Another piece of his heart fell at her dainty feet.
She’d been slowly chipping away at the hardened organ since offering to become his bride at the Lyon’s Den. It wouldn’t be long until she owned the entire thing lock, stock, and barrel. If she didn’t already.
He studied the amber liquid, marveling at her consideration. No one else in the household partook of strong spirits, and to his knowledge, Helmstead Gate had not been overrun with gentleman callers.
She’d done it for him.
His attention traveled to his two oldest sisters. They were of marriageable age, and the thought of them entering into an arranged marriage or a marriage of convenience soured his stomach. He’d do everything within his power to assure they married for love as their parents had.
As Vanessa should have done.
More on point, Kingston had benefited from their union far more than she had, and yet not one word of complaint had passed her lips. Lips that were almost always arranged in a pleasant half-smile as if she were truly happy with her situation.
When Madeline had confronted him about his marriage to Vanessa, he’d told her the truth. His sister was too intelligent to believe a happily married couple, especially newlyweds, would not share a bedchamber.
“Oh, Kingston. I fear you will both come to regret what you’ve done,” was all she’d said.
However, at this very moment, her winged blonde eyebrows were arched high in an, I’m on to you look.
Blast and damn.
He’d been too obvious in ogling his delectable wife.
Madeline covertly slid Vanessa a considering glance, but she seemed unaware of Kingston’s gawping.
Her lower lip caught between her teeth, his wife tapped the fingertips of one hand upon the table. She was a horrid player. Her expression gave her away every time. She leaned forward, and her decolletage swelled invitingly.
His mouth went dry as the hot, arid air in Egypt.
That bloody, tantalizing gown.
With every movement, the damn thing begged him to strip it from Vanessa and reveal the lush treasures the fabric hid from his hot gaze. The treasures he yearned to explore at his leisure.
For the rest of their lives.
When Kingston had arrived this evening, he’d been wholly entranced. He’d craned his neck so hard to see a full glimpse of her as she stood by the window chatting with Rebecca, he’d nearly plowed into the mahogany, marble-topped table beside the drawing room doorway. As it was, he’d let slip a curse as he lunged to catch a tottering vase—no doubt a very expensive vase—before it crashed to the floor.
When he’d glanced up, everyone in the room stared at him, and by God, there’d been the merest gratified hint of a smile at the corners of Vanessa’s mouth.
The minx.
He’d be bound, she knew exactly what effect the gown would have on him.
What game did the vixen play now?
Casting a reluctant glance to the gold and green marble ormolu mantle clock, with its trio of irritatingly cheerful, naked mythical creatures, he sighed.
Half-past nine.
He’d already lingered an extra half an hour with his family past his typical departure time, either to return to Quail Hollow House or adjourn to Helmstead Gate’s study. A stack of invoices in need of reviewing, several supply orders, and correspondences he’d already neglected for several days awaited him there.
And yet, averse to disturb the tableau of domestic tranquility before him, he delayed his departure. His siblings’ hollow cheeks had filled out, and their youthful faces now shone with health instead of worry, hunger, and fatigue. There could be no doubt Vanessa was good for them, as had living at Helmstead Gate.
They, too, were happy.
It was Paxton who broke the peaceful ambiance. Yawning, he closed his book and climbed to his feet. “We’ve an early morning riding lesson on the morrow, so I’ll bid you goodnight.”
Attired in a neat walnut brown suit, he actually bent into a perfectly proper bow.
Yes, Vanessa had worked wonders in a very short time. But then, Kingston had known she would. She had that innate ability. To bring out the best in people.
Even Kingston.
Elligon seemed the sole exception, but that blackguard was a greedy, self-centered bugger. At least the sod had made no further attempts to harass Vanessa. However, that didn’t mean Kingston let his guard down.
He’d privately spoken to each male staff member and explained they needed to be diligent and notify him if anything unusual occurred. Vanessa’s staff were devoted to her, and each had assured him they’d guard her with their lives.
