Up until this point, he’d had no intentions whatsoever concerning Primrose Kent. But he wasn’t going to give this holier-than-thou miss the satisfaction of knowing that.
Bridling his anger, he quirked a brow. “I thought I was a hardened rake, Miss Kent. What would I know about honor?”
“I will not allow you to hurt my sister. If you don’t treat her as she deserves, I… I will expose you.” Her cheeks flushed, her small hands forming fists. “I’ll tell my brother what I saw you doing.”
So they’d circled back to the bathhouse. He’d wondered if that would come up again. If she hadn’t said anything yet, however, he doubted she would do so now. It would take even more bravado than this little termagant possessed to confess she’d watched a man frigging himself. The idea that she thought she could shame him—blackmail him—was laughable.
Didn’t she know who he was? The God of Revelry answered to no one.
“You’ll admit to your brother you spied on me during a private moment?” he inquired.
“I did not spy on you!” Her blush deepened. “I didn’t know anyone was in the bathhouse.”
“But you didn’t exactly avert your gaze, did you?” By the nervous way she wetted her lips, he knew he had her. “How long, precisely, were you enjoying the show?”
“I was not… enjoying anything! It was disgusting, despicable,” she sputtered. “Only a madman would do such a thing!”
He had to laugh. God, her naiveté. In truth, he might have found it charming had it not been coupled with the sort of prudish self-righteousness he despised. He’d been judged and found lacking by moral pundits all his life. The best way to deal with sanctimony? Being exactly what they accused him of being—and more.
“If that were true, then all of mankind is mad,” he said.
Her eyes rounded. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Only one of us is being absurd, and, alas, Miss Kent, it is not I. Here’s the rub. Your brother strikes me as a fellow who disdains hypocrisy. If you tell him I belong in a madhouse because you saw me behaving like a healthy, red-blooded man, well,”—he shrugged—“he’s going to have to check into Bedlam, too.”
“Ambrose would never… how dare you accuse him of…” She gaped at him, her cheeks afire.
He reached out and casually chucked her under the chin. “You can thank me later,” he said in a kindly, superior tone, “for educating you about the facts of life.”
“I don’t need any educating from the likes of you! Why, you’re worse than a… a tomcat! You couldn’t keep your trousers buttoned if you tried.”
He gave her a sardonic smile. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t tried.”
He could see her struggling to come up with a rejoinder, and, in spite of his irritation, he found himself entertained. She was like a kitten, spitting mad and boldly swiping her claws at a panther; she seemed to have no idea that she wasn’t his match, not by a long shot. Yet he had to admit that her spitfire attitude was adorable. Her flashing eyes and heaving bosom didn’t hurt matters either.
She suddenly stilled, those lush, gold-tipped lashes blinking at him. “You’re enjoying yourself? You find me amusing?” she said incredulously.
He did, actually. It almost made up for how much she’d provoked him. But he’d allowed this little minx to get too far under his skin. Time to dig her out and make nice: he had to stay on her brother’s good side after all. His future depended upon it.
Before he could establish a truce, she choked out, “You think I’m naïve, too much of a ninny to see what you really are?”
“I never said that.” He had thought it, though.
“You’re a heartless bastard.” At her scathing words, his humor evaporated, leaving the fine grit of annoyance behind. “You think that because you’re a top-of-the-trees fellow you can get away with anything. You ridicule others, amuse yourself at their expense. You rakes—you’re all the same.”
Her unjust indictments flared his anger. “You don’t know a goddamned thing about me.”
“Don’t I?” Her eyes narrowed, and their alert focus caused a prickle of unease again. ’Twas as if she could see past his surface to all his ugly secrets. “With the life you’ve led, I wouldn’t be surprised if your misdeeds are catching up to you.”
He controlled a flinch. Hers was merely a good guess. Since she knew that he’d consulted with her brother, it wouldn’t take much to surmise that he was in some sort of difficulty.
