London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  Just enough confusion pricked her question.

  “Want you? I have all but lost my ability to breathe, my attention honed to your every nuance, my hearing impaired from the blood pounding through my veins.” Damn it all to hell, he hated emotion, his body taut as a strung bow.

  She appeared dissatisfied with his answer and the corners of her mouth quivered. “Then why do you send me away?”

  “Because this is about what’s best for you, not me.” How long would he be able to hold her close, wrapped in silk and invitation, without giving in to the ferocious urge to take her, devour her, consume the pleasure and freedom her body promised? His hands shook with exigency.

  “So, you’ve decided what’s best for me in the same manner my brother plans my future?” She straightened her shoulders, a long breath held.

  “Damn it, you know that for a lie.” He readjusted his grasp on the wrapper, his fingers threatening mutiny. “You appeared at my door with an innocent plea to my conscience, only to invade this bedchamber, a mythical goddess straight from my midnight dreams, determined to tempt my resistance at a time when I’m fraught with regret and indecision. Don’t you dare play victim when you stand here with nothing more than a thin piece of silk to conceal your hidden agenda.” The force of his diatribe brought his lips to hover directly above hers, their eyes matched in passionate vehemence, while his fingernails bit into his palms, so hard did he clench the collar of her robe.

  The tip of her tongue poked out as she readied a rebuttal, but the careless motion brought the wet heat of her mouth in contact with his, and the stroke of her tongue across his lips reverberated lower as if she’d licked him there. A soft whimper escaped her throat and his cock pulsed with arousal. Suppressed desire slipped out of his control and plummeted him over the edge. In a movement of fluid grace and rampant need, he released the silk and swept her into his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He couldn’t get enough of her, her jasmine-scented skin an aphrodisiac, the sound of her shallow breath as hypnotic as laudanum. He pressed hot kisses along the lithe column of her neck to her collarbone, licking over the shallow indent where her wild pulse beat hot against his tongue. He relished the gentle vibration of her voice as she uttered her pleasure and progressed across the sensitive shell of her ear to whisper wicked intentions in return before he caught the lobe between his teeth and suckled slowly. He threaded his fingers through her thick mane and drank her gasp, angled her mouth for another ravenous assault.

  He hungered for her touch, greedy for more, and when she sighed the sweetest sound, it devastated his soul. She tasted like rebellion and fantasy, everything he ever needed and feared to wish for, no matter how dark the night or desperate the yearning. She destroyed his resolve with enamored images of survival and he drank from her soul, thirsting for every drop of hope she offered.

  She set her hand flat to his chest, her fingers at work to free his shirt from his shoulders, the fabric caught by two buttons, soon nothing more than a soft patter upon the floorboards. Her palms spanned his frame, each muscle taut as it jumped in response to her caress, the weight of her breasts against him causing his insides to tighten. Wild heat flooded every nerve ending and settled in his groin. Her skin, smooth as satin, enticed him and enflamed his rampant ardor.

  Need overtook logic.

  He meant to pull away, to allow them a chance to catch their breath, rethink their actions, but when her right hand stilled over his pounding heart and a smile curled her delicious lips, all reservation broke and he could only answer with a long, deep kiss.

  Everywhere he pulsed with need, a desire to which he had no understanding. Her body against his was pure agony and the sweetest torture. Her fingers fumbled with the closures of his trousers. With alacrity she met with success, his sole duty to kick them away as her palms slid over his buttocks, his smalls discarded with similar haste.

  He retracted his gaze to measure her expression, and she grinned, her twist of the lips a combination of mischief and delight before she leaned in to offer another kiss, wild and impatient, yet slow and sensual, a contradiction as always, innocence and eroticism combined with every stroke of her tongue. He sought support against the bedpost, all at once intoxicated, his mind a torrent of spinning emotion, the blood rushing lower, where her fingers stroked his erection in a tentative grasp.

