Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “She’ll be better off without me.”

  “Ah, the mighty Alexander Dalton, esquire! Always so magnanimous, always making the grand sacrifices!” Nicolo placed his hand over his heart. “But think what might happen to your idealistic little beauty if you go away on your ship and leave her all alone.” Nicolo reached and patted Alex’s hand. “I think I shall leave you with your thoughts now, my friend, for that dark-eyed beauty across the way beckons me. I cannot resist.”

  He walked away.

  Alex strode over to a servant and procured a glass of Madeira. Nicolo’s words echoed in his head. What might happen to Emily if he did walk out of her life as he had planned? He loved her with every fiber of his being; maybe no other man would be as devoted or caring. He was going to have to settle his accounts with the past or else lose her forever, and the cost to her might be the worst of all. Men like Peter would pay court to her and she might well be fooled by their initial kindness and charm. He loved his cousin but he knew Peter to be a faithless, weak man. So how was that different from himself? Well, the difference was his level of commitment and devotion to both Emily and the institution of marriage. He was not Peter and he was not Nicolo.

  The last thought came up so vehemently it shocked him. No, he was not cut of the same cloth, or else he should have married for convenience earlier and already started a family while still having his voyages and his mistresses.

  But he hadn’t done that. He’d waited until he had known he’d found the right woman. The memory of that first night with Emily hit him sharp and clear. He’d begun to know then, even in those first hours, the joy of being in her presence. It had been something deeper than lust or even the human comfort of a warm body beneath his. And the feeling had only deepened the more time he’d spent with her.

  He had let his niggling doubts chip away at that. Allowed himself to forget the utter certainty of his love. In letting his doubts and fears have their way, he’d been just as lost and selfish—and just as destructive as Nicolo’s suicide attempt.

  All right, maybe Emily had a point that he’d been too young to cope fully with what had happened to him. Maybe blaming himself had been his habit for so long he was simply afraid to let it go. Maybe it was a way of trying to hold on to some power over something that had always been out of his control.

  He couldn’t change the past but he certainly could control the future.

  But wasn’t it all too late? Emily held him in contempt for his actions and the things he had said in the past few weeks, and rightfully so. He’d given her no reason to do otherwise. He’d been selfish and arrogant and blind. Why should she take a chance on him now? They were done. It was just too late.

  ****

  “Good evening, Miss Emily.”

  Emily smiled at Cato. “Good evening to you as well, Cato.”

  She entered the Dalton house, amazed at the transformation of the darkened entryway lit by so many candles in the chandeliers above. The rich scent of jasmine and beeswax filled the air, mingling with and threatening to overpower the normal citrus and spice scent. The parlors that had been opened on to each other to make a ballroom were crowded with people. She glanced back at Cato.

  “Where is Mr. Dalton?”

  Cato raised his eyebrows. “You mean Mr. Alexander? Or Mr. James?”

  “Mr. Alexander.” Her smile widened to a grin.

  He took her pelisse. “Mr. Alexander is over there by the refreshments.” He smiled at her, his teeth still strong and white for someone so elderly.

  “Thank you, Cato.”

  She’d been determined to come tonight and thank Alex for his support in her work. But, now that she was here, her resolve faltered. What if he didn’t wish to see her? The invitation for the ball had come in Rachel’s handwriting. Maybe Alex didn’t even know she was to come. Her palms began to sweat and her stomach knotted. She took a deep breath and went walking into the ballroom.

  His back was to her but she recognized Alex immediately from his height and his golden hair shining in the candlelight. She paused as butterflies fluttered around her navel. The urge to just leave now and not have to face his possible rejection was strong. She could just send him a polite note to thank him. That was likely how all sophisticated former lovers did it. Well, she wasn’t very sophisticated. She had to know if there was any chance things might have changed. That they might have a future now.

  She walked the remaining steps to where he stood. With her mouth gone dry, she swallowed and forced herself to speak. “Alex?”

  She waited. He didn’t turn. The music from the quartet and the laughing, chatting crowd was too loud. She put her gloved hand to his wool-covered back, between his broad shoulders.

  He turned, his eyes fixing on her with piercing effect.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alex’s expression softened. “Emily.”

  His gaze moved over her. What did he see? A thin girl with an oversized nose and a too-wide mouth dressed in an elegant gown of dark green velvet. She could never do such a garment justice. There were countless women here tonight of higher birth who possessed greater beauty than she could ever hope for. A nervous laugh bubbled up from her throat.

  “I thought you weren’t going to show,” he said at last.

  Continued nervousness kept her tongue still while she caressed him with her eyes. In his dark blue evening jacket, he appeared more golden-haired, more handsome than usual. His white waistcoat of tone-on-tone jacquard satin made his midsection look narrower, his body taller. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and press herself to him. Heat pooled in her lower belly and her quim tingled. She caught herself fidgeting with the sash at her waist and smiled as heat washed over her face.

  Tenderness brightened his eyes and the cold apprehension in her heart melted. They were still friends at least. He opened his mouth as if he would speak but her own words had already come to her lips, automatically, as if some other part of her were taking over.

