head glinting under the light cast from the elaborate chandelier.

  “No-no thank you. I’d forgotten there was something else I needed to give—that is, relay to Lord Rutherford. I will be but a moment.” Missy started up the stairs with the prickling knowledge that she would never be able to look James’s butler in the face again. However, right now she did not have the luxury of mortification or squeamishness. She needed to clear things with James. Now, before the distance between them became unbridgeable.

  By the time she arrived at the top of the stairs, she noticed that one of the chamber doors sat ajar. A flash of movement caught her eye as she approached.

  “James?” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She tentatively pushed open the inlaid redwood door and peeked inside. James stood with his back to her near an oversized wooden chest of drawers. Missy advanced into the chamber.

  James whipped around, stupefied, when he saw her framed, like a tormenting angel at the door. The quiet click of the door closing resonated loudly in the generous space. She proceeded slowly into the room.

  “Have you taken complete leave of your senses?” The words emerged cold and furious.

  “James, we need to talk. We need to clear the air between us. Things have not been the same since…well things have not been the same for some time.”

  “You aren’t a child any longer as you are so fond of telling me. Things will never be the same between us.” His anger had dissipated but when he spoke, his lips barely moved.

  She was sultry innocence and hadn’t the foggiest idea how close she was to being ravished. Because surely if she knew, she wouldn’t be standing in her modest virginal dress, within his reach, tempting him like he’d never been tempted before.

  “Then let us at least go forward but not in the manner we’ve been,” she said. She reached up and stroked his jaw. He flinched at her touch but an invisible force had rooted him in place, helpless to move away as he knew he should.

  “I know you believe you love me, Missy, but you don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost pleading.

  She lowered her hand; her eyes held a simple entreaty. “Then let us be friends.”

  James gave a choked laugh. “You know that is impossible.”

  “Why is it impossible?”

  His control collapsed in a heap of thwarted resistance under the unabated pressure of want long denied. He jerked her forward, the softness of her landing against the hardness of him with a jolt. “Because I don’t want to do this to my friends,” he growled, something violent in him, barely suppressed.

  He took her mouth in a fierce display of unrestrained lust. His hand splayed the back of her head, tilting it back as he greedily fed on the sweet fullness of her mouth. His other hand joined to remove the pins securing her chignon, until the heavy mass fell in a curtain of silky chestnut waves.

  Missy closed her eyes, helpless to stop the savage surge of desire that coursed through her body. Her mouth opened to admit the piercing quest of his tongue as it traded thrusts and parries with her own. He tasted of brandy and…James—potent, delicious male. She could feel the long rigid line of his erection pressed hard against her belly. Heat bloomed like a runaway fire in her veins and settled in the apex of her thighs, causing a pulsating sensation that grew in intensity with every stroke of his hands as they scored from her waist to the underside of her breasts.

  His mouth left hers to hungrily explore the nape of her neck and Missy tilted her head to the side to give him greater access. When he molded the firm roundness of her breasts in his hands, the ragged pants of breath escalated to a high keening sound. A rush of moisture flowed between her legs, causing her to grow slick. With his thumb, he swiped the turgid peaks through the satiny fabric until she was mindless with pleasure. With her hands clutching his hard shoulders in a death grip, she pressed her breasts further into his hands. A harsh moan tore from his throat, his hands flexing strongly on her tender flesh. Missy knew a desperate need to rid herself of the layers of fabric and feel him against her bare flesh.

  James’s need seemed just as great as he found the long clean line of her spine and began releasing the row of buttons securing her dress in the back. The deftness in which he took to the task spoke of his experience. While his lips played on the delicate line of her neck and the curve of her jaw, his teeth nibbled her lobes, his breath hot and labored. He stripped her down to her white cotton chemise, silk stockings, and garter.

  A bemused Missy could barely step out of the circle of satin, muslin, and petticoats at her feet. The tingling in her nipples and the escalating ache in her sex, held her in a spell of desire so strong she thought her legs wouldn’t be able to support her much longer.

  Her eyes fluttered opened as James lifted her high on his chest and placed her in the center of the bed. He watched her, his blue eyes alive and glazed with a predatory hunger.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts. Her nipples pushed hard and pointed against her cotton chemise. His gaze dropped lower still to the brown thatch of hair covering her privates, quite visible through the thin white fabric.

  Touch me, she begged silently with her eyes. He swallowed as beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his hands began to shake. Missy had been shaking since she had walked into his room. Now she ached.
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  He quickly straddled her hips, his fingers tearing at the buttons of his shirt, several falling victim to his frantic haste. When his shirt landed in a heap on the floor, he tackled his trousers.

  Without a shirt, James was truly a sight to behold. The dark hair covering his chest was neither thick nor sparse, but landed somewhere nicely in the middle, and narrowed down to a thin line, disappearing below his drawers. The muscles were clearly defined, his abdomen rippled and hard.

  “Sweet, sweet, sweet.” His rasp was barely audible. He placed one hand to the side of her face as he made quick work of removing his trousers and drawers. Once they were removed, they were added to the growing heap on the carpeted floor.

  Missy gave an audible gasp. She had seen penises in books before, but nothing prepared her for the flesh-and-blood sight of one. James’s was long and thick, with large veins ridging the sides, and so stiff it prodded his stomach. It did not seem possible that she could accommodate his size. Her thighs clenched together instinctively.

  James must have recognized the intimidating sight he made, for he covered her quickly with his body and began soothing and gentling her with kisses. In no time at all, she opened to him, admitted his tongue and began an exploration of her own, intent on discovering the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. Her hands kneaded his muscled back and shoulders as he wedged a space for himself between her thighs, his erection settling in the dewy notch. The sensation of him hard and hot on the swollen lips of her sex had her arching helplessly beneath him, riding his length through the thin fabric. He surged strongly against her, dragging his erection against her center, her moisture dampening her drawers.

  “God, I want you,” he groaned against her lips and then proceeded to remove her remaining garments.

  With the absence of every stitch of clothing, Missy felt too exposed. Instinctively her hands moved to cover her breasts and her privates. She’d never been naked in front of anyone before, much less a man.