Wicked Pleasures

by Helen Dickson

  Her fear was gone. Incapable of reason, she felt her body respond as if she were another person. And though her mind told her this was wrong, her female body told her mind to go to the devil—for this was what she wanted. There was nothing she could do but let go of herself. What was happening to her? What was he doing to her? Every fibre, every pulse, every bone and muscle in her body came alive. A shuddering excitement swept through her, and the strength ebbed from her limbs as his lips travelled over her flat belly, and hips and thighs.

  She strained beneath him. They were entwined—and a burning pain exploded in her loins.

  Joined with him in the most intimate way imaginable, crushed beneath his strength, Adeline became aware of a sense of fullness as he plunged deep within her. With lips and bodies merged in a fiery fusion, she gasped. His hungering mouth searched her lips and he kissed her with a slow thoroughness, savouring each moment of pleasure before beginning to move. And then she felt something new and incredible, and it all seemed so effortless as she began to respond to his inner heat.

  Never would she have believed that she could feel such fierce pleasure, nor that she could respond so brazenly as she yielded, giving all her desire and passion, as if an ancient, primitive force were controlling her, driving her on. Then his control shattered, and as though he were seeking a much-needed release for his mind and body he claimed her fully, filling her with an urgent desire until he collapsed completely, his shuddering release over.

  Still in a state of intoxication, and unable to keep at bay the oncoming forces of sleep, with his rock-hard body glistening with sweat Grant drifted away into a heavy slumber, losing all contact with reality and the young woman in his arms.

  Adeline was aware of nothing but an immense, incredible joy, beyond which nothing was comparable. Sated and deliciously exhausted, her body and lips tender from his caresses, she nestled against her lover’s warm, hard body, closed her eyes and slept.

  A hint of dawn fell on the slumbering forms. Grant emerged slowly from sleep. His eyelids, feeling like sandpaper, flickered open—and closed immediately to ease the throbbing ache that shot through his head. He groaned and tried to move. That was the moment he became aware of the warm, sweet-smelling form cradled against him, and the vibrant mahogany-coloured hair spread over his chest.

  Diana! He smiled, although the remembrance of the woman who had been so warm and vibrant beneath him brought confusion. He found difficulty in equating it with Diana. Opening his eyes, he was relieved when the pain in his head began to ease a little. He frowned, feeling an uneasy disquiet. Something was wrong. Looking down, he disentangled himself from the long limbs entwined with his—limbs that were surely longer and shapelier than Diana’s. Carefully pushing back the hair that covered the woman’s face he stared in disbelief. It wasn’t Diana. Who was it—and how the hell had this happened?

  Without the warmth of his body, Adeline half opened her eyes and, remembering the night, smiled and stretched her long slender form, reaching high with her arms above her head and emitting a deep, contented sigh. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed up at the powerful, dynamic man looking down at her. Masculine pride and granite determination were sculpted into every angle and plane of his swarthy face, and cynicism had etched lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

  Grant looked at her naked, luscious shape in appalled silence. Her face was not beautiful in the classical sense, but it was attractively arresting and he was drawn to it. Her lips were soft, full and sensuous, her eyes—heavy with contentment, fringed by thick black lashes—were almond-shaped and clear, and a sparkling shade of green. An abundance of dark red hair framed the flawless, creamy-skinned visage. His breath caught in his throat. And, dear Lord, what legs—what a body! He must have been drunk out of his skull to have thought she was Diana.

  Drawing himself up, he tightened his mouth. ‘Good God! Who the hell are you?’

  Adeline opened her eyes wider and met his gaze. ‘I might ask the same of you,’ she retorted, her voice quite deep and disturbingly delicious in its shadowy luxury.

  Though she shrank before him, her eyes never left his—which were wide and as savagely furious as a wild, wounded animal. He was six feet three inches of splendid masculinity, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his chest covered with a light furring of black hair. Without haste she sat up and pulled the sheet into place, running her fingers through her wildly disordered hair. Disconcerted, and embarrassed by the way the sight of his naked body was affecting her, she lowered her gaze. Last night, when he had been in his inebriated state, she had for a time felt confident and in control. Now she felt confused and strangely vulnerable.