Grinning at Paxton, Kingston lifted a finger from his glass and pointed it at his youngest brother. “Very wise of you, and that bow was worthy of a courtier. Well done, you.”
Paxton beamed under his praise.
Kingston appreciated that his brothers and sisters hadn’t balked at their seven o’clock riding lessons. But then, none had been slugabeds prior to moving to their more luxurious accommodations, either. They were accustomed to rising early and hard work.
“Yes, we should retire, as well.” Smiling her agreement, Rebecca laid down her cards. “We’ve appointments in Canterbury tomorrow afternoon, too.”
More gowns? Hats? Slippers? Fripperies?
He couldn’t begrudge their fun, yet neither did he want Vanessa assuming those financial obligations. It made him feel guilty as hell that he couldn’t provide for his family—made him indeed feel like a bloody fortune hunter.
And, the truth was until he inherited the duchy, there was damn little he could do to alter that except to turn a profit with his lands. Even then, it would be years before he could repay Vanessa.
“I confess, I’m quite done in. I’m sure you are too, Vanessa, as you were up with the chickens this morn,” Madeline said, the merest thread of puckishness coloring her voice. The bland stare she leveled Kingston didn’t fool him. She was up to something.
Startled, Vanessa glanced at the clock. The candles’ glow played across her hair, giving her an ethereal radiance.
“Goodness. Is that truly the time?” A wide smile wreathed her mouth as she accepted a kitten from Dorena and nuzzled the calico’s neck. “Good company tends to make time fly, doesn’t it?”
Gareth also stood. “Come, Remus. Romulus.”
With a snap of his fingers, the two puppies yawned and rose, obediently staring up at him. Their pure white tails thumped upon the pink, burgundy, and green Aubusson carpet. A carpet they’d each anointed several times.
“Such are the hazards of having puppies,” Vanessa had said last night as a pair of dutiful maids had mopped up the most recent accident.
A few more moments passed as goodnights were exchanged. Remus and Romulus, plump as piglets, scampered after Paxton and Gareth, while his sisters, each carrying two kittens, slowly drifted from the room. Madeline gave him an impish smile as she shut the door firmly behind her.
Only the fireplace’s popping and snapping, and the clock’s tick-tock, tick-tock interrupted the weighty silence that descended upon the drawing room. Vanessa made no effort to follow his brothers and sisters, as was her wont.
Instead, she tidied the cards and put them away.
The air crackled with tension and electricity as if a bolt of lightning were about to strike at any moment.
Kingston should go.
He scratched his nose, and upon realizing what he was doing, promptly laid his hand upon the chair’s arm.
It was the height of folly to remain.
Forcing himself to rise, he cupped his nape and stared into the capering flames. He’d not last another five months of keeping Vanessa at a distance. Of that, he was certain. Perhaps, it would be best not to come every day anymore and only check in once weekly.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, he discarded it.
He’d not leave the care of his siblings to Vanessa. She’d already taken on most of the burden, he was chagrined to admit. And he’d
not have his brothers and sisters think he cared so little for them, he couldn’t be bothered to visit when Quail Hollow was but half a mile away.
Guilt hollowed his gut at the years of neglect they’d already suffered.
Closing his eyes, Kingston summoned every bit of resolve he possessed.
Go. Leave. Now.
“Kingston?”
His eyes flew open.
Vanessa stood only inches away, her brandy colored eyes luminous with some emotion he couldn’t identify.
How had she moved so swiftly and silently?
Or was it that he’d been so absorbed in his rueful ruminations he hadn’t heard her?
Her tongue peeked out and touched the corner of her red mouth.
A groan lodged in his throat.
He wanted to touch that sweet, delicate corner with his tongue.
And saints above, Kingston’s mouth went dry as chalk again as lust pounded through him with the force of stampeding elephants. An immense battle fulminated within him. Two sides wrestling for dominance, cleaving him in two. Each convinced their course was best. For her. For him.
Take her. She’s your wife.
Only for a short time.
It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
She wants you, too.
