by Sabrina York
Now, in this room, she fought to keep the jitters at bay. Her common sense fought an uphill battle with the urge to run and with all her bravado, she longed to be anywhere else but here. She could do this. No, this had to happen. She would have a single night with a stranger and when morning came, she could walk away and move on. She had convinced herself of that. But now, in the large quiet building on the outskirts of London, she wasn’t so sure.
A soft knock preceded the maid entering with another plate of food. “Ma’am, your date has arrived. If you should need anything further, pull this cord, and I will come up.” She set aside the ornate curtain to display a hunter-green cord. “The bell will ring only in my room. For any reason, call for me.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Chandra’s hands shook, as did her voice. She clasped them before her in an effort to control her nerves.
The maid paused in her duties. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“Yes, ma’am, going on two years now.”
Chandra bit her lip. “Have there been a lot of these—dates?”
“Not a lot, ma’am, but they are steady in coming to us. Let me assure you no woman has yet touched that cord.” The maid smiled. “Unless you ring, I will see you in the morning to help you dress.”
“Thank you…?”
“Milly.”
“Thank you, Milly.”
The maid turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs at the same time Chandra did. “I will go out the bedchamber door once he is inside. No person here will see you both, for your safety and reputation.”
Chandra nodded. Two distinct male voices chatted on the other side of the door, hushed, so she couldn’t discern what was said. She turned away, keeping her mystery gentleman behind her until she could garner the courage to face her night.
The door creaked open and closed on a soft click. She couldn’t hear anything over the beating of her heart. Hoping for strength to stay on her feet, she gripped the top of the chair closest to her with gloved fingers until the blood ceased to flow through them. With her other hand, she pressed her stomach to calm the butterflies churning within. Taking a steadying breath, she closed her eyes and pivoted toward the newcomer.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The angry voice was full of male self-righteousness.
Looking up at the gentlemen, Chandra hid her shock, but only just. Anger she could deal with. It gave her time to get the situation under control. “I imagine, Simon, darling, for the same thing you are.”
“Madame Eve was wrong. Perfect date, my ass,” he muttered.
He paced the small dining room like a caged animal, cursing the air blue. He paused to remove his waistcoat, throwing it on a Queen Anne chair in the corner, only to pick it up again and slam it down, over and over. Once the poor coat had taken quite a beating, Simon returned to his pacing.
“Are you quite finished or do you plan to beat your waistcoat next?”
He glared at her. “Be happy I am venting my spleen on fabric and not shaking you to within an inch of your life.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”
“Do you have any idea how reckless this adventure of yours is? You had no idea where you were going and I would bet you didn’t tell a single soul, so no one is expecting you any time soon. Not to mention it could have been any rake, rogue, or scoundrel waiting for you.”
“Instead it was only one rake, rogue, and scoundrel.”
“Scoundrel! I never once treated you with anything but respect.”
His fury dared her to argue. She could have brought up the insulting gift of gaudy jewelry he’d sent her, but then she would have to explain what she’d done with it and stopped herself, if only because she feared the furniture might feel his wrath next.
“God, I should return you home now,” he said.
“We ended things weeks ago. I am not your responsibility.” As soon as she spoke the words, she knew they had been the wrong ones. Simon appeared to have had the wind taken out of his sails. “Simon, I didn’t—”
Raising a palm, he stopped her. “Chandra, I am fine. Simply lost my head for a bit.” Striding to the table, he grabbed the wine and poured a glass. Under normal circumstances, he would have offered her one first. Instead, he gulped down two before grabbing the bottle on its own and stomping over the chair in the corner, evidently content to drink directly from the source. “Why don’t you call your servant liaison and tell her to call your carriage around to take you home?”
Her brain advised her to do what he suggested before things moved out of her control. But her heart didn’t much care what was sensible. “I will, but they went to a lot of trouble to make this night special. It would be rude not to eat the dinner laid out for us, at least.”
Simon sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the wine bottle in his grasp. For long minutes, he didn’t answer or acknowledge her. When his gaze finally met hers, she couldn’t read his thoughts. In the past, his emotions and thoughts had been like an open book to her. Now, he only gave her a blank stare and shrugged.
He stood to his full, imposing six-foot height then, every long stride toward the end of the elegant dining table emphasizing legs in tight-fitting pants. Images flooded her of the first time he had walked across a crowded ballroom in order to sign her dance card. Being only recently out of mourning for her husband, she had not planned to dance. Rather than being waylaid by her announcement, however, Simon had stayed.
As they’d strolled around the ballroom she’d found herself relaxing, and by their third turn, something about him convinced her to take a walk in the gardens when he offered.
Perhaps it had been the champagne, or maybe the romantic lighting easing her inhibitions as they moved farther into the private grounds of the estate. Or, perhaps, after a year of mourning, she longed to have a man touch her again. But there, in his embrace under the moonlight, her blood seemed to boil and she’d cursed her clothing as it proved a barrier against what she wanted most: his touch. Erotic images of his hands on her breast, his mouth against her pale skin, had left her shaken before he did more than brush his lips across hers. Once he’d kissed her, she’d nearly let him take her, uncaring if anyone came across them. All she had been able to focus on were his strong hands and the way his kisses weakened her knees.
