by Stacy Reid
She expelled a breath. “With your mouth?”
The image of the earl kissing her between her thighs was shocking and terribly arousing. And not what he meant, surely.
“Yes. With my mouth…and tongue.”
All she heard was the sudden roar of blood in her veins. Juliana walked away and sat on the bed with a plop, very inelegant, but it was as if the power of his words felled her.
I want that.
A pool of heat settled low in her belly. Tugging the slim tie at the front of the robe…or peignoir as he called it, she allowed it to part slightly so he could peek at her naked body. She blushed when his gaze settled on the hint of her breasts revealed. Her almost non-existent breasts.
Yet his gaze, intense and heavy-lidded, revealed an expression of utmost satisfaction. He visibly shuddered, and the bulge at the front of his trousers became considerably larger. It swept through her then, feminine power, a sense of awe that he should react to her in such a way. As if he too was helpless under the sweeping desire pervading through her body. Juliana leaned back, her elbows dropping to the mattress, and slinked her body up to the center of the bed.
A purr of hungry approval slipped from him, and he padded over to her. She was so very wicked tempting him to ravish her, yet Juliana never felt safer.
He knew she was not ready to take that final leap and make love with him. Each time she thought about it, she got flustered. However, Wentworth allowed her to be wanton…free…teasing…and he remained a gentleman. The trust that she felt for him felt like an invisible tether drawing them closer together.
“Give me one of your feet.”
That she did not expect, but she lifted a foot in the air and rested it against his chest. The silk of her nightgown fell toward her thighs, but his gaze did not leave the arch of her feet.
“What delicate ankles you have.”
He lifted her foot higher, and to her shock, he kissed right above her ankle. The heat of his mouth against her flesh was unexpected but very nice. More than nice. More kisses to her calf up to the side of her knees. As he revealed a piece of her body by peeling away the silk gown, he would kiss a spot. Soon he tugged her to sit up in the bed, pushing the robe from her shoulders.
Wentworth gathered her hair to one side so he could press a kiss to her nape. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her chin: delicate licks and small nips. Wentworth kissed the hollow of her throat and teased his teeth over her fluttering pulse. Then he went to her shoulders, he kissed her inner elbows, and then he was at her breasts.
There he worshipped with his tongue and teeth until she was a writhing mess. The nipple he had between his teeth ached, but it was such a pleasurable one. She cried out weakly when he sucked one of her nipples deep into his mouth, the pull felt right at that place between her thighs, which seemed like it had a heartbeat of its own. She throbbed. She was wet. So incredibly wet, and he hadn’t touched her there with his fingers or even his promised mouth.
He went down, and he kissed her navel. Restless with hunger, she shimmered down, not willing to just be a receiver of the tormenting pleasure but a participant. Juliana touched his face with her fingertips. Traced his mouth with trembling fingers. Kissed his throat as he’d done hers, licking over his pulse, lingering there until she felt his heartbeat inside her. Then she gently bit.
His body jolted, and he gripped her hips almost painfully. She kissed his shoulders. Wentworth hadn’t stopped touching her, and he traced the bridge of her nose with his fingertip, his touch light and sensual down to the hollow of her cheek, and the shape of her bottom lip. Juliana reacted with carnal instincts and a pure craving to weaken him with kisses as he devastated her.
She kissed the pad of his finger, then sucked it into her mouth.
Wentworth groaned, ripped the rest of the sheer nightgown from her body, and pressed her down into the soft bed onto her stomach. Teeth sank into her buttocks. She arched, a wail slipping from her at the sensation. He kissed down to the shadows of her thighs, and her entire body trembled.
He crawled over her, the power of his body covering her like a warm sensual blanket. That hard place between his thighs rested against her derriere. Juliana was dazedly aware that sweat slicked her skin though he still retained his trousers. The feel of the material against her skin was at once arousing and provoking.
“Wentworth,” she gasped when he pushed a hand underneath her hips and arched her buttocks up. Then she felt the imprint of his arousal like a searing brand.
His lips were close to her ear. “Juliana.” Then a kiss to her nape, and a soft bite into her shoulder blade.
His breathing, too, was shallow and irregular.
She turned her face, sliding her cheek against smooth sheets. The position he had her in felt evocative and almost intimidating. He shifted her slightly so he could reach her mouth. His kiss was a slow, intimate knowing of her mouth, and she sobbed her relief to be tasting him. He tasted sweet of wine and berries and of the man himself. She sucked on his tongue, bit into his bottom lips, nipped at his chin, and when he laughed, the sound was rough and sensual.
Juliana never imagined desire could be this desperate and hungry.
The knowledge sank into her bones then. She was petrified that if she gifted him her body, the feelings swelling inside her now would worsen, and she would betray all the dreams and plans she’d made with her brother for this passion.
How silly could she be? A sob hitched in her throat. The fire ignited deeper in her belly. Her skin was sensitized, and everywhere ached. Wentworth turned her over gently and went upon his knees, peering down at her.
“Let me see your quim.”
Her legs scandalously fell open to his heated gaze until her sex was lushly on display.
“What a pretty quim you have,” he said softly, reaching out as if he would touch her there.
