by Nan Ryan
“Open your eyes,” Armand softly commanded. “Look at me, chérie.” Reluctantly, Madeleine obeyed. His lips were a scant two inches from her own. His tone low and non-threatening, he said, “Look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t want me.”
“I—I don’t want you,” she managed to reply weakly, wanting him so badly she could hardly speak.
Holding her gaze with his handsome, mysterious eyes, Armand deftly opened the buttons of his white cotton shirt, exposing a broad expanse of his chest. He took her hand and placed it directly over his heart. At once she thrilled to the touch and texture of the warm smooth flesh, the steely muscles, the crisp black hair.
And most of all, to the rapid, heavy cadence of his heart beating against her open palm.
“See what you’ve done to my heart?” he said. “Does yours beat as mine? With mine?”
Madeleine made no reply. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think clearly. Snared by his humid eyes and mesmerized by the feel of his hot flesh beneath her fingertips, she remained silent. And she remained perfectly still. She didn’t even move when his lean tapered fingers began to skim adroitly over the buttons going down the bodice of her blue woolen dress. Before she fully realized what was happening, Armand had bared her left breast and was pressing her flush against his warm, naked torso. The sudden sensation of flesh against flesh made her gasp and tremble.
Into her ear, Armand whispered, “You see, chérie, our hearts beat as one.”
Madeleine was lost. He was too persuasive. She was too weak. Overcome with longing for this dark seducer, she felt herself giving in to his stirring kisses, his caressing hands, his deep voice murmuring words that both shocked and thrilled her. She was drifting dangerously close to all-out surrender and she had little or no will to fight it.
Still, she weakly tried one last time to stop him, and herself, before it was forever too late.
“Please, Armand, we must stop. We cannot do this. It is not…proper.”
“It may not be proper, but it’s right,” he whispered. “So right.”
He bent his head and his heated lips moved enticingly downward over her pale throat and bosom until they were at her bared breast.
He brushed a closed-mouth kiss to her nipple and said, “Did you think I could hold you in my arms once, then never again?”
Flattered by his confession, she whispered breathlessly, “Oh, Armand, we must forget…”
“I can’t forget,” he stopped her in midsentence. “Can you?”
Her pulse pounding, breath short, she admitted truthfully, “No. No, I can’t.”
“Let me love you again, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Say you will.”
His mouth then opened over her stinging nipple and she involuntarily emitted a little gurgle of startled elation.
“I…will, oh, I will,” she finally murmured and her trembling fingers went into the thick hair at the sides of his head.
Lips parted, heart racing, she gazed down on the head bent to her and felt her cheeks grow hot with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. She could have closed her eyes, but she didn’t. She wanted to look at him. She bit her lip at the dazzlingly erotic sight of his dark face at her pale breasts. His beautiful eyes were closed, the long black lashes resting on his cheeks. His mouth was open wide on her tingling nipple and his lean jaws were flexing rhythmically as he suckled her.
Madeleine sighed and frantically gripped his head, feeling as if all she had ever wanted—all she had been born for—was to have this irresistible man’s heated lips tugging on her nipple, his sleek tongue circling it, his teeth nibbling on it.
This was, she blearily decided, all she wanted. This was enough. She needed nothing more.
But as cold winter rains continued to fall across the cloud-covered city, darkening the skies and sending great torrents of water rushing down the banquettes, Armand easily convinced Madeleine that she needed a great deal more.
While the carriage rolled over the rain-slick cobblestones, the couple inside completely shut out the world—forgetting everything and everyone—and made hot, sweet love in the dark, warm privacy of the closed conveyance.
Madeleine was so aroused she was hardly cognizant that as Armand kissed and caressed her, he was deftly undressing her. The first thing she knew, she was naked in his arms, while he was still clothed. For a time she didn’t object to the disparity. It was, truth to tell, quite sensual and stirring to be the only one who was naked, the only one whose bare, sensitive flesh was being caressed and kissed.
