“What,” she said faintly, “was that?”
“An orgy,” he said brusquely. “Are you all right? Do you want to go back upstairs?”
No, she wanted to yell. I want to know how I can be appalled and captivated at the same time. Why my mind is whirling out of control yet my body feels so hot and heavy. I’ve never been so aware of my skin, my breasts, between my legs before, and I can’t decide if I want to throw myself at you and beg for ease or flee into the night…
“Upstairs. Yes. I…I don’t think I want to see anyone else right now.”
Caleb ran a rough hand through his hair as they made their way up the stairs and back to their chamber. “Peter was always quiet and reserved at Eton, even Oxford. I’m not sure when…how…I should have asked around before accepting the invitation. But London felt like a gilded cage. Everywhere does after the continent. And I can’t do anything right, damn it.”
Darting to a tray with a crystal decanter and glasses, she poured them both a brandy, gulping her own down in three quick, eye-watering swallows.
“It was always g-going to be difficult,” she said unsteadily, trying not to cough as her throat burned. “So many things have changed. For both of us.”
He didn’t reply, instead padding over to his washing stand and splashing his face. Inhaling heavily for control, Emma ducked behind the painted screen and soaked a cloth in the basin of herbed water for her overheated skin. The coolness was a marked contrast, and she shivered as her nipples tightened and rubbed against the silk and the throbbing between her legs intensified.
Quickly she stripped off the costume and sandals to sponge herself, barely halting a moan at the friction. Touching herself intimately was entirely wrong, but the champagne and brandy positively danced in her veins. Perhaps just a brief caress…
Leaning against the wall she cupped her breasts, using thumb and forefinger to pinch her nipples. Again and again she pinched and stroked, ‘til it became unbearable and one hand slid down to part her tight red nether curls and rub the swollen nub aching for direct stimulation.
Oh, yes. There.
The sound of fingertips working slick flesh was audible now, but she didn’t stop, instead closing her eyes and rubbing harder. Nearly there, oh so close…
“Emma.”
Cheeks ablaze, her eyes flew open. Each tiny, panting breath sounded like a thunderclap in the deafening silence and she glared at Caleb, wanting to howl the kind of curses that would make a sailor blush.
Wordlessly, his gaze scorching, he stepped forward and took her hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he gently sucked the moisture from her fingertips.
Oh God.
Turning her hand around, he used the same damp fingers to trace her engorged nipples, circling and teasing until she trembled.
“Wh-what do you want?” she asked shakily.
He licked his lips, the sensual movement reminding her of what that tongue could do.
Oh God.
“To be so deep inside you, all you can feel, all you can scent, all you can taste is me. But it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need. If you want to come once, twice, ten times, all you have to do is grant me permission.”
No, her mind whispered. Don’t do this, you haven’t decided.
Yes, her body screamed. It’s been so long and he’ll make you feel so very, very good.
Her shoulders straightened, and she took his hand and led him to the petal-covered four poster bed. Settling into the middle, she slowly lay down and rested on her elbows, her thighs daringly spread.
“Please,” she said softly.
“Please what?” he replied, jaw clenched.
“Make love to me.”
“Thank God,” he said so fervently she almost smiled.
Kneeling between her legs, he took her face in his hands and brushed her lips with light, drugging kisses. Slowly, leisurely, he made his way down to her neck, then collarbone, flicking, tasting her while his silk tunic teased her overheated skin.
Unable to stay upright she fell onto her back, her arms sprawled wantonly above her head. He paused, his avid gaze worshipping her entire body, then bent his head and alternated licking and sucking her tender, swollen nipples.
“Yes,” she moaned, as his stubbled jaw abraded her delicate breasts, only heightening her fierce arousal. “More.”
Caleb muttered a harsh curse, taking a moment to adjust the thick, hard length of his erection where it tented the tunic. Finally he trailed two fingers down her stomach, toying with the soaked curls atop her mound and lightly plucking her throbbing nub.
Then he pressed. Hard.
The world splintered, and Emma screamed as an orgasm tore through her, arching her off the bed.
Caleb smiled, at once angel and devil.
“One.”
Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come.
The mantra sounded like drum beats in his head and he gritted his teeth against the intense lust engorging his cock to the point of pain.
It wasn’t the base acts in the games room that had him in this state. Peter and Cathy’s group exhibitionism did nothing for him, nor did the use of crops or other toys. But Emma pleasuring herself, Christ Almighty, he’d nearly painted his tunic. And the sight of her on the bed, writhing, arching as she climaxed…
Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come.
“Caleb,” she said huskily, her eyes sparkling, creamy skin flushed pink from her release. “Please, I need you.”
“No.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “No?”
“I want you to be ready for me,” he ground out. “Not just wet, soaked, so I don’t hurt you. I won’t be able to help myself, it will be fast and hard and over embarrassingly soon the first time because it’s been so long.”
“Has it?”
Caleb stilled, frowning darkly. “Of course.”
“Oh,” she said, looking away. “I mean, I know men have needs.”
Reaching forward, he cupped her cheek and forced her to look directly at him. “Three years, Emma. Well, apart from the occasional unromantic interlude with my hand.”