She did.
God curse Kingston for a raffish scoundrel. He’d been with enough women to recognize feminine longing. And the incandescent glow in Vanessa’s beautiful eyes, tender and yearning, told him all that he needed to know.
But this was Vanessa.
Gabriel’s sister.
A woman, unlike any other. Still, as sexually experienced as he was, foreign vulnerability and doubt wreaked havoc on his confidence. Because sex with her would never be just physical gratification.
Stepping nearer until her slippers touched his boots, her iridescent skirts brushed his black evening trousers. She laid a slim-fingered hand upon his forearm. “This morning, you said you wanted to finish our discussion.”
Ah, that was why she’d lingered.
Disillusionment curled bitterly in the pit of his stomach.
Vanessa merely wanted to assure herself he’d not forbid her to finance even more than she already had. More fool him. Kingston had wished she’d stayed because she was as disinclined to part his company as he was hers.
Vanessa’s position afforded him a splendid view of the mouthwatering valley between her rising and falling breasts. His groin swelled with burgeoning want and need for this woman, and he ran his knuckles gently over her satiny cheek.
Her eyes and mouth went soft. Inviting. Tempting as sin, and God knew he was no saint.
Perhaps, their unfinished discussion wasn’t the only reason she’d lingered.
“Kingston,” she whispered, her tone throaty, her hand tightening on his arm. Then she utterly flummoxed him by rising on tiptoe and pressed her petal-soft mouth to his.
Kingston was lost.
The last shred of his waning willpower splintered into a million sparkling pieces. With a guttural groan, he hauled her into his embrace, claiming her lips in a searing kiss. There was nothing tender about this meshing of their mouths. Raw hunger compelled him, drove him to brand Vanessa as his.
Twining her arms around his neck, she opened her mouth beneath his sensual onslaught. Their tongues mated in an age-old replica of what he desperately wanted to do with his body. They dueled and parried, and with each little sigh or mewl that escaped her, his cock grew marble hard and impossibly harder still.
His erection pressed unrelentingly into her soft belly, throbbing, pulsing, aching for release. A blissful pain-pleasure that he both wished could go on forever, and he could relieve by parting her silky thighs and sinking home in the sweet, moist sanctuary of her womanhood.
Christ.
Kingston had known women before. Had bedded dozens, but nothing had ever been like this all-consuming, inexplicable, permeating need for Vanessa. Sex with other women had been purely carnal—a physical necessity, much like breathing or sleeping, or satiating one’s hunger or thirst.
But this….
Whatever this was, was so much, much more. His need for her came from the depths of his very soul, and that frightened the hell out of him even as it drove him onward.
“Vanessa,” he moaned, nuzzling her neck and inhaling her jasmine and verbena perfume. For as long as he lived, he’d associate those scents with her.
On a lengthy, ragged sigh, her head fell back, exposing the long, graceful length of her ivory throat as she clung to him.
He drew the fabric of her gown lower, lower, and lower still, trailing kisses over the exposed expanse of full, fragrant flesh, inch by delicious inch. The dark arcs of her areolas came into view, and he grinned.
“Dusky rose.”
“What?” Vanessa mumbled, caught up her passion. “Rose? What?”
She blinked, unfocused, hazy eyes at him.
With a firm jerk, Kingston yanked the bodice to her waist. She wore no chemise, and the full globes of her breasts bobbed slightly as she panted, her sweet honey-tinged breath caressing his neck and chest.
Her breasts were magnificent. My God. Marvelous, creamy melon-shaped breasts.
“Your nipples,” he said, his voice gravelly and hoarse to his own ears. “They’re the color of pink roses at dusk.”
Her mouth parted into a little “O” of surprise.
He nibbled the tender flesh between the supple mounds. “Mmm, you smell and taste so sweet.”
“I applied perfume there tonight,” she managed between gasps of pleasure.
“For me?” A primitive possessiveness engulfed him. For him and no other. Ever.
“Yes,” she half-groaned, half-sighed.
