Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  When home, he’d all but ignored her, treating her with polite yet distracted distance. Something was definitely weighing on his mind and nerves. He had not opted to share it with her and perhaps that hurt more than his distance.

  Tonight, he had come from yet another political dinner party, the debate over the issue of the National Navy and the British Orders in Council getting hotter and hotter.

  Nicolo Calabria came in behind Alex. He was handsome with his light olive skin, pale blue eyes and shining gold hair.

  Emily hated him.

  She knew it was wrong but she couldn’t help it. Now, as always, his eyes seemed to laugh at her. She blamed him, however justly or unjustly, for Alex’s current emotional distance, even though she had no rational basis for it.

  But Alex was coming to her now, his expression open, his eyes glowing with tenderness. On the other side from where Peter sat, Alex sat beside her on the settee. Very close. Alex’s familiar scent of sandalwood and clean masculinity wafted over her. The warmth of his thigh burned into hers and her breath quickened. They had not shared themselves since that last time at his boarding house rooms. Before this long break, a day without being close to him had seemed unbearable; the past two weeks had been sheer torture.

  Alex took her hand and the touch of his bare skin on hers tingled like lightning sparking up her arm. Her nipples went taut and yearning spread into her loins. Two weeks…

  “Peter, what brings you here so late?” Alex asked.

  “With your aunt gone, Cornelia sent me to see what mischief you were up to with your lovely little artist. My sister would have been happy to let Emily stay at our house until your aunt’s return. I am supposed to persuade her to come home with me.” Peter frowned. “Honestly, aren’t you afraid of talk?”

  Alex waved his cousin off. “Seeing as we shall be wed shortly—”

  Emily cut him a glance. “How shortly?”

  Alex gave her a small smile, oozing charm. “Very shortly.”

  His charm did nothing to melt her cold resentment over this matter. Having gained her acquiescence to his proposal, now the blasted man would not commit. She couldn’t help glaring at him.

  Nicolo laughed softly. “Ah, young love.”

  Angry heat flared over her face but she’d never reveal herself to Nicolo. He was always making barbed comments. She forced a smile and pointedly studied her nails. Nicolo was such a loose fish. What did Alex see in him? They were such close friends.

  “Wed soon or not, someone ought to play chaperone,” Peter said, his voice ringing with humor.

  “And you’ve appointed yourself chaperone?” Alex’s voice was amused.

  “Aye.” He leant back against the settee. “I’m hungry, Alex. How about a late supper?”

  “Mrs. Webbs and her girls have the next few days off.”

  A wry grin cracked Peter’s face. He shook his head. “Oh, Alex, tell me you didn’t. Cornelia is going to have an apoplexy.”

  “It’s only a few days.”

  “You have spent too much time away from the civilized world. Even a Dalton is not so wealthy or highly placed that he needn’t worry about gossip.”

  Alex grew silent a moment. Emily looked up at him. But he wasn’t looking at her. “I am afraid there’s nothing but cold chicken, bread and apple pie for supper.”

  Peter frowned. “Don’t change the subject. You know it—I’m right.”

  “Quit being such a hen, cousin.” Alex smiled one of his most disarming, friendly smiles.

  The power of it gave Emily chills.

  “Do what you want. You will anyway.” Peter crossed his arms and leaned into the corner between the satin back cushion and polished walnut arm of the settee.

  Alex turned to Nicolo. “Are you staying?”

  Nicolo’s eyes flickered to Emily, twin flames of disdainful blue. “No, I am expected elsewhere for supper,” he said in his accented tones.

  His eyes seemed to frost over and another chill raced through her. As he turned to go, she shivered and hugged her arms.

  What did he know about Alex and his past that she didn’t?

  ****

  Alex sat in the parlor, drinking brandy and waiting for Emily to dress for supper. Ladies always had to dress for supper, even if it was just cold leftover chicken served close to midnight. It did a man no good to get upset over it. Still he couldn’t help but wonder if this were yet another way for her to express her displeasure with him. To make him wait on her for a change. Yes, she wasn’t exactly pleased with him. That much she’d made clear.

