Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  She gripped him tighter, her motions firm and rhythmic. He groaned again, and his hips thrust against her, his forehead dropping to rest on the top of her head. When he felt a tingling at the base of his spine, he knew he didn’t have much time left.

  “Alice, you must stop. Something is going to happen. You won’t like it,” he said urgently.

  But it was too late. Pleasure exploded, and he rolled her quickly, releasing against her soft, bare stomach with a rough groan.

  She shrieked in surprise as he spent, warm and wet and sticky.

  Damnation. He had made a lady sticky.

  “Don’t move,” he said. He grabbed his cravat and wiped her clean. He could feel her watching him, but he was too ashamed to meet her eyes.

  “Was that supposed to happen?” she asked cautiously.

  “Yes. Although, optimally, it would happen inside you, not on your belly. It’s my seed.”

  “Oh.” She thought about that, appearing relieved. “Yes, that makes sense.”

  He choked back a laugh.

  “And it means there is no risk of a child from this,” she pointed out, ever practical.

  He shook his head. “None.”

  She looked at him, waiting nervously.

  His pulse sped even faster. Did she expect him to offer?

  He should offer for her. Only the worst kind of scoundrel would not, after what he had just done to her. True, she could not be with child, and no one would ever know of this interlude. But she was his, just the same. She would not share with another man what they had just shared here, together. He wouldn’t allow it.

  But he could not offer for her—not yet, so soon after the first time he’d gotten down on one knee. He had asked her once already, and her answer had been a resounding no.

  If he asked her now, he would never feel sure of her true feelings. She had given him her body, willingly and joyfully…but that was not enough.

  He wanted her heart.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  There was nothing more excruciating than watching the woman one had just held so intimately flirt with another man.

  Nathaniel came to this unpleasant conclusion that same evening after suffering through drinks, where Alice had stayed close to Miss Benton and Lady Claire, and dinner, where he was once again seated nowhere near Alice, and now, finally, through parlor games, where she happily paired off with Colonel Kent for whist.

  It was intolerable. He had been inside her. Not the part of him that he most wanted there, but still. A part of him had been in a part of her. That made her his. Colonel Kent would simply have to find another whist partner.

  He glared at Colonel Kent.

  Colonel Kent ignored him.

  Alice turned to the colonel, showing Nathaniel only her profile, the glimmer of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She whispered something to his rival, who threw back his head with a great shout of laughter.

  Nathaniel’s gut twisted.

  “For the love of God, Nate, have some pride,” Wessex muttered. “Do not stand there gawking like a lovesick idiot.”

  The trouble was, Nathaniel was a lovesick idiot, which made it remarkably difficult not to gawk like one. One day, Wessex would find himself brutally in love with a lady who laughed and flirted with another man, and then he would understand. The thought made Nathaniel feel a minuscule bit better.

  “Turn around and walk with me to the far corner by the window,” Wessex said quietly. “We will pretend to talk of books or some other nonsense.”

  “But then I won’t be able to see her,” Nathaniel protested.

  “You are making a spectacle of yourself. Do as I say,” Wessex commanded. “I will see her for you, and I promise my eyes make a better interpreter of her behavior than yours could. You are too blind with lust.”

  Nathaniel ground his teeth and followed Wessex on a slow tour around the parlor.

  As they passed by Miss Benton, Lady Claire, and the marchioness, Wessex said loudly, “I cannot agree with you. Glenarvon is the best literature of our time, and I won’t hear a word against it.”

  Miss Benton glanced up and rolled her beautiful blue eyes.

  “Why are you baiting Miss Benton again?” Nathaniel asked when they were safely past. “Glenarvon was dreadful.”

  Wessex shrugged his shoulders. “Haven’t read it. But since Lady Caroline Lamb was banned from Almack’s for the tale, I must surmise that it is quite good.”

  “It was scandalous. That’s not the same thing as good.”

