by Bec McMaster
He could have bedded her if he'd desired. She would have let him.
She'd wanted him to do it.
All of it was a lie.
A means to test her allegiance. A way to twist her around his little finger while he worked out her loyalty. She felt like she wanted to throw up.
Or throw something.
"Adele?" A silky smooth whisper.
Don't you dare call me that. Adele slammed her walls up, protecting her poor, battered heart.
"Say something."
She wanted to say everything. But the sudden seething rage inside her choked off the words, leaving her shaking with fury.
"I came here expecting you to throw something at me."
That did it. Adele drained the contents of her brandy glass, not willing to waste good liquor, and hurled it at him.
Malloryn snatched the glass out of the air. They stared at each other. "I'm a blue blood," he pointed out. "I'm faster than you, Adele. You can throw anything you like at me"—he examined the glass—"though I do note Charlie gave you the lesser set of glassware."
"The lesser set of glassware?"
He didn't even care.
"He must have been anticipating fireworks."
"Fireworks?"
And suddenly she was filled with the urge to ruffle those elegant feathers. To make him act like he did give a damn. Anything. All she wanted was for him to shout at her, just once. Some bloody sign of emotion that might make her feel not so alone in this.
Reaching behind her, she found the decanter of brandy. Malloryn's eyes widened as she lifted it.
"Perhaps we should test your phenomenal reflexes then?"
She hurled the decanter, which he caught. The stopper tore loose though, half the brandy splashing across his chest before he righted it swiftly and set it aside. There were three more glasses that she threw at him in quick succession, and Malloryn snatched them all out of the air.
"Adele," he barked, juggling glassware like a professional.
Her back was up, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I thought you were gadding about behind my back with your bloody opera singer," she shouted, flinging the silver tray at him like a discus. "I let you—" Her words choked off as a flood of embarrassment swept through her. I let you kiss me all over. I let myself.... No. She stopped the thought right there, ignoring the aching twinge in her chest at the memory of how she'd felt when he looked into her eyes and slowly, slowly kissed her mouth.
She did not care about him.
She hadn't been entertaining stupid, foolish daydreams about her husband sweeping her away to the country where they could lie in bed all day and whisper idiotic love words to each other—
"Let me what?" His mercurial gaze sharpened as he dumped all the glassware on a shelf nearby.
Still unruffled. Still wearing that faint, supercilious mask, one eyebrow arched.
That was more than she could take.
Books came into her hands and she flung them at him, one after the other, depleting the bookshelf in swift succession. Malloryn had an armful. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her over the top of it. "Adele. Stop. I'd expect this from—"
"From?"
"A highly strung Italian soprano!"
"I'll give you 'highly strung!'"
More books. She was throwing with all her might now. Malloryn cursed under his breath as he dropped everything he held, trying to capture the encyclopedic tome she'd slung at his head. He glared at her as all the books tumbled into disarray at his feet, his shirt creased and drenched in brandy, one coppery curl draping across his forehead. Disarray achieved.
Finally.
Adele tossed one more book at him, almost a taunt, and then the mask shattered. He strode across the study with predatory intent, and she suddenly realized she was in trouble now.
This time the scurry of lobbed objects was made as she tried to flee. If he got his hands on her—
"Yes, 'highly strung'!" Malloryn accused, ducking beneath a paperweight. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"You're a blue blood," Adele shot back, darting around the desk and glaring at him over it. "You're so much faster than I am," she taunted, batting her eyelashes at him. "You can survive almost anything—"
"I'm not sure a barrage of books counts," Malloryn snarled, launching toward her. "Or you. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to survive you!"
Adele squealed and darted the other way. "Well, I don't exactly have a pistol right now! It's the books or nothing, and I—"
"You'd what?" A hand snagged in her skirts. "You'd like to shoot me?"
Adele hammered at him as he swept her back into his arms. Too late. She was caught now.
"I wouldn't waste the bullet!" She couldn't resist trying to escape. She was so damned angry. "You lied to me."
"I wasn't certain if you were working for the enemy," Malloryn finally snapped. He turned her toward him and Adele kicked him, stubbing her toe against his shin.
"Me? Working for your enemy? What did you think I was? Some kind of spy?"
An icy, impenetrable look came over his face. "I—"
She couldn't help herself. She laughed right in his face. "Then I'm not the only idiot here, it seems. Perhaps you were too clever for yourself? How does that feel, Malloryn? Talking yourself around in bloody circles every time you meet someone? Questioning their loyalty. Standing there alone—"
"That's enough." She'd scored a point though.
"Is it?"
"I think," he stated, "that I don't know half of what goes on in that pretty little head of yours. You decimated Lord Abagnale when he tried for your hand. You had me bound at the altar before I could even blink. You set up a black market trade among the debutantes of the Echelon, running hemlock rings to them beneath the noses of suspicious mamas and blue blood lords everywhere—"
"So it makes sense I would be working for the very men I despise?" Adele countered. "The elite lords of the Echelon who want to take the world back to the days when they ruled it and the rest of us were just prey?"
Malloryn froze.