Arching into him, Vanessa threaded her fingers in his hair, urging him lower.
No further prompting was needed to take a turgid tip into his mouth, suckling the peak.
“Oh. Oooh,” she moaned, lifting herself to his mouth like a sacrifice. “Kingston, that feels…amazing.”
Laving the tip, he studied her beautiful face, radiant in her pleasure. Cupping the other breast—much more than a handful—he blew softly on the pebbled peak before settling his lips upon the plump softness.
“Kingston, please.” Whimpering, Vanessa clutched at his shoulders, her hips gyrating against his loins.
He clutched the twin moons of her buttocks, his fingers deep in the soft fullness as he pushed her taut against his raging erection. Stars and flames and lightning burst behind his eyes, exploded in his head, and pelted through his blood.
The pounding of his heart thrummed a steady, erotic tempo.
Vanessa. Vanessa. Vanessa.
Gasping for breath, Kingston rested his forehead against hers, battling to find a single thread of self-control. He must stop before it was too late. There’d be no going back if he made love to her.
Once more, lust would seal his fate. And someone else’s, too. Someone he cared for very much. But this mysterious, inexpressible thing was more—holy Jesus, so much more—than mere lust.
“Kingston, I want you,” she groaned as she rubbed against him, seeking her release.
Ah, hell.
He’d known the moment Vanessa kissed him that he was lost. She consumed him, his desire a conflagration in his soul, an inferno he couldn’t extinguish. Nor, quite honestly, did he wish to.
So they’d consummate their vows. Stay married.
There were far, far worse things than being married to this nymph.
At that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to regret what they were about to do. For certain, self-castigation would scourge him later.
Bending, he scooped Vanessa into his arms. As he carried her to the settee, she placed hot little kisses over his jaw and neck.
He chuckled, genuine joy burgeoning in him.
His wife was a hot-blooded little spitfire.
Letting her slide to her feet, he framed her face between his palms and peered into her eyes. �
��If we do this, Nessa, there is no going back.”
Chapter Thirteen
Going back?
Was Kingston mad?
Vanessa wanted this with every part of her being. Wanted to make love with her husband. She had, in all honesty, since he’d kissed her that first time, almost a month ago.
No, before that. When she’d exited the alcove at the Lyon’s Den and seen him standing there, all majestic, tantalizing maleness.
She appreciated this meant that there would be no annulment, and she reveled in the knowledge just as she would rejoice in their joining. To remain married to this enigmatic, remarkable man. To bear his children.
Oh, God, yes. Yes.
“I know, Kingston.” Tears stung behind her closed eyelids.
Vanessa loved him. She needed to show him with her body what she couldn’t say with words just yet.
“Are you absolutely positive, love?” He rubbed his thumb over her swollen lower lip, and she playfully bit it.
“I want this, Kingston. I want you.”
Then before he could object, and rather amazed at her boldness, she shimmied out of her gown, leaving her standing before him in only in her stays, stockings, and slippers.
His gaze riveted on the thatch of blond curls between her legs.
Her womb contracted as moisture dampened her most intimate place. She supposed she ought to be embarrassed, but instead, she felt empowered.
Bold. Daring. Seductive.
“My God, you are exquisite, Nessa.” As Kingston took her in, his gaze traveling the length of her in a sensual, visual caress, his eyes darkened to navy blue. “Perfection. A goddess.”
“Then why don’t you worship me with your body?” She brought his hand to her breast and held it there, relishing the sensation of his callused palm on the sensitive tip.
“Oh, make no mistake, love. I intend to.” His voice deepened to a low, husky rasp. “And then you’ll be mine.”
“Yes. Make me yours, Kingston.”
With a growl, he shucked his coat and shirt in rapid succession.
She licked her lower lip and laid her palms on his chest, running her fingers through the soft mat of springy hair there. Letting her curiosity guide her, she trailed her fingertips lower, over the stairsteps of his torso, smiling to herself as his sinewy muscles quivered beneath her touch.
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