He took his time studying her, his Venus. Her smile widened while he did, but there was a reserve to her expression that puzzled him. He lifted a hand along the line of her leg, but did not touch her. Not yet. Anticipation was almost enough. The thought of having even a moment of mastery over her, fleeting though any such moment might be, was unbearably luscious.
“You’ve seen me almost every day since I came here.” She shifted a little, stretching, not in the least shy. And yet, there was a center of quiet in her that made him think she was not as sanguine as she appeared.
“True,” he said. “I have. But not like are you now.” Lily was a frustrating delight to be around. She challenged everything he believed about himself, and more than once through her reactions to him or through his reactions to her, there was reflected back to him a man he barely recognized as Mountjoy. A stranger whom he thought he might actually like. “I do like a woman with long legs,” he said. “Most of your height is in your legs.”
“Then I am fortunate, your grace,” she said.
He cocked his head, tracing with his eyes the curve of her breasts, the slope of her waist. “I’ve always preferred brunettes. And women who do not look as if I’d break them. And here you are, with your golden hair.” He touched one of her curls. “And your slender figure and a face that makes me think you must be protected from the world, let alone from me, and I cannot imagine any woman I want more than you.”
“Good fortune rains upon me.”
“You’re no delicate flower to be cosseted and pampered.”
She tipped her head. “Not even a little?”
He touched her hip, curved his fingers around the outside of her there, and the room got smaller. The world held just the two of them, with hardly room for his desire. “You’d be bored in a week if I did, Lily.”
“All the same, a little pampering would not go amiss.”
He was aware that there was more to the pitch of his arousal than what she was, which right now was stark-naked and gazing at him from half-lidded eyes. This was Lily, a confident, curiously independent woman who fascinated him, challenged him, and wasn’t ashamed to admit her passions. There was also, quite undeniably, the lure of the forbidden. He really shouldn’t. They shouldn’t. But he was far beyond denying himself anything Lily would consent to do with him.
She adjusted herself on the chaise longue, on her back, with one knee raised, an arm underneath her head, and all her beautiful curls spilling onto the fabric beneath her. Mountjoy wondered for a moment if he would last long enough to get inside her, if she agreed to that. She might not, though he was determined to convince her.
He knelt on the floor beside her and put one hand on the far side of the chaise, near her rib cage. He lowered his head to her belly but kept his eyes on her face. A man didn’t need a title to be a good lover. Even before he was Mountjoy, he’d learned how not to be a fumbling boor when he took a woman to bed. “What would you say if I asked permission to kiss you here?”
“I would ask you why you’d want to do such a thing.”
“To see if your skin is as soft as it looks.” He bent closer. “Why else would I want to do such a thing to a beautiful woman?”
“I admit I’m curious to know the answer.”
“Allow me to discover for us both.” He kissed her right below the spot where her medallion lay. The scent of violets was sweet near her skin, and he kissed his way upward until he reached her breasts. She’d denied she was cold, but her skin rippled with a chill and was cool to touch.
“Liar,” he whispered.
Her hand fluttered onto his shoulder. “Your grace, I protest.” Her dark eyes were mischievous. “I almost never lie.”
“But you are cold.” He dipped his head to her stomach, and in a moment of pure whimsy, kissed her Gypsy medallion, too. She arched toward him, and he worked his way to her navel, dipping his tongue in and out of the indentation.
“I’m feeling much warmer now.”
“Your skin is indeed very soft.” He moved back up and hovered over her breasts. “But what about here? Are you sensitive here? If I kissed you here, would that give you pleasure?”
“I confess I wonder that myself.”
“Allow me, then, to help us discover the answer.”
“In a spirit of inquiry, I think you ought.”
Her breast fit his cupped hand, and, oh, so pretty. As lovely as the rest of her. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, and she made a soft noise of appreciation. He closed his mouth over her while he cupped the outer curve of her breast. Lord, but she was soft, and the way she filled the curve of his palm was going to drive him mad. Her nipple tightened in his mouth, and that aroused him even more.
He did the same to her other breast, then kissed his way down again, and though he’d thought about pressing kisses along her legs, what he did was part her thighs and set himself to the task of finding out what would fetch her. What touch did she prefer? Did she like to have her breasts stroked, held, or gently pinched? What other parts of her body intensified her physical reactions?
