The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  She wished she knew how to put words to what she wanted.

  He palmed her breast, squeezing her ever so slightly, making her arch off the bed.

  “Richard…” She did not know why she whispered his name.

  His mouth found hers and she bit his lip when he pulled out and then thrust back into her body. He didn’t seem to mind her force and returned the gesture. They were locked in such a tight embrace she didn’t know how he pulled in and out of her body, only that she didn’t ever want it to stop. She tilted her pelvis up, wanting him to fill her deeper. His thrusts were hard, firm, so delicious.

  She moaned, she whimpered, it was embarrassing to have so little control over her body as he made her feel. Feel everything she’d only dreamed of and imagined before now.

  The grip he had on her rear tightened, and he stilled above her. His breath rasped in and out fast next to her ear as he emptied his seed within her pulsing womb. The thickness lodged between her thighs seemed to throb for long moments.

  She didn’t want this to end. He’d leave her now. Just as he’d left her on their wedding night. She choked back a sob and closed her eyes against the tears threatening at the surface. Now was not the time to fall apart emotionally.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she mumbled and swallowed back her anxiety.

  He rolled off her and flopped on the bed so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. She turned her head toward him, listening to his breathing slow as she pulled down her chemise, trying to make out his features in the dim room. She wanted to touch the shadowed outline of his face but didn’t feel she could be so bold. What would she have to do to keep him here tonight?

  She should have never allowed him admittance into her life, into her heart. She was still in love with her husband. What a fool she was. What a stupid fool.

  His finger traced the lacy edge of the linen covering her shoulder. She shivered. He was all heat and solidity next to her, and she wanted him to wrap himself around her again. To touch and taste at her. To make her warm when she felt so cold inside. Before she could voice her wants, he was off the bed, leaving her chilled even in the heated summer air.

  “Does this time suit you for tomorrow evening?”

  “Yes,” she responded numbly. Was he really leaving it at that? Had he not felt the depth of their connection? Had there been nothing sacred in the passion they’d just shared?

  The door clicked shut behind his retreating form.

  Pulling the sheet up around her shoulders, she reached out to touch the impression he’d left in the blankets next to her.

  Would he still be at Mansfield Hall come morning?

  * * *

  Not exactly what he’d planned.

  He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to spend the evening inside her, around her, any way he could have her. But he hadn’t a clue as to what he was supposed to say or do with her. He’d never spent the night with a woman. Never made idle conversation after taking his pleasure in her body.

  That brought his thoughts right back around to the feel of her body. It was softer than he remembered. Filled out and womanly. Her breasts were plump and firm beneath the very proper night rail she’d worn.

  Bloody hell, he should have stayed for another round. He was still hard as a goddamn poker. Wrapping his hand around his prick, he stood with his back to the door and stroked over the sticky length. Her wetness. His sperm. He wanted to suck at her breasts again, put his mouth in places that would shock her. He stroked his thick length harder. She’d been full of fire. His hand moved faster. Then he released another torrent of seed. His head fell back against the door, his hand milking his pulsing cock.

  Shit.

  He’d not taken his hand to himself since his school days.

  Tomorrow night he would take it slower. Strip her down and explore every inch of her body. Taste every inch of her skin. Why had he left? She’d been so full of passion. He wanted that, didn’t he?

  Confound him!

  His wife was not a simple creature to figure out.

  Chapter 9

  You consume my every thought.

  Emma scooped more eggs onto her plate, took another sliver of ham and sat next to Grace with a heavy sigh.

  Grace put her fork down and turned to her. “What are you sighing over?”

  “Hmm … I’m sighing?”

  “Yes, like a woman completely smitten.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Grace laughed. “You spent the night with your husband. I didn’t think you’d give in to him so easily. Not after only a week.”

  “You shouldn’t say such things.” Emma turned and looked at the door, hoping no one lingered close by. “Anyone can happen by.”

  “When else am I going to be able to bring up the matter? I want to know all the details.”

  “I can’t share any such thing with you.” Grace stared at her, disbelievingly. “If you must know, I spent some time with him.” With a whisper, she added, “Last night.”

  Her sister sat back with a harrumph and crossed her arms in a knowing smirk. “I knew it!”

  “He didn’t stay the night,” Emma cut in.

  “You probably told him to leave.”

  “I did no such thing.” Uncomfortable talking about this, Emma fidgeted with the lace edge of the tablecloth. “We … he … he didn’t stay long afterward.”

  “I may not have cared for Howard’s attentions when we were married, but he often spent the night,” Grace confided as she leaned forward and took Emma’s hand. Emma squeezed Grace’s fingers and sat back in the chair, shaking her head resolutely.

  “I don’t want to know your thoughts on this, Grace.”

  “Why not?” Her bottom lip pouted out as she absently pushed food around on her plate.

  “Because, truth be told, I felt inept afterward.” Oh, dear. Not what she’d meant to say at all. Her sister needn’t know Emma’s incompetence where her husband was concerned. She worried her lip and stuttered out, “I look forward to the day I’m with child.”