  “Don’t be absurd. They are exactly the same. Literature is meant to entertain, not to lecture.” He frowned. “Good lord. Now we are actually speaking of books instead of merely pretending to discuss them. How tedious.”

  Nathaniel had his back to Alice, and it was driving him mad. The urge to turn and drink her in was too much. “What is she doing now?”

  “She won the trick.” Wessex watched silently for a moment over Nathaniel’s shoulder. “She’s quite good, I think.”

  “She would be,” Nathaniel muttered.

  “It’s a matter of having a deep understanding of how one’s partner would play, don’t you think? She does very well with Kent. They understand each other through only a look.”

  Nathaniel gave Wessex a look that threatened murder.

  “Right.” Wessex glanced again. “She is not completely absorbed by the game, however. She is looking around the room a bit. But not at you, not at all. That’s interesting.” He paused, watching. “I think she might be angry with you.”

  Nathaniel studied his glass of port, endeavoring to remain expressionless. Apparently, a futile task.

  Wessex narrowed his eyes. “Nate, what did you do?”

  Placed his fingers where his fingers did not belong. Made her touch him like she was a common wench instead of the daughter of a viscount. Spilled his seed onto her belly. Really, it could have been any of those things. How was he to know?

  “I know you did not seduce her, because you would be announcing your engagement as we speak,” Wessex said with a distinct edge to his voice. “And you are not.”

  Or, yes, it could have been that.

  Nathaniel kept that thought to himself.

  “Abingdon,” Wessex said. “What did you do?”

  Nathaniel winced. Wessex only referred to him by his title when things were very serious. Since Wessex never took anything seriously, this had only happened twice in their entire friendship—once when his father had died, and now…this.

  “I will offer for her when the moment is right,” Nathaniel said.

  “Will that be before or after the babe is born?” Wessex snapped. “Good God, Nate, you can’t mean to—”

  “Enough,” Nathaniel growled. “Do you think so poorly of me? She is not with child. Things did not go so far as that.”

  Wessex calmed down. His eyes glinted with curiosity. “How far did things go, then?”

  Nathaniel hesitated. He had questions, and Wessex, being a man of great experience, likely had answers to those questions. Such as, how did the act itself actually work? His finger barely fit inside her, and his cock was much larger than a finger. But he couldn’t ask that without telling Wessex where his finger had been. And that, he simply would not do.

  It wasn’t that Wessex would be shocked. Nathaniel was…untried, but he wasn’t innocent, by any means. He had heard Wessex and other men speak in great detail of their physical exploits in the bedchamber, of which the explorations of fingers were the least shocking. So, he had a general idea about what went where. And that it must work, because not one of the gentlemen had ever complained of a woman being too small. Quite the opposite, in fact… Despite everything, he was fairly certain he had brought Alice to orgasm, and the thought still made him hard.

  He wasn’t going to share that with Wessex, either.

  He wasn’t going to share any of it with anyone but Alice. The fragrance of her skin, the sound of her moans, the sweet taste of her mouth, the exquisite feel
of her muscles in the deepest part of her—that was all his alone.

  “It was more than a kiss, and that is all you will get from me. I am not a scoundrel. I offered for her once, you know that. I will offer for her again, when she—” He broke off.

  Wessex waited. Nathaniel said nothing.

  “When she what?” Wessex finally asked impatiently.

  “When she loves me,” Nathaniel admitted.

  Wessex looked to where the lady was again provoking Colonel Kent to laughter. “Dare to dream, my friend,” he said evenly. “But don’t wait too long, or you will find someone else has gotten there first.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Alice was keenly aware that Nathaniel was not looking at her. Not as much as a glance.

  How dare he ignore her?

  He had touched her more intimately than she had even touched herself, and now he stood chatting with Duke Wessex as though it had never happened. It was unbelievable, unforgivable, and…and…unpleasant. Yes, that was exactly the word for this slightly sick feeling in her stomach. It was vastly unpleasant.

  He had not offered her marriage, the beastly man.

  She had expected he would, as that was the natural order of things. If a man kissed a lady—much less removed her clothing—that man must marry her.