  He rolled his back against the post and pressed her to the mattress without breaking their kiss, his body a buffer to the fall. With his hands framing her waist, he turned her on the bed, but she fought the motion, overthrowing his attempt and resettling so she straddled him, lady conqueror in rule above. A flash of lightning announced her victory, the consequent thunder akin to the laughter rumbling within his chest. He looked up, reaching in reverence to trail his fingertips along the length of her arms, feel the weight of each breast in his hands.

  She lowered her lips to his and placed a slow sensual kiss. Like a fairy atop a mortal, she offered him eternal ecstasy, full knowing no matter how fleeting, once the sun rose, day would reveal the truth of it all.

  He’d buried emotion for so long, denied pleasure of any kind, the joy of Amelia astride him, wet, hot, and wanting, threatened to ruin him in far worse a way than the danger he posed to her reputation. His mind struggled to ignore the perilous consequences while his body applauded his actions.

  In a subtle movement, she slid lower, leaned in for another kiss, and allowed her soft breasts to trace against his chest. His heart dared to explode from thrice its rhythm. She nibbled at his mouth, licked the corners of his lips, tasted him as if he were a sweet to be savored, and all the while his cock caressed the silky curve of her bottom, nestled against him in a velvet tight fit. It was unbearable delight. Death by wicked fantasy.

  He begged to succumb.

  He stopped thinking.

  He barely breathed.

  She moved her hands over him, learning his body, exploring his heat, her innocence abandoned under the demanding force of curiosity. She kissed his neck, licked the indent near his clavicle, inhaled his scent with a murmur of satisfaction as if to memorize every detail of his person. Then she rose again, her palms pressed flat against his chest.

  Time ceased, the only reminder of reality the drumming beat of rain against the roof, the refraction of light and echo of thunder in the persisting storm.

  She raised her hips and adjusted her body above his. The head of his arousal throbbed against her wet heat. She lowered herself, guiding him inside in a slow, mind-melting sensation that left him devastated and aching. Tight. So very tight, and hot. His vision blurred. His body beseeched her mercy and he groaned, unable to form coherent words as she watched him, her expression one of beauty and fervent need. She rose again, this time sure in her measure, settling atop him and encasing his thick length in one determined sweep. He felt resistance and pushed past it as she melted into him. He growled his pleasure, grasped her bottom, and held her hips in place. He matched her eyes and allowed his long-lost joy to break free.

  Her hair tumbled about her shoulders in enticing disarray, her kiss-swollen lips formed the slightest curve, and her full breasts swayed as she leaned forward with another searing kiss. His fingers faltered, tracing the curve of one dark, silky curl against the alabaster silk of her skin. Then he skimmed his palms along the length of her legs wrapped tight against his hips to lock their bodies together as perfectly fit as two puzzle pieces.

  “Tonight you are mine, Lunden.”

  He dared not voice his immediate retort. Forever I will remember this moment. Forever you will live in my heart. “It appears you’ve successfully subdued me.”

  She half smiled in answer before she began a sensual rhythm, her body revealing every emotion kept concealed. He could not keep his gaze from her.

  Above him, a goddess of pure power, a forbidden dream, naive yet so enticing, worked his body, their bodies, as if they’d been created for each other. Her eyes were half closed, yet the passion in their emerald
depths tore at his heart. Dark ringlets spread about her ivory shoulders like a wild storm, her cheeks kissed pink whether from ardor or exertion he could not know, and she appeared breathtakingly beautiful, silhouetted in a golden glow by the burning coals in the fireplace.

  He reached for her face, cradling her cheek in a tender caress before skimming his palm down the delicate curve of her neck, across her velvet smooth shoulder and farther to settle both hands on either side of her hips. With a firm hold he anchored her to him and lifted off the bed to bury himself deeper into her lovely warmth. Her delighted moan of approval encouraged him to repeat the motion. Again and again, they moved in faultless unison, stroke for stroke, as if the sweet madness they created was not new, but a practiced symphony, long rehearsed and perfected.