  “He didn’t offer you your own pleasure, did he?”

  Emma’s silence must have been answer enough.

  Fork clanking against the dish, Grace’s fist pounded against the table, marking her words. “If I knew him better, I’d tell him what a selfish blackguard he is to worry about a good rub off for himself but not to worry about fulfilling the needs of his wife.”

  Emma choked on her eggs and picked up her glass of water to help wash it down. “Promise me you’ll not say a word about this to anyone.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. But that won’t stop me from showing my displeasure toward your husband. For heaven’s sake, we saw him in a bawdy house, surely he knows how to make his lady scream.”

  Closing her eyes, Emma took a deep breath and pushed the remainder of her breakfast away from her, unable to take another bite. “The breakfast parlor is the wrong place for this conversation.” Not that she wanted to discuss this at all.

  “I know exactly what you need, Emma. You need to embrace yourself more. Do something completely unlike you, and something completely naughty.” Grace’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous smile lifting one side of her mouth.

  Emma scrunched up her nose in distaste. “I’m perfectly content as I am.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge. And look, here comes Abby, in time for a little wager.”

  Emma looked at her youngest sister, hoping that Abby could read the pleading for help in her eyes.

  “Oh, I do love a good bet. I always win. What is it I’ll be winning today?” Abby was no help at all.

  A smile brightened Grace’s face. “I’ve suggested to Emma that she embrace her wilder side. Do something she’d never dare to do.”

  Abby laughed. Not a small laugh, either, but gales of it. She put her plate down on the side table when she was forced to clutch a hand to her side. “I have a cramp. It’s cruel to make me laugh like this before I’ve had anything t
o eat.” Abby straightened as her laughter quieted. “She’ll not step outside the lines of propriety.”

  “You two are being decidedly cruel. I like my life exactly as it is. Why would I want to change who I am?” Emma tossed her napkin to the table. She wouldn’t stand for this treatment. “Besides, what of my art? It’s more daring than many a lady would care for.”

  Grace nibbled on her tea biscuit. “This has nothing to do with your paintings. I swear, even when we discuss your portraits you blush like a virgin on her wedding night.”

  Abby chuckled. “Grace, I’m willing to throw your pearl earrings back into the pot if we can get Emma to do something scandalous by our measure.”

  “I’ll not participate in anything that could hurt our reputations.” That should set them straight. Or so Emma hoped.

  “Hmm.” Grace tapped at her lip in thought. “We will have to be discreet.”

  “Do share your thoughts.” Abby sat across from them at the breakfast table, her plate full of eggs, kippers, and toast, with a large dollop of strawberry jam on the side. She took a napkin and flicked it open before settling it on her lap.

  “We wouldn’t want Emma to balk at the slightest hint of wickedness.” Grace leaned forward on her elbows. “I suggest we make a list this afternoon.”

  “I do have fun,” Emma protested and frowned at both her sisters in turn.

  She painted every day. Her sisters knew how much she loved doing that. They had even seen her more risqué works. Most people of the ton would probably think she had a few nuts rolling around in her head to even think of painting such scandalous nudes.

  “The things you do could hardly be construed as fun.” Grace arched one brow at her. “Besides, this will take your mind off Waverly.”

  “She’s right, Em.” Abby pointed a fork full of scrambled eggs at Grace. “And I know how we can draw up the bet. We can wager on when Emma is most likely to withdraw from our planned escapades.”

  “And if I complete all your challenges, what then?” Emma pushed her chair away from the table. “You two have far more to gain. While the idea has its merits, you’re sure to make the challenge too difficult for me to complete.”

  “Very true,” Grace said easily. “What if we promised our undivided attention and time for you to paint or charcoal a portrait of your choosing?”

  Emma had asked Grace on many occasions to model for her. Her sister had cried off because—well, because she’d have to disrobe for the types of pictures Emma planned. Having a new subject to paint was an opportunity to spur her creativity. Of course, she couldn’t paint Abby till she was safely married.

  “You’re brilliant, Grace.” Abby grinned. “I couldn’t for the life of me think what she’d want from us, but that is perfect.”

  To prove her sisters wrong—and to win their undivided attention for the type of painting she wished to compose—she’d allow them this contest. And they were right: It would provide a distraction to the Waverly situation.

  “I accept your challenge.” How bad could it really be? “Am I invited to know what will be on the list?”

  “Of course not,” her sisters said in unison, then laughed at their timing.

  “It’s hardly fair for you to know all the challenges,” Grace clarified. “You could pick and choose what to accomplish. Then where would that leave us in our wager? I do want my pearl earrings back.”

  “I doubt you’ll win, Grace.”

  “You shouldn’t be boastful, Abby,” Grace responded. “It’s always possible Emma will win, and we’ll both be sitting for scandalous portraits.”

  “How many items are going to be on this list?” Emma should have asked for clarification on that before saying yes, but it was too late now.

  “Good question.” Abby tapped her finger on her lip in contemplation. “What if we agreed on not more than six?”

