His expression hardened, a grim cast calling the angles of his features into relief. “I was a whore. There’s no need to mince words or pretend. That is who I am, a man who sold his body and his soul. That is who you see before you now, the man who used his pretty face to assuage the ruin his bastard of a father left him in. You cannot do the things I did, Clara, and give a damn about yourself. And I cannot undo them now. They’re forever a part of me.”
She recognized the emotion coloring his voice for the first time. Not just scorn directed at himself, but shame. He was embarrassed by the things he had done to keep penury at bay. Clara wanted to weep for him, but she knew that would only shame him further.
Instead, she held his face in her hands as he had so recently done to her, relinquishing her hold on his hand and the bedclothes she’d primly attempted to pull between their naked bodies. “You did what you needed to do. You kept your sisters well taken care of. You kept your home. Stop punishing yourself for the past.”
Freed of her staying grasp, his hand was once again at liberty to continue its wicked travel. He cupped her breast, making her nipple pebble into his palm. His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Watch yourself, little dove. You make it sound as if you care.”
His words hit her with the force of a blow, for they pierced the confusion and emotion muddling her brain and made her recognize the truth for what it was. She did care. Of course she cared for him. If she wasn’t careful, in fact, she could love him.
How stunning. How terrifying. She’d never contemplated falling in love with the Earl of Ravenscroft. He was wicked and sleek and beautiful and altogether dark and dangerous. But he was also good. He cared for his sisters. He had been gentle with her, had taken pains to inflict as little pain on her as possible. Perhaps he could learn to care for her in time as well.
Her heart hammered in her breast and she wondered if he could feel it. “I do care,” she told him, tamping down her pride. For he needed to hear it from her now. “I care for you, Julian.”
“Ah, a common neophyte mistake, confusing lust for something else.” He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger with expert attention. “Soon you’ll learn the way of things.”
She ignored the bloom of heat his ministrations sent directly to her core. He could not deflect her so easily. “Why do you think I’m here now?”
He tugged on the hardened bud. “Because I excel at fucking. Let me show you more, love. I’ll make you come with my tongue alone. I’ll sink it deep inside you and find a secret place you never dreamed existed. It’ll make you go wild.”
Traitorous heat slid through her, wetness and hunger pooling deep within the flesh he’d so recently claimed. It would be so easy to give in to him, to allow him to pleasure her and close her mind to the dangers surrounding them. To only feel, to bask in his seduction and forget all else. But that would be weak and wrong, for he meant so much more to her than his undeniable prowess. There was a physical pull between them but there was also something else. Something deeper and stronger.
“No.” She would not allow him to dismiss her feelings for him. To suggest she’d change the course of her entire life merely because he was a skilled lover was an insult to the both of them. “I’m here because I care. For the past few years, I’ve devoted my life to returning home. Everything I’ve done—every scandal and worry I’ve caused my family, every madcap plan I’ve devised—has been with one goal in mind. To return to Virginia and the land I love. I never strayed from my course. I never intended to have anything more than a marriage in name only with you. But then I saw you bloodied and broken, and I realized that I couldn’t bear to lose you. I care, Julian. Do not dare to insult me by suggesting I’m too naïve to understand the difference.”
There. The words left her in a great rush, before she could rethink them or attempt to lessen her admission of the extent to which he had made her fall beneath his spell. Her chest heaved. He hadn’t stopped toying with her nipple, but the rest of him remained oddly still. She was reminded again of her early impression of him. A rattler. Sleek and powerful and ready to strike. His gaze, formerly pinned to her mouth, met hers at last. She couldn’t read the emotion simmering in the fathomless blue depths.
His silence made her flush. She felt as though all of her was displayed before him along with her body, her weaknesses and faults, her every desire and longing, before him to judge. She’d never felt such a depth of feeling, such a confused, wonderful and awful mixture of hope and dread pent up within her. He could cut her down with a word. He could render her mindless with a touch.
So much hung between them.
“Say something,” she demanded at last. “Have you no response?”
“You’re so very young,” he said at last as he released her nipple and his hand skated lower, over the curve of her belly to the bud of her sex. His fingers worked over the sensitized nub, playing her as he would an instrument. “So innocent.”
Damn him. How dare he condescend to her now, after she’d just bared the bewildering contents of her heart to him? But even as she resented him, her body responded. Her legs fell open, her body arching into his knowing touch. A breath hissed from her lungs.
“Not so innocent,” she reminded him.
He slicked wetness over her seam, parting her folds to stroke her gently. “Still innocent.” He kissed her then, with slow tenderness before withdrawing, his breath a hot curtain over her lips. “And sweet. So damn sweet. I want you all over again, little dove.”
The stubble of his whiskers pricked her palms. She still held his face trapped between her hands, almost as if she could not let him go. The fear fueled by her dream licked at her. The chasm she’d felt at losing him was a ghost inside her that refused to leave. Why couldn’t she release him? He was safe, flesh and blood before her, his skin branding hers. She wished she knew the answer.
“You toy with me,” she accused him without the heat she’d intended.
“Others perhaps. Not you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t be so serious, Clara mine, or I’ll have to take your frown away the only way I know how.”
