To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “Pity.” She rubbed a palm down her skirt to wipe away the dampness, but she couldn’t miss the way his gaze followed the motion, nor the way his eyes darkened. “Then you can’t explain to me about the orgies.”

  He choked on his wine, coughing and spluttering for a good minute before he collected himself. “What do you know of orgies?”

  “Nothing, beyond the fact that the Romans indulged in them, and they’re apparently too scandalous for anyone to give me the details when I ask.”

  He took a longer draught of wine, no doubt to soothe his throat. “How did you even hear of them?”

  “Snowley borrowed a book from another boy when we were younger. I tried to sneak a look at it, but he caught me before I got to the interesting parts. He must have given it back, because I never caught another glimpse of it.”

  “Wyvern may have had that same book in his library,” Adrian muttered.

  “Really?” She pushed herself onto an elbow, body inclined toward his. “Then you can tell me.”

  His grin all but proclaimed he had a secret, an intriguing one he wasn’t about to divulge. “I saw enough to know it wasn’t appropriate for your eyes at all.”

  “Then why were you and Snowley allowed to read it?”

  “I cannot answer for Snowley, but I wasn’t exactly supposed to be looking at those sorts of books.”

  “Snowley isn’t much older than I am, though.” For the moment, her indignation at life’s inequities eclipsed everything else. “Why does society think young men should satisfy their curiosity when young ladies remain ignorant?”

  “Someone has to know what he’s doing.”

  “But Snowley…No, never mind.” Enough already. They could be doing so many more interesting things. “I didn’t come here to talk about my cousin.”

  “Thank God for that.” He picked a plum off the cloth and bit into it. Juice burst from the fruit to run down his chin. “I didn’t come here to think of anyone else but you.” He tossed the fruit aside and pulled her into his arms, lips ravenous on hers, his tongue tangy and sweet with the taste of plum. All too soon, he broke off to lean his forehead against hers. “I want to learn all there is to know about you. What makes you sigh. What makes you scream.”

  Caro’s hands had somehow found their way to his collar. With a forefinger, she traced the circle of a button. “I wonder if you’d indulge me.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

  “Ever since that day I saw you digging, I’ve wanted to see you again without your shirt.” She pushed the fastening through the thread loop, and the well-worn cotton spread under her fingertips to reveal warm, golden skin. “Up close where I can touch.”

  “By all means.” He sat back on his heels, shrugged off his jacket, and pulled his shirt over his head.

  Caro gasped. Though she’d seen this broad expanse of muscle before, she hadn’t been near enough to experience the texture of the dusting of hair over his flesh. The scent of leather and saddle soap radiated from him, the odors familiar and comforting, yet arousing.

  She flattened her palms on his shoulders and pressed downward, fascinated by the trails her fingers left in his coarse hair. The hiss of his indrawn breath provoked an echoing throb deep in her midsection. “I can discover what you like, too.”

  “Anything you want.” His words were as taut as the flesh beneath her touch. “I’ll like it because it’s you.”

  The comment ignited an odd swirl of emotion, shyness and boldness vying for mastery. Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, she flattened her palms and traced a new pattern. Her hands roved over the contrasts of him—firm muscle, smooth skin, rough beard stubble, that one velvety spot where his pulse raced.

  With every sweep, his breathing harshened. Pleasure. She was bringing him pleasure as he’d done for her the last time they’d been in the folly. That thought served up a sharp recollection of his lips tracing down her neck, his hand cradling her breast, the way that action made her melt and ache. The way mere memory made her turn liquid and languid once more. She pressed her open mouth to the base of his throat.

  He groaned, and his hands clenched at her waist. “Ah, aye, that’s good. It’s very good, but do you know what would feel better?”

  “No.”

  “Your skin against mine.”

  Yes.

  Already his fingers grappled with the buttons down the front of her spencer jacket, parting the velvet, seeking the fastenings of the underdress. She eased out of the sleeves and let the garment drop. Before long, her stays fell loose, and he pushed them toward her waist, along with the bodice of her chemise.

