by Bec McMaster
"Is this part of the negotiation?"
"Maybe."
Malloryn rested his chin in his hand, his legs elegantly crossed at the shins as he considered her. Something heated the normally dark canvas of his eyes, and there was the faintest edge of a smile lingering about his lips. "Oh, I don't think you'll be thinking of England—or diamonds—Adele. Grant me some credit. I don't think you'll be able to think of anything else at all."
His voice was a purr, and the way he said her name as if caressing it with his tongue, made her swallow as she reassessed him.
It was possible she hadn't fully considered the idea of what an heir would entail. Indeed, the first thought that had sprung to mind had been a baby, looking much like young Master Alex in her head.
Now, she was beginning to think of the step she had missed in this equation. The actual begetting.
She knew enough to know what would happen. Every debutante worth her salt learned what flesh rights were. The ultimate aim of every debutante was to be taken as a thrall by an aristocratic blue blood, but though the exchange sold her blood rights to her lord, her flesh rights were her own, to give away if she chose, or not at all if she did not. It was rarely spoken of in polite company, but though debutantes might be innocent of body when they went to their new masters, of mind they were not.
There had been books detailing the physical effects of a consummation and what precisely a man appreciated.
There had been anatomically correct diagrams that made her eyebrows arch.
There had been gorgeously painted pictures that Adele had blushed to peruse, though the wicked little part of her had noted over one hundred different pictures, and therefore positions. Some of their names had made her tutor stammer and Adele had frankly stared, trying to work out precisely how, and what, and where....
And now all she could see was herself in those images. On her hands and knees, wearing not a stitch, with her husband taking up residence behind her with a turgid staff ready to plunge inside her.
Oh, God.
Her gaze came back into focus as she realized she was staring at her husband. Or more precisely, at the insolently lounged figure who would possibly lie atop her quite shortly. Her breath hitched. Malloryn made a harem pasha look rigid. There was always something vaguely relaxed about him, yet she caught hints of tension there now, in his thighs, in his hands, and about his soft mouth.
Their eyes met, and Adele found herself blushing for perhaps the first time in a decade. All of a sudden, her dress was too tight.
"Are you actually blushing?"
"No," she blurted, though her cheeks felt hot enough to cook an egg. "I'm just surprised. And... curious."
"Curious?"
"It's not as though I do not know what to expect. I attended all the lectures."
"You're untouched." He didn't look entirely pleased with this deduction.
Go to hell. She knew what the world thought of her. "You sound surprised, Your Grace."
"I was not the first man to be caught alone in a garden with you," he replied. "You were quite well known for it."
Not by choice. "Consider me an inexperienced expert of men's desires and what they want from me. I know the value of a woman's virginity. Without it, I'd never have been married. I went to great lengths to preserve my innocence."
"Yes, but it's one thing to know of such matters, and quite another to experience them."
"Don't worry, Your Grace. I am prepared to suffer through the entire affair."
His eyelids lowered, as if he considered something. "I thought you were jesting, but you honestly think I will hurt you."
And just like that, any sense of desire dried up. She felt sick.
"Perhaps you do not know what it was like for a debutante before the queen overthrew her husband." A bitter laugh broke free. "Of course you do not. You're a duke, you're a blue blood, and you're a man. You've never experienced a ball where you're little more than a young girl just ripe for the picking. If I'm untouched, then it's not for lack of lords trying. You're the predator. You have no concept of what it's like to be prey, to have very few means of protection but to submit and hope they do not hurt you too much when they take your blood...."
Adele looked away, fighting the urge to say more as she stared out at the passing London streets. He was still watching her. She could feel it. And she wanted to hit something, suddenly, at the memory of everything she'd thought she had buried.
Malloryn shifted, and it was like a snake suddenly striking. Adele flinched, but he had only reached out toward her, gesturing for her to take his hand.
"Come here," he said.
Where? She looked at him blankly, but he caught her fingers in his own and gave a tug. Adele slid across the intervening carriage space and found herself on his lap.
"I am not going to hurt you." He still seemed affronted by the idea.
Adele's spine remained stiff.
It was the closest she'd been to him since... well, that time in the Ivory Tower.
"I am the Duke of Malloryn, and no woman who's ever been in my bed has left it wanting."
"Even me?" she challenged.
Another long, slow, steady look. "Especially not you."
"Please. Don't exert yourself unnecessarily."
"And now I know you're untouched." The faintest of smiles played at the corner of his lips. "It would not be exertion, Duchess. In fact, I think I would enjoy it."
Her heart started beating a little quicker. "You would?"
Reaching up, he began to undo the buttons at her throat. "I have been remiss in my duties, I see. I was quite irritated by your ploy. I never wanted to know why you were so desperate to marry me."
"It certainly wasn't your pretty manners or your charm," she said, swallowing as he continued down each button, slowly spreading the collar of her high-necked green frock open until the smooth, pale skin of her chest was revealed.
Malloryn glanced up from beneath his dark lashes. He was shockingly beautiful, in an unsettling, masculine way. He always had been. And then he smiled. "Wasn't it? Nor my obscenely large bank account? Or the oak leaf laurel I wore?"
