Shameless

by Erin Rye

  She hurried to the basket, but to her surprise, discovered it empty. Her gaze caught on a pair of scissors peeking out from the bottom of the door. As she touched the door it swung open slightly. A pincushion sat on the rug in the center of the adjoining room. Six feet farther away lay a spool of thread.

  “This is exceedingly odd,” she murmured and retrieved her tools, then noticed a second spool of thread near the far door.

  She paused, then smiled. This was a breadcrumb trail. Carrick’s doing. It had to be. With a heart growing lighter by the step, she followed the trail of pincushions, thimbles and thread spools down the servants’ stairs and out a side door leading to the castle’s side lawn.

  The trail led across the grass. Near where the garden path vanished behind a copse of trees, a length of muslin was artfully draped over a bush. She frowned and hurried to rescue the fabric before it stained.

  What was the man thinking? Still, she found herself smiling as she folded the fabric and placed it atop her sewing basket. She saw the playing cards, a line leading down the center of the path and disappearing behind the trees.

  She’d missed him the night before. Her smile widened as she followed the trail, collecting the cards along the way until the path gave way to a private garden. A gazebo nestled under an ancient oak, and Carrick practiced archery nearby, wearing only a white shirt and a pair of form-fitting, dark gray breeches.

  She paused to admire his muscular buttocks and powerful thighs. Her fingers itched to slide over those firm, warm muscles. She’d never thought of a man’s buttocks and thighs as particularly fascinating before.

  He bent to remove an arrow from a quiver lying on a table and she watched the shift and flex of his thigh muscle before wrenching her eyes away. A throb pulsed between her thighs.

  He lowered his bow and she lifted her gaze to his face. His eyebrow raised in amusement. Heavens, she could only be glad he wasn’t privy to her thoughts. He’d be prancing around the estate in smug satisfaction for a week—maybe longer.

  A mischievous grin crossed his face as he crooked a finger and motioned for her to join him. When she arrived, he took the sewing basket and set it on the ground as she eyed the target, taking note of the half-dozen arrows clustered around the bullseye.

  “You have astonishing marksmanship,” she said.

  A humorous glint entered his eye. “Aye, my shaft is hard and its aim true.”

  She jerked her eyes back to his, forcing herself not to look at his crotch. The man was shameless. She couldn’t prevent a smile. then recalled that she’d overslept. “I fear I failed in bidding the duchess and Catherine farewell,” she confessed.

  He chuckled. “Mother insisted you catch up on your rest. She wasn’t offended, if that’s what concerns you.”

  That was difficult to believe, but she smiled anyway. “Well, I’m well rested now.”

  His eyebrow lifted as he reached past her to prop his bow against the gazebo’s nearest wall. He murmured, “For now, aye?”

  She lowered her lashes.

  “I found a most curious item in your sewing basket.” He bent and retrieved something from his quiver.

  His cravat. She took the fabric, suddenly tongue-tied.

  “You kept it,” he said.

  She lifted her eyes to his. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. He smelled of fresh air and the sandalwood spice of his cravat. She closed her eyes and melted into his embrace, a thrilling kiss soft, tender, and sweet.

  A kiss that ended far too soon.

  He pulled away and she opened her mouth to object, but he surprised her by swinging her up into his arms.

  “I’m of a mind to taste your charms, lass.” He peered down at her through hooded eyes. “Here. Now.”

  She shivered. “Here?”

  He carried her into the gazebo and lay her on a plaid spread across the weathered wooden floor.

  “Carrick,” she said with mock sternness.

  He shrugged and dropped down by her side. Objections died on her lips as he covered her lips and sucked her tongue into his mouth. A sizzle of heat shot through her inner core and clenched her sex.

  He loosened her chignon and threaded his fingers through her curls as he kissed a path from her lips to her neck before pausing to suck the tender flesh beneath her ear. She slid her hands over his arms. Muscle shifted beneath her fingers as his palm skimmed her waist. He covered a breast and kneaded the soft flesh. Heat pooled in her belly. She arched her hips.