He gave no quarter because after what she’d done to him she didn’t deserve any. At one point, he replaced his mouth with his fingers and watched her face, and that was that for him. Her lips were parted, her eyes looking inward, the middle of her back arched off the chaise, and then he found the rhythm she needed, and he stopped long enough to earn him a fiery look.
“Rogue,” she said. “Horrible man.”
“I’ve been called worse.” But he did himself and her the courtesy of finishing her with his mouth. Her hands clutched his head, and after just a moment longer, there, she shuddered and cried out.
She held nothing back. His name broke from her as she broke, and the sight, her reaction and his, was everything he’d imagined and more. While she came down from her orgasm he kissed the inside of her thighs, one then the other, and drew his fingers along the length of her outside leg.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Oh, my,” she said in a low voice. “You are a very talented man.”
Next to her, Mountjoy turned onto his side, half sitting to unfasten his breeches and free his stone-hard cock from his clothes, and she held out her arms to him and like that, in a smooth transition he was over her body, sliding himself inside her.
Oh God. Inside her. Warm and soft, and it was like he’d never been with a woman before, as if this were his first time and had no idea what to expect. He lost his ability to speak from the very first thrust into her, and she moaned long and deep and wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders.
He could barely open his eyes or focus when he did; all he could do was try to keep up with the sensation. God help him, this was Lily at last, warm and soft beneath him, hot and slick around him, her breath on his skin. Her arms holding him close, her body moving with his, meeting him. Matching him. Her fingers pressed into him, urging him deeper.
After they’d let the wonder settle between them, she worked the buttons of his coat, and he paused long enough to shrug it off, because if that’s what she wanted, he wasn’t going to deny her, and then he went back to fucking her. Her hands stayed busy removing his cravat then opening his waistcoat, and he had to stop again to remove that hindrance to her pleasure, and then pull out of her long enough to shrug off his braces and pull his shirt over his head. Where the hell that landed he didn’t know and didn’t care.
“I want to see you,” she said. She sat up and ran her palms over his chest, along his shoulders, and down his spine to the curve of his behind.
“Later.”
“Now.” She grabbed his head with both hands. “You beautiful man, I want to see you. And feel your skin against mine.”
Maybe the delay to remove the rest of his clothes wasn’t so bad, because he’d been very close to climax, and not nearly ready to be done. He pulled off his boots and stockings and when he stood to shuck his breeches and smallclothes, she leaned on one elbow and gave him a look that melted him. He
put his hands on his hips and gazed at her.
“Come here, your grace,” she said after she’d thoroughly examined him. She held out a hand. “I’ll catch my death otherwise.”
“We can’t have that.” He rejoined her on the chaise, and she was right. They were skin to skin now, and her body was warm against his, her breasts soft against his chest, and he kissed her until she pushed him back, palms on his chest, until he was on his back.
She stroked him, trailed her fingers down his chest and to his belly, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I knew you would be lovely to look at.” She drew in a breath. “But I didn’t know I’d want to lick you from head to toe.”
“Deny yourself nothing.” He pushed his fingers into her hair.
She laughed and bent to kiss his chest, and when her tongue flicked over his nipple he groaned. The entire time she was doing this, pressing kisses on his body, her hand wandered toward his belly, along his thigh, and, Christ, yes, to his cock. He held his breath, hoping for her mouth, though her hand around him, then on his sac was enough to make him hiss with pleasure.
She looked up at him, and said, “Am I too wicked, your grace?”
“My love, if I may be honest—”
“Please.”
“You’re not wicked enough.”
Her eyes widened, and slowly, she smiled. “Tell me what would be wicked enough. Better yet, show me.”
His fingers tightened in her hair and he gently pushed her in the direction of his sex. “Use your mouth on my prick. The way you did before.”
And she did. He about went out of his mind. Her tongue traced the length of him, then followed the head of his cock, moved down to his bollocks, and she’d have kept going until he came in her mouth if he hadn’t stopped her.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t want to come yet.”
Her fingers remained lightly wrapped around him. “I adore your cock. He’s lovely and awe-inspiring.”
Mountjoy laughed. “Do go on.”
“He tastes delicious, and I love the sound you make when I kiss him.”
He took her upper arms and pulled her up until she lay on him. “Sit,” he said. She ended up straddling his belly. “Like so. I want to look at you some more.”
“I’d rather kiss your cock, your grace.”
