by Sabrina York
Oh dear.
They’d never talked before. Not so much as a salutation. Certainly not an actual conversation. She didn’t know what to say. So she shrugged.
“I take it you are hoping to get with child and pass him off as Ulster’s heir.”
She flinched. Put like that, it sounded horrid.
“I cannot say I’m not intrigued by the prospect of planting a cuckoo in the Ulster nest. But tell me, Eleanor…” A shiver skittered up her spine as he spoke her given name for the first time. “Have you no conscience about such a deception?”
“Y-You question my conscience?” she stuttered.
He spread his hands. “Faced with the facts, yes.”
She crumpled. “Well, yes. Of course. But I have no choice. If he had left me anything, anything at all…”
“He left you penniless?”
“Everything was entailed.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” She barked a laugh. “His mother visited the day he died to reclaim the jewels. His cousin was not far behind.”
“Berwick.”
“Yes.”
“Charming creature.”
Eleanor shot him a look, recognizing his sarcasm for the bitter gouge it was. “I most certainly would not be considering such a thing if Berwick were not…”
“Were not what?”
She struggled with the words. It was mortifying. Truly it was. “If Berwick were not…pressuring me.”
Ethan stilled, his spine suddenly stiff, his stomach sour. “Pressuring you? For what?” The gaze she tossed over her shoulder held its own brand of bitterness. “But he’s married.”
“Exactly.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and paced the room, riffling the silk carpet with a sudden fury. “It’s not as though they’ve been kind to me. It’s not as though they’ve been fair.” A lowering desperation flooded her eyes. And tears. She swiped at them impatiently. “I wasn’t like this before. I would never even have considered such a thing. But I just don’t know where to go. What to do.”
“And they do deserve it.”
“It’s hardly my place to say what they deserve.” She threw back her shoulders. “But it is my place to try to survive. To try to make something of my life.”
“So you want to make a child.”
“Need to make a child.”
“Before Berwick returns from bounding about the Highlands.”
“He’s hunting.”
“Clearly his priorities are in order.”
She bit back a smile but he saw a hint of it before she turned away. “He always did like his hunting.”
“No worries. I’m sure he has the good manners to wear black.”
Now she giggled. Just the bubble of a laugh. Ethan found he liked it. He liked it a lot.
In fact, he found he liked her. And he liked her a lot.
A resolution formed in his belly, or somewhere thereabouts. He moved closer, ignoring her flare of fear at his approach. “Lady Eleanor.” He could not bear to call her Lady Ulster. “I will make you a bargain.”
“A bargain?”
“If you will consider me, my lady,” he affected a courtly bow, “I would be delighted to give you that child.”
She whirled on him, mouth agape. Tiny and pink and round. Oh my. Yes. He liked her tremendously. Her swanlike neck worked as she swallowed retort after retort after retort until she finally croaked, “What?” And then, when he did not repeat his offer, “You would do that for me?”
“My lady. It would be my pleasure.” This, he said with a smile and a glint in his eye, but she ignored them both.
“You said a bargain? What would you want in return for this…service?”
He considered her for an eternity. “In return,” he said at last, “you will do whatever I ask.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever you ask?”
“Anything. Everything. And I do mean everything.” He looked her up and down. “I must say, I find the prospect of having such a beautiful woman at my beck and call appealing.”
“For how long?”
“The length of this party. For one month.” He smiled, a wolfish grin. “Starting tonight.”
Eleanor’s heart stuttered. She stared at Pennington, something akin to shock coursing through her veins. She couldn’t deny she found the proposition attractive—all of it. He was, as Helena had said, a fine figure of a man. She was undeniably attracted and always had been. But he frightened her.
Upon reflection, she had to admit it was an exciting kind of fear.
As he came closer, with that enigmatic smile on his lips, she had to tip up her head to retain the contact. And oh. He was close. So close she could feel the heat, the lust, the hunger rolling off him in waves. He was overwhelming. The thought of being with him, like that, rendered her mute.