  “You’re more than ready, aren’t you?” He chuckled.

  “Take me,” she whispered.

  He rose to his knees, rucked up her dress, then slipped her under drawers down and off.

  “Open your legs for me, lass,” he murmured as he leaned over and kissed her eyes closed.

  She obliged, enjoying the heightened sensations of his lips as he planted another line of kisses along her jawline and down her throat.

  She tensed in anticipation of him levering himself over her. A warm hand clasped her thigh. A quiver radiated through her stomach. He clasped her other thigh and Juliet shivered. The man was a magician. She discerned the shift of his weight on her legs, then gasped when warm lips closed over her sex.

  Juliet shoved upright, then froze at sight of Carrick’s head between her legs. While she’d heard plenty of Aphrodite’s ladies speak of taking a man’s member into their mouths, she’d never heard of a man doing the same to a woman. His tongue flicked her engorged nub. Pleasure rocketed through her.

  “Carrick,” she breathed.

  He shifted so that he could look at her, but his mouth continued its wicked work. She squirmed when he sucked her. He laughed against her flesh. The sound tickled heightened senses.

  “Lay back and close your eyes, lass. Let me please you.”

  Please her? Close her eyes? He suckled harder. She didn’t think she could tear her gaze from his dark head buried between her thighs even if she wanted to. He drew his tongue from the base of her channel, up through her wet folds and circled her sex.

  A wordless whimper escaped her lips. Pleasure mounted. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her tighter against his mouth. Palms flat on the floorboard, she closed her eyes, braced herself and pulsed against him.

  Her orgasm exploded through her, stealing her breath as her body spasmed, the force of her pleasure ripping a cry from her. “Carrick. Oh, God, Carrick.”

  Juliet collapsed back against the wood. He stroked her until the last shudder subsided, leaving her weak-kneed. "I couldn’t last long,” she whispered, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

  He chuckled and straightened. “Your passion is what I love most about you, Juliet.”

  Love. The word slipped from his tongue so naturally, yet hung in the air between them like lead.

  He unbuttoned his breeches. His engorged member sprang free. Her heart pounded. He settled between her legs and buried himself inside her to the hilt. Juliet wrapped her arms around his neck as he thrust with increasing urgency. His breath bathed her flesh where neck met shoulder. Shivers raced across her flesh. His breath hitched. Pleasure rippled through her. He thrust harder and groaned as her channel flooded with his seed.

  Her heart thundered. She would never get enough of this man. He stroked slower and a strange sense of need rippled through her. The unexpected need to cry surfaced. Juliet buried her face in his shoulder until, at last, he relaxed. He breathed deep, his chest expanding against hers. Juliet tightened her hold around his neck in the moment before he rose onto his elbows. He caught her chin with his hand and kissed her slow and tender. Finally, he broke the kiss and rolled off her, then propped himself up on an elbow.

  Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair before he tucked a curl behind her ear. “Now that we have Lennoxlove House to ourselves, I’ll be making love to you in every room and against every tree.”

  She lifted her eyebrows and laughed. “We’re surrounded by a forest, Carrick.”

  His grin softened into a warm s
mile. “Then we’ll be busy, won’t we?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Decision

  LOVE. CARRICK HAD NEVER uttered that word in a woman’s presence before. In fact, he’d taken great care to avoid it. With Juliet, the word flowed effortlessly from his lips. At first, he’d thought his mother had planted the fool notion in his head. She’d surprised him that day in the breakfast parlor. He’d opened his mouth to inform her he would no longer entertain her matchmaking attempts, but she’d announced she no longer felt her services were needed on that particular subject now that he’d found love.

  Love. He’d thought his mother quite mad, but now, he was no longer so certain.

  The more he thought about Juliet, the more he found the word suited her.

