Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  “I want more than that.” She traced his jaw with the backs of her fingers. It was smooth from when he had shaved for dinner. “You wouldn’t let me touch you last time. Let me touch you now.”

  For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of heartbeats.

  “Nathaniel?” she whispered.

  “I—” He cleared his throat. “Yes, please.”

  Warmth spread through her. Yes, please. Oh, this man! Every moment spent with him, another fissure appeared in the wall around her heart. The pressure in her chest was almost unbearable, like a dam about to break through.

  She nuzzled his throat, kissing the tendons and muscles usually concealed by a cravat. She flicked open the top button of his shirt, and then the next, following her fingers with her mouth. As the third button slipped from its anchor, she pressed a kiss to his chest.

  “Alice,” he murmured. “Where are you going?”

  She paused to rub her cheek on the short copper hair that teased her lips. “Everywhere.”

  His heart was beating so hard she could feel it against her jawbone. She did that to him.

  Just to test her power, she swirled her tongue over his nipple while keeping one hand pressed gently on his chest. She smiled when the heartbeats moved quicker. Her own nipples, hidden behind the thin cotton night rail, hardened into peaks.

  The hair on his chest disappeared at the fourth button as she kissed down the ridged boxes of his abdomen. He quivered at her touch, the muscles tensing and releasing. The hair reappeared below his navel, albeit darker, in an unwavering line that disappeared into his trousers.

  She followed it.

  It was so much easier to remove a man’s clothing than a woman’s. It was almost as though his clothing had been created with anticipation of freedom, while hers had only considered containment.

  He groaned as he lifted his hips, helping her to ease his trousers off. “Alice, I have to tell you. Tomorrow—”

  No. She didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t hear it without howling and sobbing. In desperation, she pressed kisses everywhere her lips could reach. His belly, his hip, his thigh…his staff.

  He stopped talking.

  She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his hands fisted in the bedsheets. Encouraged, she kissed him again, her mouth open this time. His manhood jerked, and she started in surprise. Did that mean he liked it? Or was he…ticklish? Could a man be ticklish there?

  “What shall I do?” she asked.

  “Anything you want,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Well. That wasn’t very enlightening.

  “I’ve never—” he choked out. “That is, no one’s ever…” He reached for her, stabbing his fingers through her hair. “There’s only ever been you.”

  Her eyes widened at the words. “Only me?”

  He jerked a nod.

  A wave of possessiveness swept over her, so sweet it rocked her to her core. “For…everything?”

  “Everything.” He groaned. “Your mouth feels so good, Alice. Please touch me again, however you like.”

  Why, yes. She would like that.

  She lowered her head and licked him from root to crown with one firm stroke of her tongue.

  He arched off the bed. “Holy mother of God.”

  The tip was velvety soft. It reminded her of sponge cake. She kissed him there, darting her tongue out to taste.

  He muttered a string of incoherent nonsense. That made her smile.

  She parted her lips slightly, allowing more of him to slip into her mouth. But what now?

  She thought of the way he had taught her to touch him with her hand. She thought of the way he had moved when inside her. Stroking, it seemed, was key. So, she stroked him with her mouth, gliding up and down, slowly at first, then a little faster.

  He moaned, and his hands plunged deeper into her hair. They showed her a new rhythm.

  Then, suddenly, she found herself gripped under her arms and pulled up his body. He rolled, pinning her to the bed. She felt a sharp tug of fabric followed by a ripping sound and a rush of cool air.

  She felt his mouth against her breast and then her belly. Before she could get her bearings, he had settled between her legs, holding her thighs wide open with his shoulders.

  “Oh!” She struggled to sit up, but he pushed her gently down. “Wait.”

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said, and she heard the wonder of it in his voice.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Then don’t think.” His breath stirred her intimate curls. “Just let me kiss you the way you kissed me. Please.”

  She squirmed beneath him, somewhat scandalized.

  But more excited.

