Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  If Alex sought to try to claim his child, who would disbelieve that Aimee was his own flesh and blood?

  And Alex was tempted.

  Tempted to reclaim her.

  A part of him did not care about the right or wrong of the matter, nor about previous solemn promises. Part of him looked on Aimee and was consumed with a jealous need.

  That was his child.

  His child.

  He had killed for her. Risked his own life and limb.

  All around him, commotion had broken out over the spilled wine. Servants rushing to help. François still apologizing profusely. Aunt Rachel denying the need.

  Alex reached for his wineglass, put it to his lips and let the contents stream down his throat. He sat the empty glass down. He’d been trying not to stare at her.

  Now she was staring at him, her gaze clear and blue-gray, her hair a shade or two paler than his own. Catarina’s shade of gold.

  After tomorrow, he would never set eyes upon Aimee again. Or at least not until she was much older. Years from now, when whatever chance he’d had of ever recapturing any paternalistic bond between himself and his daughter would be gone. Forever.

  His heart beat very fast.

  He must act now—or never.

  Aimee wrinkled her nose and looked down at her plate. She began to push her peas around with a listless motion.

  She didn’t particularly like him. She couldn’t hide it.

  The thought made him chuckle softly. Cynically.

  No, he couldn’t disrupt her life. He’d made a promise, all those years ago. And she was happy.

  Happy.

  He gripped his napkin tightly in his fist.

  “Oh, I hate partings so much!” Rachel said. “I think we should all stop for a chocolate tomorrow before going to the ship.”

  “Oh yes, that would be very nice,” Manon said in her painfully careful English. She turned to Aimee. “Don’t you think so, my darling?”

  Aimee flashed a glance at Alex. “All of us?”

  Her voice carried the imperious tone that only an exceptionally pretty, perhaps slightly spoiled little girl could carry off without censure or loss of charm.

  He released his napkin and forced his expression into a semblance of a smile. “I have too much business tomorrow.”

  “Oh, but Alex! You knew I wanted us all to go and wish them a fond farewell.”

  He shook his head. “Something came up. I really cannot avoid it.”

  Aunt Rachel’s face fell.

  But the three Leroys visibly relaxed.

  ****

  Emily stifled a yawn. Sleep had eluded her the night before and she had been tired and chilled all day. Now she sat before the fire, lingering over a cup of coffee. She’d had high hopes for its powers to revive her but to no avail.

  The servants who sat around the large worktable chopping vegetables spoke amongst themselves as though she were not there.

  “I have the whole afternoon to myself,” said Mary, one of Mrs. Webbs’ unmarried granddaughters.

  “How did you get so lucky?” asked Jane, one of Mrs. Hazelwood’s scullery maids.

  “Grandmother went with Mrs. Smith to say farewell to the Leroys. Everyone else went to spend the afternoon with my mother.”

  “Their ship is leaving soon?”

  “Today.”

  “And they gave you the whole afternoon to yourself?”

  “Mrs. Smith and her daughter are going to a soiree later, they won’t be back until evening.”

  “But your brother has the afternoon off, too?” Jane’s tone had brightened considerably.

  Mary shook her head. “Mr. Dalton, he didn’t go. Elisha had to stay behind.”

  “Oh.” Jane sounded dejected.

  The cook came bustling past Emily. “What are you girls doing with your bent heads together? Get back to work. Mary Webb, go on your way now. You have no business here.”

  Emily watched Mary’s tall, thin form leave the kitchen and exit into the mudroom.

  Alex hadn’t gone to see Aimee off at the ship. That spoke volumes to her. Inside, he must be hurting terribly.

  The coffee began to roil in her stomach.

  Oh, God, Alex…

  She bit her lip and swallowed hard. She had to go see him. Right now.

  She just had to.

  ****

  Zachariah compressed his lips, briefly. His coal black eyes seemed to burn into her as he stared down at her from his imposing height.

  She took a deep breath then opened her mouth to speak.

  “There’s no one at home, Miss. They’ve all gone down to say farewell to Miss Aimee and her parents at the ship.”

  “I’ve come to see Alex. I know he’s here.”

  “Now, Miss, you know you shouldn’t be here. Mr. Dalton is not fit for company today, especially not your company.”

  “Zachariah…” She paused, for she always felt embarrassed addressing him by his first name when he always addressed her as ‘Miss.’

  “You’re only making things worse. You are pushing him when you should be giving him the liberty to think things through.”

  “I have to see him.” She took a deep breath and tried to slow down. “I just have to.”

  “Now you listen to me, Miss.” He shifted his tall, lean body until he filled the doorway. “You’re not coming in. Not today.”

  “I don’t think you have the right to bar me entrance to this house.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She drew her spine up straighter. “I suspect I could make serious trouble for you over this refusal.”

  “Yes, I think you could, Miss. But I am willing to take the risk.” His expression eased into a smile. The closest thing to warmth he had ever shown her. “Go back to Cornelia Hazelwood’s house and keep yourself busy. Don’t come back here. Wait until he comes to you.”

  “But I have to see him.”

  “Who is at the door, Zachariah?” Alex’s voice sounded from within the house.

