The Unexpected Wife

by Jess Michaels

  “She seems very kind,” Celeste said.

  “She is. She and her husband, my butler, are the best of us. And discreet, which is imperative in the business I perform.”

  Celeste smothered her relief at that statement. The last thing she needed was a gossipy servant talking about how she’d come unattended to Owen’s home. There were enough ugly things being said about her at present. And yet she hadn’t refused the man when he asked her to come.

  Did that make her a hypocrite?

  “You look troubled,” he said, and his hand flexed at his side as if he wanted to reach for her but restrained himself. “Is it so terrible?”

  She blinked and looked around. “On the contrary,” she breathed. “It’s lovely so far. I love that painting over the table there.”

  “Ah yes, it’s one of my favorites. I bought it from a vendor on New Bond Street. We ought to go there. There are shops and confectionaries enough to excite any imagination or desire.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely. I can just look, can’t I?” she asked, and blushed because it revealed so much about her financial state that she couldn’t even afford to buy a sweet.

  But he said nothing, only nodded. “Of course. Now would you like a small tour?”

  Celeste followed him into a parlor just off the entrance. It had the usual accouterment, but along the wall across from the window, there was also a small desk on wheels.

  “Why a desk in the sitting room, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Not at all. Although I do my real work in my study, I occasionally see clients in this room. New clients, usually, and almost always when I am conducting multiple investigations at once so that I may protect the privacy of those I serve.”

  “It’s a comfortable room,” Celeste said. “The bay window gives so much light. I could read forever here.”

  “It is where I do much of my reading,” he said, and she realized he was just watching her as she moved around the room, taking in the details around her.

  She blushed as she glanced at him. “Well, it is lovely.”

  “I’m glad you approve. Would you like to see more?”

  She nodded and followed him to a small dining room, as well as another parlor that looked out over the garden behind the house. Down a side hall he led her into the study, and she caught her breath as she entered the room.

  It was the biggest of the chambers she had seen, and beautiful, with tall bookshelves lined with tomes on the law, the city and history; a fine fireplace; a cherry sideboard where tea was already waiting for them; and a large matching desk that faced the door. It looked like a professional place to take a meeting, and yet it was still comfortable and warm.

  “This is where I spend a good deal of my time,” he said softly. “Too much, some of my friends would say. But I like to work.”

  “I can see why. You’ve created a space that tells a person that they can be comfortable and share their secrets.”

  “I hope so. My business is secrets. Often it is the worst moment of a person’s life. Something they regret or fear. If I want to understand their circumstances enough to help, I must see into them a little.”

  “You’re very good at that,” Celeste whispered. “I always feel as though you can see right through me.”

  He moved toward her a step and the air in the room got heavier. What she wanted, those wicked things she wanted, those things Abigail had all but given her permission to take, hung between them. And Celeste was terrified. If she reached for him, everything would change, and so much had already changed. Could she bear even more chaos?

  Could she bear it if he pulled away like he had that first night she kissed him?

  So she did so first, turning her back to him and moving toward the desk. Behind it papers had been affixed to the wall, and she realized they were sheets on each of the suspects in Erasmus’s murder. A list of the names was on the far left, and she saw that her name and Leighton’s had been crossed off.

  “You’ve been busy,” she said.

  He chuckled, a low, rough sound behind her that seemed to work up her entire spine. “But not productive, in reality.”

  “How can you say that?” she asked, pivoting toward him.

  “In more than a week since the murder, I have crossed two suspects from my list. I’m not closer to narrowing the rest.” She could see his discomfort in that fact by the way he shifted his weight.

  “You are too hard on yourself,” she insisted. “For four of those days you were riding to and from Twiddleport and handling me. If you throw out that time, you’ve only been on the case half a week.”

  “You will soothe me even if I don’t deserve it,” he said.

  “I would argue that you do deserve it,” she said.

  He was silent a moment, simply staring at her in the quiet room. Drawing her in with those light brown eyes, making her feel tingles in her body that could only lead to trouble and confusion and…and…oh God, pleasure. She could only hope they would bring pleasure.

  He cleared his throat and fiddled with some papers on his desk. “The problem with working for those in power is that it’s difficult to get information. They want an answer, but not to reveal anything embarrassing to get it. So it’s a constant tightrope act.”

  She nodded. She could see how that would be true. Those of a certain sphere liked to remain high above regular people by pretending to be perfect. Men like Owen were a reminder that they weren’t. The amount of pushing back against that had to be powerful.

  “Well, you have me,” she said. “I can ask questions that perhaps you couldn’t. And if I am not a good tool for you, you are a resourceful, seductive man. I’m certain you’ll figure it out.”

  He came around the desk, and now there was nothing between them. He held her stare. “Seductive?”

  She gasped. Had she said seductive? Blast and damn, she hadn’t meant to—it was just the word that had popped into her head in that moment.

  “Er, I…” She bent her head and fought to contain herself. But when she looked up at him again, his pupils were dilated to nearly black, and he at last reached out a finger to trace it across the top of her hand. She shivered with the contact, so delicate, almost chaste, and yet her body reacted so powerfully.