  ‘Do you mind telling me what happened here last night?’

  ‘I think we both know that.’

  ‘I thought you were—’

  Her eyes met his. ‘Diana?’

  ‘She said she’d—’

  ‘What? Hang a scarlet ribbon on her door so you would know where to find her?’ Adeline’s lips twisted wryly. ‘How appropriate. A scarlet ribbon for a scarlet woman.’

  Ignoring her sarcasm, Grant rubbed a hand between his brows, making an effort to recall the last few hours and failing miserably. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I think the ribbon tied to the handle of my door speaks for itself.’

  Grant looked stunned. ‘Are you saying that Diana set this up?’

  ‘That’s precisely what I’m saying. And I ask you not to give her the satisfaction of letting her know that her sordid attempt to embarrass us both has worked.’ Adeline tilted her head to one side and slanted him a quizzical look. ‘Now, I wonder why she did that? Perhaps you know?’

  Grant scowled, beginning to dress with feverish haste. ‘I have an idea.’ He paused while pulling on his trousers and shot her a look. ‘I must have been very drunk.’

  The lean, hard planes of his cheeks looked harsh in the watery dawn light. ‘You were. Blind drunk.’ Adeline watched his expression harden, and at the same time his voice became chillingly polite.

  ‘For that I apologise. It is not my habit to drink to excess. Did you have no control over what so obviously happened between us?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ A little smile played on her lips. ‘You can be very persuasive,’ she murmured softly.

  ‘You could have cried rape.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t—not without waking the entire household, which would have proved embarrassing for both of us. Besides, it wasn’t rape,’ she confessed quietly.

  He stopped and looked at her. The grey eyes seemed sheathed in ice, fury and horror, and his mouth was fixed in a stern line. ‘Did you plan this?’ His voice was quiet, controlled.

  ‘Certainly not. The first I knew was when I awoke and found you getting into my bed. I can see that you’re angry—’

  His eyes slashed her like razors. ‘How very observant of you,’ he mocked scathingly. Frowning, he peered down at her, trying to read the quicksilver light in her eyes. ‘Did I hurt you?’

  Adeline considered his question. Her body was limp and aching, and still throbbing with a strange kind of tenderness. But she had wanted him to make love to her and he had granted her request—even if he couldn’t remember any of it. ‘No, you didn’t hurt me.’

  Grant’s gaze went to the dark flecks of blood marring the stark whiteness of the sheets, which told their own story. He was incredulous. The evidence was overwhelming—damning. He couldn’t deny what he had done, and the inevitable consequences of it hit home. When he spoke again the husky savagery of his voice shocked Adeline into intense awareness.

  ‘You were a virgin. I have ruined and ravaged a virgin.’

  Adeline winced at the fierce accusation in his tone. ‘Yes. Does it matter?’

  A muscle flexed in his jaw and the metallic grey of his eyes was dim as he buttoned up his shirt. ‘Yes—and if you have any measure of self-respect it should matter to you.’

  ‘Please don’t feel any sense of guilt,’ she said, tossing her hair over
her shoulder.

  ‘How do you expect me to feel? I have wronged you—dishonoured you.’

  ‘I don’t feel wronged or dishonoured. If you feel that way then that is unfortunate, and for you to deal with. Your dishonour is not mine. Whatever happened between us, I did it on my terms.’

  ‘Because I was drunk?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, you needn’t worry. I have no intention of demanding that you do the honourable thing.’

  He froze. Slowly he leaned forward, his hand reaching out and grasping her chin so that she was forced to look into eyes that blazed with white fire just inches from her own. ‘Lady, let me assure you that you don’t want to be my wife,’ he gritted through his teeth. ‘Let’s not play games. I’ve already played them all, and you wouldn’t enjoy them even if you knew how to play. Unlike other men, who enjoy bedding innocents, I prefer the women I take to my bed to be experienced and knowledgeable—women who know how to please a man, sensual and willing.’