“One man’s misdeed is another man’s pleasure,” he said nonchalantly.
“Your devil-may-care façade doesn’t fool me. I know how you feel. You’re ashamed, desperate… and scared.”
Her words landed with the surety of arrows. Thunk, thunk, thunk, they tore through the chinks in his armor, plunging into his unguarded self. How in blazes had she managed to guess…?
Heart thudding, he managed a derisive tone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Her chin lifted. “Then why are you even more scared now?”
“I am not bloody scared,” he snapped.
God’s teeth, why was the chit pushing him? Baiting him? Was the entire bloody world out to get him? Memories gathered: Nicoletta’s bruised face, the man’s voice, the strait-waistcoat. Fear was a squall inside him, threatening the barriers of his self-control.
You’re not a lunatic. You’re in control. You answer to no one.
She took a step closer, her red-cheeked, apple-scented outrage inflaming his senses. A vein throbbed at his temple. His fingers curled as invisible threads of energy spun tautly around them.
“You’re right. You’re not scared.” She had the audacity to jab a finger at him. “What you are, my lord, is terrified.”
“You’re dreaming, sweeting, because it’s past your bedtime,” he bit out.
Her eyes flashed. “Do not treat me like I’m a child, you bounder!”
“You wish to be treated as a woman? I’ll oblige you, then.”
He yanked her into his arms and slammed his mouth over hers.
Chapter Ten
Polly’s gasp of shock and outrage was muffled by Revelstoke’s lips. His kiss swept over her like an inferno, sucking the air from her lungs, sealing her lips to his, making it impossible to pull away. His heat and smoky male flavor invaded her. In some distant part of her mind, she knew she ought to be struggling, protesting… but her will gave way to a mightier force.
Curiosity and craving rolled into one.
Yearning surged from the deepest recesses of her being, battering her defenses from the inside. Lord Brockhurst’s kiss, the only other she’d known, had been nothing like this. As Revelstoke’s lips roved masterfully over hers, any comparison vanished in a sultry haze. With a sigh, she surrendered to instinct, her lips parting, seeking the life-giving force the way a flower turns to the sun.
The moment she softened, the kiss changed. The charge of anger morphed into something even more potent. His tongue pushed inside, and she jolted at the shocking foray. His palms caged her jaw, held her steady as he continued the silken plundering. The hot, slick plunges caused a melting at her core, and her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as she held on, not knowing what else to do.
When he licked her tongue, she whimpered. He did it again and again, enticing an instinctive reply. Her tongue shyly met his, and he growled, the kiss deepening. He left no part of her cove unexplored, igniting sensations that linked her entire body. She felt his kiss on her lips, in the stiff, throbbing peaks of her breasts, in the damp fluttering between her thighs.
She moaned, needing more.
In the next instant, she was soaring through air, her bottom planting against the hard surface of the table. She clutched at the tough sinew of his shoulders as he invaded the space between her thighs, spreading them. Her head tipped back to receive the deep thrusts of his tongue. She felt his hand sliding up her ribcage and then—heavens—cupping her breast. Shock burned into pleasure as he found the hardened peak t
hrough her nightclothes.
He rubbed and circled the stiff bud, and her core trembled. Her entire being became his fingers caressing her breast, his lips hot and hungry upon hers. He pinched her nipple as he licked inside her mouth, and she responded with blind need, sucking eagerly on his invading organ.
A raspy sound came from his chest, and his hand left her breast, clamping on her bottom. He yanked her closer, and her legs parted naturally to accommodate him, her knees pressing against his lean hips. Her breath hitched as her softness met his hard edges—and one hard edge in particular.
Heavens again. Despite the layers between them, there was no mistaking the jutting ridge of his arousal. The image shot forth from her memory: of that erect pole of flesh, so long and thick, his pumping fist barely containing its veined girth. Wetness trickled between her legs, and she squirmed, moaning when that small friction set off exquisite sensations. His hands molded to her bottom, urging her movements, creating an alignment of soft and hard that stole her mind.