"Any duke would have done," she replied, pressing her hands lightly against his shoulders for balance. The shock of cool air against her bare skin made her nipples harden. Adele shivered as he brushed the back of his thumb against her throat. "Any lord would have done. Anyone kind. Or someone like you, who was not kind, but staunchly opposed to the new fashion of blue blood lords simply taking what they wanted, instead of agreeing to a proper thrall contract where a debutante would be protected."
"Someone like me," he murmured, leaning toward her with an intense look in his eyes. Just before his mouth met her skin, his gaze dipped, and then the shock of his cool lips against her throat made her fingers clench in his shoulders.
She'd had lords force her down onto her back on cold stone benches in a garden, where but feet away swirled dozens of dancers inside a ballroom. She'd had them slash at her throat to drink her blood, and she'd fought and cried, and in the end none of it had mattered. She'd grown hard instead. Let them do what they wanted, while inside she pretended it would all be over soon, and her agile mind tried to find some way—any way—to escape this life of hers.
Then she'd found it.
She'd found him, and a rash decision had seen her throw herself at him, at his mercy, at his reputation. And wonder of wonders, he'd actually married her. She'd been safe for months, and it was a wonderful feeling. One she couldn't begrudge him credit.
She'd thought she could do it again, simply allow a man—her husband—to take what he wanted from her body and her blood, but what she hadn't expected was the faint stirring lash of his tongue against the thumping pulse in her neck. His teeth pressed firmly against her skin, a silken threat, and then his hand was sliding down over her breast.
It was happening again.
Adele ached everywhere. It was a horribly confusing emotion, for she had expected pain, expected to e
ndure a little bloodletting and perhaps some groping.
She was wrong.
On all counts.
Her lord husband did not intend to drink her blood. His bite mark soothed instantly as he eased away from her, swiping his tongue over the flushed imprint. Adele shifted with a gasp. She liked the feeling. She liked the stroke of those slow fingers over her soft flesh. It was all a tease. A kiss against her throat, then lower, dipping into the hollow there. Another one painted against her collarbone, then lower. Lower... always lower. His lips brushed against the lace of her stays, and he licked her again, a long, slow swipe that left her breathless.
"Relax," her husband whispered, his breath stirring against her wet skin.
"What are you doing?" she whispered back, and realized his hands were curling around her wrists.
Slowly Adele found herself being lowered onto her back on the carriage seat. She kept her fists clenched in front of her chest when he let her go.
"Testing my theory." Malloryn straddled her hips, pinning her skirts with one knee and leaning heavily onto one hand over her. With the other hand, he brushed the back of his knuckles against her barely restrained breast. "What are you thinking about, Adele?"
"You're going to ruin my coiffure!" she blurted.
"Really?" Malloryn mock frowned. "Oh, I see I'm going to have to work harder than this then."
He curled over her, his shirt straining over the hard planes of his chest.
Malloryn's lips trailed across the sensitive skin of her throat, tracing little butterfly kisses there even as his thumb rasped against the turgid press of her nipple in slow, teasing circles that made her want to press her knees tightly together.
An odd sort of yearning swept through her. She was half-tempted to turn her head, to brush her mouth to his. He'd never truly kissed her. He'd promised he never would.
But all she could taste was Lord Devoncourt stealing that kiss from her, and she wanted, suddenly, to replace the memory with one of her husband.
Wishful thinking. His hands and mouth might be wreaking havoc across her willing flesh, but this had nothing to do with tenderness or stolen kisses.
"What's wrong?" he whispered, glancing up at her as his breath whispered over her skin.
Adele released the breath she'd been holding.
"I was wondering what I was going to buy with my newly increased pin money," she managed to say with a husky voice.
The smile on his mouth held all sorts of wickedness. "Maybe you can buy new undergarments, once I'm done with these?"
She looked down sharply.
Malloryn met her eyes as he tugged the edge of her bodice down, his perfect white teeth sinking into the scrap of lace that hemmed her chemise. The sharp ripping sound it made cut through the roughened exhale of breath.
And then he was tugging both her bodice and corset lower, revealing the flushed pink of her nipple.
His hot mouth closed over it, and Adele stifled a moan at the shock of sensation. Oh, God. She shifted uneasily, careless of her gown and hair, her fingers curling into claws as she fought the urge to touch him.
She wanted to rake her nails over his shoulders and arch her spine.
She wanted to thrust her breast into his mouth.
To beg.
To move.
But this was a game of wills now, to see how long she could defy him.
As Malloryn's tongue laved her nipple, she couldn't stop a small gasp from escaping her. The second he heard it, he flashed her a devilish smile, his lips wet and slick.
"Diamonds," she gasped.
"Great big ones, I'm sure," he replied, his breath against her wet skin punctuating each word.
Fingers stroked up her thigh, tugging her skirts toward her waist.
"Your Grace," she gasped, grabbing his wrist.
"What's wrong?"
"What are you doing?"
"I thought you were the expert, what with all the lectures you attended. Besides"—his weight pressed firmly between her thighs as he cupped her hip and rocked against her—"this isn't the first time I've had my hand up your skirts. Only this time, I'm lucid."