She stepped back.
He followed.
“What say you, my lady Eleanor?” This, he whispered into her ear, a hot rush of words that made her giddy. “Do you accept my bargain?”
She opened her mouth to respond, to say yes, but a sudden realization swamped her and she shook her head. “I cannot. Not tonight.”
“Why?” His tone was harsh, strangled, angry, and she flinched.
Heavens. How to explain? The weight of his gaze was a burden but she faced him. She owed him as much, at least. “Four days ago, I discovered I am not with child.”
A muscle in his cheek bunched. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
She sighed and tangled her fingers in a knot. Blast. She was going to have to say it. “I’m having my courses.” He barked a laugh, which surprised her, so she sputtered, “People do not fornicate when a woman is having her courses.” Ulster had made his disgust over her womanly functions more than clear.
“No.” He leaned in. She would have edged away from his bulk but his expression warned her not to. Oh. And he had backed her against the wall. “People don’t fornicate, they fuck.”
Eleanor slapped a hand over her mouth to stay the gasp at his bawdy profanity. She could not, however, stay the gush of warmth the word—from his lips—evoked. It made her feel so wicked.
“Yes. Fuck. As in, I want to fuck you, Eleanor.” She tried to turn away, but he took hold of her arms, his hands warm, firm upon her. “Look at me.” She did. “I want to fuck you. I want to shove my cock into your cunt and fuck you.” The words were arousing him. She could see it in the tight tremble of his muscles, smell it in the heat washing toward her. But the words were arousing her too. “I want to fuck you right now. Here”
She shuddered.
He smiled. “You want it, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It was all she could do to form the word.
“Say it. Tell me.”
“I want you to fuck me.” A whisper. A sigh.
“Ethan. Call me Ethan. And look at me when you say it.” He gave her a gentle shake when she didn’t immediately comply. “Do it.” His voice was low, urgent. A pulse pounded in his temple. A drop of sweat formed near his hairline. “Say it.”
“Ethan, I want you to fuck me.”
“Ah. Yes.”
He pulled her flush against his body, then bent his knees and rubbed his hardness against her throbbing center until she nearly swooned. Yes, it was between layers of clothing, but the sensation was intense. Her knees locked and she crumpled into his arms.
He grunted. A grunt of victory.
Just then the door to the library flew open.
As one, they turned to see Uncle Andrew enter, tapping his pipe on his boot heel. He peered at them and blinked. “Oh. I say.”
Pennington, thankfully a quick thinker, swooped Eleanor into his arms. “Lady Ulster has fainted,” he said, marching from the room. “I shall see her to her chambers.”
Eleanor obliged him, going limp and trying to appear as fainted as she could. She heard Uncle Andrew’s distracted response. “Good, good. Very good.”
No doub
t he was inordinately relieved they’d been so accommodating as to leave him to his research in peace.
Ethan carried Eleanor directly to his room, fully prepared to defend his actions, but they saw no one, not even a footman in the hall. Of course, he was moving fairly quickly. Hell. He had her in his arms, the most beautiful woman in the world. A woman he’d wanted—and hated wanting—from the instant he’d set eyes on her.
If he was being honest with himself—and now he could, because there was no reason left to lie—he’d dreamed about this moment. But it had always been just that. A dream. And a damn frustrating one to boot.
He’d dreamed of taking Ulster’s wife, punishing her for husband’s sins, making her beg and plead and weep for mercy, for his cock. He had, in the deep cloak of night, pleasured himself to visions of Eleanor tied to his bed or bent over the divan, languishing beneath the lash. But mostly, whimpering with pleasure beneath him.
But now, Ulster was dead. Eleanor was in his arms, compliant. Wanting him. Wanting him to fuck her. It was no longer a fantasy or a vague imagining. She was warm and heavy in his embrace, and he was minutes away from finally having her.
The anticipation was excruciating.
Still, when he reached his room, he didn’t toss her on the bed and mount her, as the beast inside him urged. No. He wanted this to last. He wanted this to linger.