  “I have a duel tomorrow,” he reminded her, his eyes glinting up at her from between her thighs.

  Unfair!

  She could deny him nothing.

  She had kissed him, yes, but it wasn’t the same thing. This was altogether more embarrassing. Only, he didn’t seem to think it was embarrassing. He seemed to think it was delicious. That she was delicious.

  He kissed the core of her the way he kissed her mouth, open and with languid strokes of his tongue. He explored every part of her slick folds, and the aching pleasure point they had discovered together that first time. When his tongue glided inside her, she gasped.

  Surely, this was indecent!

  But she was beyond caring. She arched up, spinning higher and higher toward that blissful precipice. This time, she knew what was on the other side. She raced to claim it, but then paused, helpless, teetering on the edge. Just when she thought the throbbing torture would snap her in twain, his lips covered her need and he sucked it hard.

  She cried out, her hips lifting shamelessly toward his mouth, as wave after wave of pleasure wracked her whole body.

  When she came back to herself, she was tucked in his arms, his lips curved against her temple.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That was marvelous.”

  She laughed and felt his hardness stir eagerly against her belly. He was not yet sated, she realized. But neither was she. It felt greedy—needing more of him after he had already given her so much. So be it.

  She hitched a leg over his hip so his staff nestled against her wet heat and rubbed herself against him, seeking.

  “No, darling.” His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip. “I’ll hurt you. You’re sore, and I can’t be gentle. Not now.”

  “I don’t care,” she whispered. She needed to be filled by him.

  His eyes were wild with desire. “Are you sure?”

  “God, yes,” she said.

  His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady, and he thrust inside her, hard enough that the bed moved. She gasped and clung to his shoulders. His powerful hips rocked against hers, joining them together. Her sore innermost muscles ached, but she ignored it. She wanted the pain, wanted the proof that he had been there inside her, long after he had gone.

  He groaned. “I can’t—”

  And he didn’t. Or rather, he did, thrusting deep into her and shouting his release into the pillow to muffle the sound. Then he collapsed against her, his hand tangled in her hair.

  Oh, yes.

  This was truly marvelous.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The midmorning sunlight streamed through the window. Alice smiled dreamily and stretched out an arm but found only empty sheets next to her.

  She bolted upright. Good God! What time was it? Had Nathaniel already left to meet Nicholas?

  She swung her legs off the bed and rang for Mary. A moment later, her door opened. Mary bustled through, and with her came the sounds of distant shouting.

  “What is happening, Mary?” Alice stood, wincing at the soreness between her legs.

  Mary eyed her sharply. “Oh, the house is in uproar, miss. It’s complete chaos. Would you like your green muslin?”

  Alice shook her head. “The white.”

  “But you never wear white.” Her hands faltered. �
�The fields will make you dirty.”

  “Today I will wear white,” Alice said firmly. She had met Nicholas before as an avenging queen. Today she would be humble, virginal.

  Well—Mary’s gaze slid sideways to the rumpled, torn night rail on the floor—she would be humble, at any rate.

  “What is the uproar about?” she asked as her maid slid the dress over her head.

  “Why, the duel, of course.” Mary tsked. “Apparently Mr. Eastwood sent word to his sister. Lady Freesia arrived before dawn this morning, bringing their aunt, the Dowager Marchioness Breesfield, with her. Lady Freesia seems an all right sort, but the marchioness is none too happy about traveling all night, I can assure you. She has all the maids coming and going and crying and fussing.”

  By the time Mary finished relaying the gossip, Alice was dressed. She rushed down the stairs and into the breakfast room, where she nearly collided with Lady Freesia.

  “Oh, Miss Bursnell!” Lady Freesia beamed. “How lovely to see you again, even under these rather inauspicious circumstances.”

  “Lady Freesia, I hope you are well.”