  Cool air flowed over her bared flesh, and her nipples tightened. He cupped her breast as if testing its weight before drawing his fingers over the hardened tip. Then he gathered her close, the hair on his chest teasing her sensitive nipples, the heat of his body enveloping her. His fingers splayed across her shoulder blades, as he crushed her to him.

  Answering sparks ignited inside her, roaring into flame. God, she could live like this, clasped to him, his heartbeat drumming in her ears, wanting to melt into him, become one with him, his solidity becoming her strength. She’d never want for a thing.

  His lips found the racing pulse just below her ear and blazed a trail of kisses downward. She guessed where he was headed, and her breasts seemed to swell in anticipation of his tongue. His teeth.

  Her hands tangled in his hair as he drew on one aching tip, slowly guiding her back until she lay spread out before him like their abandoned picnic. Too soon, he raised his head and plucked a raspberry from the basket. “I knew these reminded me of something.”

  He held the deep red fruit between his teeth and leaned forward to offer it to her. When she parted her lips for him, he thrust the berry in with his tongue. The juice burst in her mouth.

  “Is it sweet?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Not as sweet as this.” His tongue circled first one nipple then the other. At the same time, his hands busied themselves with tracing down her thighs, pushing away her heavy trailing skirts, and seeking beneath her chemise. “Not as sweet as other places,” her murmured into her skin.

  Other places. Other places on her demanded attention, certainly. They tingled with needs, those secret, inaccessible places, but he couldn’t possibly mean to taste there. Could he?

  She edged onto her elbows, to find him studying her.

  “Wyvern’s book was illustrated.”

  She shook her head to clear some of the fog of desire. Why in heaven’s name was he going on about a book at a time like this?

  “It opened my eyes to all sorts of carnal possibilities.” With every syllable his hand inched higher until his fingers hovered at the juncture of her thighs. Close but not close enough.

  She wanted him there. Indeed, her body demanded that he act on the forbidden images he’d conjured in her mind. That he fulfill the possibility behind his words to the least scintilla.

  Now.

  She edged her knees apart.

  A wicked, wicked grin spread from cheek to cheek until the corners of his eyes crinkled. From now on, whenever anyone voiced the word promise in her hearing, she would call his expression from her memory and float for a moment or two.

  His palm slipped to the side to cover her with its heat. His fingers curled into her, parting her folds, spreading her to his gaze. With a muttered curse, he pushed inside.

  Inside. Part of her. Yes. Her spine curved, hips tilting upward in wanton offering. Begging for more. For there was more. Far deeper than the experience of her waking mind, her body knew and reacted.

  Tightened. Yearned.

  He withdrew, and she tried to catch him, but then his thumb grazed a particular spot that sent darts of heated joy galloping through her veins. Lord, yes.

  Friction. She needed friction. And he supplied it, his index finger moving in and out, his thumb circling, spreading dampness from within her, until she thought she’d go mad.

&nb
sp; Then he dipped his head for a taste. The hot brand of his tongue replaced his thumb, lapping at her like a cat before a bowl of cream.

  “Ahhhhh!”

  “Like that, do you?”

  She tangled her hands in his hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  He complied, redoubling his efforts, the rhythm frenzied. Every swipe of his tongue, every firm thrust of his fingers drove her higher. Her thigh muscles bunched and quivered. Like a horse rushing a jump, her body gathered itself.

  In the next moment, she was pulsing and soaring, the exhilaration akin to that instant of weightlessness when she cleared a five-foot fence, but magnified a thousand times. Ten thousand. And it went on and on. Oh, how it lasted.

  —

  Adrian sat back on his heels and pushed the stray strands of hair out of her flushed face. He should stop now that he’d brought her to crisis. But that glorious, shattering climax was the problem.