Gently, he set her on her feet in the center of the room and headed for the table by the window bearing an assortment of decanters. He poured himself a drink and then threw himself into the armchair by the fire, facing her, reveling in the fact she was here. In his room, his lair.
She stood silently, quivering slightly.
Exultation—that of a predator who had finally captured his prey—lashed through him.
“Take down your hair.”
She did so, pulling out the pins, one after the other until the heavy mass cascaded down her slender back. He stared at it, transfixed. He wanted nothing more than to wrap it around his fist and bring it to his nose and draw in her scent. But first…
“Remove your dress.”
She blushed and showed him her back. “I cannot.”
Rage and bitter disappointment flashed through him. “My lady, we have a bargain. You must do as I say.”
She glanced back at him, over her shoulder, and shot him a shy smile, a tentative offering. She lifted her hair, revealing a long line of tiny buttons running from her neckline to her hips. “I cannot take off my dress. You will have to unbutton me.”
Scalding lust replaced his rage in an instant. He was rock hard in a breath.
He swallowed a sudden pool of drool in his mouth. Bounding from his chair, he bolted across the room to her side.
The buttons were tiny and, truth be told, his fingers shook, but he managed—somehow—to undo them. He stroked the creamy vee of skin he revealed with the first few. A thrill shot through him, straight to his balls, when she quivered at his touch.
He was possessed, suddenly, of the urge to hold one side of the garment in each fist and rip. But he didn’t. For one thing, that would end this too quickly and he didn’t want to end this quickly. Instead, he satisfied his roiling hunger by nibbling on the back of her neck, licking and sucking on her nape as he blindly fumbled for the next button. And the next. When the gown opened far enough, he turned her and, slowly, drawing his palms over her shoulders, nudged the dress off. He swallowed as, bit by bit, her graceful shoulders were revealed. Then her chest.
Damn. She wore a chemise.
But her breasts, swollen and pert, were visible through the sheer material. Her nipples, puckered and fat, taunted him. Unable to resist, he thumbed a taut peak. She moaned, which brought his gaze up to her face.
God. She was beautiful, her lashes fanning her cheeks like sooty moons, her lips slightly parted and damp, her nostrils flared.
“Do you like that?” he whispered.
She colored. A red tide crept up her cheeks giving her a rosy glow.
Had he ever thought her cold? How had he ever decided she was reserved?
“Yes, Ethan.”
He could tell she was aroused. It was evident in her short, hard gasps, the trembling in her form, the rising scent of lust. It nearly drove him mad.
But he returned to his chair and sat, facing her once more. A whole room away.
It nearly killed him.
Her eyes flew open at his withdrawal. He nodded curtly in her direction. “There. You’re unbuttoned. Finish the job yourself.” Because, God, he wanted to watch her undress. For him.
She swallowed and nodded and let the dress fall to the floor.
He ground his teeth, bit his tongue, curled his hand in to a fist around the arm of the chair. Anything to keep him from flying across the room, taking her in his arms and planting himself inside her.
No. He sat there in the plush chair and watched as she revealed herself to him. For once her dress fell, she lifted her chemise. His heart thudded in his chest—in his cock—as her creamy belly, her abdomen and finally, her breasts were bared.
God. She was beautiful.
She pulled the chemise all the way off and let it fall to the floor. Let her gaze fall as well. She peeped up at him, standing there utterly bare.
Dear. God.
At the sight of that silken triangle damp with dew, his heart stuttered.
She was naked.
In his room.
Eleanor.
“Turn around.” As much as he wanted to inspect the lush globes of her ass, he needed some time. Some time to retain his sanity, his control. For if he looked at her much longer, stared into her witching eyes, he would lose control. And while she was aroused, he knew she wasn’t ready. Not ready enough. His cock was enormous, and as long as a pike.
An unused candelabrum sat on the table by his chair. He plucked one candle from a branch and fingered it. Perfect.
