Tia. The mere thought of her, her golden curls, tempting breasts and sweet violet scent, was enough to stiffen his cock. After all his years of staid living and doing penance for allowing his passionate nature to rule his head, it was too damn ironic that one woman could so easily undo him. She made him weak. Made him want what he ought not want. Made him hot with desire, eager to fall back into passion’s fiery grip.
Most definitely, he should be turning about at once and venturing back to the safe confines of his chamber. He could put his hand to work just as well and it would lead to a far more sensible outcome than tangling with Tia ever could. But it wouldn’t be even close to the same, and he knew it. Knowledge was a horrible thing at times, for he also knew which door belonged to her. And his feet were intent upon carrying him to it.
He reached the hall where Tia’s chamber was a mere few feet away. The creaking of a door stilled him. He snuffed the candle he’d been carrying just as an undeniably feminine form sailed into the hall, illuminated by the candle in her hand. The gas lamps had long since been turned out for the night, leaving the inhabitants of Penworth no better than their predecessors centuries before. Divested of its technologies, humanity was all the same, regardless of time.
Heath held his breath as the flickering glow bathed the woman’s face. She limped in his direction, oblivious to his presence. The moment recognition slid through him, an arrow of unadulterated lust shot straight through him. He swore he caught the faint scent of violets. Her hair was unbound, the golden curls she ordinarily wore elaborately styled hanging freely almost to her waist. He swallowed, wondering what it would be like to have her riding him, her hair a gilded curtain around him.
“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, thinking he must be beyond inebriated to be standing in the darkness, watching Lady Stokey as if he were a common thief waiting for the household to go to bed so he could pilfer the silver.
She stilled, apparently having heard his self-chastising. Hell. He’d supposed himself too far away for her to eavesdrop. She held the candle higher, peering in his direction. “Who’s there?”
Her taper cast a half-moon before him. It stopped just short of revealing him. He debated the wisdom of stepping forward, entering the light. If he had a modicum of sense, he’d spin on his heel and disappear into the darkness from whence he’d come. He would leave her alone. Purge her from his mind. Settle on a nice biddable young lady for his wife. Forget the desire casting a heady spell over him. Never again think about the luscious body hiding beneath her dressing gown. Or peeling the dressing gown from her while he kissed her senseless.
Devil take it.
He took several steps forward, stopping only when he was a mere foot from her. Her eyes were wide, meeting his and sending a new jolt of awareness straight through him.“Heath?”
Hearing his name on her lips was his undoing. If she’d called him “Your Grace” or even “Devonshire”, he’d have been able to resist her. At least, that’s what he told himself as he closed the final distance between them, his hands going to her waist as if they belonged there. And perhaps they did. Tonight, if not every other.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, sounding breathless.
“That should be obvious,” he whispered, his gaze lowering to her seductive mouth.
“You’re mad,” she returned, but she licked her lips, giving herself away.
He knew she felt the same reckless need burning between them. He knew she was equally as powerless to resist. “Perhaps I am,” he agreed, his hands sliding to her bottom, round and firm. Thank God she wasn’t wearing a bustle. He filled his palms with her soft flesh and gave her a gentle squeeze. She gasped. “But somehow, I rather think you don’t mind.”
“We cannot do this,” Tia hissed. But her body gave her away. She arched her back, driving her softness against his erect cock.
He leaned down, wanting to kiss her. He felt more intoxicated in her presence than he’d been on the whiskey he’d drunk. “Why not?”
“My ward is in the chamber next door,” she said, surprising him with her response.
He’d expected her to say that they shouldn’t dally with each other. That a quick tumble at a country house party was beneath her. But he hadn’t expected Miss Whitney to be her sole objection. He would have cursed the girl if she hadn’t been the reason for bringing Tia into his arms in the first place.
“Come with me to my chamber,” he suggested, amazing even himself with the bold proposal. “I haven’t any inconvenient wards as neighbors. Merely old Lord Tuttleworth, and he’s quite deaf.”
