Soothed by the immediacy of his reply and his spicy, familiar scent, she sniffled. “I’ve made such a fool of myself. When you didn’t want me, I got so angry that I went after Daltry.”
“It was never a question of wanting. You know that now, don’t you?”
“So the times you refused me,” she said haltingly, “you truly did it to protect me?”
“Yes.” His eyes told her this was the truth. “You want respectability; I can’t give you that.”
His honesty gave her the courage to make her own confession.
“I don’t deserve respectability. The only reason men have shown any interest in me is because I’m pretty on the outside. But inside,” she said in a small voice, “I’m frivolous and scheming. Wicked through and through.”
A sound rumbled beneath her ear. He was… laughing at her? When she’d just confessed her greatest flaw?
Wounded, she struggled to get away. “It’s not amusing.”
He kept her caged against him with one arm. Tipped her chin up with his other hand. “It is, actually. Imagine a little thing like you calling yourself wicked.”
“I am wicked,” she insisted. “I’m a flirt, and I eloped with a man I didn’t even like.”
“Why did you? Elope with Daltry, I mean.”
“Because I’m shallow and flighty,” she said hollowly. “I wanted to be the Countess of Daltry.”
“Because it would make you rich?”
“No. I mean, money is nice, but I have everything I need from Mama and Papa. I didn’t marry Daltry for that reason. What I want is the title—the position. I want to be called my lady, to be welcomed in the upper echelons, to have the ton acknowledge that I belong,” she said with a touch of defiance. “See how awful I am?”
“No.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, making her shiver. “I don’t.”
“You must be blind then,” she said decisively.
Crinkles appeared around his eyes. “My vision is quite acute. In fact, I see you more clearly than you see yourself. And I know what you really want.”
An arrogant statement, no doubt. Yet she couldn’t help but ask, “What do you think I want?”
“To be free of fear.” His knuckles skimmed along her cheekbone, his touch as mesmerizing as his words. “You’ve been running for so long, haven’t you, sweetheart?”
His words resonated like music in a cathedral. Pure, soaring in their accuracy. Suddenly, she realized she was afraid—had been all her life. Images flashed: walking on shaky legs down that dark dock to where Sir Coyner waited, holding her mama at gunpoint; waiting by the window whenever Papa was late coming home from work, her small hands clenching the sill; hearing Mama’s moans of pain during Sophie’s birth…
A dark undertow sucked at her, threatening to pull her under.
Heart pounding, she fought to stay afloat. You can’t do anything about the past. Focus on what you can control. Your future—that is what matters.
“I hate caring what Society thinks,” she said in a suffocated voice, “but I do. If Daltry’s family manages to annul the marriage, then I’ll be ruined. I’ll be the unwed harlot who eloped and spent the night with a man. I’ll be a pariah.”
He studied her, his hooded gaze giving nothing away.
“There is only one solution,” she plunged on. “When the physician examines me, I can’t be a virgin. You’re the only one I trust to help me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Still, he said nothing.
“Andrew, would you please,”—she summoned all her courage—“take me to bed?”
He rose, a violent movement that rocked the cushion beneath her. Lines of tension slashed around his sensual mouth, his eyes no longer hooded but blazing with anger. His hands bracketed his lean hips.
“Why me?” he said.
She wetted her lips, her mind spinning with reasons. “Because you’re a man of experience. You understand my situation—that I’m only asking for one night… I mean, I hope that was clear,” she said in a rush, realizing she had not said this aloud and wondering if its omission was the cause of his sudden temper. “This would be done strictly as a favor to me. There would be no further obligation on your part afterward. I would hope, however, that we would part as friends.”
“I see. Because that is what friends do. They fuck and then they leave.”
His mockery cut like a razor through the last threads of her composure.
She shot to her feet. “It was a mistake to come. I don’t know why I did.”
“You said so yourself: you needed a man of experience.” He raised a brow. “Unless I seriously underestimated your boldness, I doubt you know any former prostitutes other than me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she cried. “By experience, I was referring to the fact that you’re a man of the world, and nothing seems to rattle you. I sought you out because I believed you could understand my less than conventional request. Obviously, I was mistaken. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
She nearly made it to the door when an arm hooked her waist from behind. Her back met with a wall of rigid muscle.
“Don’t go.” His breath was harsh at her ear.
“I’m not going to stay and be ridiculed—”
“I’m sorry.” His chest heaved against her spine. “I thought you came to me because of what I used to do. And I didn’t like that.”
When she pushed against his arm, he let go. Whirling around, she studied him—saw the sincerity etched across his hard features… and the shadows in his eyes. Understanding dawned that he had a past to run from as much as she did.
“It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” she said softly.
“Pardon?”
“What you said about me running from my fears. You’ve been running too, haven’t you?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not ashamed of my past. I did what I had to; it’s made me who I am. But I’m no longer that man—and I won’t be used in that fashion by you or anyone.”
“I understand.”
She really did. Due to her tarnished reputation, plenty of men thought they could get a kiss—or more—from her without consequence. Being seen as an object, a play thing, had made her feel dirty... like soiled goods.