At the last minute, he stopped, and an ache of need pierced low in her belly.
“No touching,” he reminded, “and I am a gentleman of my word.”
“You promised me your mouth…there.”
He dropped to his knees off the bed and stuffed two pillows below her hips. Juliana almost laughed, unable to imagine what it would be like to stare at him in the morning. After every salacious act they were doing now.
Wanton debauchery…and I am such a happy participant!
She stilled when his breath wafted against the heated folds of her sex. Juliana thought he would have tortured her with more teasing licks before kissing her there, but she was wrong, and she gripped the sheets as he went right for her throbbing center.
Her heart beat so loudly in her ears as she waited for what must be the wickedest act between a man and his lady. All of Juliana’s awareness narrowed on the delicate, excruciatingly light stroke of his tongue over her aching sex. That was just a teasing foray, for with a groan, he licked her with decadent greed.
Juliana scream under the hot lash of his tongue, fisting the sheets as pleasure burned her alive. It rushed through her like a tempest, and she burst apart with bliss as her body peaked.
“Again,” he said, flicking that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“I do not think I can…. Argh!” her wail was one of agonized bliss as he sucked her nub of pleasure in his mouth with strong pulls. She came up on the bed, arching on her elbows, her head thrown back as her thighs started to shake.
Juliana felt hot, and weak, and almost scared at the pulsating sensation where his mouth pleasured. Again, she splintered apart. And again, and again, until she collapsed weakly onto the bed.
He disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with the washcloth and cleaned between her legs. Juliana blushed, but she hadn’t the energy to protest. He lay beside her, and she curled into his side, noting how raggedly he still breathed and the tension in his frame.
She’d seen so little of his body. She wanted to touch him, study him, pleasure him as he had pleased her. He was so unselfish, taking her to heights of bliss three times but denying hi
mself any release. She would have admired his control if not for the pained expression of unfulfilled passion.
“You will be unable to sleep,” she murmured.
“That is a very distinct possibility.”
“Let me pleasure you.”
His low chuckle felt strained. “Get dressed and meet me outside in a few minutes.”
Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he pushed from the bed and started to dress. It took Juliana a few minutes before she could move her well-satiated body. After quickly dressing and meeting Wentworth in the hallway, they stood on a bluff on his estate several minutes later. There lay a large blanket on the grass, and a telescope was set upon its tripod and a table. She wondered what the footmen who set it up had thought.
“When did you do this?”
He smiled. “I confessed I ordered this set up earlier before I knew the delights that awaited me in my chamber.”
She laughed, annoyed she once again flushed.
“I thought we could stargaze and drink together.” He lifted his chin toward the decanter on the blanket.
“No wine glasses?” she said, arching a brow at the decanter he was lying beside.
“We are living on the edge of reason tonight.”
“How dangerous, to drink directly from the flask.” She reached out, indicating toward the bottle. This would be the first time she had ever drunk directly from a flask. How scandalous.
He laughed and tugged her down beside him, fitting her perfectly into his side. The feeling of his arms around her was a revelation. I belong in your arms.
“Juliana?”
“Yes?”
She waited for him to explain how he planned to show her the wonders of the night sky.
“I am falling in love with you.”
Fright gripped her heart only to be chased away by a fierce rush of joy. “Wentworth—”
“I only wanted you to know,” he said softly, his eyes caressing over her face with quiet intensity. “You matter to me...greatly.”
“I…you…” She looked away into the sky. She snatched the decanter and took her first swig in what felt like the most inelegant fashion.
“What?” he asked with some amusement.
She lowered her head to gaze at him searchingly. “I was just thinking you…you are the gentleman I hadn’t known I was searching for.”
“So, you’ll marry me then?”
She dropped the decanter of wine, and he snatched it out of the air with his quick reflexes.
A breathtaking smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Should I ask?”
Juliana stared at him in astonishment. “I cannot see an earl as important as yourself, leaving England to live in New York.”
He looked away, down the rolling valley for a long time.
“Do you not enjoy living in England?”
She searched for the right words. “I’ve only been living here for four years. Mama could not stay in New York, where every memory of papa made her inconsolable. She was originally from Wiltshire, you know. Papa visited England after the Napoleonic wars to seek new business ventures. He said the first time he saw mama, she was in a meadow picking flowers. She looked up smiling, and he fell in love with her.” Juliana laughed, recalling fondly the whimsical nature of her father. The very one her mother had sworn her daughter also possessed. “She returned home, a wealthy businessman’s widow, and caught the eye of Viscount Bramley.”
She reached for the decanter and took another sip directly from the flask.
“And they married.”
“Yes. Mama fell in love again, and I daresay the Viscount was also a man enamored of her, even if he is a cretin for wanting my inheritance. I was only meant to stay in England for a year, then it turned into another, and then another. I have not been home in four years.”
“I can hear the longing in your voice,” he said softly. “Is New York beautiful then?”
“Yes, and also different from the bustle of London but very much similar in many ways. I think you would enjoy it there.”
They sat there on the grass, staring into the night sky for long silent moments.
“Tomorrow, I leave for Town.”
Oh!