She smiled, and he knew she wouldn’t require much convincing. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, as if she suspected someone to suddenly appear and demand to know what they were about. When she turned back to him, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m afraid only one sort of thing could happen were I to follow you to your chamber, sir.”
“Precisely.” He couldn’t resist the temptation another instant. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her as he’d done in her chamber. She responded instantly, opening to him, her tongue sliding against his. He broke off the kiss with great reluctance, knowing that if he didn’t stop he’d soon be ready to rip off her dressing gown and have her right there in the hall where anyone could happen upon them. “I believe we’ve already had this discussion, my lady.”
“So we have, Your Grace.” She paused, her big eyes searching his. “I’m not certain it’s wise.”
“What has wisdom to do with it?” He ran a finger over her smooth cheek. “If it’s wisdom you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find it lingering here in a darkened hallway with me.”
That she was lingering at all told them both that she was tottering on the edge the same as he was. One small push, and they’d both fall headlong into the passion that threatened to consume them both.
“I’m not looking for a lover,” she told him, as if it mattered.
Perhaps it did to her, but he didn’t give a damn. “Nor am I.” No need to mention he was looking for a wife. At the moment, all he was looking for was a blonde siren with curls to her waist and the sweetest lips he’d ever tasted.
She swallowed. “What if someone should hear?”
He grinned, sensing the scales had been tipped firmly in his favor. “Tuttleworth snores like a bear.”
“Very well.” Her lashes lowered before she gave him a penetrating, direct stare that aroused him every bit as much as her proximity had. She was a woman to be reckoned with, his Tia. “I’m sure I shall regret this in the morning, but I’m in the mood to be wicked tonight.”
It was all he needed to hear. He grabbed her hand in his before she could change her mind. “Let’s be wicked together.”
Tia didn’t know what worm had decided to infiltrate her brain. But it was most assuredly a devious one, the sort that caused her to fling all sense of propriety out the nearest window. For it was half past one in the morning and despite all logic, all common sense, all warnings from her sister, Tia was holding the Duke of Devonshire’s hand, slipping through the shadowy hallways at his side as fast as her ankle would allow.
On her way to his bedchamber.
The very notion should have sent her running in the opposite direction. Instead, it made her heart race and sent moisture between her thighs. A delicious ache of anticipation bloomed within her. She’d never done something so foolish. At any moment, they could be caught. Her reputation would be in shreds.
Somehow, the danger of being caught only heightened her desire for him.
She couldn’t help herself. Something had happened the moment their eyes had met in the gardens. It all seemed fated that this wild, carefree moment should be unfolding. Nothing in her life had ever felt more dangerous. But nothing in her life had ever felt more right either.
As she followed the duke into the west wing of Penworth, a door suddenly creaked open. He reacted faster than she, dousing her candle and swinging her into a nearby alcove
. He shielded her with his body, holding her in his strong arms. A woman’s throaty giggle mingled with a man’s low, rumbling voice not far from them. Tia’s heart hammered against her breast at the possibility of being seen. She held her breath.
The duke’s hands were on her waist, anchoring her to him, heating her even through the layers of her dressing gown and nightdress. She felt as if she were a young girl, hiding from her parents and chaperones. It was ridiculous to be wrapped up in the Duke of Devonshire’s arms, sneaking about in the darkness, risking everything for the possibility of passion.
He kissed her again then, and she realized that it was also wonderful. His lips angled over hers, firm and demanding. Claiming. Taking. Her hands went around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair. The scrape of his well-trimmed beard on her sensitive skin was incredibly erotic. His tongue sank inside her mouth, making her ache with want.
One night indulging her desire, that was all she yearned for. Give her tonight, and by morning she would be perfectly ready to behave. Well, to mostly behave, anyway. It wasn’t as if she could turn into her prudish grandmamma overnight, after all.