  “Quite.” Lady Freesia cocked her head to the side, listening, as the dowager marchioness shouted something about the temperature of her tea. “Would you care for some eggs? Or perhaps some toast? The bacon—”

  “I am not hungry, thank you,” Alice interrupted rather desperately. “Did you speak to your brother this morning?”

  Lady Freesia heaped scrambled eggs on her plate. “Which one?”

  “Either.” It didn’t matter which brother came to his senses, so long as one of them did.

  “As it happens, I spoke to both.”

  When she didn’t continue, Alice tamped back her frustration. “And?” she prodded.

  “They will meet at the oak tree in…” She glanced at the clock. “One hour. Goodness, we should hurry.” She sat down without seeming the least bit in a rush.

  Alice was at a loss. Lady Freesia was a beautiful girl, dressed in a deep blue frock that exactly matched her eyes. She certainly didn’t look heartless. Perhaps she was in shock.

  “They have not called it off, then?” Alice asked. She clasped her hands in silent prayer. Please, please let this be a mistake.

  Lady Freesia wrinkled her brow. “Of course not.”

  A small, desperate sob escaped Alice.

  Instantly, Lady Freesia was on her feet. “Oh, you poor thing. This must be terrible for you, but it must be done. Surely, you understand that.”

  No, Alice did not understand any such thing.

  “But why? Why must they do this?” she asked.

  For a moment Lady Freesia looked mystified, but then her expression brightened. She had the answer. “Because they are boys.”

  Lady Freesia sat back down, spread a bit of honey on a slice of toast, and handed it to Alice. “Do try to eat something, Miss Bursnell. You’ll need your strength.” She eyed Alice with sudden wariness. “You don’t swoon at the sight of blood, do you?”

  Oh, heavens!

  Alice looked at the toast in her hand. There was nothing to do but eat it. Clearly, Lady Freesia would not let them leave until both their stomachs were full. She took a bite and chewed. It was rather like chewing sawdust.

  When she swallowed the last bite, she looked expectantly at Lady Freesia.

  The girl glanced longingly at her teacup, but stood again with a sigh. “Very well. We’ll be off. Nimbly will have the carriage pulled round.”

  “The carriage?” Alice asked, baffled. “It’s a short walk.”

  “Well, yes. But I told the surgeon we would fetch him. He is in town.”

  Alice thought she might be sick.

  Surgeons always attended duels, at the request of the participants. He would do his best to keep a wound from being fatal, but even if death wasn’t instant, a gunshot or sword wound could fester. The only time a duel ended well was when the opponents shot into the air instead of aiming for each other.

  Somehow, she doubted that was what Nicholas had in mind.

  He had been waiting too long for this moment.

  When they arrived at the appointed place, surgeon in tow, Alice looked about for Nathaniel. He was nowhere to be seen. Her heart gave a joyful leap of hope. Perhaps he had decided to flee to Scotland, after all.

  Her hope faded as she caught sight of Colonel Kent and Duke Wessex. No, Nathaniel had not fled. He would never leave Wessex to face Nicholas alone.

  She watched Colonel Kent approach the duke and bow. Together, they moved away from the oak tree to a flat, open area. They scuffed their feet in the grass.

  “Ah, they’re checking for dew,” Lady Freesia explained. “Slippery grass would make everything more difficult.”

  That must mean the duel would be fought with swords rather than pistols. Alice wasn’t sure if that was better or worse, but she thought it might be the latter. Gentlemen often shot into the air rather than at their opponents. How would one do that with a sword?

  It was an intimate affair, if you could call it that. The only witnesses were Lady Freesia and herself, the surgeon, and Duke Wessex and Colonel Kent as the seconds. Lady Breesfield and Lord and Lady Wintham were not present, thank goodness. No parent would want to see the bloodshed of either son. Plus, a large crowd would mean Nicholas would be hanged for murder—unless he fled to the Continent.

  Alice rather wondered at Lady Freesia being here, when it came to that.

  “I must stop this madness,” Alice said through frozen lips. It could not be allowed to happen.