Sighing, wiggling, silently urging him on, Madeleine sat on Armand’s lap, leaning back in his strong, supporting arm, her legs stretched on the plush seat. She found it wildly exciting to be rolling along in a carriage in the pounding rain while this handsome, fully-dressed man touched and stroked and adored her.
She loved the feel of his fingertips toying with her nipples and skimming over her contracting belly and drifting down her sensitive thighs. Armand knew she was enjoying this bit of sexual play. She wasn’t alone. It was heaven to hold her naked in his arms and be allowed to touch and cherish her while she snuggled trustingly to him.
He gazed at his dark hand on her white stomach and exhaled heavily, feeling as if this was all he had ever wanted—all he had been born for—to have this tantalizing woman lie naked in his arms.
This was, he dazedly decided, enough. He needed nothing more.
But as he continued to kiss her honeyed lips and caress her silken skin, the hot-blooded Armand knew that it wasn’t enough. He had to have more. He had to have her completely, to be inside her, to make her his own, to love her with all the passion he felt for her, a rash, relentless passion that tortured him night and day.
Armand bent and kissed Madeleine’s lips. As his mouth settled warmly on hers, he moved his hand between her legs, urging them apart. Gently he cupped her, caressed her, then parted the flaming russet curls with his middle finger and tenderly touched the wet, pulsating flesh beneath.
Madeleine’s body jerked in response to his light touch. But Armand deepened the kiss and began to slowly, gently massage that most feminine part of her. Soon Madeleine’s hips were surging up to meet the promise of those stroking fingers. Armand took his lips from hers and Madeleine let her head fall against his chest. His supporting arm tightened around her and together they watched while he pleasured her.
A skilled lover, Armand knew just how to bring her to the threshold of orgasm. He kept her there for several long, breathtaking moments before she finally began to squirm and toss her head and beg him.
“Armand, Armand,” she pleaded, “please, please, I…”
“Yes, my love,” he said and swiftly, expertly gave her the blinding ecstasy she sought.
He gazed at her lovely face as she climaxed. He saw a flash of fear in her emerald eyes and knew, that just as it had been on the doomed ship that August afternoon, she was half afraid that he might take his hand from her before she was ready for him to stop. Before the spiraling elation was fully attained.
“Chérie, I’ve got you,” he murmured soothingly, his tone low, “I’ll always take good care of you.”
“Oh…oh…oh…Armand,” she gasped, then began to cry out his name as her building orgasm exploded through her with a shocking intensity.
Afterward, Armand held her until she was calm, brushing kisses to her forehead and whispering words of love in a mixture of French and English. Then he kissed her one last time, picked her up, and sat her beside him. Madeleine purred and stretched and watched as he anxiously shed his clothes.
Once naked, Armand reached out and caught her hand in his. He laced his long fingers through her slender ones and let their hands fall and rest on the seat between them. For a time they stayed just that way, riding along in the falling rain, holding hands, heads resting against the seat back, smiling at each other.
But it did not escape Madeleine’s dreamy notice that Armand was fully aroused, his throbbing erection thrusting horizontally agai
nst his flat brown belly. It occurred to her then that he was truly a caring, unselfish lover. He had taken great pains to please and pleasure her while she had done nothing for him. Even now, when he was surely hurting, he didn’t roughly pull her beneath him and forcefully take her. He was waiting for her. Waiting until she was ready again.
That knowledge went a long way toward making her ready again. She softly said his name, slipped her entwined fingers free of his, scooted closer to him and laid a warm hand on his hard flesh. Her heart skipped a beat when that blood-filled erection surged up to meet her touch. Feeling powerful and giddy and longing to please him, she let her hand slide down between his legs and gently cupped him, just as he had cupped her.
Armand groaned aloud.
She looked up at him. “Did I hurt you?”
A vein pulsing on his high forehead, he managed a weak, “No. You didn’t hurt me, sweetheart.”