Her fingers dug into his granite-hard shoulders as their kiss raged on, as her hips moved in desperate counterpart to his heavy thrusts. Yes, dear God, yes… Desperation climbed and climbed and then his hardness dragged against some magical peak, and she flew over the edge. She cried out as bliss buffered her fall, a cloud of pleasure catching her.
Boneless and witless, she floated… until his hoarse oath pierced her dazed state. She tipped her head back to look at him, blinking at what she saw. Her haze vaporized in the scorching midnight blue of his eyes, in the storm of energy around him. Her entire being stiffened as she was confronted by his emotions.
Lust tangled with anger… and disgust.
He was disgusted by her?
Reality slapped her back to her senses. Dear God, I’ve acted like the veriest trollop! Appalled, she shoved at his chest, and he moved out of her way. She jumped off the table, stumbling in her haste and pitching forward.
He caught her. “Easy, there—”
“Let me go.” Beyond humiliated, she slapped away his attempt to steady her.
He took a step back, hands raised. “I was just trying to help.”
“You’ve done quite enough,” she said, her face flaming.
“I must apologize,” he said grimly. “It was a mistake. I should never have—”
“Think nothing of it.” She forced the words past the tight ring of her throat. “As I most certainly intend to.”
His eyebrows drew together. “You’re just going to… forget this?”
Anger butted against mortification. The arrogant bastard. Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d succumbed so easily to his seductive prowess? Did he believe that he was so unforgettable that she, a paltry wallflower, would never get over being granted the God of Revelry’s inimitable favors?
“It was hardly a memorable event.” She was proud of her composure. “It was not my first encounter of this nature,”—he didn’t have to know that the other one had comprised of one chaste peck from Lord Brockhurst—“and I daresay it won’t be my last.”
His jaw hardened. “Pardon. I had no idea what a little hussy you are.”
“There goes the pot calling the kettle black,” she shot back.
He sketched her a livid bow. “I believe I shall bid you good night then.”
“Good night.” Her tone wished him otherwise.
His mouth opened… and shut. Tight-lipped, he gave her a wordless glare before stalking out of the kitchen.
She waited until the door shut behind him, his steps fading into the courtyard. Only then did she sag, shivering, against the kitchen table. Why had she acted like such a wanton? The disgust in his eyes when his lust had faded to the awareness of who he’d been kissing—and another thought struck, piercing her to the quick.
Dear God… Rosie, she thought with horrified remorse. What have I done?
Chapter Eleven
I made her come with a kiss.
Awareness permeated Sinjin as Polly entered the breakfast parlor the next morning. He was seated between her sister and sister-in-law at the table, and they continued to chatter away, not yet aware of her presence. But for him everything faded; his senses focused entirely on her.
She looked ill-rested, her eyes smudged with shadows. She’d tried to contain her hair in a severe knot, and she was wearing one of her usual drab gowns. But he barely registered her unflattering trappings because he knew the treasures that lay beneath them.
Cherry-sweet lips. Feminine curves that overflowed his palms.
The purest, most wanton heat he’d ever experienced.
He rose as she approached the table. It was a damned good thing he was wearing a frock coat and not a cutaway that would have revealed the extent of his body’s reaction to her. Christ, what was it about her that made him, a worldly rake, feel like the veriest greenling?
It might have something to do with her going off like a Roman candle from just a kiss.
Goddamn. That had been a first, even for him.
“There you are, Pols!” Next to him, Miss Primrose gave a dazzling smile. “I was telling the earl that you’re usually the first at the breakfast table.”
“I, um, slept later than usual,” Polly said.
Seated on his other side, Mrs. Kent said with sympathy, “Restless night?”
“Something like that.” Rosy color suffused Polly’s cheeks.