She’d loved her husband. He’d been a sweet, considerate man. Yet, ten minutes spent in the arms of the notorious rogue, Simon, and she’d realized she had never felt passion before. Lord Breckinridge could very well be dangerous to her wellbeing.
“Chandra.” His voice cut through the fog of memories. “Are you all right?”
Nodding, she stood across the small table from him and gestured at the food. “What would you like, my lord?”
“You don’t have to serve me.”
“It’s all right. I want to.”
He shrugged and took a seat, placing the white napkin in his lap. She reached for his plate, careful not to make contact with his hands, and picked the foods he loved by memory. When she handed it to him, his fingers brushed hers and she bit back a gasp as a shock of electricity sparked through her.
His eyes met hers, the familiar desire within them taking her breath away. She expected him to put his meal to the side and pull her into his arms. But he wouldn’t do anything like that. Not ever again.
They ate in relative quiet, the only sound the occasional scraping of silverware on china. The food might have been the best, but she tasted nothing.
“Simon, I’m sorry.”
“What exactly are you sorry for?” He placed his fork on the table. The man before her bore no emotional resemblance to the angry ex-lover who had walked into the room earlier. This gentleman was the marquis she knew, always in control, and how he had been during the first month of their relationship. Though he gave all of himself in bed, he closed off completely when out of it. Only into the second month had she learned anything about his family.
She
met his gaze. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“In what way? Because you paid to have sex with a stranger rather than having sex with me, as my wife?”
There it was, out in the open. Her rejection of his marriage proposal. In his mind, she had taken his heart and stomped it into the ground. Yet nothing could be further from the truth—she cherished everything about him. Her love for him had caused her to turn down the one thing she wanted more than anything else, the one thing she could never be. His wife.
Chapter Two
She stared at him across the table, as if what he’d blurted didn’t prove what an idiot he was. He should have followed his gut and cried off from the evening. Yet a letter had arrived early in the afternoon, right as he’d been about to send a message to Madame Eve about his decision to cancel. Her letter had spoken to all the reasons the evening could prove to be fruitful. No way could the secretive Madame Eve have known about his two-year relationship with Chandra. No one knew. His friends believed he’d had a long-standing mistress, but never once had he hinted who his bedmate might be.
When he had first caught sight of Chandra in that ballroom, his body had reacted instantly, every fiber of his being screaming to claim her and make her his. Taking her into the gardens had been an action of insanity. Privacy be damned, he’d been close to pulling up her skirts and taking her right there. Passion had never come so fast or so powerful to him.
After they had spent their first evening together, he’d been unable to walk straight the next day. She’d ridden him like a prize stallion at Newmarket. Her appetite met his, stroke for stroke. The more he gave, the more she took. The passion in the well-bred woman had surprised him and by morning, he’d known it would take many more nights to assuage the burning desire she fueled.
As the days became months, there’d been no way he would ever get her out of his system. She was an addiction he had no intention of giving up. He’d bought a place near hers, on a side street where few of the haute ton would ride by. Servants came only when the house was unoccupied, allowing he and Chandra the freedom of privacy. Over the last few months, he had spent more time at the townhouse than at his family abode on Grosvenor Square.
Chandra had worked with him, through the bills he’d had before the House of Lords, as well as helped deal with some issues on his lands in the north. She had a way of taking his speeches and letters and making them personable, less stern, and at the same time relaying their serious nature. He and Chandra complemented each other, she soft and giving, he stern, yet fair. He in turn assisted with her finances, allowing her to get the most from what was left to her. Yet she refused to take money from him. She would give every shilling she had to others, so he’d set up safeguards in order for her to be charitable without it beggaring her. But most of the time they spent in each other’s arms, reading, talking, or simply sitting in companionable silence.
“Simon?”
“What?” Shaking his head to clear the memories, he walked to the closed door at the other end of the room. He opened it and cursed upon seeing the large four-poster bed, draped in rich red-velvet bedding. Images of her stripped bare, her pale skin in contrast to the deep colors, hardened his cock. “It appears Madame Eve thinks of everything.”
“There is also a bathing chamber attached to that room.”
“Imagery I didn’t need.” Because if thinking of her naked in bed wasn’t enough, her in a warm bath certainly was.
She touched his shoulder. The simple gesture broke the small thread holding his self-control. Quicker than she could blink, he twisted and pulled her roughly into his arms. Claiming her mouth, he darted his tongue inside when she opened on a surprised gasp. He wound a hand around her waist and jerked her close so she felt how much he wanted her, while threading fingers into her hair, yanking at the pins holding it in its perfectly-coifed bun.
