Chuckling to himself but also a little concerned and, as always when he was in her presence, a little aroused, he locked the door behind him and crossed the room to lower himself onto the opposite end of the settee. Without thinking, he grasped her bare foot in his hands and rubbed his thumb along the tendons and muscles just as she had done for him a few nights before.
“I wasn’t keen on it, to be perfectly honest.”
“Well, if we’re going to be perfectly honest with one another,” she threw back a healthy swallow of whatever it was she was drinking—sherry—if he were to hazard a guess, “neither was I.”
Sebastian studied her. Thank God she wasn’t going to be marrying George. She deserved so much more. “Are you… celebrating then?” He’d not seen her in such a mood before. Even when they’d been alone and he’d flirted with her, she’d never failed to maintain some semblance of propriety.
For the most part.
“I would have liked to break it off in my own time, rather than be tossed over for a scheming chit.” She stared into her glass, swirling the contents with a frown. “Because it’s rather lowering to be jilted by a person one intends to jilt herself.” Her eyes shone brightly, as though tears might spill.
“Ah, Maggie.” He was glad he’d locked the door. It wouldn’t be good for anyone to see her in this condition. Especially not today when guests would be watching to see how she would respond to her fiancé’s infidelity.
“It’s not so bad, really.” She smiled brightly, speaking into her glass and then taking another sip. “It’s that he’s just so despicably… pleased about the whole thing.”
Sebastian was inclined to agree. His uncle’s behavior had failed in the gentlemanly context rather spectacularly. “If it’s any consolation, you won’t have to look at either of us for much longer. He’s asked me to travel with him to meet with Miss Drake’s father.”
“You are leaving then?”
“It’s what my uncle wants.”
Margaret stared into her glass again, looking thoughtful and… sad. “Would you have married her? If she had managed to trap you?” Her question surprised him.
“I would never have made love to her.” At her raised brows, he insisted, “I would not. There is only one woman I’m interested in taking advantage of these days and unfortunately, she’s been disinclined to succumb.”
She dismissed his response. “But if Penelope had not put you in another chamber, if Miss Drake had managed to succeed in trapping you, would you have married her?”
Sebastian wouldn’t lie about this. “I would not have.”
She stared at him skeptically and then nodded. “And you, being you, I suspect, would have gotten away with it. She’s an American, after all.”
“Even I would not get away with it.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
He shrugged. “It would be of no matter. I have no intention of marrying—ever. You know that better than most.”
“Why?”
“Because I intend to travel.”
Again, she waved away his answer, sloshing some of the liquid onto the carpet this time. “Yes, but why? What if you were to fall madly in love? Would you not wish to marry then?”
“I would not.”
“I suppose it’s because you have never been in love.”
“Then you would suppose wrong.” If they were going to have this discussion, then Sebastian was going to be drinking as well. Rising and moving across the room, he located another glass and another decanter from the nearby liquor cabinet. The one she’d been using was nearly empty. Only after he’d poured a drink and returned to sit beside her did he speak again. “I married once. At my father’s request but also because I loved her. You are not the only person to know grief, Maggie.”
She considered him young and inexperienced, as did most who knew him.
She pushed herself up higher on her elbows. “I did not believe that I was. It is not common knowledge, then?”
“It isn’t something my family discusses much.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not asking for sympathy, and no, I do not wish to talk about it. But I have my reasons for not marrying and they aren’t simply because I wish to swive my way around the globe first.” It had bothered him from the onset that she’d considered him too young. Too young for what, exactly?
“How old were you?”
“Eight and ten.”
“And your bride?”
“Bethany was six and ten.”
“What was she like?”
“She was sweet. Not beautiful but pretty and kind. I’d been in love with her since the moment we met, when my father presented me to her when I was twelve. And she felt the same. Both of us were ecstatic to finally marry.” He hadn’t allowed himself these memories for some time now.
His love for Bethany had been innocent—naïve. But she had also been his wife. Staring at Margaret now, he resisted the urge to think of her in terms of love or marriage. To fall for her could ruin everything.
As it was, it was going to be damned impossible to forget her. He swallowed hard, and his hands slowed as they massaged her foot.
“Ah,” she broke into his thoughts. “you did the proper thing. Not only did you marry the lady your father chose for you, but you loved her. I will not ask what happened. You are no longer married, and I can only assume that some horrid tragedy occurred.” She stared into her own glass. “Tragedy. Tra. Je. Deeeee. Such a pretty little word to gloss over the stuff of nightmares.”
“Indeed.”
“It is because you have loved and lost that you will never marry? Interesting. I too, have loved and lost, and yet I wanted just the opposite. I wanted to reach for all of it a second time. I suppose it was greedy of me, a woman who has now entered her fourth decade.” She tilted her head back. “I am ancient.”
“A fossil, most undeniably.” Sebastian realized his hand had drifted up from her delicate feet to caress and explore her slim ankles and calves.