  “Thank you for sending Mrs. Daily to me.”

  He closed his mouth and nodded.

  She damned herself for speaking first, for halting whatever it had been he would have said. What if he were going to say Please come back to me. Please reconsider and marry me. Frustration welled inside her. But what good did it do to wonder? She’d thanked him and now she should be polite and leave him so he could enjoy the ball as he chose to.

  She opened her mouth to do so but this time he was quicker.

  “You look absolutely lovely tonight.”

  Pleasure flooded her and heat surged over her face again, burning her ears. “Thank you, Alex, you are very kind.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I should…” A lump formed in her throat and she cleared it softly. “I should find Nancy. I need to thank her for helping me… uh, with the gown at such late notice.” She turned back and flashed him another smile. “But thank you so much again—for Mrs. Daily.” She forced the words out quickly, determined to break away from him and monopolize no more of his time.

  She turned away and took a step. And then another. All the while, inside, she was breaking in two. Her stomach cramped with it.

  His hand took hers. She stopped. Hope surged through her, she couldn’t stop it.

  “Emily.” He had breathed the word, his tone lush, warm like cognac, just like that first night she’d met him.

  It echoed deep in her belly. Between her legs, her inner folds were swelling, slickening. From just that one, whispered word.

  “We need to talk,” he said. “But my study is filled with James and his cronies and they are smoking and playing cards. It won’t do.”

  “No, I suppose it won’t,” she said without turning.

  “Come.” He tugged lightly on her hand.

  She turned to him and let him lead her out of the ballroom, through the stairwell then the kitchen. The kitchen was empty save for Cato’s old sheepdog sleeping by the large stone hearth and the gray stripy mother cat lying with her two remaining
kittens in the blanket-lined box. Rum punch in an iron cauldron exuded spicy-sweet scented steam, suspended over the fire in the hearth.

  He led her into the servant’s mudroom.

  It was dim. The music from the quartet echoed distantly. What would he say? She caught herself chewing on her gloved finger and thrust her hand away, down to her side. Why wouldn’t he say something?

  He shifted in the dimness, his boots sounding on the floor, then his arms were about her. Her blood began to sing in her ears.

  “Forgive me, forgive me,” he said into the curve of her neck. “I have been an arrogant, blind jackass. I have no reason to expect it but I beg your forgiveness.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back. “No, no, it’s me. I should have understood…” She gulped back a sob. “You were only responding out of what you knew, what you had experienced. You only wanted to protect me. I should have had faith you would come around to my way of seeing things. I should have been patient instead of running away.”

  He pulled back and tipped her chin up. “Will you stop being so damned soft-hearted and let me apologize?”

  Her tears poured in a torrent. She nodded and sniffed. “All right… but you needn’t go on. I forgive you.”

  “And will you marry me?”

  “Yes, yes, oh goodness yes.”

  His mouth came down on hers. And then they kissed as if each of their very next breaths depended on the other. Maybe they did. She couldn’t help being bold. She caressed his hard, muscled stomach through the satin waistcoat. Moving lower, she found his erection and stroked it through his velveteen knee breeches. It throbbed against her touch. She tried to grip him but his breeches were too tight. Her inner walls contracted and she dripped wetness. She wanted him. Here, now.

  “Christ,” he gasped.

  He backed away from her and she followed. He sat in the comfortable chair where Cato napped in the afternoons while his wife toiled in the kitchen. She watched in fascination as his shadow moved, as he unfastened his breeches’ buttons. Desire trembled through her, the roar of pounding blood deafening in her ears.

  He reached to her and she came to him, lifting her skirts as she did. His hand slid up the inside of her thigh and touched her soaking cunt.

  She closed her eyes and moaned but he removed his hand and grasped her hips, pulling her down. She’d never thought of people doing it this way but she allowed him to draw her down. His cock impaled her, sliding in deep and fast. Filling her emptiness. Joyful anticipation tingled through her whole being. And then they were moving together, the junction between them all slick friction. God, it was hard, it was fast, it was glorious. She gave a small, hitching whimper then cried out. His mouth covered hers, sucking in her cries. Her cunt contracted fiercely, convulsively, her pleasure spasms milking his cock until his seed jetted into her. The moment seemed to last forever, suspended in time.

  And then they panted against each other.

  “Oh, Christ, my love,” he breathed against her neck.

  She closed her eyes and melted into him, reveling in the sense of utter release and satisfaction. In the closeness between them. They were one. Now and always.

  “Get up,” he said, pushing her off his lap. “Quickly.”

  She stood, dazed as her skirts fell to the floor in a soft whoosh. His seed rushed down the insides of her thighs, copious amounts of it. The sound of shoes on the floorboard came from the kitchen. Emily’s heart seemed to beat up into her throat and she whirled to face the kitchen door.

  Light shone from a candle, illuminating Mrs. Webbs’ brown face. The elderly woman’s eyebrows raised and Emily turned in the direction of her gaze.