He waited for her to shove him away. Slap his face. Anything to give him a hint he had stepped over the line. But, with a deep moan, she circled her arms around his neck, drawing her small frame up for even closer contact. He deepened the kiss, backing her into the wall, tugging at the layers of fabric in her skirt and gathering them up past her hips. He placed his knee between her bare legs. The damned woman wore no undergarments.
The idea both angered and aroused him.
Forcing the thought she had come prepared to sleep with another man to the back of his mind, he focused on the fact she was in his arms again. She arched against his linen pants, her arousal burning through the thin cloth, driving his hunger for her to heights he had never believed possible, the blood in his veins nearly boiling. Her awkward fingers worked the buttons of his breeches until she had freed his cock. The erection demanded attention and he was unable to think with the rush of blood to his nether regions.
He tore his mouth from hers. “Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head and, with hands that didn’t seem to touch enough to satisfy him, she urged his insatiable desires further, telling him she was as lust-filled as he.
Gripping her bottom, he raised her up until his cock sat at the entrance of her wet pussy. She whimpered but didn’t stop him. Still, he waited, needing her permission. He could never live with himself if she regretted this in the morning.
“Tell me what you want.”
Again, she shook her head.
“Say it,” he commanded in the way that made lesser lords run for cover.
“Take me now, please?” she said into his shoulder. “Simon, I need you.”
“Shall we both burn in hell,” he said and lowered her, positioning his cock so he could slip inside her. With a groan, he took her mouth and surged upward until she could take no more of him. Using the wall for support, he retreated before surging in again. He built the rhythm and she matched his strokes, keeping time with his beat. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she dug her heels into the small of his back.
“Simon, please.” Her breath, hot and soft, sent shudders down his spine. “Not here, not like this.”
Nodding, he toed off his shoes, thankful he’d decided not to wear his Hessian boots for the evening. He kicked his pants to the side before drawing away from the wall. Step by slow, excruciating step, he moved them toward the bed, every stride forcing her down on his cock. Ten paces had never seemed so long. After setting her ass on the edge of the high bed, he eased away enough to unfasten his waistcoat, yanked the neckcloth off, tossed it aside, then lifted the shirt over his head.
With every item of clothing out of the way, he focused on how to get her out of hers. He decided to start with the petticoat, the fragile fabric tearing easily and landing in a heap on the floor. She showed no signs of caring. He worked the lacings of her dress until they finally gave way and he cursed, wishing to tear the rest of her garments off as well until she was glorious and naked with him.
He eased the dress over her shoulders, trapping her arms to her sides while he worked the corset from her body. Once free of her stays, she lay back, spread out before him, naked to the waist and unable to move her arms.
“Simon, please, release my arms.”
“Not yet.” He took one of her pert nipples into his mouth and sucked. Wordlessly, she squirmed and arched, telling him what she wanted with each motion. Aiming to please her, he worked one breast and then the other until she shook with uncontrolled need.
“Let me touch you,” she begged.
“No.”
“But—”
“I am going to brand myself on you tonight. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
He gently bit the underside of her breast. “Say it.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Working up her body to her lips, he kissed her with so much passion, words weren’t needed to tell her what how he missed her. She had to know, had to understand. In the morning, they would either leave betrothed or he would walk away without a backward glance. After offering for her once, it went against convention for him to do so again. But, conventio
n be damned, he loved the woman, and if asking once more gained him what he needed, he would do it. To hell with society and its fucking rules.
Throwing her head back, she both cursed and praised his name. She shifted her shoulders, desperate to free her arms. But he could remain in charge only if her long, able fingers stayed off his body. He eased away from her long enough to flip her on her stomach. Ignoring another plea to free her arms, he gathered her skirts up her silk-stockinged thighs. His free hand ran up the outside, excruciatingly slowly, relearning what his memories hadn’t given justice to. Finally, she lay bare to him.
His touch never left her ass. “Do you remember the first time I spanked you, Chandra, how you cried for more? How beautifully red your ass was, so hot to touch. You were so wet. No matter how many times I took you that night, it was never enough.”
Eyes shut tight, she nodded and bit her lip as his palm, came in contact with her buttock. The sound, crisp and sharp, vibrated through the room. “Yes, I remember.”
“Do you want me to spank you again, darling? Do you want to feel the fire?”
She rocked her ass from side to side in unspoken demand for what he offered. But he wasn’t willing to accept her silence. He wouldn’t be as magnanimous as he once had been. He’d allowed her secrets, allowed her not to speak about things that bothered her when she didn’t want to. Perhaps the real mistake had been he’d never pressed her, never demanded more than she was willing to give freely. Maybe she needed a little push. Mayhap she needed to have him take all the control.
He scored the rosy ass cheek with his nails, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to know he sent tingling sensations up her body. “You have to say it, Chandra. Unlike before, when you were my lover and we had an understanding of sorts, tonight you have to tell me what you want.”
“Don’t do this, Simon, please.” But she rocked her ass again.
“Don’t what? Would you like me to stop? Or—”
“No.” The reply burst from her. “Don’t stop. Never stop.”