  Lady Freesia turned to her with blazing eyes and red cheeks. “Don’t you dare! Nick was banished from our home when he was ten. Ten! Can you imagine how terrifying that was for a little boy? Since then, I have waited nearly two decades for his return. This moment will finally heal everything. They should have done this years ago. Now, sit down and let them do what they must.”

  This moment would heal everything?

  Was the lady insane?

  “You are a horrid girl, and I hope your hair falls out,” Alice cried.

  Lady Freesia gaped, but Alice did not wait. She lifted her skirts and marched across the field. If Nathaniel refused to be reasonable and Lady Freesia refused to be sane, then she would deal directly with Nicholas.

  “Colonel Kent, take me to Mr. Eastwood,” she snapped.

  He turned, startled. “Miss Bursnell—”

  “Now.”

  He nodded and took her arm, leading her behind the oak tree.

  And there was Nicholas, leaning against the trunk, looking bored as sin and lethal as a snake.

  He lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Ah, Miss Bursnell. So good of you to join us this morning.”

  “I have come to apologize, sir,” Alice said.

  His eyes widened expressively. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, sir.” She twisted her hands together to steady them. “There seems to have been a…misadventure with the letter. I wrote the note per your instructions, but it never reached its intended audience. A good friend, thinking to save me from myself, replaced it with a blank card instead. Your message was never received.”

  Nicholas’s face was scrupulously blank. “I did wonder. And you say a friend did this?”

  She nodded.

  “Heaven preserve me from such friendships.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Perhaps Eliza had made a mistake, but she had done so with the purest intent, sacrificing even her own interests to protect Alice.

  She glanced over at Kent and at Wessex, both here at Nathaniel’s request. Nicholas had no one but Lady Freesia, and she was clearly insane. He was all alone.

  “You needn’t call upon heaven,” Alice said quietly. “You have preserved yourself, sir.”

  Something flickered in those icy eyes before it was extinguished. “Quite.”

  Enough of this. She gathered herself. “There is no need for a duel. I can fix this. I can still deliver Manning to you. I won’t even request you depart for India. All
I ask is that you leave Nathaniel alone.”

  He nodded slowly. “If I wanted my brother dead, that would make sense. I had my own need for Mr. Manning, and I was willing to agree to your scheme to further my personal goal. But now the plot is foiled, you believe I would immediately set my sights on the earldom. But you are mistaken on three counts, Miss Bursnell. The first being, I had no intention of going to India.”

  She straightened her spine. “But you said—”

  “I lied,” he said evenly.

  Of course he had. Why had that not occurred to her? The blackguard was no gentleman.

  “The second is that I did not challenge Nate to this duel. He challenged me.”

  “No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “That cannot be true. Nathaniel loves you, for all you don’t deserve it. He has spent years running away to avoid this very situation. I don’t believe it. And why should I? You just proclaimed yourself a liar.”

  “I assure you, I am speaking the truth about this. Nate challenged me to a duel.” Nicholas seemed to find the matter almost as surprising as she did.

  “On what grounds?” she demanded. “The earldom isn’t enough reason. Not for Nathaniel.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “Why does anyone fight a duel? In this case, because I caused the worst kind of grief to someone he cares deeply about.”

  A breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the oak tree and loosening her tight braids. Her lips parted. Twenty yards away, Nathaniel was in conversation with Lady Freesia. His back was to Alice, but it seemed as if he was comforting his sister.

  He had done this.

  Nathaniel had challenged Nicholas to a duel.

  For years, he had run from their conflict, not for his own sake, but for Nicholas. He felt guilt over how Nicholas was treated.

  He was banished for me, and I did nothing to save him.

  Nathaniel’s greatest desire was to mend the gaping wound in his family.

  And yet, he had still done this.

  For her.

  To avenge Adelaide’s honor and heal Alice’s grief. Apparently, he thought those things worth fighting for.

  Once upon a time, she would have agreed.