  Adeline tried turning her head, but the strength in his fingers held her chin firm. ‘I believe the word for a woman like that is prostitute.’

  ‘Aye, lady, and if you go on behaving as you did last night you are going the right way about becoming one yourself.’

  The blood drained from her face. ‘I am not a whore.’

  ‘You have all the makings of one. Women like that are ten a penny. They are expendable.’

  ‘Why—how dare you?’

  ‘I do dare.’ His eyes were two slits of hard, unyielding steel. ‘It isn’t the first time an innocent young woman has insinuated herself into my bed with marriage as her goal. Most of them are out of the door on their backside before they can take their hats off. I am experienced—as you clearly are not—so it is useless to try extracting money out of me, if blackmail is what you have in mind.’

  Insulted to the core of her being, Adeline shot him an angry, indignant glare. ‘I am no scheming opportunist. You seem to forget that this is my bed and it was you who insinuated yourself into it.’

  Releasing his hold on her chin, he stepped back, his look one of cold contempt. ‘Whatever. I will not marry you. Crude as this may be, there is only one thing I would be interested in—and it’s a lot safer for me to find it in a brothel.’

  ‘And I would not marry you—besides, I am hardly in a position to do so. Despite the attraction you seemed to have for me last night, you do not know me—so how can you care for me in any sense that would result in a happy union? I would appreciate it if you would refrain from mentioning what happened to anyone.’

  ‘You can be assured I won’t mention it. I’m not that much of a fool. Can you assure me I won’t have an angry father challenging me to pistols at dawn?’

  Adeline lifted her gaze to his. ‘I don’t intend to tell him or anyone else. What is done cannot be undone, but I do ask you to forget it happened.’

  ‘Of that you can be guaranteed. I’m glad we have an understanding. Do you care nothing for your reputation? Do you hold yourself in such low esteem that you thought nothing about giving yourself to a complete stranger?’

  Those words, uttered with such biting contempt, hurt her. Stunned and stricken, she looked away from him, beginning to resent his effect on her, the masculine assurance of his bearing. She would never forgive him for turning something that had been so wonderful into something quite ugly.

  ‘You have said quite enough. Please get out of my room.’

  He raised one well-defined brow, watching her. ‘There is just one thing I would like to ask you before I go. Could you have stopped me?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t know.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’

  ‘I had my reasons.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.’

  Uncomfortable with both the question and the penetrating look in his steely grey eyes, Adeline averted her gaze, fixing it on a rather fancy ornament of a spaniel on the dressing table. In spite of her prior intimacy with this man, he was still a stranger. How could she tell him about Paul’s betrayal with the woman this man had wanted to spend the night with?

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I am not obliged to share them with you.’

  ‘And did you enjoy what I did to you?’

  Despite having willingly participated in her own seduction, she flushed and found it impossible to lie. ‘It was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.’

  Shrugging on his jacket, he gave her a long, assessing look. When he next spoke his tone was sarcastic and cruel. ‘Good. I don’t like to leave a woman unsatisfied. I have my pride to consider.’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ she whispered.

  His attitude to what had happened between them made her feel worthless, so cheap and so ashamed of herself. It seemed incredible now that not only had she allowed him to make love to her, she had instigated it. Bright flags of humiliated colour stained her cheeks and tears stung her eyes.

  She pointed across the room. ‘There is the door. Please—just go, will you?’

  He stared at her in silence and then, with nothing further to say, turned on his heel and walked out, without so much as a nod to her.

  A feeling of anger, frustration and a profound sense of shame raged through her. She meant nothing to him. How could she when he didn’t know her? When he had never laid eyes on her before? He had been drunk and, roused by a temporary passion, had taken his pleasure where he found it—with a willing body. Instant gratification. To be forgotten and discarded afterwards.