"I don't think you were thinking at all," she taunted, wriggling furiously. "Let me go."
"No."
Adele struggled harder. "Let. Me. Go."
"No."
"I see the barbarian has managed to stake its claim on you!"
"That's enough."
Adele fought to free herself.
"I said, that's enough." He slammed her back against the wall, breathing hard as he captured her wrists above her head and pinned her there.
There was no way to escape. He was stronger than her. Faster. His temper thoroughly roused. The pair of them glared at each other.
"You are a fool, Your Grace."
His eyes narrowed even further, which somehow seemed impossible, but he was clearly thinking again. "You wanted a child."
There was no way in hell she was admitting any of those thoughts to him. "What I want is for you to get your hands off me, right this instant."
"Yes, but we don't always get what we want, do we, Adele? Now what?" he taunted. "Are you going to hemlock me too?"
"I only had one dose."
"Poor Herbert." His lips kicked up.
"Poor Herbert, my foot."
There was only one weapon left to engage. She meant to escape, but it was clear her husband overpowered her physically. Which left only her mind. And—
Adele kissed him.
There was a moment of frozen shock as Malloryn absorbed the action without responding. For a second she thought he was going to reject her, that it had all been one stupid game to put her in her place, and make a fool out of her—
And then he threw himself into the abrupt change in dynamics, his mouth capturing hers with a hungry snarl.
It was a kiss to put all others in their place. A kiss with no design, beyond a statement: You are mine. A clash of tongues and teeth, and hard, heated hands that forced her to yield. But yielding was not in her nature, and she bit his lip as if t
o warn him she would not be conquered. Not by him. Not by this.
A growled—utterly un-Malloryn—sound escaped him, and then he slid one hand under her bottom and hauled her against him, his hips pressing into the warm juncture of her thighs.
His tongue delved deeper, caressing hers.
And she met each stroke with her own unabashed response, unleashing all her fury and hurt in each breathless kiss. Taking what she wanted, damn him.
Malloryn's hips ground against hers, his erection lining up right between her thighs. Right there. He thrust against her in an almost mindless simulation of the physical act of consummation.
It set every inch of her on fire, until Adele was grinding against him, her hands sliding through the dark coppery strands of his hair, fisting there and mashing her mouth against hers.
She wanted to climb inside his skin. To drink down every last inch of him. To consume him. She wanted to throw all caution to the wind and pretend none of the lies mattered. Suddenly there were too many clothes between them. Too many barriers.
But the most insubstantial was the one around her heart.
For if she were being honest with herself, it wasn't just the thought of a child that had begun to lure her into her husband's arms.
And it hurt, because some part of herself had began to feel something for him and—
Adele tore her face to the side, away from his dangerous mouth.
Away from those tempting thoughts that beckoned her down a dark road that only ended in heartbreak.
Both of them were panting. Trapped against each other. Tangled by way of flesh and clothing.
"Look at me," he whispered.
No.
"Adele." A soft word. A word that pierced her through and through. "Adele, look at me." She was almost strong enough to deny him, until he added, "Please."
She looked. Heaven help her, but she looked.
And enough of the mask had slipped for her to see a faint, unguarded glint in her husband's eyes. One that showed her he wasn't quite as certain as he seemed.
They stayed there for long moments, and she realized his chest was heaving, almost as much as hers was.
"Are you happy now you've destroyed the order in my study?"
No. She wouldn't be happy until she'd destroyed the order in his heart. Her gaze slid over his shoulder, then back to him. "The desk still looks untouched."
A heartbeat.
Then a devilish smile that made her stomach drop almost to her feet.
"We could fix that," he purred as he leaned closer and rubbed his cheek along hers, his whisper a caress against her ear. "Lady's choice, of course."
A thrill ran through her.
Adele closed her eyes.
She wasn't seriously thinking about this, was she? He'd lied to her and tricked her. But it was all out in the open now, and as he rocked against her, she felt the insistent press of his erection.
That wasn't a lie.
Their marriage might have been built upon cool, slashing words and disdainful looks, but it was becoming quite evident there was heat there too. Desire. Need. Ever since that bloody day in the Ivory Tower when she'd saved his life and he'd nearly taken her right there on the floor, she couldn't seem to look away from him.
Something within her had bloomed to life that day, and Adele wanted it.
Why not take this one thing for herself?
It didn't mean anything more than that.
Soft lips found her throat, brushing against her grandmother's pearls.
"Do you want me to fuck you on my desk, Adele?" Malloryn nuzzled her throat, stubble rasping against her sensitive skin, and she flinched a little at the rough sound of his voice, of that word.
All those years pretending she was unaffected. All those years of burying her fire, her fury, hiding it all behind a mask of cool disdain. It wanted to erupt from her skin. She felt not at all herself as her nails dug into his shoulders and he made a slight hissing sound of gratification.
Malloryn wasn't promising a damned thing except pleasure.
And more....
For the first time she realized he was offering her something else: the opportunity to take what she wanted from him.
Fingers turning into little claws in his shirt, she arched her throat and moaned as his teeth bit down sharply. Not just pleasure, but unabashed pleasure. Uncontrolled. Untamed. A little dangerous....