  Caro was magnificent with her hair coming down, her cheeks flushed, her legs splayed, her breasts quivering with every breath. Her body fairly invited him to become part of that beauty. To join with her, as one.

  And his body demanded its due.

  Still, he steeled himself to set desire aside until he could assuage it through his own, though less satisfying, means.

  Fingers strengthened by years controlling the reins wrapped about his wrist. “No.”

  Lord, could she read his mind? “No what?”

  She blinked up at him, the haze of passion faded from her eyes. “I’m not letting you walk away without taking your share of the pleasure.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from tracing the contour of her cheek, her jaw, her plump lower lip. “You don’t think I enjoyed watching you?”

  “I may not have experience in these matters, but even I know it can’t be the same—the watching and the feeling.” Her hand strayed to the front of his breeches, and her fingers curled about the hard ridge of his erection. “At least show me how to do the same for you.”

  Unable to suppress a groan, he reached for the buttons at his falls. Her hands, unpracticed though they were, would still ease the ache in his groin far better than his own.

  His cock sprang free, but before she could touch him, he took himself in a smooth, slow stroke. Her outstretched fingers coiled into a fist, and she watched his movement, up and down, with round eyes. He could almost see the mental calculation—she was working out how her body was supposed to accommodate his size.

  Part of him asked the same question, for he’d experienced the velvet grip of her sheath about his finger. Wet but impossibly tight. The mere thought of her body’s intimate embrace made his bollocks tighten.

  Yes, go with it.

  Her hand closed about his. “What are you imagining?”

  “You. Surrounding me. Taking me in.” Welcoming me home.

  “I still could.” Her thumb traced across the tip of his cock, spreading moisture.

  “It’s too dangerous.” Despite the admonition, his fist slowed.

  Again, that devious thumb circled, eliciting a deep shiver of need. “We’re here to indulge our wants. You said it yourself.”

  He forced his fist to loosen its hold. “And if my desires mean you find yourself increasing, what will you do?”

  She replaced his hand with hers, her fingers soft like a gentlewoman, but strong like a rider. That unique contrast was all Caro, and it pushed him closer to the edge. “A mare does not necessarily come into foal every time she’s covered.”

  The truth of that statement, combined with his rampant desire, nearly squashed his conscience. But he fortified himself. “You’d compare yourself to a broodmare? As if I’d ever treat you that way?”

  She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, sweet and soft and strong as her hand on his shaft. “That is exactly why I want to do this with you and no one else.”

  Oh God. He’d never have expected this kind of gentle persuasion from her, but it was just the right tactic to chip away at his will to resist. “I…If I don’t spill inside you…” He’d try his damnedest not to, at any rate.

  Capturing her lips, he pressed her back. They fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs and skirts, but he somehow managed to kick free of his breeches. He landed in the cradle of her hips, perfectly aligned. Though his cock throbbed, eager for the haven of her body, he collected his passion for an instant and laid a palm to her cheek. “It may hurt at first.”

  “I promise not to swoon.”

  Her response provoked an unexpected bark of laughter that pushed their lower bodies together. He surged against her entrance, sliding through heated dampness in a foretaste of paradise.

  Reaching between them, he positioned himself and eased forward. With aching slowness, her flesh yielded to his, in and in, inch by inch. He made himself focus on her expression for the least sign of discomfort, but she betrayed nothing. Her inner muscles gave way before his invasion, yet once he slipped past, gripped him strong as a vise and soft as silk.

  And not once did she flinch.

  Shaking with the effort, he paused, but she wrapped her thighs about his flanks. “There’s more to it, isn’t there? Show me.”

  And so he thrust, and she gasped—not in pain, but in pleasure, for her back arched and her hips rose to meet him.

  “More,” she demanded.

  And so he complied, rising on his elbows to take her deeper.

  Deeper.

  He let his gaze travel over her face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the way her eyelids fluttered in bliss, the smile that melted into sighs. He’d once thought of her as a rose, but beneath the delicate beauty, she was as tough as thorns. Harsh puffs of air emerged from between those parted lips in a steady rhythm.