She laughed, but it was a choked, watery sound and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Using his thumb to wipe it away, he leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t gentle, that asked too much, and her sweet, brandy-flavored lips were soon fuller and dark coral colored from the bruising force of his. Yet she didn’t shy away, merely opened her mouth so he could plunge his tongue in and mate it with hers while his other hand kneaded one plump breast.
Desperate to feel Emma’s silken skin against his, he tore the tunic and sandals from his body and lowered himself between her legs. Her pale brown nipples were rock hard, stabbing at his hair-dusted chest, and he rubbed against her, scraping the taut peaks and making her moan.
“Suck them,” she begged hoarsely, and he immediately attended to one of his favorite tasks. Alternating a light bite with strong suckle, he tormented both nipples until even the lightest touch made her whimper.
Yet as perfect a plaything as her breasts were, the raw, musky aroma of her arousal lured him away and he slid down on the bed to nuzzle at her glistening red curls.
“Watch,” he ordered, parting the soft hair and pink flesh and lashing her drenched core with his tongue.
Emma screamed.
But he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not with the wicked taste and scent of her wet heat drugging his senses. Greedy for more, he licked her distended nub again and again while penetrating her channel deeply with a finger, groaning as she ground against him, knowing he would never have enough of this.
“Please, Cal,” she sobbed. “Please, please…”
Fastening his lips around her nub, he sucked hard and she screamed again, her whole body bucking as she came for the second time.
“Two,” he said ragg
edly, licking his lips and trying not to curse at the agony of denying his own release. His rigid cock now bobbed against his stomach, the taut crown dripping with pearly moisture.
She gave him a fierce look and shifted on the bed, pushing a clump of rose petals out of the way. “Do not play with me anymore. I want…I need you filling me.”
He wasn’t about to argue.
Spreading her thighs wider, Caleb fisted his cock in one hand and trailed the head against her scalding, soaked entrance.
They both gasped.
Jaw clenched, he inched inside her glove-tight sheath, perspiration trickling down his temples as he fought the overwhelming urge to brutally ram himself in to the hilt.
“So good. So sweet,” he muttered roughly, not even sure she understood the words.
But Emma smiled, tilted her hips and locked her knees to his sides, the change in angle forcing him deeper.
His restraint broke.
Bracing a hand either side of her shoulders, he pulled back then surged forward with all his might. In and out, in and out, the heat and friction leaving no room for rational thought, just mindless, intense pleasure. By the fifth thrust he knew he’d reached the point of no return and climaxed with a guttural roar. Almost disbelievingly he felt Emma spasm around him with a low cry, her third orgasm intensifying his and ensuring not a drop of seed remained in his cock.
Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, Caleb collapsed on top of her. As soon as awareness returned he felt her arms tightly about him, the light touch of fingers stroking his back, and in response, caressed her cheek with his thumb.
Hating to move from this glorious spot but mindful of his bulk, he gently withdrew and rolled away. Pulling back the quilt and sheets, he maneuvered them both until they were covered, then tugged Emma over so she fitted snugly against his chest.
“Three,” she said in a gratifyingly dazed voice.
He grinned. “I did promise you ten, Mrs. Montclair.”
“I can’t.”
It took every bit of his remaining control to stay relaxed.
“Can’t what?”
“This. Too…much…”
“Well, not ten right now of course,” he said lightly, refusing to believe she meant anything other than sensitivity from her orgasms and being taken so hard. That was unthinkable. “I need a little recovery time after you drained me dry.”
“Wicked.”
“Indeed you are. But rest now, sweet.”
“Mmmmph,” Emma replied, patting his hand, and soon she went limp against him as she fell into a deep sleep.
For the rest of the night they dozed and made love. Again and again he teased her with tongue and fingers, bringing her to the brink only to stop and start again. Once he made her straddle his hips and ride him until she came with an abandoned cry. Later, when the corner candles had almost melted to nothing, he lay on his side, draped her leg over his thigh and took her leisurely from behind until powerful waves of pleasure overtook them both.
Yet even as her body surrendered entirely, acute unease settled and lingered.
Not once had she said ‘I love you’.
Not once had she told him to forget the bargain, that no more time was required to decide she wanted to stay married to him, secrets, foibles, pending title and all.
Tonight he’d won a battle.
But the war was far from over.
Chapter Seven
Week Five
When it came to certain scandals, it seemed the ton could be remarkably forgiving.
Practically the minute she and Caleb had returned to town from Wiltshire invitations poured in, including the highly coveted gilt-edged one to the Milton’s annual Midsummer Night’s Ball, and this intimate and ridiculously exclusive evening hosted by Lord and Lady Castlereagh. No more than a hundred lavishly dressed people graced the cavernous ballroom, but they were the lions of society – Prime Minister Liverpool, ambassadors, senior peers, Almack’s patronesses, even Prinny himself lounged in a corner on a satin-covered chaise and told terrible jokes while his devoted cronies laughed uproariously.