He ground his teeth as she playfully ran her fore and middle fingers up the bobbing length of him. His throat muscles worked convulsively as he tried to swallow when she skimmed her thumb back and forth over the jerking tip, leaning up to kiss his mouth as she did so.
By the time that penetrating, protracted kiss ended, Madeleine was straddling Armand and his throbbing flesh was buried deep inside her. On fire, Madeleine was so completely lost in her compelling lover, she never for a second considered what might have happened if the carriage had had a mishap on the rain-slick streets.
Nothing and no one intruded on their feverish lovemaking. Just as it had been that stormy afternoon at sea, they were the only two people on earth. Madeleine was so awed and aroused, she never once gave a thought to the blond nobleman to whom she was engaged.
And she would never know that, as fate would have it, the lord’s crested carriage passed them on the street while she and Armand were making love.
At the very moment that the two big black broughams were side by side, going in opposite directions, the naked Madeleine was astride the equally naked Armand, literally impaled upon him. Her knees were pressing against the seat back and her arms were wrapped around Armand’s dark head. Armand’s hands cupped Madeleine’s bare bottom and his lips were on her swollen nipples. Their perspiring bodies slipping and sliding sinuously, they moved together rhythmically in an erotic, abandoned dance of pure lust, taking and giving from each other with an almost animalistic wildness.
They climaxed together and Armand had to kiss Madeleine to keep her cries of joy from being heard out on the street. Clinging to him as if she would never let him go, Madeleine could feel the hot, thick liquid spurting up inside her and gloried in the sensual sensation.
“Oh, God,” Armand groaned, tearing his burning lips from hers. “Baby, baby,” he rasped. His arms tightened around her when she started to move. “No, chérie, stay where you are a while longer.” He brushed a kiss to the curve of her neck and shoulder. “Stay where you are forever.”
Twenty-Eight
When Armand’s carriage finally rolled through the pillared entranceway of the Royal Street town house, it was dusk. The rain had completely stopped. The pair inside the carriage were completely dressed.
The mood was completely somber.
Painful lucidity had returned to Madeleine and she had said little or nothing for the past twenty minutes. His dark eyes seeking her approval, Armand had spent those moments urging her not to be so melancholy, not to lament what had happened.
He had gotten no response, but Madeleine was keenly aware of him and what he was saying.
From the lowered veil of her thick lashes she covertly studied the classic features of Armand’s handsome face. Her focus settled on his tempting mouth and she felt a sob of despair rising within her. He had, as he made love to her, murmured sweet words of love and made such stirring vows.
But lips that kissed like that could lie with ease.
And did.
This sinfully handsome man who had just made such passionate love to her would hold another woman in his arms that very night. And make love to her with the same heated urgency. That hurtful thought sent a sharp stab of pain through her chest, but Madeleine knew she had to face the distasteful truth.
Making love was nothing but a merry game to Armand de Chevalier, an amusing pastime. A pleasant way to spend a rainy afternoon. And while he gave freely of his magnificent body, his heart, she was certain, always remained untouched.
Madeleine forced herself to look away from him.
On the seat between them rested the faded satin garter that she had tugged from Armand’s muscular arm earlier in a frenzy of desire. Blushing at the vivid recollection, she gazed at the garter and impulsively reached for it. Armand’s hand shot out and closed over hers.
“No, chérie. You may not, for the garter belongs to me,” he said.
She nodded and when she turned her sad eyes back on his face, Armand saw the unshed tears shining there. He felt like a terrible heel for making her so miserable.
“Ah, sweetheart,” he softly entreated, “Don’t be sad. This was my fault, not yours. All the blame belongs to me and I’m genuinely sorry.”
“Are you?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “Are you really sorry?”
“I am,” he said and meant it. “You may not believe this, Madeleine, but the last thing I want is for you to be unhappy.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She impatiently brushed it away. She said, “If you mean it, then please Armand, from this day forward, leave me alone.” It was a tortured plea and it touched his already aching heart. She candidly admitted, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I—I—I’m weak and vulnerable and…when you…when we…are together, I—I—” She bowed her head. “I beg you, please don’t ruin my life. Don’t let me ruin my life. Help me, Armand. Promise you’ll stay away from me.”