  Alex was fastening the last button on his fall.

  “Now what are you two doing in here?” Mrs. Webbs laughed, the sound rich and velvety.

  Emily’s face burned and she put her hand to her face.

  “Don’t go all blushing and hiding your face, Miss Emily. I am a mother six times—I have done my share of making the beast with two backs in my time.”

  Alex snorted. “’The beast with two backs.’ Does anyone actually call it that anymore?”

  “I don’t rightly know, Mr. Alexander. Nor do I greatly care. But I’ll tell you what I do wonder.”

  “What’s that, Mrs. Webbs?” Alex asked.

  “Mr. Alexander, I really want to know when—just when are you going to marry this little girl? Or is she going to have to be shoving her huge belly into a wedding gown?”

  Emily caught her breath at that. None of this meant anything. He might continue to postpone their marriage forever. She lifted her chin and met Alex’s eyes.

  “Yes, when are we to marry, Alex?”

  “Next Saturday, at eleven o’clock in the morning, if that suits you.” Relief and happiness warred for supremacy and her whole body relaxed.

  She smiled. “It suits me just fine.”

  ****

  “Emily and I were married today.”

  James looked up from his letter. He stared at Alex with a blank expression. “You what?”

  “We were married today.”

  James gaped at him for several moments. “What? This is how you tell me this?”

  “You’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Damn you, Alex. Damn you for always doing this!”

  “Doing what?”

  “Choosing to make everything so difficult for me.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “Why would you do this to me?”

  “I don’t understand what I am supposed to have done.”

  “Why did you make your marriage to this girl such a hole-in-the-corner affair?”

  “She wanted a private ceremony.”

  “And you just give her this without thought for how it will affect others? Just as you elected to wed her with no thought to—”

  “You’ll get over it.” Alex drummed his fingers on the desk.

  “You’ve given me no other choice.” James’ resentment was palpable.

  “If there’s any scandal about the whole affair, it will die down quickly.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  “We’re going to be away for a time.”

  James’ eyes narrowed this time with suspicion. “What are your plans now?”

  “We’re going to have a wedding trip of course.”

  “Oh, two weeks—where? Baltimore?”

  “I think we’ll take a leisurely route through the South. Visit Charleston, New Orleans.”

  “Just when do you intend to return?”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t planned that far in advance. I suppose we’ll return when we become bored with travel.”

  “I had thought if you wed—no matter how unfavorable your choice in a bride—that at least you would finally settle down. I need you here, Alex.”

  “Emily has seen nothing of the world. She deserves this.”

  “Alex, Emily seems rather, err…radical.”

  “She can be.”

  “Well, you’re not going to let her drag you into anything volatile, are you?” James’ tone was almost pleading.

  Alex thought it best to remain silent on the real reason for their touring the South. Emily needed to do research for her book on black slavery in the United States. What James didn’t know yet…

  “Everything is going to be just fine, James.”

  “How glib you are when you haven’t even considered how your plans might affect me and my—”

  “I have thought of you. I set up an expense account for you.”

  James’ expression froze. “You have?”

  “Of course I have. Don’t I always when I go away?”

  His brother seemed to relax. “Well. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re my brother. And I do wish to see you succeed in politics, if that is what will make you happy. Besides, while I am gone, you will have time to find Aunt Rachel and Nancy a new place to live.”

  “I don’t have t
ime to escort her around looking for a house.”

  “Then they can go to live with you when I return.”

  James’ mouth fell open and he gaped at Alex.

  Giving his brother one of his most charming smiles, Alex rose from his seat. “You’ll sort things out.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  “Live with me?” James horrified tone echoed as Alex departed.

  ****

  Emily lay curled into Alex’s side, with her head resting on his chest. Her eyes were closed and she was listening to his voice. Sometimes she took it for granted but he really did have a beautiful, rich masculine voice.

  She’d pleasantly surprised this past week to discover what a wonderful storyteller her new husband really was. For so they had been spending their intimate hours, with her listening as he told her stories of his life. Stories of his childhood, and of his boyhood spent signed aboard a privateering ship at the very end of the war between the colonies and the King of England.

  He had even told her a few stories of his time in Paris. He had not told her anything more about his captivity in Turkey but she knew he would, in time. He was open to her and not only willing to share his life, but he seemed to have a need to share.

  And she eagerly drank in every word. Not only because of his greater life experience and the enticing way he told his tales, but also because she loved him and wanted to know all of his history. All of him.

  Before, from the first, he had been at her side, yet he had faced her obliquely. Now it was as though he had turned to face her directly, fully, and she couldn’t haven been more overjoyed.

  He was pulling her closer— no, he was pulling her on top of him. She found herself being settled over his torso, her palms flat on his chest. Her hair fell into his face and she laughed and swept it over her shoulder and onto her back.

  “At first, this is how they mounted me.”

  It took her a moment to realize he was speaking of his time in Turkey. “Your harem ladies?”

  He chuckled. “The first women I was with could not be called ladies.”