  Who could blame her? He’d been a first-rate jackass for a fortnight now.

  And she was unhappy with him for delaying the wedding.

  He put his hand beneath his queue and rubbed the back of his neck. What the devil was the matter with him? Why delay? She was everything he wanted. Everything he could imagine wanting. It made no sense. He wasn’t a superstitious man by any means and he wasn’t pleased with himself for letting such nameless misgivings dictate his actions.

  But tonight, he felt like he’d been refreshed by a cool rain after suffering through a spell of summer heat; he was in sanguine spirits. Sexton had come to town just today and informed him that Aimee, along with her parents, was now en route to Montreal on a ship owned by Thomas Watson.

  The only thing that put a pall over his mood was that Nicolo, his dear friend, had refused to stay for supper. He couldn’t help feeling it was a statement of disapproval. He’d wanted to draw Alex away from home this night and to go out carousing on the town. He wanted Alex to break his engagement in the worst way and made no secret of the matter.

  “You think my sister will pester Emily over those rumors Richard Green passed around about Tom Eliot, don’t you? That’s why you didn’t accept Cornelia’s offer for Emily to stay with us.”

  Peter’s question pulled Alex out of his reverie and made him pause with his brandy at his lips. A ripple of discomfort twisted his guts. He didn’t want to think about this topic tonight. Having learned that Aimee was safe, Alex just wanted to enjoy the relief. However, he couldn’t ignore Peter’s question. “It’s certainly a distinct possibility, isn’t it?”

  Peter frowned. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He tapped his glass a moment. “Is there any truth to those rumors, Alex?”

  Tension coiled tighter in Alex’s stomach. He gazed down at the reflection of the flames in the highly polished mahogany arm of the settee and smiled. “Who knows?“ He traced the groove of the arm’s claw pattern. “It’s driving Cornelia over the mast, isn’t it? The thought that I might make Emily an offer of marriage, I mean. She’s squirming over it, isn’t she?”

  Peter exhaled long and loud. “Cornelia can’t help herself. She’s so obsessed with bloodlines and social standing and such things.”

  “And it goes without saying, she won’t approve my marriage to an alleged slave-trader’s daughter. Child of a mere sea captain, heaven forbid. And you wonder why I don’t make a public announcement. Cornelia would come down on Emily like an avalanche of loose stones with her prodding and probing and the poor girl just might run.”

  “Oh, Alex, you take Cornelia too seriously, everyone does.” Peter’s tone was impatient.

  “I don’t take her seriously—at least not any further than her ability to hurt my wife’s chances to fit into society. You know what hell it will be for Emily if she’s given a chilly reception.“

  “Well, honestly, I don’t think she’ll give a damn. Emily seems to live by her own standards.”

  A stab of pride made Alex smile. It was swiftly followed by a stronger surge of possessiveness. “She’ll soon be living by my standards.”

  Peter chuckled. “I wouldn’t count on that, Alex. She seems a law unto herself. Come now, admit, she’s very different from the girls we were raised to expect to marry.”

  Alex knew Peter was thinking of his own wife, Jacobine, now deceased. Pretty, dark-haired, quiet and very modest, she’d have been appalled to have had he
r name engraved on a work like Emily had authored. She’d have quietly starved in some discreet corner before ever selling her virtue to survive.

  “Yes, my Emily is very different.”

  “Delightfully different.”

  “Yes, agreed, delightfully different.” Alex took a deep breath in and held it a moment, then released it on a soft laugh. “And no, absolutely no.”

  Peter’s eyes widened and he raised his brows. “No, what?”

  “No to what is on your mind.”

  “You can read minds now?”

  “I can read yours.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come now, Peter, this is me, Alexander, your cousin.”

  Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, yes, but not like you think. I am not without some understanding of your feelings.”

  “Thoughts like that are dangerous. They could get you killed one of these days.”