Andrew had made the choice to use his assets as a means of survival, and he wasn’t apologetic about it. Nor should he be. Even so, it couldn’t be easy knowing that he’d once been bought and sold as a commodity of pleasure.
“The last thing I want is to use you, Andrew.” She exhaled. “In truth, I owe you far too much already. I can never repay you for what you’ve done on my behalf.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do.” She touched his jaw gently. “I want us to part as friends.”
When she tried to withdraw her hand, he covered it with his own, trapping it there.
“Why?” he said intently.
“Because...” I care what you think. Your opinion of me matters… too much.
“There’s no need for us to be enemies,” she finished lamely.
“Not that. I meant why me. Why do you want me to be the man who beds you, Primrose?”
Her heart grew wings, beating frantically against its cage. The easy words surfaced, hovering on her lips. But he deserved more, and she fought to give him the truth.
“I feel safe with you,” she said. “When I’m in your arms, I know it’s where I’m meant to be.”
The throbbing in her ears was echoed by the ticking muscle beneath her palm.
Then the world spun, and, swept off her feet, she just managed to hold on, her arms wrapping around his neck as his lips claimed hers. His kiss roiled with hunger, and she kissed him back with equal ferocity. She didn’t have to hide her passion for him, this man who didn’t judge or condemn her—and the freedom was intoxicating.
When he set her down by the sofa, her legs wobbled. He held her securely as he suckled her earlobe, pleasure spreading through her like a fever. The tips of her
breasts tightened into tingling points, a viscous warmth gathering in her belly. The sensations intensified as his lips glided along her jaw and down her neck, his skillful hands peeling off her layers.
When her chemise floated to the floor, leaving her in nothing but black garters and stockings, her wits suddenly returned. What must she look like sans her proper accoutrements? Was her coiffure mussed? Her panic flared as he sat on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap. She was acutely aware that she was in a disarray whilst he remained impeccably dressed.
Feeling exposed, she tried to cover herself.
He caught her chin, held her to his gaze. “Don’t hide your loveliness. You never have to hide anything from me.”
“But I’m not properly—”
“You’re perfect as you are. Beautiful beyond compare,” he said huskily. “No woman has ever affected me the way you do.”
He sounded earnest. Even if she doubted the words, there was no denying the physical evidence supporting his claim: beneath her bottom, his arousal was a hard and heavy bar.
Her anxiety subsiding, she whispered achingly, “Make love to me, Andrew.”
His eyes darkened, and he leaned in to kiss her. The gentle brushes of his mouth swept aside her worries, need spiraling through her. His hand closed over her breast, and this was nothing like Daltry’s groping in the dark. Andrew cupped and molded her achy mounds, pinching the throbbing tips, and she moaned against his lips.
“You’re so pretty here.” His voice matched the brushed velvet of his eyes. “Pink and ripe like a berry. Do you taste as good as you look, I wonder?”
“Taste?” She blinked at him.
The slow, sensual curving of his lips made her belly flutter. He took one of her hands, bringing it to his mouth. Separating the index finger from the rest, he licked the tip, the wet swirl setting off a wild pulse between her legs. He guided her moistened fingertip to her nipple.
“Imagine me kissing you here,” he murmured, using the damp point to simulate what he was describing. “Would you like that?”
Bold and brazen as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to answer him. Her body, however, had no such reservations. To her mortification, moisture trickled from her womanly place, and she could feel it dampening the fabric of his trousers.
Out of nowhere, Daltry’s voice assailed her: You’re a shameless doxy.
She tried to get away, but Andrew kept her caged against him.
“Your response is lovely,” he said, “just like you are.”
“But I made your trousers…” Cheeks aflame, she couldn’t finish.
“I want you wet for me. The wetter the better.” His words were shocking, his eyes warm and steady. “It’s your body’s way of telling me you want me.”
Once again, she felt a rush of gratitude for his experience and honesty. Relaxing, she allowed him to lay her back against the cushions while he knelt on the floor next to the sofa. Her respiration quickened as he kissed the slope of her breast. His lips explored, circling but not touching the straining peak.
She began to squirm, and, when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she slid her hands into his thick bronze hair, urging him to go where she wanted him. Needed him. He laughed softly, and then his lips captured her nipple, bathing it in heat and wetness. Bliss.
Her legs moved restlessly, the throbbing between them nigh unbearable as he lavished attention upon her breasts. Licking, flicking, driving her mad with wanting. She didn’t know how to ask for what she needed; she didn’t have to. His hand coasted over her rib cage, down the quivering valley of her belly, landing where her desire for him swelled, humid and pulsing.
“Your pussy is drenched, love.” His nostrils flared, his eyes smoldering. “Do you know how much that arouses me?”
Shyly, she said, “How much?”
“I feel as needful as a lad with his first wench.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “Like a wench with her first lad, that is.”
Amusement flashed across his chiseled features. “You are, you silly chit.”
“I don’t know that for certain—”
“I do.”