  Zachariah gave her one last, arch look and then stepped aside. He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Enter, Miss.”

  She walked into the house, feeling like the worst sort of interloper. If only Zachariah had not been here to complicate this moment.

  Alex’s eyes widened, as though with surprise. “Good afternoon, Emily.”

  She nodded, her heart lodged too firmly in her throat for her to speak.

  Dressed in his riding clothes, he tapped his left palm with his crop while staring at her. Not one hint of his mood showed on his face.

  The door clicked closed behind her.

  “You’re going for a ride?” she asked stupidly, unable to think of any other thing to say.

  “Looks like I have changed my mind.” He stripped off his leather gloves then handed them and the crop to Zachariah. “Tell Elisha he can exercise Fortune today.” Alex paused, watching Zachariah depart towards the kitchen. Then he turned back to Emily.

  “You look chilled.” He began taking her rain damp pelisse from her shoulders.

  She shrugged out of the garment as it slid off her shoulders then pulled her arms out. “I am fine.”

  He walked away to hang the pelisse on a hook by the door. “You just had a cold. You shouldn’t be walking in the rain.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the window. Small beads of water glazed the glass against an overall impression of a gray and dismal day. “It is barely drizzling.”

  He returned to her and offered his hand. “Come, there’s a fire in my chamber.”

  She took his hand. Wordlessly, she let him lead her upstairs.

  “You said you wanted distance. I have stayed away,” he said once the door had been closed.

  “I did—and I do—but I knew today was the day Aimee’s ship was leaving. I didn’t know what you’d be thinking… I mean how you’d be feeling.” Her voice seemed unnaturally loud in her ears. She began to feel stupid, silly. Must he keep such a closed expression? She felt so much s
ympathy for him. If only he’d give some clue that he needed her sympathy.

  He cupped her cheek with one hand. “You are so very sweet to worry over me.” His tone, his manner, sent a shiver through her. He was almost impersonal. “But you needn’t concern yourself. I have made my peace with the whole matter.”

  He was lying. She could feel it in the pit of her belly.

  He began to remove his hand and she jerked her hand up and pressed his hand back to her cheek.

  “I have missed you.” She turned her head until her mouth touched his palm and she pressed her lips there. She looked up at him through her lashes. “I have wondered so often how you were feeling.”

  “As I said, I have made my peace with everything.”

  How to break through his layers of ice?

  I adore your increasing boldness.

  His words came back to her. Of course. She could be seductive. She let her tongue snake out and tease his palm.

  His sharp intake of breath encouraged her and she moved herself closer to his body. Pressed against him. Only the widening of his pupils betrayed his reaction. His interest in her.

  “Take care what you offer. It may be accepted.” The hardness in his tone put a chill into her.

  It also hurt her heart.

  He was speaking to her as though they were once again just a naïve girl and a gentleman. As though they had never been in love, never been engaged. Never shared the whole of their hearts and beings with each other.

  “I offer you… everything.” She took a deep breath and bit her lip.

  He put his hands on the small of her back. “Everything, eh?”

  “All of me.”

  Her last word was cut off as his mouth came down on hers. Crushingly. Forcing his tongue between her lips. Taking her breath.

  Her heart began to pound. Panic slammed into her.

  He groaned, deep in his throat, a sound of such need that it froze her. He grasped her more fiercely.

  He needed her.

  She would give him… everything.

  He stopped kissing her and lifted his head then stared down at her. His eyes burned with lust and emotion like she’d never seen. Her heart gave a little leap. Fear? Maybe.

  “This is your chance to leave.” His voice was low, hoarse. “I suggest you take it.”

  She swallowed, hard. Then she stood as high on her tiptoes as she could, leaning against him for support, and put her lips to his.

  He growled then swept her up into his arms.

  The room seemed to spin and she clung to his shoulders as her stomach attempted to catch up to her body. He strode to the bed and deposited her there.

  Heavens, she hadn’t been expecting him to react quite that way. She had only a moment to take a breath, to register the softness of the mattress.

  He fell upon her. Fastening his lips to her neck. Shoving her skirts up with no other wooing.

  She gasped.

  He nipped her neck then shifted, making jerking motions as he wrenched at the buttons on his pantaloons. His leg pushed between hers, shoving them farther apart.

  She opened her mouth to speak his name then he pushed inside her.

  She cried out for she had been slightly dry. He was still entering her, coming all the way inside, on one strong, sudden surge. She sucked in her breath and balled her fists at her sides to conceal any outward trace of discomfort.

  Fully embedded, he paused and groaned, a deep and lingering sound of relief, as though he had longed too painfully for this.

  Perhaps he had. She had. Now that it was finally happening again, she felt not a trace of arousal. But she loved him.

  Loved, loved, loved him.

  So much it hurt her. This physical discomfort was nothing compared to that. The only thing that mattered was being close to him. Giving him comfort. Being a part of him. She released her fists and reached to clasp his shoulders.

  He groaned again, harshly. Yet underneath that harshness there was a note of surrender, a desperateness, as though everything were being lost in the moment. Which was odd, for she was the one surrendering and he was the one taking.

