His words trickled into her consciousness, rending the sensual haze of his caresses. Drat him for saying such things now, when it was too late! How dared he maintain the pretense, thinking he could make it all right with a few kisses and sweet words?
She wriggled out of his too tempting arms and turned to face him, eyes blazing. “Yes, ‘Morgan’ was a fool. You’re right about that. And it cost him his chance with me.”
The sheer force of his will glimmered in his midnight black eyes. “But it won’t cost me my chance.” He reached for her. “I won’t allow it.”
“A pox on you, Sebastian—”
He stopped her with a raw, needy kiss, his hands gripping her arms to hold her still. Angry resentment pounded through her, but though she fisted her hands against his chest and tried to shove him away, he didn’t let go. He just kept his clever mouth on hers, wearing down her resistance, twisting her fury into something more fiery, more dangerous. By the time he backed her against the marble pedestal and deepened the kiss, she’d completely forgotten why she shouldn’t let him.
So of course, the devil took full advantage. With a groan, he drove his tongue into her mouth, demanding a response. And he got one, too. She clung to his lapels like a woman drowning in treacherous waters. The marble edge of the pedestal dug into her back, yet all she felt was his hungry mouth feeding on hers.
When he had her weak-kneed and limp, he drew back. Watery sunlight filtered down from the glass ceiling to light his yearning expression. Tugging loose the fichu tucked into her bodice, he tossed it beyond her reach when she made a grab for it. “Admit that you want me, sweeting. Or you’ll force me to take extreme measures.”
A thrill coursed through her. “Like what?”
His eyes darkened. “Like this.” He skimmed his knuckles lightly over the swells of her breasts, then had the audacity to dip one finger beneath the bodice to graze her nipple, back and forth until it grew tight and hard.
“Stop that!”
“Not until you confess. You have two choices—tell me you despise me or admit that you want me. Either choice will gain you your freedom. Otherwise…”
“O-otherwise?” she stammered, intrigued despite her better judgment.
“More extreme measures, of course.” Flashing her a dark smile, he reached behind her to remove the potted begonia from the wide marble pedestal. Like an idiot, she just gaped at him as he set it on the floor. Then with no more warning than that, he straightened and lifted her onto the marble.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, taken by surprise. There was probably dirt on top of this thing, and bugs and—
He pressed into the gap he’d created between her legs, opening them so he could lean into her and pin her skirts to the marble. Within seconds, he had her trapped. “I’m putting you on a pedestal, Aphrodite. Where every goddess belongs.”
“I am not a goddess, drat it!” She shoved at his chest, but it was as unyielding as it was infernally broad. “If I were, I’d already have had my minions banish you to the underworld, where you belong!”
With an outrageous grin, he reached behind her to unclasp her gown’s top button. “You can’t. I’m Hephaestus, remember? Goddesses can’t banish gods to the underworld.”
“Sebastian, desist at once!” she protested, grabbing hold of his arms. But among the many traits he had in common with that blasted smithy god was strength and nimble fingers. She felt her gown give way a little even as she pushed at his too brawny arms.
He paused in unbuttoning her gown to smile roguishly. “Tell me you want me.”
She tipped up her chin. “No.” Because if she did, he’d most certainly press his advantage. Besides, he was only bluffing. At heart, Sebastian was a gentleman. He wouldn’t actually do anything truly wicked to her, would he?
Another button came loose.
Perhaps he would, after all.
“Come now, sweeting,” he prodded. “It’s just four words. ‘I want you, Sebastian.’ Very simple. And you know it’s true.”
“It is not!” she protested.
“Stubborn minx.” He slid her gown off her shoulders.
This called for different tactics. “I thought you were supposed to be the responsible twin, the one who restored Charnwood on his own, the one who looks after old women and rascal brothers—”
His mouth closed over hers, wild and angry now. He kissed her until her head reeled, and when he drew back, she gazed at him through slumberous eyes. It took several moments for her to clear the cobwebs from her brain, but when she did, it was to find him untying her chemise.
His fierce gaze swept her face. “I’m tired of being the responsible twin. What has it gained me? A monk’s life in a mansion full of servants who fear me. And the one woman I desire won’t admit she desires me unless I prove as much a rascal as Morgan. Very well, if it’s the reckless adventurer you want, then by thunder, you’ll have him.”
Suddenly, he pulled the edge of her gown and chemise down enough for one breast to spring free, then bent to flick his tongue over her nipple.
She gaped at him in pure disbelief. “That is not…proper,” she choked out.
He chuckled. “No. And neither is this.” Then his mouth closed around her breast.
“Oh…my…word…” she whispered as he began to suck and tease and do the most amazing things to her nipple with his tongue. “Goodness gracious…you shouldn’t…you mustn’t…have you lost your mind?”
He tore his mouth free long enough to grin up at her. “Absolutely. I’m operating purely on instinct now. You should try it.”
She didn’t dare, not when instinct produced such tempting sensations. She gathered breath to protest, but it was too late. His mouth had returned to caressing her naked breast in the most delightful fashion.