  She would have refused him, of course. What happened had changed nothing of substance between them. Very likely he knew that. Which, no doubt, explained his outrageously inexcusable behavior toward her ever since.

  Even so! He should have at least done her the courtesy of pretending to follow society’s rules. Was she a lady, or was she not?

  Perhaps he thought not.

  A true lady would never have behaved in such a wanton fashion. She had thrust herself against his hand, over and over again, begging him with her body if not her words—although she rather thought she had done that, too.

  Oh, dear. Not acceptable.

  A hot flush crept up her neck.

  “Are you well, Miss Bursnell?” Colonel Kent asked. “You look overheated.”

  “The room is very warm.” She fanned herself, nearly scattering the cards. She gathered her wits and placed her card, winning both the trick and the game. “There.”

  She stood, and the colonel quickly stood, as well.

  “Will you accompany me to the garden?” he asked. “Perhaps the cool evening air will do you some good. Your aunt will, naturally, accompany us.”

  Alice looked to her aunt, who nodded her agreement. “Thank you, yes.” Alice could not stay in the parlor for a moment longer. The room was simply too small for both Nathaniel and herself.

  The colonel offered his arm, and Aunt Bea followed them out. As she swept by Nathaniel and Wessex, she could feel a burning sensation on the back of her skull, as if he were branding her with his glare. She raised her chin a notch. If it bothered him to see her on the arm of another man, then he could have damn well spoken even a single word to her at some point during the evening. Lord knew, she had given him plenty of opportunities.

  As they stepped outside, Aunt Bea plopped herself down on a stone bench and arranged her shawl. “I shall rest here, I believe. My dear niece may accompany you to that wall over there and not a step farther,” she told the colonel sternly.

  Colonel Kent bowed. “That is very gracious of you, my lady. I shall keep Miss Bursnell safely within your view.”

  Well, that was sweet. Alice felt a sharp pang of guilt. Aunt Bea had done her best to keep Alice’s virtue intact, but if she had succeeded, it was only on a technicality.

  Colonel Kent bowed his head to Alice. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and stepped with him into the garden. The sun had set but the moon was full, lending a silvery glow to their surroundings. The wind blew, rustling the leaves on the rosebush and the lace on her dress. She shivered.

  “May I offer you my jacket?” Colonel Kent gallantly asked. “I should have thought to bring your shawl.”

  “Oh, no.” She smiled. “I was overheated, remember? I’m quite enjoying the chill now. It’s invigorating.”

  He hesitated, then moved his arm—the one she held—closer to his side, thus tucking her into the warmth of his body. “Miss Bursnell…”

  They stopped, and she released his arm, turning to face him. “Yes, Colonel?”

  “There is a matter that I very much wish to discuss with you. It has been on my mind for some time now, and I cannot think it will be a surprise to you, nor, I hope, unwelcome.”

  Oh, no.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Aunt Bea was still on the bench and appeared completely occupied with folding and unfolding her shawl into neat little squares.

  Clearly, she would be of no help.

  Alice turned stoically back to Colonel Kent. “Oh?”

  “My days in the army are numbered, I am happy to report. I intend to resign my commission, now that France is no longer an immediate threat. I have given a great deal of thought to what I shall do next. Idleness does not suit me.”

  “No, indeed.” The colonel was perhaps ten years older than herself, but even war had not dimmed his obvious vitality.

  He grinned back at her, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I’m so glad you agree.”

  “So, what are your plans for yourself, if I may ask?” She subtly emphasized the word “yourself.”

  “Twofold.” He clasped his hands behind his back and studied the ground at their feet. “First, I intend to buy a small estate in Hampshire, not so far from here. The war was terrible for humanity, but it was good for my investments. Second, I plan to enter political life, to the extent the people of England want me to. Since I am not a member of the peerage, this would require my election to the House of Commons.”

  She touched his sleeve, impressed with his ambition. “You will have no difficulty with that. I believe Lord Abingdon, in particular, would be happy to back you. You are of a similar mind on so many things.”

