Jesus, what was wrong with him? Was he depraved? He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. He needn’t seduce her. All that was required of him was an heir. A quick coupling and a spend. But he couldn’t stop. Didn’t, in fact, want to stop. For now, he was kissing her neck, nibbling at the sensitive cords where her pulse told him she was every bit as affected as he.
Some darkness inside him made him long to rattle her. No, he bloody well was not going to stop until he had her precisely where he wanted her. She could only hold on to her anger for so long. He knew how to dismantle any woman’s defenses. No one was immune. Not even the wife-turned-temptress in his arms.
He sucked her earlobe, found the hollow behind her ear with his tongue and tasted violets. She moaned his title. Pembroke. A sigh. A spurring plea. He’d never been so aroused by the sound of his name on a woman’s tongue.
“Yes, darling,” he murmured against her skin as he gave her little nips and soothing kisses. He caught her lace and silk skirts, dragging them upward. His hand traveled from the curve of her knee to the tie of her stockings, then higher. “I warned you to walk away, but you didn’t. Now you have to pay the price.”
He licked behind her ear again, the spot that was driving her mad, just as he nudged her thighs apart and found the slit of her drawers. Hot, slick flesh welcomed him in. He circled her pearl and worked the engorged nub gently at first and then with increasing pressure as she pressed into him.
She cried out. He slid a finger inside her. Ah, Christ. She was hot and tight, and suddenly he couldn’t be deep enough, couldn’t have as much as he needed. He had to taste her. He sank to his knees, holding the flounces of her skirt to her waist. For a moment, he took in her petite ankles and well-shaped calves encased in silk, and then he saw only the erotic sight of his hand disappearing in the opening of her drawers. He teased a second finger inside, curving it to intensify her pleasure.
“Hold your skirts,” he ordered her, not wanting to be encumbered by the heavy impediment. All of his focus, all of his energy was about to be devoted to one task: making her come. This was how he would win her. This was how he would break her.
“You must stop,” she protested, but her tone was weak and breathless, and she made no move to curtail him.
“I’m going to put my tongue on you, inside you.” He met her gaze, withdrawing his fingers almost completely before thrusting them back inside and wringing another moan from her, another buck of her hips. “Hold your bloody skirts, darling.”
Her eyes went wide. He’d shocked her with his boldness, but he’d also intrigued her. There was no mistaking it. Her hand fisted in her skirts, holding them in place. At last, he thought, his mind half mad with the urge to claim her. At last.
He withdrew from her long enough to unbutton the waistband of her drawers and yank them down over her hips. He guided her left knee over his shoulder, cupped the warm swell of her derriere, and sucked her into his mouth. She jerked, her skirts slipping down to rest on his head, but he didn’t mind. His tongue explored her, learning her. He ran it beneath her pearl and then gave her a gentle tug with his teeth. So sweet. Sweeter than honey. More. He wanted more.
He licked her seam and then pressed deeper, inside her. Wet. Divine. Delicious. This woman was his, his in a way no other in the world would ever be. His and he would prove it to her. He would brand her, take her higher than she’d dared to imagine. He replaced his tongue with his fingers and sucked her again. Her skirts fell over his head entirely, enveloping him in darkness, but it somehow only heightened his arousal. There was only her scent, earthy and floral, the secrets of her body to savor. She surrounded him. She consumed him.
Her orgasm was sudden and violent when it came. She shuddered, tightening on his fingers, her wetness dripping warmly down his hand. He didn’t stop licking, sucking, and thrusting, drawing out her spend, making it last as long as possible until she wilted against him. With shaking hands, he pulled her drawers back into place, re-buttoning them before he emerged from her skirts. He remained on his knees, his mouth slick with her essence, forcing her to meet his gaze.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, looking stricken, as though she couldn’t believe what she’d just allowed him to do to her. Her emerald eyes were wide. For the first time since his return, she was speechless. Very well. He collected the jagged ends of his thoughts—shattered by the sheer bliss of bringing her to her pinnacle—and forced them into a semblance of order.
“I won’t stop the next time, Victoria.” The words were torn from him, part promise, part warning. But she ought to know who he was. Let her not be fooled again. “I won’t stop until I have you beneath me, and I’m sliding my cock so deep inside you that you come undone a hundred times harder than you just did with my fingers and tongue.”
Her cheeks went crimson. Making a strangled sound, she spun on her heel and fled the chamber, the door slamming at her back.
Yes, he was depraved. Even more depraved than he’d ever supposed, for he was enjoying this game they played. But he would enjoy winning it even more.
Chapter Four
It seemed unseasonably warm as Victoria wandered about in the gardens, even for summer, sun beating upon the pathway she walked. The heady scent of roses in bloom wafted to her. She would, she thought with a touch of sadness, miss this vast estate and its old world beauty. But the time had come for her to leave.
She feared she could no longer remain at Carrington House as long as her husband insisted upon taking up residence there. Oh, the wicked things he had done to her body! She’d known he was a hedonist, but when he’d used his tongue on her, he had proven it tenfold. It had been sinful. Shameful.
Wonderful.