His palm slid up, over her waist to her left breast, cupping her. Her nipple hardened instantly, her body’s response reminding her that the likelihood of her ever becoming prudish was frightfully minimal indeed. She moaned against the duke’s lips, shifting so that her leg hooked round his hip, her nightgown and dressing robe the only barrier between the hard ridge of him and her willing flesh.
Dear, sweet heavens.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d allow him to take her right here in this darkened alcove. The thought brought at least a modicum of sanity to cool her ardor. She broke their kiss with great reluctance, tipping her head back to allow the drafty air of the corridor to bathe her heated cheeks as she caught her breath.
He dragged his mouth down over her throat, nipping and licking at her skin as he went. His fingers found her nipple beneath the layers of fabric separating her from him, rolling and pinching. Pleasure swirled through her, sharp, swift, and sweet. She didn’t recall ever wanting another man as she wanted Devonshire.
Heath. For he would forever be Heath to her now. He would never again be simply the duke. They had crossed boundaries, trespassed in ways that could not be undone. And before the night was over, they would venture across even more lines. They would become lovers.
The reminder brought a jolt of reality back to her. She had followed him this far. But her conscience reminded her that she couldn’t afford to act with such a blatant disregard for societal rules. She had Miss Whitney to consider, and her ward had shown her a weak side tonight that had melted Tia’s cold heart.
“We could be seen,” she whispered, trying to cling to her rapidly dwindling ability to tell him no.
“Damn it,” he muttered, pulling his lips from her neck. “You make me lose my head.”
She could easily say the same, but she kept silent, releasing him and stepping back as far as the alcove would allow. She listened for the sound of the lovers who had interrupted their impromptu race to Heath’s chamber. It seemed they had found their way to wherever they’d be spending the night.
His fingers entwined with hers. “How fares your ankle?”
His concern touched her. She thought inexplicably of the Cupid fresco on the ceiling in her chamber. Perhaps the arrow had found its mark after all. Tia forced herself to speak. “It pains me a bit, but it shall do.”
“I’ll carry you,” he said in august, ducal tones that brooked no argument.
“Nonsense,” she said anyway, not cowed a bit. He’d already played the role of savior with her.
“Stubborn woman,” he murmured, scooping her up into his arms before she could offer further protestation.
“Stubborn man,” she countered.
“Hush,” he ordered before taking her from the alcove.
Tia clung to him, rather enjoying the way he so effortlessly carted her about. His strength was infinitely arousing. Being near enough to breathe in his scent and sink her fingers into his silky, golden hair wasn’t precisely a chore either. She kept silent as he stalked down the darkened length of the hall. Her candle was long forgotten. She supposed she’d dropped it back in the alcove, but it hardly mattered now, for the man carrying her off had apparently reached his chamber door.
He opened it, crossed the threshold and kicked it closed at their backs. The lamps had been left lit, presumably by his manservant. Heath lowered her to her feet. They were well and truly alone, no chance of being seen or overheard now.
His maddening words returned to her in that moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a herald. Let’s be wicked together. Tonight, it would seem she was prepared to be wicked indeed.
eath stared down at Tia. Dear God, she was beautiful, gazing up at him with her emerald-colored eyes, her long hair framing her face, her lips swollen from his kisses. He could scarcely believe the goddess before him was in his chamber. That she had accepted his mad, half-drunk proposition. But the alluring scent of violets reminded him he wasn’t dreaming.
For the last few years, he’d lived a life of quiet respectability. He’d thrown himself into duty, into repairing his estate, into living a life that was above reproach. And now he was about to cast his time of penance into the wind. His reaction to Tia shook him, he couldn’t deny it. He’d never experienced a pull so strong.
Except for his painting.
The unwelcome thought gave him pause. He hadn’t taken brush to canvas in five years. After Bess’ death, giving up the passion that had once consumed him had seemed the only fitting punishment for leaving her to die alone. In all that time, he’d never once missed creating the artwork that had once driven him. But he couldn’t keep himself from noticing the way the light played across Tia’s lovely features, bringing her burnished curls to life, rendering her a sultry Venus before his eyes.