  “Yes.” Kent gave a rueful smile. “And therein lies the problem.”

  She blushed. She couldn’t pretend not to understand him.

  When she said nothing, Kent continued, “Every day, I expected an announcement to be made. But I must admit, I found myself relieved beyond measure when no such announcement came. Please forgive the boldness of my question. Is there no understanding between you and Lord Abingdon?”

  “Oh.” Uncomfortable and uncertain of how to answer that, she found herself fascinated by the pattern of a roseleaf. “I think it is safe to say Lord Abingdon and I understand each other perfectly. Which is why we are not engaged.”

  “I see.”

  She hoped with every fiber of her being that he did not see.

  “Miss Bursnell, I am going to do a very foolish thing.” He took her gloved hands in his. “I am going to ask permission to court you, and then I am going to kiss you.”

  She jerked her head up in surprise.

  “Or perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, glancing to where their chaperone was not paying the least bit of attention, “we can dispense with the talking portion and let the kiss speak for itself.”

  His mouth descended before she could formulate a reply.

  For a moment, she allowed it. His kiss was gentle but firm. It didn’t make her erupt with passion and need, the way she did with Nathaniel’s kisses, but it was hardly the worst thing to ever happen to a girl. She might not feel overpowering lust, but she did feel fondness for the man who stood with his lips pressing hers. She might have been quite taken if she hadn’t had Nathaniel’s kiss to compare it to…

  But she had.

  Oh, yes. She was surely and completely ruined.

  Not by society’s rules—no, it was much worse than that. She was ruined for all other men.

  For any man save Nathaniel Eastwood.

  A deep yearning swelled in her breast. It was like homesickness, except tenfold stronger. Instead of missing the mountain crags and foamy seas, it was a longing for Nathaniel’s teasing smile and
his arms about her and— Oh, heavens. It was simply him—all of him, from the awkward red hair on his head down to his delightfully ungainly feet.

  She made a noise of despair, and stepped back, breaking the kiss. “I—”

  “Don’t.” The colonel touched her cheek softly with the back of his hand. “Don’t say anything just yet. Let things settle. Hastiness has resulted in many a miserable marriage. All I ask is that you consider me as a suitor. That is all. Just consider.” His eyes searched her face. “Will you do that?”

  After a brief hesitation, she nodded. What else could she do? The man was a true gentleman. And very…pleasant.

  He took her hand, turning it over to press a kiss to her palm. “I am grateful.”

  Guilt shot through her like an arrow. He was a good, kind man. He would make an excellent husband. He was brave and honorable and true.

  But he wasn’t Nathaniel.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  It was not yet dawn when Nathaniel left the house. All was silent. The guests were still sleeping, and even the maids had not come downstairs. He was dressed head to foot in black, and rather than saddle his horse, he chose to walk. It would not do to alert anyone to his presence, should there be anyone to alert where he was going.

  Ages ago, he and Nick had stumbled across an old gamekeeper’s cottage. By the time they found it, it had not been used for at least a century. To say it was in disrepair would be a colossal understatement. Thick vines had covered it from foundation to roof, making it almost impossible to tell it was there. They had left the vines but repaired the inside. They had plugged holes in the roof, replaced the termite-eaten door, added a support beam here and there to stop the whole building from falling in on them. And slowly, sneakily, they had added furniture and other comforts. A chair, a pillow, blankets. Plates and bowls and forks, along with a jug to fetch water from the nearby stream.

  It had remained their secret. They had told no one, not even Freesia.

  Perhaps now it wasn’t even Nathaniel’s secret anymore, because he couldn’t find the blasted thing. A chipmunk darted across his path, startling him. He turned around, and around again. There was a familiar mark notched on a tree—a few feet higher than originally. They had made slashes at eye-level, back when they were boys, to mark the correct path. But now the trees and vines were so thick he began to think they had devoured the old home, furniture, blankets, and all.