She closed her eyes and slid her body so that he could access her legs more easily. “That feels wonderful. Nobody touches you when you’re a widow. Did you know that? I imagine it’s somewhat different as a man. A man can go about doing all sorts of touching, but a woman must wait until a man feels so inclined. Last Christmas, I thought for a while that a very fine gentleman wanted to marry me. I did not love him, but I could have.”
There were likely more men than she realized who desired her and not because of her financial assets. “Who?”
“Roman Spencer, Lord Darlington, the heir to the Earl of Ravensdale.”
Sebastian searched his memory. “Rome Spencer. Didn’t he marry a maid?”
Margaret gathered herself enough to frown at him from beneath her lashes. “Rose was not a maid. She was acting as my companion at the time.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her defense of the young woman. Such a stunt was so very like her. The proper and dignified lady secretly smuggling a servant into a ball. Or, not a servant, as she insisted. Her skin was warm beneath his hands. He loved touching her intimately and then later watching her walk around a room with her back stiff, nodding and greeting everyone in that prim manner of hers.
“Is this that scandal you were mired in last spring?” His mother had mentioned something to the effect. He’d nearly forgotten. “Did you break his heart?”
“Hardly. Before I could make a cake of myself, I realized he was in love with Rose—Miss Waring at the time. I decided to be their matchmaker. I brought her along with me to the Willoughby Ball, presented her as my friend, and just when everything was going so well, Lady Riverton ruined everything.”
“But you did not love Darlington?” The thought that she did was a disquieting one.
“No. I did not love him. But it would have been nice…” She frowned but then a smile lit her eyes again. “All ended well enough; Rose and Darlington are happily married now.” She hiccupped. “What was I saying? Where was I goi
ng with all of this? Oh, doing the proper thing.”
Before he could get a word in, she continued, “So, then I met your uncle, Mr. George Albert Ludwig Kirkley. Handsome, cultured, charming. No title, which was perfectly fine with me, and seemingly in search of a wife. What could go wrong? I would have my family, and he would have an heir. Silly me, and, of course, his pockets would be slightly less empty.”
Sebastian swallowed hard. So, she had known George’s motivation all along. She had not believed his uncle’s assertion that he wished only for warm companionship.
“It was foolish of me. To think that I would be happy with such a man. Proper or not, I would have grown to hate him. I would have grown to hate myself. But I’m going to do things differently now. Do you want to know what I’ve decided, Sebastian?” She lifted her glass as though making a toast.
Seeing her so utterly uninhibited intrigued him. It was very good that no one else was about, however. She’d be more than properly embarrassed when she sobered up.
“What have you decided, Maggie?” he asked indulgently.
“I have decided that I am tired of always being proper. I am tired of living my life to please those around me. I am tired of doing what is expected. I have decided, Sebastian.” She licked her lips and met his gaze meaningfully. “That I have changed my mind.”
“Changed your mind about what?” She was rather adorable when she was foxed. And sexy as hell, with her hair halfway down her back and her dress having ridden up her thighs revealing more than an appropriate length of white, creamy skin.
“About doing the proper thing,” she explained. “You told me that I would change my mind about making love with you, and you were right. I do want you! And not just once and not just in the fashion of a married couple. I want you to make love to me the way you would to a mistress, like the drawings in those picture books that are always hidden in libraries: backward, forward, and upside down. With our mouths, our hands, and everything else. I have changed my mind about lying with you. You are the most beautiful man I have ever known, and it is good, You and me—the desire that dances between us. I want it. I want more. I want all of it. Please, Sebastian, won’t you make love to me?”
Sebastian froze. It was what he had wanted all along but not this way. She was more than a little jug bitten. She was also feeling rejected and lonely and undesirable.
His cock stirred. One might deem it quite considerate of him to remove all of these misconceptions. He could easily prove to her that she was quite the opposite—that she was beautiful and enticing and… quite, quite lovable.
He did not think he’d ever desired another woman as much. He would show her—
Sebastian chastised himself attempting to rationalize any of this. She would regret it. And then she would hate him, and worse, she’d likely hate herself.
Ignoring the fact that most of his blood had traveled in a distinctly southerly direction, Sebastian removed the glass from her fingers. As he did so, she trailed them along his arm, until her drink was out of reach.
“You don’t know what you are saying, Maggie.” His voice emerged sounding gruff.
“Oh, but I do.” She removed a pin from her hair and held it out to him. “Would you like this, to keep with the others?” Another strand of hair fell to caress her cheek and curl at the base of her neck.
He stared into her eyes. He had kept her hairpins, oddly enough.
What kind of a man would he be if he took advantage of her like this? He swallowed hard because in that moment, he wanted to be the kind of man who would do just that.
“How much have you had to drink? Let’s return you to your chamber, shall we?” He would do the gentlemanly thing today.
She pushed herself to her knees and crawled to him along the cushions of the settee. “I don’t want to go to my chamber.” She tugged her gown upward and then swung one leg over to sit on his lap, straddling him. Everything about her felt so damn good.
“I don’t want to be proper anymore, Sebastian.” God help him. Her hands settled around his neck and she began threading her fingers through the hair at his nape.