  “You’re not paying attention,” Juliet’s scold shattered his thoughts.

  Carrick lifted an eyebrow. They lay in her bed with the early afternoon sun slanting through her bedroom window. Of late, they’d taken to playing cards and wagering articles of clothing, but he’d yet to win. Today would certainly be no different. He had only his shirt left while Juliet had only lost her under drawers.

  He grinned. On the angle in which he lay, he had a fine view of her white thighs.

  “Focus, Carrick.” Juliet laughed, even as she opened her legs to provide him an even more distracting view.

  Indeed, how could he focus on the cards? She had his full attention.

  “It’s time to show your hand,” she said.

  He lay his cards face up on the bed. Three jacks and a deuce.

  Juliet snorted and tilted the cards in her slim fingers. Queens. Four of them. It was the third time he’d seen them that round.

  “You’re cheating,” he said.

  “Am I?”

  She said the words with such confidence that he momentarily wondered if he’d erred. “Well, aren’t you?”

  “You’re asking? Then you can’t prove a thing.” She giggled.

  He rolled his eyes. How could a man concentrate on anything save her luscious body? He should have known never to second guess himself.

  She dropped the cards on the bed and nodded at his shirt. “Take it off.”

  Och. As usual, he was the first one naked…but not for long.

  As he unfastened his buttons, she rose from the bed and lifted the lid of her sewing basket, which rested on the bedside table. She pulled his cravat from the basket, turned back to him and ordered, “Lay back and close your eyes.”

  He lifted a brow but obeyed, his cock hardening even more. “As you wish, my love.”

  There it was again. Love.

  Juliet didn’t seem to notice. She laughed and hurried around to his side of the bed, then leaned over and tied the cravat like a blindfold.

  Her breasts brushed his shoulder. He reached for the soft mounds, but she evaded his grasp. “Now, now, don’t move, Carrick. Not yet.”

  The perfume of her hair floated around him. She smelled like roses. The soft rustle of cloth told him she undressed. The thought only heightened his need.

  A delicate finger touched his shoulder then trailed down the center line of his chest and circled the base of his cock before she wrapped her small hands about his cock. He shuddered in anticipation, but then a thought crossed his mind.

  “Tell me, lass, did you have this in mind when you claimed my cravat at the Midnight Ball?”

  She gave a quiet laugh, then murmured in a low, sultry tone, “No. I intended to win the wager and be rid of you.”

  Her soft, wet lips closed over the tip of his cock as she drew several inches of his length into her mouth and began to suck.

  He groaned. “What a luscious mouth,” he gasped.

  Slowly, she licked the length of him, before once again arriving at the tip. He drew a sharp breath and fought for control, but to no avail. He pumped faster. Pleasure—need—rushed to the surface. He needed her. His breath hitched as his orgasm started to crest. God help him, she was merciless. Carrick yanked his member from her mouth and ripped the blindfold from his face.

  She knelt on the bed, naked. With a growl, he flipped her onto the mattress and mounted her. She arched into him and, to his surprise, within half a dozen strokes, she whimpered with pleasure. In seconds, his orgasm shuddered through him.

  Carrick threw back his head and filled her to the brim. As the last ripples of pleasure subsided, he slid aside and held her close. They lay, drowsy and sated.

  Never in his wildest dreams had he thought to find a woman who could match his passion stride for stride. Just as tantalizing, her mind was sharp.

  He had to do something about that damn contract, and soon. A year was not long enough.

  He needed Juliet to be his mistress—for a lifetime.

  Realization struck with an intensity that took his breath, then settled over him as natural as breathing. There was only one solution: he had to marry her.

  That presented a challenge. Not due to her lack of noble birth, but from her madam of a mother. Surely, he could find a way past that world-wise warden.

  Sleep blurred the edges of his consciousness. If anyone could help him dance through this mire of the heart, it would be Sir Stirling James.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Stirling entered Carrick’s library. “My dear fellow,” he boomed in a laughing voice as he strode through the door. “I have come to collect my prized stallion.”