She’d thoroughly enjoyed every second of it, much to her eternal embarrassment. But Victoria considered herself a practical person, and there was no sense in denying the truth. She had liked what her husband had done to her. She’d reveled in it. If she gave him another opportunity, she very much doubted she’d be able to deny him what he’d promised to take.
All of her. She shivered now despite the heat of the day, recalling his words. I won’t stop the next time. Dear heavens, never mind that. She wouldn’t wish him to stop. Something had clearly addled her mind, but the part of her that was rational and reasonable still remained.
She didn’t want to give him the opportunity to cause her any further hurt and humiliation. She couldn’t trust him, no matter how effortlessly he had unlocked all the mysteries of her body, showing her what she enjoyed on an elemental level. No. She couldn’t allow him to make a fool of her again. If he didn’t wish to return to London, she would in his stead. It was decided, the servants already going about the task of packing for the trip.
The only glaring trouble with her resolution was that she had yet to inform Pembroke.
A heaviness settled in her heart as she paced. Carrington House’s elaborate gardens were one of the few things that had given her life as the Countess of Pembroke a sense of purpose. When she’d arrived, they had been dreadfully in need of care, despite the admirable work of the estate’s capable Head Gardener. His focus had been more put upon the fresh vegetables and fruits grown to be sent up to the London townhouse. She took great satisfaction in admiring the beauty produced by her efforts, but today those efforts were lost upon her.
The crunching of gravel startled her, interrupting her musings. She turned to see her husband round the bend, stalking in her direction. He wore trousers and a plain coat with no neckcloth, almost as though he hadn’t finished dressing. His expression was thunderous.
Oh dear. Perhaps he’d somehow caught wind of her plans.
He didn’t stop until he towered over her. His eyes snapped, his mouth flat with obvious displeasure. “Madam.”
“Good morning, Pembroke,” she greeted, wary. She’d been attempting to escape without his notice, without further opportunity for him to do as he’d threatened.
He sketched an abbreviated bow that seemed at odds with the tens
eness hovering in the air between them. “Would you care to explain why I’ve been informed that you are traveling to London?”
Her hopes sagged. “I haven’t the slightest notion why you were informed as I specifically directed the servants not to.”
He looked arrogant and sinfully handsome at the same time. “Why would you keep it from me?”
Victoria aimed her gaze at a safer point over his shoulder. He was too gorgeous to look at, and doing so would only melt her determination all the more. She couldn’t stop thinking about how that beautiful mouth had felt upon her most sensitive flesh, and no amount of perseverance and common sense appeared to lessen the effect he had on her.
She flushed. “I should think that’s obvious.”
He took her hands in his and she wished she’d worn gloves. She would have, but she’d thought she’d be alone and she couldn’t abide by standing on ceremony when no one else was about to judge her. The contact sent her mind spinning.
“Are you running from me?”
“Of course not,” she lied.
“Look at me.” He caught her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I was right yesterday, though you attempted to brazen it out. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be preposterous,” she snapped, irritated that he had chosen now of all times to become observant for the first time in their union. It was too late for him to be the husband she’d yearned for. Wasn’t it? Yes, of course it was.
“I don’t think I’m being preposterous,” he said slowly, his fingers still lingering on her face. His eyes searched hers. He leaned into her, bending his head so that she was certain he would kiss her. “Not at all.”
And then as if suddenly losing interest, he released her and stepped away, leaving Victoria bereft and disappointed on the path. Had she imagined the heat in his gaze, the suggestion in his touch? The cool man before her seemed very much at odds with the passionate rake who had yanked up her skirts and pleasured her against the wall of the music room.
“I understand you have taken our gardens here under your care,” he said, surprising her with his change of subject. “I must say, the transformations you’ve wrought are incredible.”
She hadn’t expected that he would care enough to ask the servants about her. She certainly hadn’t expected that he would praise her efforts. Warmth unfurled within her belly, in spite of herself. “Thank you.”
“I have it from the Head Gardener himself that you put an admirable amount of effort into restoring the grounds to their former splendor.” His back was to her as he sniffed a luscious red bloom. “I expect the gardens hadn’t been properly looked after since the times of the Tudors at least.”
He turned to face her once more, a teasing grin on his lips, a rose in his hand. She wondered how he’d picked it without being pricked by a thorn. But then, he was Pembroke, beautiful and sleek and rife with charm. If anyone could fall into a rosebush without getting a single scratch, it would be him.
“Not the Tudors, I’m sure,” she murmured, nervous to be at the center of his attention and compliments. Wasn’t this precisely what she’d sought to avoid?
“Perhaps I exaggerate.” He winked and closed the distance between them, holding the rose for her to smell.
She inhaled deeply of its glorious scent, never removing her gaze from his. “Roses possess the loveliest aroma, do you not think?”
“Not the loveliest.” His expression sobered. “I prefer your scent.”
Her heart took up a gallop. He had noticed her scent? Or was he merely continuing his aggressive campaign of wooing her? She decided to put him to the test. She was no longer as easily won as she once was. He’d seen to that himself.
“And what is my scent?”
“Orris root,” he answered without hesitation. He dragged the silken petals of the rose down her bare throat. “I never realized before just how desirable I find it.”