She circled her hips over his trousers, his erection straining against the fabric.
“Maggie.” He groaned her name. “Not like this. You’ll regret it.”
She leaned forward and flicked her tongue in the shell of his ear. Instinctively, Sebastian found himself cupping her breast in one hand and squeezing her buttock with the other.
“I have been thinking about doing this all afternoon,” she murmured. “I simply needed a little courage. I wanted to find you and tell you that I changed my mind.” The velvet warmth of her tongue dipped into his ear. “But you came to me instead.”
She nibbled at the sensitive flesh and then trailed her mouth around his jaw.
“Maggie,” he groaned again, thrusting himself upward, seeking her heat.
“Let’s do this properly, this time, shall we?” Her hands worked at the fasteners of his trousers. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven when soft warm hands wrapped deliciously around his cock.
“Maggie.”
She rose up on her knees, placing him at her entrance.
Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Maggie.”
So soft, so damned soft and wet and welcoming. She moved her hips forward and then back, spreading her desire along his shaft, teasing him.
She wanted him. She’d said she’d decided she wanted to do this before she’d had her sherry.
He gripped her waist and thrust his hips up and inside.
“Ah.” Her spine arched and her head tipped back, exposing the elegant lines of her throat. It was almost as though something had broken inside of her when he’d pushed inside. He thrust a second time, deeper. She was tight, perfect. His hands moved to the backs of her thighs where he squeezed and slid his fingers to the crease of her buttocks.
“You wanted it, right?” He dug his fingers into her flesh.
“Hard.”
He thrust again.
“Harder,” she demanded.
He obliged.
God, he’d barely known her a week and yet somehow, he’d wanted her for a lifetime. He clutched her against him, pounding and reaching, causing her head to fall forward.
Her teeth bit into his jacket and shirt, her hands dug into his scalp, tugged at his hair.
It was as though she was releasing emotions she’d kept pent up for years. Perhaps since her husband had died, possibly before then. She drew him into her body with the ferocity of a lioness, fighting to be closer.
In one motion, Sebastian had them both on the floor, his body on top of hers now, pinning her hands with his and searching her mouth mercilessly. She wanted all of it, she’d told him. He slammed into her, and she gasped. He buried himself to the hilt and pushed her into the floor with his hips.
“More,” she gasped.
He drew out of her swiftly and, without ceremony, lifted her up so that she was kneeling, facing the settee. She seemed to know what he was going to do and leaned forward, exposing pale, soft flesh.
21
More
Feeling primitive and unrestrained, Margaret glanced over her shoulder as she waiting for him to fill her from behind, needing him to fill her again—aching for it. Warm hands gripped her and one of his trouser-covered knees urged her to spread her own apart. And then he was there, inside of her again, touching the places that needed touching, stretching the places that needed stretching in the most glorious way. Painful yet also exquisite. In that moment, she wanted to be conquered, dominated. She wanted him to lose all control with her. She wanted to be… wanted. Needed.
Craved.
And not just in a warm and friendly manner, but violently… spectacularly, desperately!
A tug at her scalp pulled her head back. One of his hands reached around to her breast; gave a tight pinch and then a strong squeeze. He tugged and caressed and then his hand traveled lower to slide between her legs. He knew exactly what she wanted. H
e’d seemed to know from the first moment they’d touched.
Need and anger and fear and passion tore through her as she neared satisfaction. She pushed back, meeting him, wanting to consume but also to be consumed.
“Don’t stop!” she commanded. She was so close. His hand rubbed at her front, his cock filling her from behind. “Please, don’t stop!” She’d die if he stopped.
“Shhhh…” His mouth was by her ear. “Someone will hear you.”
But she was beyond reason. Masculine fingers covered her mouth and she bit into them. In response, he took her harder. She bit again, and he came at her even harder.
His pace quickened as did the motion of his hand. It was too much, not enough, just enough.
She might as well have burst into flames as brutal ecstasy tore through her. He’d pushed deep but in the last second jerked away. When she collapsed, she was hardly even aware that he’d spent himself along her leg.
“Maggie.” He rested along her back, both of them collapsed against the settee now. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever walk again,” she murmured.
He enfolded her with his body. “You are not sorry?”
Was she? She’d consumed half a decanter of sherry before he’d arrived but had already decided she would enter into an affair. “No.” She was not. “That was…”
“Incredible?” he asked.
“Perhaps.”
“Earth-shattering?”
“Possibly.”
He nuzzled her.
“It was exactly what I needed,” she said. It was. It had been. “Thank you.”
He laughed. “You’re quite welcome, My Lady. And might I add that I am ever ready to please?”
Would it happen again? She wanted it to. “You are leaving then?” She’d already asked him that… before. The thought of not seeing him again caused a stabbing in her heart.
He turned so that he was sitting on the floor, his back to the settee, and then arranged her on his lap. “Do you want me to?”
Why would he ask her this?
Lady and the Rake (Lord Love a Lady Book 6) Page 19