She was tempted by the offer, but not foolish enough to accept it. “While I thank you for your concern, I daresay that would be like slipping into a cage with a tiger rather than a lion.”
He pressed a hand to his broad chest in mock indignation. “I’m wounded you only consider me a tiger.”
Maggie laughed, taking the opportunity to glance casually to her side and confirm that Sandhurst was indeed headed their way. Nor did he appear to be pleased. Good for him, she thought. After all, he had been unkindly cozy with Nell for quite some time. Indeed, she’d surreptitiously watched their interlude and could only presume there had been an intimate conversation between them. Had he grown weary of their bargain already?
“Are you certain you prefer him?” Ravenscroft released a sigh. “I dearly love women with fiery hair and luscious bosoms.”
Mere days ago, his words would have shocked her. But she found she enjoyed the freedom of expression at the house party, whether in the bedchamber or in the drawing room. It took her back to her younger days, when she had been a carefree scribbler of poems the world would never see.
“I hadn’t realized my bosom could be described as luscious,” she teased, a wild streak in her making certain that she drawled the words just as her husband came abreast of them.
His eyes were dark slits of emerald ice beneath the silken mask that he had once more donned. “My lady.” The bow he offered her was scornful at best. “Ravenscroft.”
“Sandhurst,” the earl acknowledged. “I do hope your ruffled feathers are now smoothed, old boy.”
“Remove your paws from my wife,” he bit out by way of response.
Maggie swallowed, watching him with new eyes. She’d never seen this particular side of him. Oh, she had been no stranger to his anger. But this time he was different, very much like the lion she had described him as. “Sandhurst,” she cautioned. Dear heavens, she didn’t want them to come to blows. “The earl was merely being courteous.”
His lips thinned. “Whilst discussing the merits of your bosom?”
“Dear me,” Ravenscroft quipped, his voice deceptively mild. “You seem irritated. I daresay we were merely finishing the delightful discourse we shared at dinner.”
“I’ll thrash you,” her husband growled. “Come outside with me now. I’ve promised Nell that I won’t trounce you in her home.”
“How kind of you, but I’m afraid my pugilism days are over. One too many broken noses.” He tapped the knot on his otherwise perfect feature. “The ladies don’t prefer it, or so I’m told.” He winked at Maggie.
She nearly groaned aloud. He was digging her a hole with his words, and soon she would be buried in it up to her neck. The rigid set of her husband’s jaw told her she would not escape her antics unscathed. She had to remove herself from the situation unfolding before her and could only hope that Simon would follow her. After all, she hardly wanted him to engage in a bout of fisticuffs with the earl. Even if she secretly enjoyed the jealousy evident in her husband’s rigid stance and dark tone.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed the evening, I’m afraid I’m weary and must retire,” she said, hurrying to fill the conversational gap lest the two men decided to continue trading potentially lethal barbs.
“I shall escort you,” both men offered simultaneously.
Good heavens. She winced and accepted her husband’s proffered arm. “Good evening, Lord Ravenscroft. Thank you for the conversation.”
Emitting only a growl, Sandhurst all but propelled her from the room. If the earl responded, Maggie would never know. Her husband was too busy hauling her to her reckoning.
Chapter Five
He took her to his chamber rather than hers, perhaps for fear the earl would seek her out in the quiet of the night. Maggie would never know the reason behind his decision for certain. The door was barely closed at his back before he turned on her, his hands gripping her arms as he hauled her up against the wall, pinning her with his large body so that there was no escape.
Maggie blinked, startled by the virulence of his reaction. She reached for his shoulders. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“Punishing my wayward wife,” he told her in a tone that was at once velvet and whiskey to her senses, seductive and shocking. He pulled up her skirts and wedged a hard thigh between her legs.
She felt the unfamiliar abrasion of fabric against the open slit of her drawers and couldn’t keep herself from straining into him. She was hungry for him already, warm and wet and willing. But she wasn’t about to give in to him easily.
“What have I done?” she asked on a half-gasp, prolonging the inevitable. She had expected to spark jealousy but not anger. Then again, perhaps the two were not that far apart in the realms of emotion.
His hands were at work beneath her skirts, finding the closure on her drawers and sliding it open. “You know very well. Don’t play the innocent with me.”
She stiffened as he swept a hand over the bare skin of her upper thigh. Her drawers slid down over her limbs. She forced herself to protest. “Simon.”
“You intentionally sought out Ravenscroft.” His gaze skewered her, holding her to the wall as surely as his body did. Fingers skimmed her inner thigh, tantalizing her.
“You were doing a fine job of monopolizing Lady Needham,” she pointed out, having difficulty forcing her brain to function properly with him so near to her aching center.
“I told you to stay away from him,” he muttered, ignoring her completely. His expression was drawn with a combination of desire and irritation. “Were you intending to make me jealous with your little tête-à-tête?”
Of course she had. “Not in the slightest,” she lied, squirming when he continued to dance around the hungry flesh where she most longed for his touch. “What were you and Nell discussing so intently?”