When he bade her good morning, she mumbled a reply, avoiding his gaze. How did she manage to look both wretched and adorable at once? he thought broodingly as she conversed with the other ladies. And why in God’s name did he think she was adorable when he knew, for a fact, that she was the most frustrating female he’d ever met—and a virgin, to make matters worse?
When it came to sex, he had only one inviolate rule: stay away from the uninitiated. Seducing an innocent meant marriage, which would be nothing short of a catastrophe for a man like him. What proper lady could accept his dark demon’s insatiable appetites? When that side of him took over, he craved fucking, could do it for hours; more than once, he’d worn out a trio of wenches and still hadn’t been satisfied. What sweet little virgin could put up with that? Or his irritability and devilish temper?
Then there was his other side. His gut tightened in shame. The thought of exposing that wretched, pathetic part of himself sickened him. One time, the blue devil had struck during a weekend of debauchery at a friend’s country house. He’d woken from the high of the previous evening to find himself suddenly plunged low into the abyss of his own private hell. One of the strumpets, clearly wanting to reap the most from her invested time, had made advances upon him… and he’d been unable to respond.
Can’t get a stiff breeze blowin’, luv? Lie back and let me take care o’ you…
Even her experienced wiles couldn’t compete with the boulder of despair crushing him. Her paid touch had amplified the gaping emptiness inside him, and curled on his side, he’d lay there like a mule… a bloody dull knife. Finally, she’d given up with a disgusted huff, leaving him steeped in humiliation and self-loathing.
Last night, however, his iron-clad rule had been blown to smithereens. Polly’s wanton innocence had inflamed him as nothing ever had. A simple kiss with her had been more titillating than an orgy with a bevy of whores. He’d let things go too far with her, and, when he’d regained his senses, he’d been disgusted at himself. Angry and appalled at his lack of self-control—that he’d started something he knew he couldn’t bring to an honorable conclusion.
When he’d tried to apologize, Polly had thrown it back in his face. She thought nothing of their “encounter,” did she? And it hadn’t been her first?
Who the bloody hell kissed her before me?
A foreign emotion gripped him. It took him a moment to recognize it as… jealousy? Christ, he’d never felt possessive of a woman before, and that did not bode well. He savagely shoved the feeling aside as he watched Polly head over to the sideboard. He needed to rid himself of his mad fascination with
the chit. Things hadn’t ended well last night—in large part due to her—but he would be the bigger person. He’d apologize again, patch up any damage, and wash his hands of her entirely.
A capital plan.
As soon as he judged it not too obvious, he excused himself from the table to join her at the sideboard. By the way she stiffened, he knew she was aware of his presence, but she continued to peruse the silver-domed dishes lining the buffet as if they contained the key to the mysteries of the universe.
Mindful of the passing servants, he said in a low voice, “We ought to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She lifted a lid and scooped coddled eggs onto her plate without sparing him a glance.
“I owe you an apology for what happened last night.”
“Fine. You’ve apologized.” A rasher of bacon joined the eggs.
Dealing with the blasted chit was proof positive of why he’d always avoided her kind. Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth and said, “I made a mistake—”
“You can say that again.” She snatched up a roll.
“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t go near a lady such as you, but it was late and I’d had too much to drink—”
“A lady such as me?” She skewered a sausage with enough force to make him cringe. “For your information, I would never go near a man such as you.”
His irritation mounted. It was one thing for him to judge himself unfit to touch her, quite another for her to do so. She didn’t know the first thing about him. Besides, he’d never given enough of a damn to apologize to anyone before, and here she was not only refusing his olive branch, but slapping him in the face with it?
To hell with this.
“Pardon, but your tongue in my mouth suggested otherwise,” he said scathingly. “Then there’s the small fact that you climaxed, fully clothed, in my arms.”
She turned crimson. Casting a skittish look around, she whispered furiously, “You are no gentleman to say those things.”
“And you are a lady to do them?”
“You started it.”
Never Say Never to an Earl (Heart of Enquiry Book 5) Page 9