The Ivory Tower. The bloodletting. The soft, exquisite pull of his mouth on her throat as she tried to save his life....
"Not in the carriage!"
"No?" His fingers traced mesmerizing circles across her garter. "Why not?" he whispered in her ear. "No one will see us."
Adele squirmed. Restlessness itched through her, demanding to be assuaged. Her corset clamped tight around her ribs, and the hot ache between her thighs became a loud demand.
"Aren't you curious?"
Yes.
Rolling onto one hip—and trapping one of her legs beneath him—he brushed the back of his knuckles against her drawers, pressing them directly against where she ached the most.
Adele captured his hand, her cheeks hot and no doubt red.
Their eyes met.
But she didn't push him away.
"How are those diamonds now?"
She said the first thing that came to mind. "Shiny."
"Mmmm." His knuckles brushed against her, and Adele's spine arched as she pressed into his touch, silently demanding more. "I'll bet they are."
The tips of his fingers breached her drawers, and then there was nothing but skin on skin.
"You're so wet," he whispered, stroking through the lush folds between her thighs. "I think you're lying about your diamonds, Adele."
"You don't know how much I adore diamonds," she managed to gasp.
"I think I know something you might enjoy even more than their glittering allure." His thumb traced teasing circles around her sensitive flesh.
"Oh?"
She sank her teeth into her lower lip as an exquisite sort of tension twisted through her lower abdomen. It was becoming harder and harder to pay attention to the words. All she wanted was for that touch... to move... slightly....
"I think if I replaced my fingers with my mouth right now, you'd love it," he whispered.
Adele's eyes widened in shock.
And then his fingers brushed over her, circling that sensitive nubbin like the lash of a tongue.
And his mouth lowered back to her breast, lips capturing her nipple, tongue teasing the rigid point.
It felt like there was a line tied directly between her clitoris and her breast.
His finger slid inside her, curling, just so. Stroking her lushly. "There's a part of me that wants to make you beg, Adele. Would you? Beg me for more?"
Those dangerous fingers held her right on the edge.
Adele's fingernails curled into the velvet of the carriage seat, and she bit her lip furiously, determined not to surrender.
But then his thumb joined the party, finally, finally pressing small, teasing circles against her.
Mouth and fingers and oh, God, what was she doing?
What was she thinking?
Have to... stay focused.
"Beg, Adele."
She shook her head, bit her lip harder.
But it was only prolonging the inescapable.
Malloryn's touch lightened, as if to hold her there, right on the edge.
Forever.
"Please!"
"As you wish."
A soft cry escaped her as the pressure increased, and she bit into her knuckles as pleasure rampaged through her. Adele lost all hint of herself as she writhed beneath him. Sweet gods. He was merciless, stroking her through each and every shudder. Watching her expression, the intensity of his eyes darkening as his eyelids hooded.
She clung to his shirt. Thrashed beneath his weight.
"Stop!" she finally gasped. "Please, stop!"
"Too much?" he murmured as he withdrew his hand.
Adele buried her face in his shoulder as her husband rested atop her. She couldn't look at him. She could barely move, a shudder tearing through her as her heart pounded.
How on earth was she to ever look him in the eye again?
"How many diamo
nds were there?" The self-satisfied purr in his voice made her want to commit bodily violence.
"So many I thought they were stars," she replied hoarsely.
And he laughed, as if her refusal to capitulate—even now—tore amusement from him. "Those weren't the diamonds, Adele."
"You don't know that."
Malloryn continued laughing even as he tugged her skirts down. Not a single lock of hair was out of place, and as she watched he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers dry.
She buried her face in her hands.
Good gods.
How mortifying.
How... intense.
Even now, she was filled with such languorous release, she felt like she'd drunk two bottles of champagne by herself. She couldn't have moved to save herself, but luckily, she didn't have to.
"Well." Even Malloryn sounded surprised as he eased off her. "I was beginning to think my recollections of what happened between us in the Ivory Tower were remnants of the bloodlust. Or insanity."
All she could see was the looming shadow of his body as the carriage eased to a halt.
"Insanity?"
Was that her voice, so low and rough?
He shot her a dark, mesmerizing look. "Shall we not be honest for once? We can call it the effects of the bloodletting—upon both of us—but something happened that day. Something neither of us has been able to forget, no matter how much we tried."
She was destroyed. A mess. And her husband looked almost immaculate.
He swayed onto his knees, peering through the window. "Oh, how unfortunate. We seem to be home." There was a maddening twinkle in his eyes as he tugged at the sleeve of his coat, forcing it to settle perfectly against him.
"Home?"
"You appear monosyllabic, my love."
Argh.
"You took me by surprise."
"With my proposition? Or what just happened? Still thinking of diamonds? Or emeralds?" His voice was a purr of pure masculine contentment.
"An entire choker of them," she whispered, refusing to cover herself. Two could play at this game, and she hadn't missed the telltale bulge pressing insistently against her thigh. "Maybe I'll wear nothing but my diamonds when you visit my chambers. Would you like that?"
This time, it was his turn to look at her intently.