  Her mind equally so. The desire for this man becoming so loud in her head that it drowned out reason, resistance, prudence.

  “You know you are seductive,” she whispered. “You must know I can’t…I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be better than my desires, more than those impulses. But I feel what I feel.”

  He swallowed, and for a moment she could see the struggle plainly on his face. A mirror of her own, it seemed. An argument with himself about whether he should let propriety take the reins, or surrender the way she was.

  She couldn’t breathe as she awaited his response, though she had no idea if she wanted him to give in or push away. Either outcome had its benefits, although being rejected in the midst of this trial didn’t sound fun.

  “Celeste,” he whispered, his voice rough and low. “Celeste, Celeste, Celeste.” Each time he said her name, he lowered his head and she lifted to him until their mouths touched.

  Relief flashed through her, but it was quickly erased by other feelings. Powerful feelings that lit like flint on dry tinder when he cupped the back of her neck and his tongue slid past her lips.

  She shivered against him, sensation rolling through her like powerful waves, settling in the most sensitive places. Only this time he was kissing her in a private room where they wouldn’t be interrupted. And that meant she didn’t have to pull away.

  She didn’t want to.

  But he had more control and he moved to step away. She tightened her hands across his back and looked up at him as he parted his lips from hers. “I don’t want to do something you’ll regret later,” he whispered.

  She caught his hands and drew him toward the settee where she stopped. “The only thing I’ll regret is walking away. Everythin
g has been terrible, Owen…everything but you. If you want me, if I’m not mistaken that you feel the same powerful draw as I do, then give me something good. I just want to feel something good.”

  He shut his eyes and let out a low, rough curse. She smiled at the idea that she could tempt him. Torment him. He was so strong that it felt odd to have such power. He caught her in his arms again, kissing her as he lowered her back on the settee and partially covered her with his body.

  “I feel the same thing you do,” he promised her, his voice reverberating against her throat as he pressed his lips there. “I dream of you, Celeste. I dream of this.”

  “Then let’s make it a reality,” she gasped, rising beneath him as pleasure shot from the place on her neck where he scraped his teeth and settled between her legs. She throbbed there already.

  He grunted an answer and then pushed off of her. She sat up and watched him walk to the door. He locked it and smiled at her. “No interruptions.”

  She nodded. “No interruptions.”

  As he returned to her, he shrugged out of his jacket and unwrapped his cravat, tossing each aside as if they didn’t matter. When he dropped back down to cover her, she wedged her hands between them and partially unbuttoned his shirt. As she pushed the edges wide, she sucked in a breath. She hadn’t seen a man like this in a very long time. And Erasmus didn’t hold a candle to him.

  Not only had she had no interest in her late “husband,” but he hadn’t felt so warm, so solid, when he covered her. He hadn’t held her stare with such intensity, making her feel like she was the only woman in the world. The only woman who mattered.

  She felt that way in Owen’s arms and she never wanted it to end. He sat up a little and tugged the shirt off, and she stared.

  He was lean and lanky, with defined muscles along his arms, his chest, his stomach. She bit her lip as she stared, mesmerized by the lines and curves and angles of him.

  “You look like a statue,” she whispered.

  “I may be hard as marble at present,” he agreed with a chuckle. “But I assure you I am alive and here to please. May I?”

  She tilted her head at the request. She’d already given consent, and yet here he was, asking for more. Checking in to ensure nothing had changed. As if he actually gave a damn for her pleasure and her well-being. What a concept. “Yes. Oh yes.”

  “May I undress you?” he asked.

  She gripped at the cushions of the settee with both hands. “I…I’m not sure I would please you.”

  His brow wrinkled. “What would make you think that?”

  “Erasmus…he…” She turned her face. “He made it clear I didn’t please him.”

  “Well, Erasmus was a fool,” Owen whispered as he tugged her to a seated position and stripped the line of buttons along her spine open. “In more ways than one. There is no way you couldn’t please me, Celeste. I am already vastly pleased.”

  As he said the words, he peeled her dress and chemise forward as one, and she was bared from the waist up to him. She fought the urge to cover herself, to look away, but he wouldn’t allow it. He cupped her chin with one hand, holding her steady while he dragged his fingers across her breast with the other.

  She hissed out a breath, pleasure so powerful it bordered on pain. Need so loud she feared it could be heard as surely as a brass band screaming through town.

  He bent his head and swirled his tongue around her nipple, lowering her back against the settee as he did so. She let out a low moan, one that echoed in the quiet room. He smiled against her skin as she did so and sucked her. She jolted at the tug, the heat of his mouth, the wild sensation that ripped through her entire being.

  She couldn’t help but compare this moment to all the ones she’d been forced to endure before. This one made the rest pale in comparison.

  “Don’t roll away in your thoughts,” he murmured as he moved his mouth from one breast to the other. “Stay here with me.”

  “I only want to be here with you,” she promised, and meant it on more levels than just this one. But those were foolish thoughts, ones that could hurt them both, so she shoved them aside and put all her focus on sensation instead.