  She thought of Diana Waverley with shame, and knew she could never equal her sexual experience. She could not believe the ease with which she had given herself to a stranger—a man whose name she didn’t even know, who would scorn her, laugh at her. She had behaved so out of character. Now, in the cold light of day, it was so ugly—so horribly shocking. What she had done was sordid. She was corrupted and beyond forgiveness. And to humiliation and her sense of guilt was added the fear of pregnancy. Dear Lord, don’t let it be so.

  When Emma came in Adeline appeared composed, and put on a cheerful face, while in truth she was struggling with shame and mortification. For now she’d had time for calm reflection she greatly regretted her rash behaviour. Throwing away her virginity because of a childish desire for vengeance hadn’t solved her problem with Paul; it had simply created another. As for his affair with Diana—what could she do? Besides, wasn’t she guilty of the same?

  Thinking how her time at Westwood Hall had changed everything, she realised that she would still have to face Paul and deal with the situation. Of course she would have to marry him—pretending that all was well, playing out a polite farce for the rest of her life—but she realised that pretending nothing had changed in their relationship would prove a severe strain.

  Grant left Westwood Hall for Oaklands—no more than three miles away—before the other guests were stirring. The ride helped clear his head, but he was unable to shake off the memory of what had happened. It hadn’t occured to him until he’d left Westwood Hall behind that he didn’t even know her name, but he was unable to shake off the feeling that he had seen her before.

  He was consumed with a bitterness that was directed not at the young woman but at himself—he was a man who could usually hold his liquor. Embarrassed and shamed by his temporary lapse, and his lack of proper decorum, a wave of guilt washed over him. Miss Whoever-she-was had told him she had known what she was doing, but he could not escape the fact that he had taken her without the slightest courtesy or endearment, with less feeling than a dog for a bitch—and what made it a thousand times worse was that he couldn’t remember a damned thing about it.

  A memory of the young woman flicked across his mind—a mercenary little flirt with a body that had drugged his mind. He could not rid himself of the image, or of the hot, smothering desire that coursed through his body, and it shocked him to think how much he still desired her.

  He knew he could find her if he wanted to—he had only to a
sk Diana—but since she had engineered the whole sordid episode, in excruciatingly bad taste, he refused to give her the satisfaction of letting her know he had fallen for her ploy, hook, line and sinker. Diana was intelligent and direct, and she wanted more from him than he was prepared to give. But it was too late—six years too late—and there was no going back. But that did not stop him enjoying her company now and then.

  Hopefully he would never cast eyes on the young woman again. And, dismissing her from his mind, he concentrated on how he would break the news that he had failed to buy back Rosehill to his mother.

  On the train taking them back to Sevenoaks, Paul and Adeline were alone in the carriage. Paul glanced across at his fiancée. With her lips compressed in a thin line, her glasses on the end of her nose, she had her head bent over her book. He realised she had not spoken to him directly all morning, and she seemed to find it difficult meeting his eyes. And had he imagined it, or had she shrunk from his hand when he had offered to assist her onto the train?

  ‘Have you enjoyed the weekend, Adeline?’

  ‘It wasn’t what I expected,’ she answered, without raising her head.

  ‘Why? What did you expect?’

  Her face was shuttered. Paul never knew what she was thinking—and in this instance if he’d been made privy to her thoughts he would have been both shocked and appalled.

  Adeline was trying to feel abused and furious about what had occurred, but the memory of the stranger making love to her stirred something more akin to warmth and passion, a feeling of wanting to sample what he had done to her more fully. It was wrong what she had done—she knew that—and she knew she had sinned far more devastatingly than she had ever done. But it had felt wonderful, too—and important. How could anything as wonderful be so sinful?

  Resting her book in her lap, she looked at Paul as she would an annoying, persistent fly she wanted to swat away. This man she had pledged to marry had an odd mixture of high intelligence and an almost total incapacity for laughter. He also had a gravity that was totally without delicacy or tenderness. Now she saw him as he really was—a weak, shallow, horrid individual. This time forty-eight hours ago she would have thrust such thoughts deep down into her mind, there to stay out of respect for her fiancé. But by his own actions Paul had killed all respect in her.