His kiss cut her off. She couldn’t have spoken anyway for he was rubbing that hidden bud just like that time at the plumassier’s, and it melted her mind. Her hips bucked as he stroked her, faster and faster, winding the coil in her belly ever tighter. It suddenly sprung free, and she gasped his name as pleasure ricocheted inside her.
When she regained her senses, heart still thumping wildly, she saw that Andrew was watching her with an intense, heated gaze.
“Are you going to… bed me now?” she said bashfully.
His head canted, almost thoughtfully.
He said, “No.”
Chapter Seventeen
“What?” Primrose jerked into a sitting position on the sofa.
Refusing to plow a beautiful, naked woman wasn’t high on Andrew’s list of preferred activities, especially when he was kneeling between her thighs. He had a perfect view of temptation: her hair cascaded over her creamy shoulders, her full pink nipples playing peek-a-boo through the strands. His gaze dropped to her little blonde nest, dewy from his recent frigging. Even as his cock strained toward all that bounty, his brain reminded him that this wasn’t just any woman.
This was Primrose.
She deserved better than a meaningless fuck.
And so, he realized, did he.
He didn’t fool himself into thinking that a permanent future was possible for them. She’d been clear about the respectability she needed, and he knew the limits of what he could offer. Even so, he couldn’t turn his mind from the possibility of them… together. Before, when she was unwed, he wouldn’t have considered it, but things had changed. She was a widow now—and would have the title and status she so craved, once he helped her with her “problem.”
She would also have freedom.
The notion roused both anticipation and unease. Undoubtedly, Primrose would soon have packs of men sniffing at her heels. Her origins and reputation might have rendered her ineligible as a wife in some men’s eyes—but those same men would have no compunction pursuing her as a lover now that she was widowed and fair game. And with her youth and passionate nature, she’d eventually want companionship.
His muscles bunched at the idea of Primrose taking a lover. If anyone was going to make love to her, it was damned well going to be him. An affair wasn’t what he wanted, but he would take what he could get.
He wanted Primrose. More than he’d ever wanted anything.
Which meant he had to play his cards right. He had full confidence in his ability to do so. If there was any game he knew how to play, it was that of seduction.
“But I thought you were going to help me!” she cried.
“I am.” A plan unfolded in his head. To prevent her from rising, he clamped his hands on her thighs. The sight of the frilly black garters against her pale skin tested his resolve, but he said calmly, “I’m going to do it my way, however.”
“And what way is that?” Her glorious eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“This way, love.” His hands slid to her bottom, tipping her up, and he bent his head.
“What are you…?” she gasped, “No, you mustn’t! That’s not clean, that’s—oh, heavens…”
His first taste of her pussy fired his blood. Sweet and feminine with a hint of salt, the reality of her was even better than his fantasies. He hid a smile as her protests melted into shapeless moans. As her superficial primness dissolved, revealing the hot, passionate woman within.
He ate her cunny with the hunger he’d suppressed for weeks. Spreading her petals, he tongued her slit up and down before circling her entrance. When she was moaning, her hands gripping the cushions, he slid the tip of his middle finger into her hole.
Goddamn, she was tight. Exquisitely so. But she was also slick from his licking and her earlier climax; when he saw no sign of pain from her, he pushed in until he was knuckle-deep.
She gasped his name.
“All right, love?”
“Yes… yes…” She looked dazed with desire.
He added another finger and stirred in a motion that would remove any flimsy barrier that might mark her as virgo intacto. He thrust firmly, simulating the fucking of a cock, sweat gathering beneath his collar as her pussy gripped his digits with lush insistence. Devil and damn, to feel that snug heat sheathed around his prick…
Her thighs trembled, her head lolling against the back of the sofa. He could feel her crisis approaching; it would be so easy to free his throbbing erection and bury himself inside her. To give in to the desire that raged between them. Lust warred with rationality: he reminded himself that, for her, desire had a purpose, a goal.
And that goal isn’t you… not unless you convince her otherwise.
After one last thrust that pushed a moan from her lips, he pulled out.
Her head popped up, her cheeks flushed and breathing uneven. “Why did you…”
“That should take care of your maidenhead,” he told her. “There’s no bleeding, so I suspect yours might have already been dispatched by horse-riding or the like. That’s common for young ladies, you know.”
From her blank look, she didn’t.
He rose, plucking up her chemise. “I’ll help you get dressed. You’ve been here too long already.”
“But don’t you want to…finish?” She wetted her lips, looking so disappointed that he was sorely tempted to do just that. “I don’t mind if you want to. That is, I came fully prepared to…”
“Lie with me?” he said mildly.
Her head bobbed, and damn if the little minx didn’t sneak a look at his groin. To be fair, that part of his anatomy did command attention. The bulge strained the placket of his trousers, stretching the grey wool to dangerous proportions; only excellent tailoring—and steely self-control—held him in check.
“I know this was a favor for me,” she said haltingly, “but I had assumed that you would gain some pleasure out of it too. Now it all seems rather… one-sided.”
“Do you want me to make love to you, Primrose?” he said evenly.
She bit her lip. “I think… I do.”
The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6) Page 13