Both hosts had greeted her and Caleb with warm familiarity, a pointed display of friendship and acceptance ensuring no one dared broach the subject of the musicale. Shortly afterward Lord Castlereagh smiled apologetically and whisked her husband away to a group of politicians, leaving her to make small talk and drink fruit punch with Lady Castlereagh. That had been relatively easy, the charming, vivacious Viscountess was delightful company and they talked freely of everything from Wellington and the war effort to bonnets and favorite desserts.
Unfortunately the lady had many other guests to see too and eventually, graciously, excused herself, so it was a relief when Lucy and Sir Richard entered the ballroom. They tilted their heads for a quick conversation, then Sir Richard hobbled over on his crutches to join Caleb, and Lucy sashayed across the ballroom to her.
“Why, good evening, stranger,” said Emma with a grin. “You’re looking well.”
Lucy didn’t return the smile, instead fixing her with an uncomfortably assessing look.
“Good evening. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, is there a particular reason you are avoiding your husband? Or is it a general, Caleb is an idiot aversion?”
Emma sighed and took a long swallow of fruit punch as she leant against a silk-hung stone pillar. The patriotic red, white and blue arrangement was nearly a perfect match for her hair, skin, and gown, if she contorted herself just so perhaps she could disappear entirely.
“You need to stop blaming him for Sir Richard’s leg, Lucy, it is entirely unfair. And we’re at a party. Since when are married couples joined at the hip for such occasions?”
“Bah,” said her sister-in-law sharply. “It’s all quite ridiculous. Half the time you watch him with pure longing. The other, frown and mutter to yourself. What did he do that could possibly be worse than poisoning you, or dragging the family name through the mud with the infamous Musicale Brawl?”
Made love to me over and over, until I was a screaming wreck. Like he always used to, he forced me to surrender everything, stripping me to my soul and leaving me raw and defenseless. And I hate feeling this vulnerable, this unsure, wondering when he’ll realize what the others know and just up and leave me again…
“You are very lucky to have a brother who loves and cares for you,” she said shortly. “And I’m fine.”
Lucy sniffed. “This is me you are talking too, not some stuffy old bat. Is it…” her voice lowered to a whisper, “an issue in the marriage bed? Is he having trouble, er, performing his husbandly duty?”
“No!”
“Hmmm. Perhaps he did something new and rather shocking? I must admit, while you were away at the house party, Richard and I had one of our blistering quarrels and he turned me over his knee and smacked me right on the backside. Can you imagine?”
Emma choked on a sip of punch. Indeed she could, and much more, thanks to the eye-opening games room at the house party.
“Oh d-dear. Did he apologize?”
“No. Wretched man did it twice more. I swear he enjoyed it, too.”
“Did you?”
For possibly the first time in her life, Lucinda Montclair blushed fiercely. “Er…no. Of course not! But what I do know, is that my fiancé better make me Lady Freeman soon or I’ll be up in front of the bishop with a suspiciously rounded belly.”
Pure envy stabbed like a thousand knives.
“Lucy! Are you?”
“Good gracious, no. Well, I might be, who knows. There are so many activities Richard cannot do because of his leg, but that is not one of them and he likes to indulge whenever we can steal away. Passion being so entirely splendid, I’m not at all inclined to refuse…oh, a most adequate attempt to distract me, Emma Montclair, but I’m onto your cunning plan. Why are you avoiding Cal?”
“Um…” she said, mentally flailing for something vaguely believable. “Why would I want to be next to him when there is a ballroom and music and he absolutely refuses to dance with me?”
“My brother doesn’t dance with anyone,” Lucy pointed out reasonably. “Never has, not even before he met you.”
“But why is that? It’s not like he’s all elbows and left feet.”
“I really don’t know. Cal and Adam had the most handsome dancing master, a swarthy, impatient Italian with a toe-curling accent who lived in for a time. I was only about seven or eight then, so when they’d let me, I would perch on a chair with my dolls and watch them learn different steps. But here he comes now. Why don’t you ask him?”
“Ask me what?” said Caleb, one eyebrow raised as he hoisted two chairs over a low flower arrangement for himself and Richard. “What the politicians were discussing in such hushed tones? Imminent war. According to the missives arriving thick and fast from the continent, Napoleon amassed a huge army, left Paris, and is marching north toward Brussels at a brisk pace. He won’t stop until he has re-conquered all of Europe.”
Emma gulped, feeling foolish. Perhaps thousands of men about to die, and she fussed over dancing. “That is terrible—”
“It is terrible,” said Lucy. “But Wellington and his men will defeat that nasty pretender, then Adam can come home, too. By the by, that wasn’t the question. Why do you hate dancing so much, Caleb?”
His expression immediately chilled to the rare blank one she’d long ago learned meant a wealth of hidden roiling, twisting fury and hurt he had zero desire to explain.
What on earth?
“I don’t hate dancing,” said Caleb, very, very stiffly.
“Yes, you do,” said Lucy, folding her arms. “Otherwise you would dance with your wife at social occasions, like a normal gentleman. If you don’t hate it, take Emma for a turn about the floor right now.”
His fists clenched. “I. Am. Normal. Plus, Richard and I have matters to discuss.”
“Oh, rubbish, you can talk anytime. Tonight you’re at a party. Dance. Come on.”
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