“I believe I shall miss you, Miss Pryce.”
She smiled. “I know for a certainty that I will miss you, Wentworth.”
He turned, shifted over to her, and went up on his elbow. Wentworth lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers in a tender, devastating kiss that reached inside her and tore at her heart.
I am falling in love with you, too, she offered silently, sweetly returning his kiss with all the emotions brewing in her heart.
Chapter 12
“I’ve never known you to appear this contemplative when your nose wasn’t in a book,” Michael, Viscount Worsley murmured. “You, my friend, have been rather inattentive about the large sum of money you are about to lose.”
Wentworth sighed, lowering his cards to the table top.
“And that sound could have only been inspired by a woman, do tell,” his friend said, his voice a rich purr. “I’ve never seen you so distracted at the club before, you normally come to win and bleed me dry.”
Wentworth chuckled, leaning back in his chair, and tossed back his brandy. His friend owned a gambling hell simply called The Club. It was more than just operating this den of iniquity which had given him the moniker Viscount Wicked. It was his manner with the ladies who continually offered themselves up for his ravishment. Their friendship was unorthodox to say the least, because they were truly so different, ‘the saintly scholar’ and the ‘viscount wicked’ as their other friends liked to mockingly call them.
“Is it true a woman has you currently so out so sorts?” the viscount demanded. “I would have lost the wager if I’d said that no lady could ever control all of your interest.”
Wentworth refilled his glass and took another careful sip. “I am thinking about my valet. I have been in town for three days and I am bloody haunted. I can barely sleep, nor can I erase the taste…” With a groan he tipped back his head to stare in the ceiling. “Michael I fear I am going mad from want.”
Worsley paused in lighting his cheroot, carefully containing his expression. His silver eyes however danced with deviltry. “I never knew you leaned toward—”
“Good God, man, my valet is a woman in disguise.”
“How…fascinating.” He pulled on his cheroot. “Any lady I know?”
“As if I would reveal her identity.”
His friend grinned. “Such opportunities you have for debauchery, my friend. A lady in your private quarters. Tell me all the details.”
“There is nothing to tell, I’ve been a damned gentleman.” Except…bloody hell except for the night before he’d left. The taste of her, the feel of her under his hand, that lush derriere in his hand and rubbing against his cock. How had he resisted? Her smile when they star gazed. That tenderness in her eyes when she’d kissed him. And the fun they’d had staring through the telescope for over an hour before a biting wind had driven them inside. But the most precious moment was when she had fallen asleep on his chest.
“I think…I know I am falling in love with her.”
Worsley’s sigh held grievous disappointment. “One of the most pervasive vices I’ve seen. Did you know Lord Jenkins recently fought a most secret duel and almost got himself killed over his damn love argument?”
“I do not want to hear how love is worse than gambling and drinking,” Wentworth growled. “I want to know how I can be with her, always.”
“So, make an offer—”
“She is not interested in marrying me,” he admitted gruffly.
“Now I am interested in meeting her.”
His friend was so used to ladies of society contriving to marry either of them for their wealth, of course Juliana’s resistance would be refreshing to his jaded senses.
Wentworth pushed to his feet and went to the high windows overlooking the gas-lit streets of Lond
on below. Looking down on the scene from three stories above. Several carriages crawled by, some joining the receiving queue to enter the club.
“I’ve never seen you in knots over a lady before. If she means that much to you, find a way to marry her and keep her by your side.”
“You are surprisingly supportive.”
The viscount lifted his glass to his lips. “Let’s just say I have recent reasons to understand the urges that can plague the heart and torment dreams.”
Wentworth jolted. “Good God, you have your own valet.”
“More like a governess.”
“What need do you have for a governess.”
“It is a long story my friend. But should you attend the Duchess of Wycliffe’s ball tomorrow, you will see me dance with her.”
“You do not dance at society balls.”
“For her, I will.”
Wentworth smiled, enjoying the notion of his friend being just as knotted in love. “I hope she gives you a merry chase.”
Worsley grunted.
And Wentworth thought of all the reasons he and Juliana did not fit. “She is not an English lady. She…she does not fit into the pattern of my life. She is not the kind of person to care about titles.”
“So, she does not want to be a countess.”
“Or a married woman. But the freedom to be a business woman far away from me in bloody New York.”
Worsley clapped him on his shoulder.
“If you want her, truly want her, simply learn how you fit into her life.”
Then his friend sauntered away, leaving Wentworth alone with his heavy thoughts.
A week had flown by since her night in his lordship’s bath and bed, and for that duration Juliana had not seen Wentworth. He’d taken himself off to London and she missed him dreadfully. The ball loomed in three days’ time, and she suspected it was that chaos he had escaped. Dozens of servants had been hired from the village to assist for the night. Dozens of flowers were being cut from the nurseries with glass houses that supplied London’s wealthy elite. So late in the year, they were expensive to deliver in pristine condition to his Wiltshire seat. His gamekeepers had been hunting to provide game for the table and other delicacies had been ordered to cater for the assembled guests. The house bustled with activity and all the servants were harried to ensure that everything would be perfect for the ball. Only Juliana had been relatively idle.