The old itch returned. He wanted to paint her. Nude. In his bed. Waiting for him to take her. The mere thought of it had him so hard he could scarcely form a coherent sentence. Good Christ, what was wrong with him?
“Is something amiss?” she asked quietly, apparently sensing the change in him.
He took a breath, trying to rein in the wild emotions stampeding through his chest. He hadn’t brought her to his chamber to paint her. He’d brought her here to have his wicked way with her. “No,” he lied. There wasn’t a need, after all, to unburden his darkness upon so light and gorgeous a creature. “I was merely admiring your beauty.”
Her eyes narrowed, but if she didn’t believe him, she chose not to say so. “I very much like your beard,” she startled him by revealing as she reached up to caress his jaw.
Her simple touch sent another surge of desire through him. He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers as if they were meeting in a drawing room rather than his chamber. “Do you?”
“Oh yes.” Her lashes fluttered over her eyes, briefly shutting him out. “I like its rasp against my skin.”
Heath kissed a path to her wrist, turning her palm up. Her heartbeat was a steady thrum against his lips. He rather enjoyed employing a slow, unhurried seduction on her, and he fancied she felt the same. He rubbed his beard against her inner wrist, testing her reaction. “Do you like this?”
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
Heath found the fastenings of her dressing gown, pulling them open to reveal a white nightgown beneath, and stepped closer to her, running his beard along her throat. “And this?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice a throaty murmur. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders as she rubbed her cheek against him in response. “Oh my, yes.”
Her scent invaded his senses again. His fingers went to the line of buttons on the front of her nightgown, pulling them from their moorings. Slowly, inch by inch, her creamy skin was revealed to him. The tempting curves of her breasts came into view. Damn, but he wanted her naked. He cupped the heavy mounds in his hands, gratified when he
r hard nipples poked hungrily into his palms.
Heath lowered his head and ran his beard over her nearly bared bosom. “What of this?”
“Mmm.”
He liked the sound of that, so he flicked open a few more buttons and peeled away her gown, pulling it down her shoulders and arms so that every inch of her was visible to him from the waist up. Her breasts were full and round, the taut peaks the same luscious pink as her lips. A slight flush tinged her skin where he had rubbed her with his beard. He liked seeing his mark on her. The signs that, for tonight at least, she was his.
She was watching him through half-closed eyelids. “Kiss me, Heath.”
The sound of his name in her throaty voice was as erotic as her standing half-nude before him. “Where?” he asked, framing her breasts with his hands as he once more lowered his head. He pressed a kiss on one stiff nipple. “Here?” He moved to the other, kissing it too. “Or here?”
“I’m not certain,” she murmured. “Perhaps you should try it again.”
The naughty thing. He glanced up at her as he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking. The open, unabashed expression of passion on her face was nearly enough to make him gather her back up in his arms and take her straight to bed. But he couldn’t do that. Not yet. First, he would make her mad with wanting.
He used his teeth, gently tugging, gratified when he won a moan from her. Her fingers sank into his hair. He sucked again before dragging his mouth away at last, her nipple leaving his mouth with a wet, lusty-sounding pop. “Shall I try it again?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she pulled his face to hers, fusing their lips in a passionate, open-mouthed kiss. He ran his tongue against hers, his cock going even more rigid. He wanted to be deep inside her in exactly the same way. Heath’s ability to leisurely woo her was about to disappear faster than a gold pocket watch in White Chapel.
With a groan, he tore his mouth from hers before going to work on shedding his evening attire. His jacket went first, flung to the floor, followed by his waistcoat. She helped him with his necktie, seemingly as eager for him as he was for her. He didn’t even bother with the buttons on his shirt. He rent them, tearing from end to end and shrugging his shirt away.
Reckless Need (Heart's Temptation Book 3) Page 4