If he wanted to question her as if he were her jailer, surely she could do the same. It had seemed to her that he and Lady Needham had been discussing something very serious. Indeed, she hadn’t liked their proximity or the gravity of their expressions. She had seen the moment Simon took Nell’s hand in his, and she hadn’t been particularly warmed by it.
He’d stilled. “What Nell and I discussed is none of your affair. We are merely old friends.”
Yet another of his old friends. An awful part of Maggie wondered if he had ever bedded their hostess in his past. Or if he wished to in his future. The heat building inside her collided with ice. “What manner of old friend is she?” She had to ask, even though she didn’t truly want to know the answer.
“She’s not the sort you’d like the bloody earl to be,” he growled, his hand curling around her thigh in an almost punishing grip.
“Stop,” she cried out, trying to shrug from his grasp. For the first time, she was realizing she had been playing a game she hadn’t the experience to play.
“Stop what?” He lowered his head, his lips grazing hers. “This?” At last, he took her mouth with his, claiming her in a kiss that punished as much as it incited her need. He cupped her bare bottom, grinding her sensitive cunny against his rigid thigh. “Or this?”
She moaned, unable to keep herself from feeling the delicious sensations he stirred. But she wasn’t willing to be thrown from her course so summarily. “Stop being unkind to me. I did nothing wrong.”
“Aside from consorting with the biggest lothario in all of England?” he scoffed, lowering his mouth to explore her neck. “I’ll be damned if I’ll share another woman.”
She had tipped back her head to allow him better access to her throat, but his words gave her pause. Who else had he shared? She had been given to understand that Lady Billingsley had been his exclusive paramour for the last few years. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, wondering if perhaps his rage had not been solely provoked by her after all.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “We made a promise to one another. A month, yes?”
“Yes.” She was more confused than ever by his behavior. One m
oment, he was about to devour her, the next he was angry, telling her half a story she’d never read before. “But what has that to do with this moment?”
“I want you.” His mouth opened on her neck, sucking. “Do you want me?”
But she was determined not to be swayed. Her mind swirled with questions. Had Lady Billingsley been the topic of his conversation with Nell? Perhaps she had revealed an ugly side of his former paramour’s past? Or perhaps Maggie merely wanted for that to be the case.
She sighed, trying not to enjoy the delicious working of his mouth over her, nearly impossible though it was. “I want you to tell me the truth.”
“I’ve told you already.” He pressed a series of kisses down to her bosom. “We were merely conversing.”
Did he think he could elude her so easily? She frowned, sinking her fingers into his thick, soft hair and forcing him to meet her gaze. “What other woman have you shared?”
The breath fled from his lungs, hitting her chest like a warmed blanket. “Why must you be so bloody persistent?”
She didn’t know. “It’s in my nature, I suppose.”
“A man must be allowed his secrets.”
Maggie didn’t particularly care for the sound of that. “I detest secrecy.”
“I’m sorry,” he startled her by saying. He didn’t strike her as the apologetic sort. “I merely don’t wish to discuss it. It has no bearing upon you and me.”
She had the sense that his concession had cost him a great deal more than was readily apparent. He was a proud man, that much she had learned quickly in the short time they’d spent together. Maggie took pity on him. “Very well. You needn’t tell me just now.”
“Good.” His fingers traced a path of heat over her thigh before sinking into her wet folds to tease the aching bud that most yearned for his attention. “Because right now, the only thing I’m going to do is fuck you, my dear. Hard and fast until you come.”
She lost her breath. The iniquitous words made her all the more hungry for him. No man had ever dared to speak such sin to her. It rendered her quite weak in the knees. “Don’t we require a bed?” she dared to ask.
He applied just the right amount of pressure with the perfect amount of speed. And then he sank a finger inside her. “Not when you’re so wet and ready for me.”
Dear heavens. Her hips pumped against his rhythm. Her instinct took control of her. She wanted him so very much, even with the unknown between them. Nothing mattered but the way he made her feel, as if she were about to shatter into a thousand singing shards of herself.
He stopped to open his trousers, and she caught sight of him, rigid and tantalizing. “Hook your leg round my waist.” He guided her then, opening her to him more fully. His mouth came down on hers, crushing and possessive.
Suddenly, his cock was pressing against her, hot and stiff. She arched her back to help ease his entrance. While his tongue plunged into her mouth, he slid inside her in one long, delicious thrust. She moaned, sucking on his tongue, her hands going to his firm buttocks to drive him even deeper. This time, their passion was running at full gallop. There was no steady canter, no time for soft kisses and gentle caresses. Nor did she want that. She simply wanted him to take her, hard and fast as he’d said, make them both explode with their mutual desire.
He withdrew from her only to slide in her again, increasing his pace, going faster, wilder. With his thumb, he continued to exert pressure on her nub, and the wave of her first release washed over her. Her cunny clenched on his cock and they both moaned, lost in the sensations, the need to become one.
He dragged his mouth back to her neck, nipping at her with his teeth just enough to make her shiver. Tonight, she reveled in his ferocity, in the way his hands were almost rough upon her, in the way he took her as if he couldn’t wait another moment to fill her with his seed.