He took her breath. His finger slid inside her slowly, and despite the sore tenderness of her flesh, a flare of desire sparked to life. She wanted him too, but his potent skills of seduction wouldn’t dissuade her from her cause. He seemed as determined to dismiss her admission as he was to lure her back into another round of lovemaking. Why? Surely there was a reason for his calculated avoidance.
A thought occurred to her then. “Has no woman ever cared for you before?”
He paused, an indecipherable expression flashing across his face. Beneath her palms, his jaw hardened and clenched before releasing. “Clara.” His tone was a warning. Stern. Fierce.
Could it be that no one—none of his purported legion of lovers—had ever shown him tenderness? Had they all treated him as a commodity they’d bought to amuse their selfish whims? She had to know. “Julian, tell me. I’m your wife. I deserve an answer.”
He withdrew from her and returned to the nub hidden within her folds, the one that seemed to jolt live electricity through her body whenever he touched her there. Now was no different. She jerked against him, unable to help herself.
“Here is your answer.” He increased his pressure and his pace. Pleasure rippled through her entire being along with need. She grew closer to the precipice of her control, her body a tightly coiled spring ready for release. “This is what I’m worth. You bought me with your dowry. Use me however you like. Fuck me, if you like. Let me fuck you.”
His vulgar words touched some wicked part of her she hadn’t known existed, sending a new rush of moisture between her thighs. Faster and faster his fingers moved over her, knowing somehow precisely where and how she longed to be touched, even before she did. He took her mouth and this time, the kiss was hard and uncompromising. This kiss plundered. It was as if the gentleness he’d shown her had been stripped from him. She had pushed him too far, and now he returned th
e favor, edging her ever nearer to the shattering bliss she knew he could bring her.
“Anything you want, little dove. Anything you want. Take it.” He nipped her lip. His mouth moved hungrily over her jaw next, then to her throat. He nibbled there, all the while circling the center of her pleasure, giving her just what she wanted. What she needed. He bit her earlobe, licked the hollow beneath it. Her quim ached. Her body trembled. All the while, she refused to release him, holding him as if she could forever anchor him to her this way.
She meant to utter a protest. A staying sentence. Something intelligible. But all she managed was a moan. The hazy fog of desire suffused her mind. She could scarcely think. Damn it, he was besting her at her game of wills, and she was helpless to stop him.
“Take it,” he urged hotly into her ear. “Spend for me, love.”
She climaxed almost violently, arching into his hand, crying out her pleasure. Her hands fell from his face at last, moving to his bare shoulders, so strong and sleek beneath her touch, clutching him to her. She wished she could absorb him into her, take him so completely inside that he could never leave. A choked groan left her against her will. Clara gave in to the delicious ricochet of gratification, of abandon, and for a moment she forgot what she’d meant to do. What she’d meant to make him admit.
He rose above her, his glorious body naked and aroused, and held his cock in his closed fist, stroking up and down the hard shaft. She watched, sure her cheeks flushed scarlet with embarrassment, unable to look away. Surely he didn’t intend to…mercy, he jerked his hand over himself, meeting her gaze without an inkling of shame.
“You’re sore,” he bit out. “I’ll not take you again this night. Tomorrow, I’ll fuck you, Clara. I’ll fuck you again and again.” His hand moved faster, mimicking the actions of lovemaking.
Her fascinated gaze traveled over him, taking note of every detail, from the beautiful strain of his muscled body to the strong trunks of his thighs to the very part of him that called her attention the most. A bead of moisture seeped from the head of his cock, and she licked her lips, wondering what it would be like to run her tongue over the small indentation, to taste him as he had her.
“Fuck. When you look at me like that, I want to stick my cock in your pretty little mouth.” The shocking admission seemed torn from him.
Shocking but also arousing, for Clara couldn’t help but imagine him doing so. Would she like such a depraved act? Yes, her throbbing body told her, she would. And then, as she watched, his body stiffened and he cried out, his seed spurting from him and landing across her belly.
“Anything you want, little dove,” he repeated, his voice hoarse and breathless. “But goddamn you, don’t mistake this for caring. This is fucking, and that is all I have to offer you.”
Before she could answer him, a discreet tap sounded at the door.
“Damn it to hell,” he cursed, hauling himself away from her and going in search of his dressing gown. “I warned them all that anyone who dares to interrupt me on this day will be sacked.”
His anger was like a pail of cold water being tossed upon her scorching flesh. Was he angry more at her or at himself? That was the question, though she found precious little comfort in it. A shiver went through her, leaving her covered in gooseflesh. She snatched up the bedclothes as her shield, watching him wordlessly as he donned his robe. His seed remained upon her belly, slick and warm, a reminder that she was his but that he was not yet hers. If ever he would be. No woman before her had ever shown him kindness. Of that she was now certain. And the realization produced a dreadful combination of anger and sickness.
The Marchioness of Thornton’s words about Ravenscroft on her wedding day returned to her mind. They’d been spoken not so very long ago, but for all that had come to pass they may have been a lifetime ago. He has a good heart. A good heart did indeed beat within him. But she would allow him this retreat, for their lives had been vastly different before they’d met and hers, while far from perfect, had certainly left her with fewer scars.