Hardly daring to move, she stared down at the unreal image of his head at her breast. All her half protests died in her throat. He looked so very blissful with his eyes closed as he sucked and tongued her flesh. How intimate this was, as intimate as she’d wanted him to be two years ago. And much more exciting than she’d imagined in her vague and formless dreams.
While she watched in utter fascination, he slid his hand inside her chemise to free her other breast, then fondled it shamelessly, rolling the nipple gently between his fingers as his teeth tugged at the other. A thrill of expectation coursed right down to her belly, startling an ache between her legs.
He straightened to stare at her, his free hand taking over for his mouth on her breast. “Morgan may have been the reckless one, but I’ll wager he never did this, never touched you like this.”
“You know he didn’t,” she breathed.
“He was a fool. To have a goddess in his hands and throw her away…an utter fool.”
She tried to summon up her earlier anger at him, but the regret in his words was so palpable, so genuine that she couldn’t.
“I’ll make you forget what happened back then, sweeting,” he whispered. “I’ll make you admit that it’s me you want. Me, Sebastian.”
Poor man. Couldn’t he see that she wanted both? God help her, but she was just that greedy. She wanted the dependable Lord Templemore and the reckless Morgan who’d carried her off.
Despite Morgan’s actions. Despite Sebastian’s lies.
“Because God knows I want you,” he added.
Was that all a lie, too? “Why? Why do you want me?”
“Because you’re soft. And sweet.” He bent to skim his open mouth along her jaw. “You make me forget I’m supposed to be responsible and respectable.” One of his hands left her breast to drag her skirt and petticoat up her leg. “Because when there’s nothing but winter all around, with you it’s always spring.” His hand swept her thigh, and she quivered everywhere he touched.
“Oh, you are…much too good at this,” she murmured as his lips brushed kisses over her cheek.
“At what? The compliments? Or the touching and kissing?”
“All of it.”
>
“Better than Morgan?” He nuzzled her ear.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, to provoke him.
She should have known better; he only took it as a challenge. His hand at her thigh slid over her drawers and then inside the slit. “Ah, but I’m not done, sweeting.” His thumb sank into her private nest of hair, searching out a secret place that he rubbed, making her jerk upright on the pedestal.
“Goodness gracious, Sebastian!” She’d never felt anything so shocking in all her life! She grabbed his forearm in a vain attempt to halt his caresses. “I may be naive, but I know you aren’t supposed to do that.”
The clever scoundrel had the audacity to smile, then thumb her again, wringing a sigh from her. “Tell me you want me, sweeting. Say the words, and I’ll stop.”
She didn’t want him to stop. Indeed, her hand dug into his forearm, keeping him there. Oh, she was wicked, so very wicked.
His smile widened. “You like that, don’t you. No point in denying it.”
As if she could. One hand teased her breast, the other inside her drawers made her insane…what was there to deny? He stared down at her, his muscles taut as he searched her face. “Oh yes, you like it. I can feel that you do. You’re so warm and wet, my naughty goddess.”
Wet? How did he know about…Oh, of course he knew. His thumb pressed against the very intimate place where she felt slick and hot and eager. Then suddenly, it wasn’t just his thumb stroking her, but his finger, and it was sliding up inside her…
“Dear me…” she moaned. “What in creation do you think you’re doing?”
“You don’t like it?” He stroked deeply, making her quake and quiver.
Of course she liked it. “I shouldn’t like it.”
“I don’t know why the devil not,” he growled. “God knows I do.”
Then he was kissing her…long, drugging kisses. His finger delved inside her in the most astonishing manner, in and out, while his thumb played over some tight nodule of flesh she’d never even known was there. Certainly she’d never known that any part of her could feel like that.
He dragged his lips from hers to murmur, “Am I reckless enough for you?”
“Yes, oh yes…”
His hand on her breast caressed her with a fine precision. He was working her, molding her, and shaping her with such exquisite care that she began to lose all sense of time and self. She knew only the reality of his finger inside her, of his hands awakening her skin to hitherto unknown delights.
“Is it Morgan you’re thinking of?” he demanded.
She couldn’t speak, could only shake her head no.
“Who is it you want, sweeting? Say it, damn you!”
She keened his name, low and urgent, over and over until he smothered her mouth triumphantly with a kiss.
Then he worked her in earnest, coaxing from her body some hidden wildness she’d kept secret even from herself. Like a god, he breathed life into her body, an act of creation so delicious that she leaped to be clay in his hands. Soon her own hands crawled up his sleeves to clutch his shoulders, and her hips undulated against his fingers with a nameless wanting that was building, building…
“Yes,” he rasped, “reach for it, my Aphrodite…reach…”
That’s when she shattered, so utterly and delightfully that her cry echoed off the glass ceiling above and the brick walls surrounding them.
“Dear me, Sebastian…” she breathed as her body throbbed with the most luxurious enjoyment she’d ever known.
Then she sank into a blissful torpor, oblivious to everything but the lingering pleasure of his hands still touching her. What had he done to her? How he had done it? And when would he do it again?
That truly was a scandalous thought.
He withdrew his hand from between her legs and lowered her skirts, though the one fondling her breast continued the motion. Her breathing slowed, but his seemed to quicken as he feathered kisses along her cheekbone.