  Carrick closed the book he’d been reading and rose from his desk. “I should have known you would come yourself. You’ve an uncanny talent for matchmaking. I should never have doubted you.”

  Both men laughed and clapped each other on the back.

  A maid entered carrying a silver tray with a decanter and two full glasses of claret. They settled comfortably in high-backed mahogany wing chairs near the window and the maid set the tray on the small rosewood table between them.

  Carrick took a glass and raised it in salute. “Something special I just received from France,” he said.

  Stirling picked up the remaining glass. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve found a solution for your problem, Carrick. Well, several solutions, as you have more than one problem.”

  His friend drained his claret and returned the empty glass to the tray. “France,” he said in a tone of finality. “It just so happens that Victor de Balzac, playwright extraordinaire, has had difficulties finding a passionate enough woman to, shall we say, satisfy his needs. I have discovered that Madam Aphrodite has always dreamt of living there as a woman of means...” He let his voice trail off.

  Carrick snorted. If Juliet’s mother was a tenth as passionate as her daughter, then Victor de Balzac would live the remainder of his life a very happy man. “What does Madam Aphrodite have to say about this?” he queried.

  “The deed is already done,” Stirling assured with a laugh. “They became besotted the moment they met. One of the best matches I’ve ever made. She’s off to France, though you have agreed to see her girls settled.”

  “How many dowries am I financing?” he asked dryly.

  “A small fortune.” Stirling offered a droll smile. “Count yourself lucky there is nothing your money will not buy.”

  Carrick shrugged. To secure Juliet’s hand in marriage, he would sign over his estate. The thought of spending nights carousing and gambling at card tables had lost all appeal.

  “When will you ask her?” Stirling asked.

  “Soon,” Carrick murmured.

  A smile played over his lips. The time had come to play another round of cards.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Queen of Hearts

  JULIET SMILED AT CATHERINE as the girl spun before the mirror.

  “You have such talent, Juliet,” Catherine cried, obviously thrilled to have returned from London to find yet another creation waiting in the sewing room, this one a blue-sprigged muslin day dress with green satin trim. “It’s beautiful. I’m not taking it off. I’m wearing it now. It’s beautiful.” />
  Juliet smiled as she removed the pins from her mouth and jammed them one-by-one into the pincushion resting beside her on the carpet.

  “I quite agree,” Carrick’s deep baritone approved from the doorway. “Join us for dinner, my dear.”

  Juliet glanced over her shoulder. He stood in the doorway, looking as handsome as ever in dark gray breeches.

  “Please, do come,” Catherine chimed in before skipping to her brother. She placed a kiss on his cheek, then hurried past him and disappeared down the hall.

  Carrick crossed to Juliet and extended a hand. She placed her fingers in his and he pulled her to her feet—then yanked her into his arms. “I agree with Catherine,” he said, holding her tightly. “Join us.”

  She suppressed a sigh. Now that the dowager and Catherine had returned, the parade of wife candidates would resume. The thought rankled more than ever.

  “I can’t, not when I have so much hemming to do.” She pulled his head down to hers and gave him a sound kiss, then twisted out of his arms.

  Carrick lunged for her, then straightened when his mother’s voice sounded in the hall. “Carrick? Carrick, my dear, the guests have arrived.”

  “Dinner. Please,” he whispered, catching her hand and planting a kiss on her fingertips.

  She shook her head.

  “Join me with the gentlemen at cards after dinner tonight in the study.” He pulled her into his arms again. “Afterwards, we shall enjoy more of this. Hmmm? I would see you wearing your mask and nothing else.”

  “Or your cravat?” She smiled up and fluttered her dark lashes. They had discovered many delightful uses for his cravats.

  “Yes.”

  “Carrick?” The dowager’s voice sounded much closer.

  “Damn.” He released her and hurried from the room.