“Cover yourself, madam,” he ordered her, his tone cool. He’d gone to the door, his back to her, his form still and stiff as the formality of his words.
Yes, he had withdrawn from her entirely now. Although perhaps some of his reserve was due to the presence of the servant on the other side of the door. She made certain her modesty was firmly intact. “I have, my lord.”
He opened the door just a crack. “This had bloody well better be important, Osgood. Something along the lines of the goddamn house about to burn to the ground, or an invading army here to storm the front door.”
Clara strained to hear the butler’s response.
“My lord, it grieves me to interrupt you and for that I heartily do apologize. But, we’ve a situation. I’m afraid it’s her ladyship’s father. He has arrived and he refuses to leave until he’s had an audience with you.”
Her father was here. It had been days since she’d last seen him, and she realized for the first time just how much she’d missed him. Why, she’d even missed Lady Bella and she’d certainly missed her sweet little sister, Virginia. How had she ever thought she could leave any of them? They’d become as much a part of the fabric of her life as anyone she’d ever known. Just as Julian had. The unwanted thought gave her pause.
“Damn it to hell. Thank you, Osgood. I’ll see him in my study. That will be all.” And with that, her husband slammed the door in his butler’s face.
He turned back to her, his countenance even stormier than it had been before.
“Father is here?” she asked, though she hardly needed him to confirm what she’d just heard for herself. “I’ll come with you, Julian.”
“Not now.” His tone, much like his gaze, had gone frigid. “It appears Mr. Whitney has asked for me. I’ll indulge him by meeting him. Ring for your maid and tend to your toilette. You may see him afterward.”
And then, without a further word, he disappeared into his dressing room, leaving her to stare after him, wondering if she’d won the battle between them or lost the entire war.
* * *
For precisely the third time in their abbreviated familial acquaintance, Julian found himself squaring off against Jesse Whitney in his study. He felt rather reminiscent of a pugilist at the moment, simultaneously attempting to defend himself and identify his opponent’s weaknesses. The man was a menace who didn’t give a damn for proper etiquette. Not only was it bad form to call on newlyweds until it became known they were receiving, it was bloody well terrible to demand an audience with a man upon being informed his lordship was not at home.
Particularly when the reason for his lordship not being at home was a naked and beautiful wife in his bed, sweet and warm and wet and willing. Damn everyone and everything but her to perdition. But he could not think about her now—about all they’d done and had yet to do—as he faced her father, for Christ’s sake. For they had just begun, he and his little dove.
Now, however, there was another matter he needed to face. And that matter was an irate, unreasonable father who should have had the courtesy and the grace to recognize his daughter was now married. They did not require further interference. Julian damn well didn’t require further interference. He vastly disliked being made to feel as though he were a stable boy who’d made off with the daughter of the house. Even if—his noble lineage aside—that was all too close to the mark.
Julian raised a brow, pinning Whitney with a withering look. “I don’t see a pistol this time, old boy. Could it be you’ve one secreted in your waistcoat?”
Clara’s father favored him with a scowl that would have scared the devil. “Go to hell, Ravenscroft.”
The man hated him. Julian couldn’t entirely blame him. If a blackguard with a reputation as bleak as his would have absconded with his own daughter, he’d feel the same. But he didn’t yet have a daughter, and Clara was his in every way now. The mere thought was enough to send a sharp bolt of lust straight through him.
He tamped
it down, forced his ardor to cool. Jesus, could he not regain control over himself? Was he nothing more than a ravening beast? If Whitney could see the wicked thoughts plaguing him, the poor chap would expire of apoplexy. Either that or leap across Julian’s desk with every intention of throttling him.
The notion wrung a grim smile of amusement from him. For all that Clara distracted him, he still enjoyed goading her father. “One must admit that hell does indeed seem my inevitable destination.”
Whitney’s hands clenched into fists, the only show of his rage beyond his thunderous expression. “I’d love to send you there. Don’t doubt that for a moment. But it would seem I’m not the only one. Common fame has it that you were attacked several days ago, and that the villain intended to murder you.”
Blast. He’d been hoping to keep that particular ignominy from wagging tongues. “I was,” he acknowledged. “Tell me, Whitney, did you hire someone to kill me?”
His wife’s father threw back his head and laughed as though Julian had just delivered the finest sally. It was his turn to clench his fists as he waited for the man’s loud humor to subside. Truly, how had a small and blindingly lovely creature like Clara ever been borne from the big, rough-hewn brute before him? It boggled the mind.
“I’ve warned you enough that you ought to know, Ravenscroft,” Whitney said at last, having quelled his vociferous glee. “I served four years in the war. If I wanted you dead, I’d do the deed myself and you damn well wouldn’t be here smirking at me, gloating over my failure to bash in your skull, because you’d long be a corpse.”
A bloodthirsty bastard was Clara’s sire. Julian could have admired him for it, but since the bulk of his murderous intentions seemed to hinge upon Julian himself, he deemed it wise to refrain.
Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6 Page 45