While she still shook with the effects of her passion, he rocked against her, flattening her to the wall. A warm burst of sensation rushed inside her, and she knew that he too had found his release. She clasped him to her as they plummeted from their cloud of pleasure as one. His breathing was as ragged as hers, his heart a rapid thrum against her chest. He kissed her neck, then dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth before gently returning her foot to the floor and slipping from her body. They stared at each other.
“We leave tomorrow morning,” he said at last, his voice almost hoarse. “Together.”
She nodded. While days before, leaving with her husband would have seemed inconceivable if not altogether impossible, now it seemed perfectly normal. She wasn’t certain she could yet manage rational conversation, so she busied herself with rearranging her skirts. Only her drawers, discarded on the floor, remained as a sign of their frantic lovemaking. He refastened his trousers while she attempted to collect herself.
“I suppose I ought to return to my chamber,” she said when at last she rediscovered the ability to speak.
“You’ll stay here with me this evening,” he said, more decree than request.
His pronouncement startled her. Hadn’t he just been concerned with observing a false sense of propriety? What had changed? She blinked, wondering if she’d heard him properly above the mad thudding of her heart. “I beg your pardon?”
His expression was impossible to decipher. “I want you to remain in my chamber,” he elaborated. “Please.”
Maggie supposed he wasn’t accustomed to asking for what he wanted. After all, he was a man and a lord both. Even so, his request was hardly tender, and though she was not impervious to his lovemaking, she was still quite stubborn in her own right. “You might ask me rather than issuing a demand.”
He frowned. “I didn’t demand. I said please.”
“Silly me.” She almost laughed, but he was serious. “Thank you for issuing a polite demand.”
He raked a hand through his hair, looking vexed. “Damn it, woman, you’re as prickly as a rosebush sometimes. I merely want you to stay here in my chamber.”
“Why?” she persisted.
“Because I don’t trust that blackguard who calls himself an earl,” he thundered, his eyes darkening.
Ah. So he had been jealous of Ravenscroft. She was secretly pleased. Still, there were logistics to be considered. “What of my lady’s maid? She won’t know to find me here.”
“I’ll damn well be your lady’s maid for the night,” he growled. “In the morning, I’ll have her sent up for you.”
Another thought occurred to her just then, and she had to know. “Do you trust me?”
His gaze searched hers. “I’m not certain,” he admitted at last. “I’ve misplaced my trust far too many times, it would seem.”
Maggie was more convinced than ever that he and Nell had been speaking of Lady Billingsley. A tiny sliver of triumph sliced through her at the thought. Perhaps his old and dear friend had not been the angel he’d believed her to be after all. And while Maggie couldn’t compete with a paragon, she could certainly compete with a mere woman. If she wanted to compete at all, that was, and she wasn’t entirely certain she did. Indeed, her brain was doing a fair job of convincing her that she ought not to, even if her passionate heart felt otherwise.
But in the end, she was tired, and giving in to a very small battle didn’t seem too foolish a decision. “Very well,” she capitulated. “I shall stay.”
* * * * *
Early the following afternoon, they arrived at Denver House, Simon’s country seat. The visit was Maggie’s first, since they had wed in London and he had not even bothered to provide her with a honeymoon. Instead, he had run off to the arms of his mistress. It had been a cold revelation to Maggie, who had been naïve enough to believe her husband would treat her with the respect she deserved. She had imagined settling into a comfortable life, getting to know her husband, exchanging pleasantries over dinner, raising a son or daughter. She had not imagined abandonment or rampant adultery, though she had been warned by her mother in advance that not all men proved faithful husb
ands.
Her mother, she’d discovered, had been woefully inept at warning a young bride about the realities of a society marriage. Maggie was assailed by an odd mix of feelings as Sandhurst handed her down from the carriage and she took in the imposing façade of the home she’d never seen. Good heavens. Her heart went to her throat. Lady Needham’s country house had been impressive indeed, but Denver House was magnificent.
She stared at the immense structure with its rows of windows flanked by an east and a west wing at either end. Doric columns stretched across the front as if they were a row of soldiers at the ready. Twin curved stairs descended to the gravel thoroughfare. Bas relief carvings decorated the stone walls.
The entire scene took her breath.
“Welcome to Denver House,” Simon intoned, his voice grave.
“Dear heavens,” was all she could manage. She had seen many a great building in London and New York, but this place was somehow different from all the rest. She forced her gaze back to her husband, who watched her with an impenetrable expression etched on his handsome face. “It’s unbearably lovely.”
“It’s a crumbling pile of familial rubble,” he corrected her, his voice cool.
She supposed that if she had been raised in such a structure she too could have been unaffected by its charm. Her father’s townhouse in New York was grand, but not nearly as regal. “You don’t like it here?” she guessed.
“I will present you to the staff,” he surprised her by saying, neatly skirting her query.
Although she knew she ought to be stern with him for not having brought her to Denver House before, she couldn’t help but be pleased by his announcement. It was far too late in coming, and under all the wrong circumstances, but she was once again choosing her battles. “Thank you. That would be wonderful indeed.”
Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands) Page 9