“You liked that, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes.” She could hardly deny it. He’d have to be blind and deaf not to know.
“And just so you won’t lie about it ever again, I want the words. Admit that I gave you pleasure, that I—not Morgan—managed it. I deserve to hear the words.”
It was such a typically arrogant statement, the kind that only Sebastian would make. “Why, so you can control me as you control everybody else in your dominion?”
Drawing back, he gave a wry laugh. “I only wish I could. But I can’t even control myself when I’m around you—how in God’s name do you think I could control you?” He grabbed her hand and flattened it on the fall of his trousers.
The firm bulge inside leaped under her touch, making her gaze at him wide-eyed.
“You see?” he said hoarsely. “My poor John Thomas has been uncontrollable ever since you showed up here.”
“Your…John Thomas?”
“This, sweeting, this.” His hand pressed her fingers around the hard ridge. “The sign that a man wants you.”
He released her, but curiosity kept her from taking back her hand. So this was a man’s “thing.” She would never have guessed that mere flesh could get so firm. And it seemed awfully large for something meant to lie between a man’s legs.
When she swept her fingers along it, exploring him as he’d done to her, he groaned and pushed himself into her hand. “Yes, like that…yes. Touch me. I’ve imagined you touching me for years.”
“Have you?” she said coyly and stroked him again. It was nice to have power over him for once.
Then slowly his words sank in. Her heart began to pound. “For years?” she prodded, though she continued to stroke him. “Years, Sebastian?”
His eyes were shut, his expression rapt. “Since the day I…first saw you in that theater.”
The first time they’d met had been at the theater in Stratford.
As victory swelled through her blood, she broke into a smile. “Oh, Sebastian, I’ve got you at last.”
Chapter 12
A guilty conscience needs no accuser.
English proverb written on a list once mounted on the Templemore schoolroom wall
S ebastian’s eyes shot open when he heard the peculiar note of triumph in Juliet’s voice. His cock was still in her hand, and at first he thought that’s what she meant.
Then the fever in his blood cooled, he saw her exultant look, and it dawned on him what he’d said. About the theater.
“You can’t deny it now,” she said. Drawing back her hand, she smiled with feminine glee. “You can’t.”
A cold reality washed over him that froze his ardor as surely as if she’d doused him in snow. She knew. She really knew.
And he’d accused her family of being oblivious to her abilities! She was far more sly and disarming than he’d given her credit for. All these little games and lessons…they hadn’t been about attraction, not for her. The devious baggage had been setting traps, waiting for him to step into one and hang himself.
And he’d played right into her hands. Why hadn’t he seen what she was about until now? What had blinded him?
His own hubris, that’s what. And the needs of his deuced John Thomas, the same thing that had proved his father’s downfall. By thunder, it would not prove his.
“What are you talking about?” he said to buy himself time while he searched for how to cover his blunder. “Deny what?”
Her eyes gleamed. “You can’t play dumb this time, you rogue. You know what. You’ve only seen me in a theater once in your life.”
Her mention of the theater sparked the solution to his blunder. He nearly sagged against the table with relief. “Yes, that’s true. But I didn’t know you saw me.”
Her giddy smile faded. “What? Of course I saw you. That’s when we met, when we talked about the play and—”
“Talked about the play?” He forced himself to speak the words he knew would infuriate her. “We never spoke. I saw you from afar two years ago when we
were both in London. We didn’t meet, but I saw you from my box. You wouldn’t remember it, of course, and indeed I hadn’t remembered it either until today but—”
“You…you…” she sputtered. “How dare you?” She shoved him hard, and instinctively he backed away to let her leap down from the pedestal. With alarming frenzy, she fastened her chemise, then began struggling with the buttons of her gown. “You don’t intend to claim…surely after this you can’t still—” She glanced up at him, eyes bleak with hurt. “How could you? How could you stand here kissing me and touching me, then turn around and lie to my face when…”
She trailed off, her breath coming in great tearful gasps that drove out all his own anger. He could handle her fury at being thwarted in her aims.
But to see her wounded feelings—oh Christ, that cut him to the soul.
Still, he couldn’t take back the words. He didn’t dare bring out into the open the reality of what they’d been to each other before. Because once he did, everything would change, and he couldn’t predict how.
The likelihood that knowing the truth would provoke her to vengeance seemed more real now than it had scant moments ago. He’d thought she was warming to him. Now he knew this had been a ploy to make him lower his guard and reveal himself. She could have only one reason for such measures—revenge.
He’d underestimated her before. He wouldn’t do it again. “I don’t…know what you’re talking about.” Every word was wrenched from somewhere inside his gut.
The most painful irony was that he was telling the truth about the theater. He had seen her in London two years ago, after the kidnapping, wanting to assure himself that she was well. Or so he’d told himself. What he’d wanted was a glimpse of her, any glimpse at all, no matter how imperfect.
Filled with regret for what might have been, he’d lurked in a private box and watched a succession of young idiots approach her seeking introductions, all of whom he’d wanted to strangle for being able to speak to her and flirt with her when he couldn’t, when he dared not.
After the Abduction Page 17