  He wanted it to last and last, but she decimated any semblance of his control each time she arced her back in tune to his thrusts. His body throbbed with want. His hands trembled at her hips as he fought back release. She laughed then, a delighted sound, and leaned down for a tender kiss that threatened to destroy the last vestiges of restraint with its beauty. He kissed her back with hunger and yearning, with every emotion he’d locked away for years, the turmoil of loneliness and despair of regret, hoping, wishing, the intimacy of the moment would vanquish his dark secrets forever. And she understood his need, answering his kiss in kind.

  He turned her then, bringing her to the bed with care as he positioned above, their frenetic love play turned incredibly cherished in the span of a few heartbeats. He searched her face for any sign of hesitation, but when he saw only desire, he entered her again with gentle fervor, anxious to lose himself in their intimacy. Like the escalating storm outside, the cadence of their pace increased to a level of exquisite torture and he could do little to temper his thrusts, driven by more than need, too captivated by sensation to examine any other emotion.

  “Take me. Make me yours.” Her husky purr urged him to continue. Her fingers dug into his biceps. Her skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. And her eyes fell closed as her muscles tightened and shuddered, a shaky breath coming fast as sensation consumed her.

  “Oh God, Amelia.” His voice was no more than a strained rasp and he could hold back no longer, his release upon him fast and furious, consumed in heat and passion as if he’d fallen into the sun.

  With desperate effort, he pulled from her at the last moment, his climax as powerful as a secret revealed. He spilled himself on the bedsheets before collapsing, exhausted and spent.

  * * *

  Amelia awoke, wrapped in Lunden’s possessive embrace. She blinked twice, clearing the contented haze from her mind and sweeping away the last vestiges of sleep. She relished the moment, the delightful soreness of her body a testament she hadn’t dreamed the entire episode. How foolish she’d been to fear the intimacies of a wedding night. The sudden twinge of penetration had been fleeting, a sharp pang and then gone, but the aftermath, the incredible loving that followed, was worth any price she’d have to pay.

  She stole a glance in Lunden’s direction. The first rays of dawn shone through the window limning his profile in newborn sunlight, bringing with it a fresh rush of memories, her body atop his, matched, high and tight. She sighed, the result of her actions the night before settling in her bones with satisfied pleasure. Where she once sought Charlotte’s advice, she now trusted her instinct. Lovemaking was not painful, as she’d been told. The deep-rooted fear that consumed her thoughts and perpetuated fear no longer existed. Thank heavens she’d eavesdropped on the scullery maids often enough to learn the proper manner to seduce a man. By the serene expression gracing Lunden’s face in sleep, she’d succeeded.

  Content, her eyes memorized his features. How differently he appeared in sleep. The worried crease that marred his brow with frequency was gone, and his mouth, his wondrously skillful mouth, was smooth and relaxed instead of pressed into a line of intense constraint. He’d smiled last night—a true, rare, wonderful smile that spoke straight to her heart. What she wouldn’t give to cause the reaction more often. Here was a man who made the decision to live apart from society, exiled and neglected by his own choosing, absent from the comfortable companionship of friendship and camaraderie. Was his struggle so different than her own? Life was too short to live without affection, trust, and most importantly, love. Yet he’d shut himself off from those very same emotions, accepting his exclusion as penance for some painful, secretive tragedy years ago. If only he’d confide in her, reveal the torment of his heart, perhaps she could bring him as much happiness as he granted her last evening.

  He murmured and turned. His eyes eased open as if he knew she stared at him in admiration and uncomfortable with her assessment, sought to break the contact.

  “Good morning.”

  His voice, a husky thrum, caused a wave of pleasure to wash over her and she smiled, aware warmth crept up her cheeks.

  “Good morning,” she answered, just as quietly.

  “You’re still here.”

  Did she detect a note of surprise combined with a thread of seriousness? Did he think she would skulk away during the night?

  “That’s not wise.” His voice intruded on her musings with a sudden dose of common sense. “If someone enters to tend the fire, you’ll be discovered. We can’t risk your brother learning your whereabouts.”