His dark eyes clouding with hurt, he said in a low, firm voice, “If that’s what you really want, then I promise, Maddie.” He drew a painful breath. “I swear I will never bother you again. You have my word.” She slowly raised her head, looked at him to judge his sincerity. He added, “And you needn’t worry that anyone will ever know about us. I’ve told no one. No one. I never will.”
Relieved, Madeleine gave him a weak smile and said, “Thank you, Armand.”
“You’re very welcome, Countess.”
“Now, goodbye,” she said anxiously, and not allowing him to assist her, leapt down out of the carriage the minute it came to a complete stop.
She rushed across the windswept courtyard, up the outside stairs, anxiously yanked the front door open and disappeared inside.
Madeleine couldn’t trust herself to hide her emotions. The minute she closed the door, she dashed anxiously toward the stairs, calling out as she went, “Avalina, I’ve a headache and I’m going straight to bed!”
Avalina immediately appeared in the foyer. Frowning, she looked after her as Madeleine hurried up the stairs and said, “I’ll be right up with a cold compress and…”
“No! I need nothing but to lie down and rest,” Madeleine’s tone was sharp. She could hardly keep her tears at bay. “When Montro gets home, please have him convey my regrets to Lord Enfield. I simply cannot go out nor entertain this evening.” She went inside her room and slammed the door.
Avalina continued to stand there, arms folded over her chest, looking up the stairs. She felt as if she were responsible for Lady Madeleine’s distress. After all, she was the one who sent a messenger to ask Armand de Chevalier if he would kindly drive Lady Madeleine home. Had it been a terrible mistake?
Avalina was thoughtful for a long moment, then she began to smile slyly. She returned to her kitchen certain that she had done the right thing. If the handsome Creole had no effect on Lady Madeleine, then why was she so upset from merely riding home with him?
Avalina’s smile broadened. She could hardly wait to tell Montro. To report that she firmly believed a small measure of progress had been made on this rainy afternoon. He would be pleased.
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nbsp; Avalina and Montro shared an unspoken desire to break up Lady Madeleine’s engagement to Lord Enfield. Neither wanted her to marry the cold nobleman, although they had never actually said as much to each other. Avalina wasn’t sure why Big Montro was opposed to the marriage and she had never asked him to explain. As for herself, she had a sixth sense about people and she had always strongly suspicioned that Lord Enfield was, beneath that veneer of blue-blooded nobility and gentlemanly behavior, an evil man.
Lady Madeleine deserved better.
At half past ten that evening, Madeleine sat motionless in the gloom of her darkened room. An untouched supper tray rested on a table at her elbow.
The tears of shame and regret had finally stopped falling, but she was still sick with self-loathing. Dry-eyed, she stared unseeing into the orange flames dancing in the fireplace before her. Her head throbbed from prolonged weeping. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her chest felt as if a steel band encircled it.
Madeleine was in pain.
Mentally and physically.
She suffered from the raw, fresh guilt of what she had done that rainy afternoon. But the pain of her unforgivable indiscretion was not her only sorrow. She was confused and torn by conflicting emotions. She was genuinely sorry that she had again broken her allegiance to Desmond. At the same time she was saddened to know that she would not be in Armand’s arms tonight.
Or ever again.
Madeleine rubbed her stinging eyes, questioning her sanity. She must surely be insane to have behaved as a common wanton with a man who cared nothing for her. If she were in her right mind, would she once again have risked her secure future with Desmond for a few moments of stolen ecstasy with Armand?
Madeleine wearily laid her head back against the chair and closed her scratchy eyes. A heavy, hurting sadness weighed down on her. For the first time, she admitted to herself that Armand de Chevalier meant too much to her.
He was often in her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat every time she caught sight of him. The sound of his deep, resonant voice was enough to stir her senses. When he touched her, she had the overwhelming desire to melt into his arms.