  Peter laid his palms down on his knees. “You’d never kill me.”

  “Don’t be too sure.” Alex lifted his glass to his lips.

  “I’d just be happy to watch.”

  The drink went down the wrong way and Alex choked then coughed convulsively for a few moments. “Damn, Peter, your gall knows no bounds, does it?”

  “Absolutely none.” Peter grinned. “But Christ, Alex, you have to admit it. She’d be worth the risk of a duel. She gets a little older and loses that shy-kitty-in-the-corner aspect and you’re going to have your hands full. And the world is going to pose a terrible temptation to her. It’s always like that for girls like her.”

  The last of Alex’s good humor vanished and he bristled all over. “Girls like her? Tell me, what are ‘girls like my fiancée’ like?”

  “Come down from your high ropes. I simply mean passionate, idealistic girls like her. They are so pure of heart and spirit. They have no inkling of how base and devious other people can be. Nor of how strongly they can be pushed by their own innate drives.”

  Peter’s reverent tones gave himself away. He was so obviously in Emily’s complete thrall that Alex couldn’t help shaking his head. Peter had always been helpless to his impulses where women were concerned. Well, truth be told, Peter was helpless to his impulses where a lot of things were concerned.

  “And you’ve made a career of taking advantage of such types?” Alex asked.

  “No, I have steadfastly avoided them, but they have always fascinated me nonetheless.”

  Alex stood. “Well, do yourself a favor and tamp down that fascination where my fiancée is involved.”

  Peter started. “Have I offended you, Alex?”

  Alex rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Let me consider, you all but asked if you may watch me fuck my fiancée. And then you went on to tell me how her passionate nature makes my being a cuckold an all but certain assumption—”

  “I did no such thing. You forced the whole matter from me—”

  “For God’s sake, Peter, you haven’t offended me. I know you too well to be offended by anything you say. I find myself merely disquieted.”

  Peter’s expression wrinkled with concern. “Oh dear, should I leave?”

  “Just sit tight and wait for supper. Then you can go home to Cornelia and tell her Emily is safe and sound here.”

  ****

  Clad in her satin chemise, Emily stood at her washstand, adjusting her hair. Alex’s boots sounded softly on the thick rug behind her. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure how to respond to him. She was still hurt from his distance, and his continued reluctance to finally put a date to their wedding hadn’t helped one bit.

  Yet she’d missed him so desperately.

  She looked up into the mirror. He stared back at her, his expression blank, his eyes a bluish-gray as dark as a winter’s storm clouds, the pupils dilated.

  “You.” She put all her anger and hurt into the word.

  He came to stand behind her. So close, his body heat radiated to hers.

  He touched her stomach and her every nerve ending came alive for him. Her nipples beaded. Devil take her traitor body. He pressed into her, erect and throbbing against her backside. Her hunger flared.

  Oh, God.

  “Let go of me.”

  He brushed his lips over her ear and uttered a series of sibilant sounds.

  “I don’t want you.”

  He traced her earlobe with his tongue. His hot, wet, teasing tongue. She froze for a moment and desire trembled through her. Heat spread through her loins, her nipples pulled tight.

  “Yes, you do,” he said.

  She couldn’t stop her hips from pressing backwards into his heated flesh. Her empty, hungry cunt contracted, pleading to be filled, used, pleasured. Lubrication flowed over the swelling inner folds that craved the stimulation of his fingers. She couldn’t help rocking into him. She felt him catch his breath and his hand tightened on her belly. She wished they were naked now. On her bed. Joined together, with him thrusting deep and her legs wrapped snugly about his waist, driving him deeper inside her.

  Two weeks of nights spent alone in her bed, aching with desire.

  Two weeks that he had chosen to neglect her.

  She shook herself, forced her hips to still and pulled away from him a little. She was angry with him. She couldn’t let herself forget it this time.

  “This would look lovely in your beautiful claret hair.” He placed something on her head.