“Ethan?” She had turned, wreathed in the light of the licking fire in the hearth, and was watching him with a perplexed expression.
“Come here.”
She stepped toward him. Dainty shadows danced over her skin.
“Closer.”
When she stopped before him, he handed her the candle. It was a fine creation, made of beeswax and scented with lemon. “What do you want me to do with this?”
He shot her a hooded glance. “Don’t you know?”
Her brow rumpled and she shook her head, tipping the candle this way and that.
“I want you to fuck yourself with it.”
The candle fell to the floor. “What?”
“Come now, Eleanor. Surely you’ve fucked yourself with a candle?”
Her cheeks went red, her lips trembled and she shook her head. “No.”
He didn’t know why he pursued this. He could tell the prospect distressed her. Perhaps it was his deep need for revenge against Ulster, or perhaps it was simply the desire to see her engaged in such a lewd pursuit, but he pressed her. “Pick it up, Eleanor. Slip it inside your cunt.”
“My c—”
“Cunt. Say it.”
“C-cunt.”
“That’s right. That’s good. Now, slip it inside.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Remember our bargain.”
She swallowed heavily and stared at him, trembling. And just when he was about to give in, to release her from the bawdy request, she picked up the candle.
Every muscle in his body went taut. His eyes burned. He couldn’t bear to blink.
She studied it for a bit, as though trying to figure it out. Then she placed one foot on the ottoman before him, opening herself completely to his gaze, and lowered the candle. He watched, his breath scalding in his lungs, as she slipped it in, past her lips, and farther, into her cunt.
She threw back her head and moaned.
“D-deeper.”
She complied and the taper, bit by bit, disappeared. The sight was riveting. When it was almost all the way in, when she grasped only the t
ip, she shuddered. The candle bobbled and a fierce hunger racked him.
Hell.
“Now pull it out.”
She did, easing the candle back out of her cunt, shivering and groaning at the sensation. It emerged with a slight stain, proof of her fertility, proof another man’s seed had not taken root inside her.
The purpose of copulation, at its basest level, was procreation. Somewhere, deep inside him, Ethan’s primal self howled with satisfaction at the sight.
He wanted her.
Needed her.
Had to have her.
Now.
He stood and grabbed at the candle, jerking it out with a wet plop. She cried out but he ignored the protest, yanking her body against his. Too late, he realized he had not prepared. He had not undressed and was suddenly annoyed with his clothing. He only had time, only had patience for his trousers. He ripped the placket open, backed her against the wall, lifted her leg and entered her.
Her heat, her dampness, the tight grip of her cunt blinded him.
She cried out again but clung to him, trembling inside an out.
He pulled out and buried himself in her again, in that warm wet cavern, trembling with delight. She was divine. It was like coming home. Her embrace was familiar, welcoming, expressly unique. He nested his nose in the crook of her neck and drew in her scent.
And he froze.
The tantalizing memory of another woman, another night, drifted through his brain, took root. Recognition, certainty flooded him. Slowly, he lifted his head and stared at her, her nose, the tip of her chin, those unforgettable lustrous orbs.
Exultation flooded him.
His eyes had not recognized his Mignon, but his body knew her. His body had identified her right away.
He groaned as she, impatient with his pause, tightened her muscles around him. And for the moment, this revelation, this epiphany, wafted away into the mists of his insanity. She clutched at him again, this time with a twist, and he growled. He lifted her leg higher and wedged himself deeper.
“Yes,” she cried. Then she bit his neck.
Ethan lost all sanity.
He fucked her, hard and fast, yanking out and plunging into her cunt again and again in rapid succession. The tension within her rose. Her moans became tighter, shorter, and then rose to wails. He knew she was coming, sensed the imminence of her crisis, and he increased his strokes. He cupped her breast, tweaked her nipple and reveled in her response—an excruciating squeeze that sucked at his cock more tightly than any mouth. A pressure rose in his balls, his cock started to swell and weep.