  Six was too many challenges she could potentially fail at. “I could hardly name more than three things you might have me do.”

  “Fine,” Grace said as she stood from the table. “Three it is. I even know the first challenge. I’m going to go prepare the list before the afternoon is upon us.”

  Abby took her jam-covered toast and followed Grace out of the breakfast parlor. “I’ll join you.”

  Had she made a mistake by taking on this challenge? Surely not. She’d have two models by the end of it. Of course, she knew now to hide her sisters’ likenesses when she painted. How she wished she’d been smart enough to do so with her first painting.

  * * *

  “Mr. Lioni. Fancy that I should find you wandering around in the cellar.” Grace ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the surprise lighting her expression. It was a task not staring at the man. He was so very handsome with his casual way of dress. She loved a man of his size in shirtsleeves. It made him seem so unashamedly virile.

  She continued down her path, hoping to grab the first bottle of wine she happened upon and stall her daydream of Mr. Lioni and his superb physique. But she wouldn’t be rid of him so easy. Mr. Lioni fell into step behind her. An all-too-tempting and tantalizing presence.

  “I’m familiarizing myself with the manor. It’s easy enough to get lost if you’re not keeping track of where you’re going.”

  She loved his accent. She noticed that he spoke slowly, to pronounce his English words with precision. What was it about this man’s accent that had her legs turning to jelly?

  “Indeed.” She quickened her steps because she was a blushing fool in his company and liable to stammer nonsense if she didn’t focus on something aside from his wide shoulders and tanned, bare neck.

  On second thought, he could prove useful this afternoon in bringing Asbury out to the orchard for Emma’s first challenge. The one thing Abby and she had agreed upon was that they needed to reunite the married couple. All was not lost with Asbury and Emma. They were still young and could build a strong marriage if they put their past behind them.

  As much as Grace wanted to be angry with Asbury for abandoning Emma, for making her live the life of a nun, she couldn’t. She’d decided last night over dinner that she liked the way Asbury regarded his wife with a mixture of curiosity and admiration when he thought no one watched him. Ha! She’d seen the look in his eyes. He was trying to fix their marriage. Obvious as it was, Emma was blind to his attempts. Grace was not.

  She must play this carefully because she didn’t know if men discussed the business of women with each other. She wouldn’t put it past them to do just that. “What are your plans for the day, Mr. Lioni?”

  “Nothing of importance. It’s been work and no play for too many months. This reprieve in the country is welcome.”

  She turned to face him. “How do you plan to amuse yourself while residing here?”

  That was a mistake to ask. She got a good look at his knowing expression and tried not to smile in return. She failed even before she thought to paste any sort of aloof expression on her face.

  Why not invite the flirtation?

  Mr. Lioni’s burly, imposing frame came a step closer. She held her ground, liking how small she felt in his presence. She was no weeping willow like her sisters. She was plumper, taller, and darker in coloring, like her father had been.

  “I can think of many things to amuse my time,” he said in an intimate tone. She’d bet her finest jade hair combs that he could amuse her time quite nicely.

  Her knees wobbled beneath her skirts. Had she not been leaning against the dark cabinetry that lined the room, she would have slid to the ground in a heap of overexcitement. He reached out toward her, fingering the edge of ribbon tied about her waist.

  “You interest me more than you ought to.” That purr was still in his voice.

  He interested her, too. When they’d retired last night to the parlor, he had been rather forward and very clear in his interest. She hadn’t spurned any of his attempts because it felt good to be courted and chased by a man. That couldn’t be the right word for what they were doing. No,
it was nothing so innocent as courting.

  This was the start of a grand affair. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for something of that nature, despite being a widow for two years. Maybe she was the marrying type as opposed to the casual-affair type. She doubted Mr. Lioni was looking for the first kind of attachment.

  “This is fine for you?” he asked, slipping his finger under the ribbon and pulling her a fraction closer.

  Eyes going wide, she looked over his shoulder to the dim interior of the cellar. There was no one to interrupt them. No servants to see her doing something she shouldn’t. Where was her resolve to be good? To not cede to the temptation standing before her?

  Oh, she’d never had such control over her desires.

  How far was she willing to take this flirtation? Far enough to see where exactly it would lead? Being confined in the wine cellar alone with Mr. Lioni definitely seemed decadent, but it wouldn’t do for her to throw caution to the wind.

  “I won’t say I’m not tempted.” When had she become so bold with her words? This man was almost a complete stranger to her. “But it wouldn’t be proper.” Not that she cared to play the proper widow. Maybe she did, a little bit.

  Instead of taking that step forward—a step she really, really wanted to take—Grace lifted his finger away from the ribbon at her waist and spun around to walk farther into the cellar. Aware that he watched, she trailed her fingers over the chestnut-colored wood shelves that housed hundreds of bottles of wine; she pulled two at random.

  Bottles in hand, she headed back in the direction of the stairs, passing Mr. Lioni with a smile that dared him to follow. Despite the fact that she should keep a safe distance between her and him, he might be useful in luring Asbury to their planned afternoon escapade.