  She looked to her reflection. She had the sense for a moment that a stranger stared back at her. A heart-shaped face, bathed in candlelight to a glowing ivory color, two large, alarmed, amber-brown eyes framed by lashes that glinted auburn. On her head lay a circlet of gilded laurel leaves studded with glittering topazes and iridescent pearls that had a more golden than white cast.

  It was lovely.

  “See, it is fit for a princess.” He lowered his head and put his lips close to her neck. “My beautiful princess.”

  She understood. This was an apology for his distance.

  She didn’t know how to take this, if she should be touched or offended. But his hands were caressing her stomach through the satin. His cock pressed into her. Throbbing. Demanding. He moved his lips over her neck, kissing, licking, sucking. Shafts of sensation blazed through her.

  A whole two weeks without him inside her. God help her.

  Her knees weakened and hunger consumed her. His hands slid upwards and caressed her breasts. Of course, she could pretend coldness to hurt him back. Maybe she should. Maybe he deserved it.

  “Alex, I…”

  “What?” He breathed his question against the already sensitive skin of her neck.

  She closed her eyes and shivered as her nipples pulled into even tighter points. “I don’t think we should do this… Not now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am not altogether certain of my feelings towards you at the moment.”

  Alex backed away from Emily a step. Her large eyes pleaded with him in the reflection. How innocent she appeared, in her chemise and the circlet of pearls and topazes. Yet he knew she was not so innocent any longer. He was wholly responsible for that. He had taken her virginity and taught her everything she knew about lovemaking.

  Did he like his creation?

  “You’re angry with me.” It wasn’t a question. He knew she was.

  “You ignored me.” Her voice was soft, small and tight. Like a girl’s. Her body held a girl’s litheness.

  Her heart held a girl’s belief in the overall goodness of the world.

  In the goodness of him.

  Tension swept through him. He inhaled deeply, trying to dissipate it.

  “You left me here alone.” Her eyes were pools of hurt, stabbing into him.

  I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die a slave.

  “I was preoccupied, Emily. I have responsibilities to others.” He would surely burn in hell for lying to her.

  She looked off to the side, her chest rising high the
n falling slowly, as if with a deep sigh.

  He touched her shoulder. “I did miss you. Very much.”

  She glanced up in the mirror. “Did you?”

  Hope sounded in her voice, showed in her face, so earnest and trusting. His chest tightened.

  “Of course I missed you.” He traced his fingers over her satiny cheek. “You know I am sorry.”

  Her expression softened, as if she hadn’t guessed he might simply tell her anything to get to shove his cunt-starved cock into her.

  But, then again, she yet retained the pureness of heart that so attracted him to her.

  He felt her tremble. Saw the capitulation in her eyes.

  Hunger tore through him.

  He nudged her towards the washstand and with one hand pushed her head forward and down. She put her palms flat on the washstand as he shoved her chemise up to her waist, exposing her lower body.

  He jammed his thigh between hers.

  The scent of her arousal filled the air. He touched her quim. Her wetness gushed onto his digits. He entered her with two fingers. Christ, she was tight. The tightest cunt he’d ever known. She moved under his hand. She tried to turn and look at him. He gripped her head more firmly, keeping it lowered. He moved his fingers back and forth within her, until her wetness dripped down his arm. He removed his two fingers then replaced them with three.

  She moaned, low and lingering. As if her need was painful to her.

  Well, damn, he understood exactly how she felt. He was going to fuck her long and hard.

  “Please, please, please.” She arched her back, as if trying to drive his fingers deeper.

  He withdrew his hand.

  She sobbed. A catching, grieving sound.

  He wrenched his breeches open. Any moment he would thrust into her. He would fuck her. Hard. Fast. Furious.

  She began to tremble all over, her hands rattling the washstand.

  His cock was throbbing, aching, ready to explode and pour his seed into her. Two weeks without this. Two weeks…

  His crown touched her entrance.

  She caught her breath loudly.

  He grasped her hips and pulled her backwards, ruthlessly impaling her upon his erection.