  He rocked against her as he sucked her, licked her, teased her. She felt the hard length of him bumping her belly, and lifted to meet him. She pressed her fingers into his bare back, memorizing the muscles there, the lines of the body that was so pleasing her own.

  She wanted to remember every part of this moment for later. Forever.

  He lifted his head from her breasts and smiled at her. “I want to make you come, Celeste. I want to taste you come.”

  She blinked. Come. She’d heard of the word before. Felt it at her own hand. But she wasn’t certain she was capable of having that kind of release from another person and she didn’t want to let him down.

  She didn’t want him to think less of her.

  “Owen,” she whispered.

  His brow wrinkled, an expression of concern and care. “He never made you come?”

  She shook her head. “He…he didn’t care about my feelings. He always reminded me that our sharing a bed was a duty, one created by the vows we took. We only did it a few times and I…no, he never made me come.”

  His lips thinned. “Well, that is his loss, my dear. But I don’t consider touching you a duty, I don’t consider…” He let his hand drag down her body, over where her gown was bunched at her waist, around to cup her hip and pull her more flush to him. “…I don’t consider this anything but a gift. And I want to make you shake, Celeste. I want to make you cry out my name. I want to make you come.”

  She nodded. Right now she would have given him anything he asked, anything at all. But he didn’t take advantage. He didn’t do anything but tug her dress down her waist. She lifted her hips and he freed the wrinkled mass of fabric and set it aside. Then he removed her slippers and her stockings and she was entirely naked, spread out on his settee like a wanton.

  “My God, you are everything,” he whispered, it seemed more to himself than to her. She blinked at the tears that entered her eyes, turning her face so he wouldn’t see. But of course he did. “Celeste, please don’t cry. We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready or changed your mind or just don’t want to.”

  She caught her breath. “It isn’t that. It isn’t any of that, Owen, I promise you. It’s that…you said I was everything. I’ve been nothing to anyone for so long, I can hardly believe anyone could think otherwise.”

  Chapter 13

  Owen stared down at the beautiful woman naked on his settee. He had never met any other person like Celeste, and yet she thought so little of herself. He understood why, of course. He’d met her horrible parents. He’d researched her awful husband. And given his own past, he knew exactly why she might feel less thanks to their actions and words. His father, or lack of a father, had certainly worn him down, made him question himself. He’d been lucky enough to have a life filled with people who helped him find the light inside himself.

  All he wanted was to do the same for her.

  “If you have been surrounded by fools,” he said, caging her in with his hands, “who were so blind that they couldn’t see your worth…” He bent to nuzzle her neck. She shivered and he smiled against her skin. “Then that is on them, not you, Celeste.”

  He drew his mouth lower, across her collarbone, lower to her breast. “Because you are the most remarkable person I’ve ever met.” He kissed lower, over the curve of her stomach. “And I’m lucky to get even a moment with you.”

  His lips trailed across her hip and he pushed her legs open a little wider, allowing himself a space there. He scented her desire, saw it glisten on the folds of her sex, and his cock twitched.

  But this wasn’t about what he wanted. He’d get his pleasure and it wouldn’t even take effort. Celeste, on the other hand, deserved to be worshipped. And that was what he was going to do.

  She leaned up on her elbows and looked down at him, watching through a hooded
gaze as he peeled her open, as he smoothed his thumb across her wet entrance. She gripped at the cushions of the settee when he did, a little groan escaping her throat.

  He stroked her again with his thumb, pressing against the hooded nub of her clitoris. He flicked it gently, revealing the shining pearl beneath. Now when he touched her, she arched, her eyes widening. He stroked his thumb around her in a slow circle, increasing the pressure with each turn, watching her reaction to find just the right rhythm, just the right touch.

  She was so responsive, it was almost effortless to make her moan. The fact that her bastard of a husband hadn’t even tried to give her release was a crime in itself. And yet that meant Owen had a unique opportunity to give her that pleasure himself.

  He bent his head, closer and closer to her sex, and at last he let his tongue join his thumb in torment. And then just his tongue, around and around her clitoris. Never stopping, never ceasing. He wanted her to come, hard and fast. He wanted her to see immediately and without question, that she deserved pleasure. That any man who touched her should give her this without hesitation.

  She lifted against him, her head lolling back and forth on the pillows, her feet flexing against the settee, her hips surging to meet the strokes of his tongue. She began to shake, his breath coming shorter and faster, and then, with a guttural gasp of relief, she shattered.

  Celeste had come before, at her own hand, both before and after her marriage. But this…this was something entirely different. The wall of pleasure that Owen built with his magical tongue was so high she almost feared it bursting, and when it did?

  She couldn’t control herself. Her entire body quaked as she covered her mouth with her hand to smother her moans and cries. On and on he went, tormenting her through the crisis, drawing out every drop of release from her until she was weak against the settee, residual trembles rocking her even as he lifted his head and smiled at her.

  “Do I live?” she asked breathlessly.

  He laughed, and in this moment of pure vulnerability it felt so good. Erasmus had always been so dire about sex, had always treated it like this solemn duty neither of them could ever truly enjoy.