And Adele made her decision.
"Make me your wife," she whispered.
Malloryn drew back and looked at her, face-to-face with her. She felt like she could fall into those gray eyes forever as she sought to find the truth of the man behind them.
Then his lashes fluttered shut as his mouth melted against hers in a kiss that would have had her begging him, if she hadn't already conceded. She didn't want soft and sweet. She wanted ruin. Adele bit his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. A growl echoed in his throat, and then he was moving.
One hand blatantly cupped her bottom, and he hauled her thighs around his hips. Adele clung to his collar as he turned and strode toward the desk.
The hard muscled flex of his hips surged against her, and she could feel the rampant press of his body between her thighs. Adele gasped, one hand slamming back upon the desk for balance as he bit at her jaw.
It was all happening.
So swiftly she could barely think, let alone react. But oh, gods, how she wanted it.
Malloryn pulled back, soft fingertips trailing down her throat and décolletage. She could almost sense him reining himself in, but that wasn't what she wanted at all.
She needed him to remain unbalanced.
"I hate your composure," she snapped, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt and tearing.
Buttons shot everywhere.
"And I hate the way you make me feel," he growled. "I want to ruin you."
"You couldn't, even if you tried."
"We'll see." Malloryn captured her mouth, his lips firm and punishing. There was no sweetness to this kiss. Only hunger. Only absolute dominance.
Adele yielded with a low moan.
Her palms slid against his chest, but there was no time to explore. She dug her nails in, wanting him to feel her urgency. Needing him to know it too.
Then he was shoving her skirts up, tearing at the lace in his haste. The insistent press of his fingers found her through the slit of her drawers, and for the first time his touch gentled. The stroke of his fingertips was like a velvet lash that lit her nerves on fire. No hiding how wet she was. The second he'd slammed her back against that bookcase, something had started aching low in her abdomen.
Their eyes met.
His touch slowed, thumb pressing insistently against her clitoris until her nails curled into claws on the mahogany desktop. Oh, God. Even now he sought control. Even now he could play her body like a lute.
Adele grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. Her other hand darted between them, finding the firm press of his erection. Buttons.... More wretched buttons. She tore them loose, and then her palm was curling around velvet-sheathed steel.
Malloryn groaned into her mouth, thrusting into her palm. Sharp teeth bit her lower lip, as if to prove she wasn't wholly in control here, but he let her learn him. Let her circle the swollen, heated head of his erection with her thumb, just as Lena had directed.
The soft touch of his own fingers had slowed.
Adele's heart soared. Not so in control. Not now.
Then he was pressing forward, the firm head of his erection nudging against her slickness. A thrill shot through her; a luscious little mix of nervousness and desire. Yes. She threw her head back as teeth raked down her throat, sending sensation slicing through her.
The tip of him breached her. Then he withdrew. Used his cock to rub exactly where she needed it. A tease. The whole damned thing was a tease.
Adele bit her bruised lip, her hips begging him for more.
"Please," she whispered, exulting in his lack of composure
.
Malloryn eased inside her again, and this time he wasn't drawing back. Adele clung to the remnants of his shirt, fighting the instinct to tense. She'd felt his length and size and for a second wondered how on earth she was to manage this....
And then he surged to the hilt, a harsh breath escaping him.
Finally a wife in more than name.
It wasn't precisely painful.
No, it was the strangest, fullest sensation she didn't think she'd ever be able to describe. Adele sank her teeth into her own lip as he rocked against her, a ricochet of heat and pleasure spearing through her.
Dark eyes met hers as he looked up. The blackness of the craving swept through his irises, stealing away the stormy gray. There was only hunger there now. A desire to claim.
"Are you all right?" he clearly forced himself to say, the muscle in his jaw locking tight.
Adele pressed her lips there, her lashes fluttering half-shut over her eyes as she caressed his face. "I thought you promised me ruination? Don't stop now."
The next thrust caught her almost by surprise.
Malloryn lifted his face to the ceiling, as if trying to fight his darkest impulses. Every muscle in his throat stood out in stark relief, his shirt torn open, revealing the reddened marks she'd left on his skin.
Gently she lured his mouth to hers with small kisses painted across his throat and jaw. Every inch of his body was tight with restraint, and she shivered restlessly as she clenched her hips around his, riding him through the next thrust. And then the next.
There. The little quiver in his jaw.
A breath escaped her as he worked her harder, his hips flexing sleekly even as his mouth opened over hers.
Kissing him like this felt like all of her was melting. No more finesse. She felt the muscles beneath her hands quiver as he pumped his body into hers, crushing her shoved-up skirts between them.
Malloryn hauled her chest to chest, his mouth hot and frantic. Corset straining around her heaving ribs, she slid a hand to his nape as she bit at him, and sucked and licked.
He'd lied.
I will never kiss you, Adele, whispered through her head as the duke's tongue tangled with hers.
I will never make you my wife in truth.
But here he was, thrusting inside her with brutal intensity as she gasped and moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders.