  She arched beneath him, her breasts bobbing in time to his thrusts. Pleasure suffused her entire being.

  Mine.

  He could no longer push that thought aside. It reared up from some private place deep inside him. He watched his cock disappear between her legs, a slow, easy slide into the hot grip of her body.

  One. They were one. One flesh. That was what the Bible termed it. Watching now, he understood what that meant with greater clarity than he’d ever dreamed. Lovemaking with any other woman had never been like this. It would never be like this again. He had to make the feeling last, to unravel their passion slowly, thread by fragile thread.

  But already the base of his spine was burning. Damn it. Too soon, his crisis came to take him. In the nick of time, he left the haven of her body to spend on her thighs.

  —

  It took longer than it should have to clean themselves and set their clothes to rights. A wild exhilaration sang in Adrian’s blood, an electric energy that prodded him to stop what he was doing and kiss Caro at every opportunity, to apologize for hurting her, when she insisted he hadn’t. To regret not playing the gallant and bearing the brunt of the floor.

  “I should have taught you to ride,” he said.

  In the middle of collecting the remains of their picnic, she paused. Her hair fell in wild skeins over her shoulders. Good Lord, but dishevelment became her. “I already know how to ride.”

  “You’ve never ridden a man, though.” That, too, had come straight from his gut. He shouldn’t have taken her once. A second encounter was inviting disaster, but he couldn’t help himself.

  She contemplated him from beneath her fringe of lashes, while the last of the cheese dropped unheeded into the basket. Intrigued was the only apt descriptor for that expression, unless one wanted to add curious.

  And hungry.

  Yes.

  No. Damn his conscience, but it was right. The afternoon was waning, and they’d be missed at the manor.

  “Next time,” he promised, silently vowing to ensure there wouldn’t be a next time. Not only due to the danger of discovery but also the raw nature of his emotions. When he’d been buried deep inside her, something had changed. Something impossible that would only lead to hurt on both sides.


  She straightened and flattened her palms against his chest. “Why not now?”

  Do it.

  No. Gently, he held her at arm’s length. “Because,” he said carefully, “you have taken me from my duties enough for one day.”

  Her lips pulled into a hard line. “If that’s the way you feel about it…”

  Before he could stop her, she gathered her skirts and breezed out the door.

  Damn it all to hell. He sprang in pursuit, but a partially eaten plum reminded him his feet were still bare. He slipped, arms flailing, and landed unceremoniously on his rump, staring at his pair of boots lying abandoned by the entrance. On his arrival earlier, he’d removed them due to the stable muck on their soles, and now they mocked him.

  She was halfway to the manor before he spied her nipping into a side garden. He lengthened his stride, but so did she. By the time he was close enough to grab her wrist, they’d come to the front of the house.

  She glared at his fist encircling her arm. “Release me.”

  “Not until you let me explain.”

  She whirled, yanking at his grip, but something pulled her up short. Following the line of her sight, Adrian spotted a carriage sitting in the drive. A liveried footman jumped off the back to let the steps down.

  “You don’t think…” Caro ventured, her tone suddenly softer and naively hopeful. “That can’t be a member of the hunt coming back, can it?”

  “No.” He hated to disappoint her—again—but unfortunately he didn’t need the footman’s familiar gold livery to tell him who had just arrived. Despite the conspicuous lack of a crest, he recognized that conveyance. He’d spent enough long hours in his youth polishing the rich wood to a sparkle. More, he knew what its presence meant here and now.

  His past had just overtaken him.

  Chapter 25

  To judge by the sudden change in Adrian, the occupant of that carriage meant trouble. Adrian stood rooted to the spot, his entire being rigid. Ready to spring. If he were a dog, his hackles would be raised. Caro felt as much through the hold he maintained on her wrist, and her previous irritation with him evaporated into nothing.