  But the utterance filled her with sympathy. She put her lips to his cheek.

  He groaned more softly then grasped her hips with both hands, lifting her from the mattress. A small thrill pulsed through her, sending her heart racing.

  He withdrew almost all the way then thrust back inside with such force it rocked her whole body. She went limp, sinking back into the featherbed. He made a guttural sound then moved in and out of her with a tempo she could only term fierce. Primal. Completely, utterly self-consumed male sexual hunger.

  Her first inclination was to shrink even further into the mattress.

  But his single-minded passion held a beauty that commanded her attention. Fascinated her. Aroused her.

  She began to grow wetter and wetter. She tried to arch upwards to meet him but he maintained a firm hold on her hips and continued thrusting with a ferocity that made the headboard bang against the wall. She heard her own cries, loud, feral, feline. She clutched and clawed at his shoulders.

  He withdrew.

  A scream burned her throat.

  He was turning her body, and too limp to resist, she whimpered into the coverlet as he put her face-down on the bed.

  The broad width of his hand made contact with her buttocks. The crack echoed sharply a moment before he laid several more on her flesh. Unbearable excitement burned in her blood, made her heart thunder against her chest wall. She turned her head and screamed from the force of feeling.

  “On your knees.” He growled the words.

  She pulled herself up on her knees.

  He grasped her hips and thrust into her cunny.

  He jerked himself from her channel and the warmth and wetness of his seed spilled over her buttocks.

  She lay there, sweat pouring from her body, making her clothes stick to her like a second skin as she panted.

  She was going to explode from the need to come.

  Surely she was. She rolled on her side and curled her body and gave a moan, long and lingering. More like a wail.

  “Christ,” Alex swore. The bed rocked as he moved away. She glanced over her shoulder and watched as he slammed his back against the headboard. She was panting so hard, her stomach felt a little sick and the firestorm of sensation that had glowed so gloriously in her belly, womb and loins began to pull into a tight, hard knot.

  “Make me a promise.” His voice sounded hoarse, raspy, not like him.

  She replied with a breathy moan, the best she could do at the moment.

  “No matter where your life takes you, never, ever sacrifice yourself to a man’s desire the way you did this afternoon.”

  His tone crashed over her like cold water. She rolled to face him. “Y-you’re angry with me?”

  “Three words, Emily, that’s all I needed to hear.”

  “What?”

  “You should have told me you weren’t ready.” He frowned. “Or perhaps that you didn’t even wish to give yourself to me at all.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “I wanted it.”

  “You wanted, maybe, but you didn’t want me.”

  She gaped at him. “Alex! What a thing to say.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I wanted you.”

  “The body doesn’t lie. Especially not a woman’s body.”

  She bit her lip. How to make him understand? “You were hurting and you wouldn’t admit it. I wanted to comfort you. I didn’t know how else to—”

  “Oh Christ.” He arose from the bed and refastened his pantaloons.

  “I don’t understand why you’re angry with me.”

  “Because I hurt you.”

  “It is all right—”

  “No, it is not. I couldn’t stop, can you understand that? I was so wound-up that I—” He paused for a moment, staring at her with wild eyes. “No, that’s no excuse. I should have stopped
and I didn’t.”

  “I just wanted to comfort you. To love you.”

  He went to his sideboard.

  She listened to him pouring liquid into a glass and began to feel rather foolish, lying there with her skirts brunched up about her waist. With one quick, whipping motion, she pulled them down over her legs.

  “For God’s sake, Emily!”

  She started and sat up. “What?”

  “How will I send you home to Cornelia, with your petticoats reeking of my seed?”

  She then became miserably aware of his seed, wetting the inside of her clothes. Oh, how stupid she was. How stupid even to have come here! She hadn’t made anything better or easier for him. Then she remembered. “I-I think I have some clothes in the blue room.”

  “Where in the blue room?”

  “In the armoire.”

  “I’ll go and get something.” He sounded just like any man tackling an unwanted problem.

  He left and she pulled herself from the bed and went to the washstand. She stripped her dress and undergarments off then used a washcloth and water from the pitcher to bathe herself.

  At the click of the door, she turned to see him re-enter the chamber carrying a bundle of clothes. There was a sense of each of them being taken unawares. A sense of the tension between them and she flushed.

  His look softened. He tossed the clothes to the wingchair by the door and came to her. His gaze grew warmer yet.

  “It was always such a pleasure to see you naked in my chamber.” He touched her shoulders. “Like a guilty fancy from my days as a very young man. I never had another woman in here.”

  His eyes had riveted on her chest. She was cold, dripping. Her nipples stood out, tight, bright pink peaks.

  “Your breasts are so pretty. Their tips are like the first strawberries of spring.”

  She laughed from pure, sudden joy, for he never said such silly things unless he was at his ease. Happy. He had seemed like such a stranger when she had arrived here today and even a somewhat a stranger in bed. But now, he was her Alex.

  He leaned down and licked the lingering moisture from one breast. “And surely sweeter,“ he said.

  He closed his mouth over her nipple. The warm wetness sent delight racing through her and she shivered.