He’d known. She licked her suddenly dry lips. He was doing wicked things to her senses, making her want what she’d be better off not wanting. “Desirable?”
He nodded. “Almost as desirable as you.”
His mouth brushed hers ever so softly, his lower lip slipping between hers. Just a whisper of touch, and yet it held so much fiery promise. This was different than the kisses they’d shared before. This kiss gave more than it took.
He caught her full upper lip between his teeth. She sighed and the kiss deepened, his tongue slipping inside to tease hers. He smelled like rich shaving soap. She locked her arms around his neck, leaning into his hard frame. It didn’t seem fair that he could weaken her resolve with a few kind words and a kiss, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Pembroke tore his lips from hers. “I don’t want you to leave, Victoria,” he murmured.
“I didn’t want you to leave either,” she reminded him, her voice breathless. “But you did.”
“I’m here now.” He gave her another slow, maddening kiss, his tongue dipping into her mouth and then retreating when she longed for more. “Come, let’s go for a walk and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
She accepted the arm he proffered, and they began a leisurely stroll. It occurred to her that he was leading her farther away from the main house, out of sight of prying eyes. Pembroke hadn’t walked with her like this since the days of their courtship, and it sent a wave of bittersweet nostalgia over her.
She cast him a sidelong glance. “I haven’t been on a stroll about the gardens with a man in quite some time.”
“I daresay.” He cleared his throat, looking pensive. “I must thank you for the work you’ve done here in my absence, Victoria. I understand you’ve done a great deal more than just oversee the gardens. I’m afraid I’ve often been remiss in all my duties, not just one.”
She had, and she was quite stunned he would even bother himself to find out what she’d done at Carrington House over the last few months. She nodded to stanch the flow of pleasure surging through her. He could tempt her with persuasive kisses and with flattery both, but five months of abandonment hardened a woman’s resolve as few other things could.
“Thank you, my lord. My mother saw to it that I had a fair head for running a smooth household. Keeping ledgers has always been an odd hobby of mine anyway.”
“Nevertheless, you needn’t have. I didn’t expect it of you.”
His gratitude left her bemused. She’d expected to encounter the brazen seducer or the arrogant lord. But he was ever a man of many faces. She didn’t know what to do with a Pembroke who wasn’t disappearing and causing scandal. A Pembroke who was admiring and appreciative. A Pembroke who somehow wanted to win her back. Heavens, was that even possible? She couldn’t think it. Wouldn’t think it. The warmth of the sun had invaded her mind.
“I am your wife,” she said simply. “It was my duty.”
“Ah, but I did not do my duty to you.”
She stopped and relinquished his arm, facing him again. Victoria had suffered far too much at his hands to pretend she hadn’t. “No,” she agreed quietly, “you did not.”
His expression turned wry. “I have been thinking of how I can make amends.”
“I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault,” she said, taking pity on him a bit. “You didn’t want a wife.”
“It is true that my father forced my hand, but I begin to find I rather like having a wife.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t go to London. Stay here with me. Carrington House needs you.”
Carrington House, he’d said, but not him. The omission was glaring. “I’ve drafted a list of changes that need to be made here. It’s with the estate ledgers. You may feel free to use it.”
“I don’t want a list,” he murmured, his tone low and intimate, sending warmth through her. “I want you. Tell me, what can be on this list of yours?”
She fought to keep her composure. “I recommend a raise for loyal retainers. It’s difficult indeed to keep good servants these days.”
He lowered his head, his l
ips exceedingly near to hers. “What else?”
She wanted him to kiss her but she forced herself to think. “The roof in the east wing has been leaking for some time. Funds need to be allocated for its repair, for if you don’t act soon, I fear the roof will be in danger of collapse. I understand the east wing is the original manor house, dating back several centuries. It ought to be saved.”
“Indeed?” His mouth remained distractingly close.
Her passion had become the historic, imposing, and awe-inspiring Carrington House. She’d made it her business to learn all of its shortcomings, all of its failures and weaknesses, all of its scars and wounds in need of mending. She was good at mending, figuratively speaking. In her family, she was the peacekeeper amongst her sisters.
“It is your family’s history, my lord, not mine,” she said, trying not to notice the proximity of his mouth to hers. “Were I you, I’d make more of an effort to preserve it. I realize there’s an expense, but surely we can find the means.”
“Surely.”
“I do think you’ve stopped listening to me.” She frowned.
“Of course I’m listening, darling. Do go on. What other ideas have you?” His tongue swept over her lower lip, tasting her as if she were a sugary treat. Something to be savored.
Dear heavens. Her mind went suddenly blank save for the need to feel his mouth upon hers.
“I can’t recall,” she admitted on a whisper.
“You see?” He grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “You must stay. What if I’ve questions about your list? What if you think of more changes to add to it? What if I want to ravish you again in the music room?”
His wicked question sent heat traveling through her, an answering pulse between her thighs. He was very good at destroying her defenses. Very good indeed. She hesitated, knowing that if she gave in to him it could well prove her undoing. But when she tried to muster the bitterness that had so long been her steadfast companion, she found it oddly absent.
Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues Page 32