  “I plan to speak to Matthew this morning.” She rose from the security of Lunden’s embrace, wrapping the sheet around her torso and leaning on her arm, bent at the elbow, to better view his reaction. His eyes searched her face as she continued. “I never intended to marry Lord Collins.”

  He snapped forward from the bed, his face a mask of stern determination. Something fierce and raw flashed in his eyes and the immediate reaction took her by surprise.

  “This changes nothing, our being together. I thought you understood. No matter what pleasure we pursued, I have every intention to resolve my business and leave London permanently.” His resolute voice came from deep in his chest.

  She hesitated and he continued.

  “This”—he motioned between them with a wave of his hand—“doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you. Don’t misconstrue the situation.” He allowed the words to sink in. “I’m not husband material.” He ended in a bleak voice that broke her heart more, his unexpected reply stalling her immediate retort.

  “I never intended to marry Lord Collins. I’ve already secured an alternative future.” The latter statement gained his direct attention, the intensity in his brown eyes urging her to explain. “My brother cannot barter me if I’m already married to another.”

  “Don’t ask this of me, Amelia. You’ll not receive the answer you seek.”

  For a long moment she said nothing. The sorrowful emotion in his whisky-warm eyes blunted her curiosity and she discarded every question that rose to mind, unwilling to be the source of further sadness. Here was a man that carried the silent contrition of his scars inside, secured behind walls of his own making. Pain speared her heart. What would it take for him to confess the secrets haunting his soul? Perhaps by his nature, it proved an impossibility. Dukes are closemouthed concerning family secrets. Dukes notoriously kept everything important locked away tight, and her duke had more to hide than most.

  “Hear me out, please. I won’t settle, lonely and unloved. I won’t by choice, condemn my future, relinquish all control, and sacrifice my freedom.”

  Gone was the serenity he’d found in slumber. His lips pressed in a flat line of tolerance but he didn’t interrupt, though she wondered at how closely her words cut to the bone. “Matthew can’t arrange my betrothal if I’m already married. That’s where I’ll need your help.” He made to object and she continued in a flurry of explanation. “Keep my brother at bay while I institute my plan. I’ve a candidate in mind. I’ll need only a few days to secure his agreement. Matthew has given me a weeklong courtship with Lord Collins. With your help, I’ll meet with success.” She rose from the bed and began to dress. His ey
es followed each of her movements, although his expression remained stoic and detached.

  “And how will this secure you a happy future, married to some codswallop to please your father and thwart your brother?”

  “I have little choice but to act, otherwise I’ll find myself given to Lord Collins by the end of the week in satisfaction of some unknown bargain he’s struck with my brother.” Her voice dropped off in a show of resignation. “At least I will have made my own choice.” She pinned him with a heartfelt stare. “Just as I did last night.”

  The mention of their lovemaking stole his anger. His features softened, his eyes once again warm and clear. “Speak to your brother before you act rashly. Give him the opportunity to hear you out and listen to reason.”

  She moved to his side of the bed. He’d pushed up during their discussion, now propped against the headboard. Her wrapper was knotted tightly around her waist, and she shifted with impatience, her bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards. “I will, but I doubt I’ll find compromise where there’s been nothing but autocracy.” She raised her eyes to his. “Why must it be like this?”

  “Because I wish the best for you.” He reached forward and stroked her cheek in a tentative caress. “I want for you to dance at balls, make friendships unmarred by secrets, move through society with the respect you deserve.”

  His words did little to soothe the blunt truth he wouldn’t reveal the burden of his past and share a future in her arms.

  “I understand.” Her answer was mostly deception.

  “What you’ve given me is most precious.”

  She closed her eyes for a long blink, absorbing his words. “Repay my gift with your help in this matter.”

  A hard knock at the door dashed any hopes of further discussion. In a series of curt movements, he managed his smalls and trousers before motioning for her to hide behind the drawn bed curtains, out of sight.

  “Open up, Lunden. It’s an emergency and I need to speak to you.” Her brother’s voice intruded, a note of urgency punctuating his commands.