“Madam,” he said. Lord, she was an unmarried woman, not a widow or a courtesan. But she was no innocent, either. “Another time you’ll take me to completion that way again, but not tonight.”
She gave him another melting look. “Do you promise?”
“I do.” He covered her breasts and levered himself up enough to kiss the tips and run his hands along her stomach, all that soft, smooth skin under his fingertips. He put her under him again and while he entered her, slowly this time, as every moment passed he wondered why he didn’t feel that he was at all mastering her. The more he tried to think about fucking, the more images of her flashed through his head. The way she smiled, her in the breakfast room making Eugenia laugh. In the library, facing him with that insouciant smile of hers.
Eventually, he pushed up on his hands and watched her, watched their bodies. Her face, the depths of her eyes. The sound of their breathing, the slide of him inside her. Her legs wrapped around him, her hips moving against his, and this was heaven for him for quite some time.
He withdrew again and, with no words between them, he turned her over and, a firm grip on her hips, came into her from behind. He had the idea that he had surprised her, but she adjusted. Her round bottom pressed against his groin and for a time he was content to take in the curve of her hips to her waist, and glide the flat of his hand along her spine. Then he started to move in her again, and the quiver of his sexual completion stayed just enough out of reach that he was confident of lasting awhile longer, and yet close enough, intense enough, that he wanted to find out sooner than later just how high that peak would be.
They ended up on the floor, her torso and arms on the chaise, him still behind her until his orgasm was too close. She understood the urgency, and he had her on her back again with her gorgeous legs around his waist, and he drove hard, and she met him, thrust for thrust.
His body raced toward a pleasure that seemed just out of reach, but he couldn’t be so selfish as to not bring her again when he knew she was close, too. He reached between them and stroked her, once, again, and she shattered again. Her arms tightened around him and she said in a low, fierce voice, “Harder.”
He obliged her. Of course he did. He could deny her nothing. It seemed a miracle to him that he was able to withdraw in time, and even so, even not finishing inside her, his climax roared through him, and she wasn’t squeamish about the result, but rather took him in hand and in that moment, he ceased to exist.
When he had his wits and his breath back, he said, “Next time, I will procure a baudruche.”
To which she replied, “What is that?”
“A sheath. To cover me. So that when next we do this, I can finish inside you.” And then he remembered that he’d just fucked his sister’s best friend within an inch of both their lives. And promised to do so again soon.
He didn’t feel at all guilty.
Chapter Nineteen
LILY THOUGHT IT A MIRACLE THAT SHE WAS OUT OF bed and outdoors two monstrous hours before noon. Had someone told her she’d ever be out of bed before one in the afternoon, she’d have laughed herself silly.
Yet here she was at not even half past ten, standing midway between the back of the house and the stables. She wore a cotton muslin walking dress two shades darker than her eyes, the better to hide the dirt that would inevitably stain her hem whilst she tromped about in the fields. Her dark gold spencer was trimmed with gold braid and epaulettes, and there was a gold silk bow tied beneath her bosom.
After some internal debate, she’d elected not to wear the turban that went with the gown, but, rather, a toffee-colored top hat with an egret plume. The turban would have been more adventurous but she hadn’t the heart to forgo the match of the top hat that, with its gold trim, was a twin to the braid on her spencer. Her walking coat she left open because it was warm. Who would have guessed a spring morning would be anything but cool? Not that it mattered. It would have been a pity to hide her frock when everything coordinated so wonderfully. Her sole reservation was that she had on her second-best boots, but since that was her only concession to the reality of mud, all in all, she had achieved the perfect ensemble for a morning to be spent searching for Roman treasure.
They were taking two dogcarts to the location Lily and Ginny had ranked first on their map of likely locations for uncovering treasure. The site had clear signs of ancient habitation. It was her intention to excavate the foundations of what she hoped would prove to be the remains of a Roman garrison. A few well-placed questions around High Tearing had uncovered tales of coins, glassware, and bits of pottery having been found by people who hiked along the river Tear until they decided to take the shortcut into the village, which shortcut ran, not coincidentally, through Mountjoy’s field and past their excavation spot.
Would not a Roman Legion have made the same trek? Perhaps even on their way to and from their barracks.
Lily supervised the loading of the cart that would transport the shovels, spades, and three footmen enlisted to dig, ticking off items on her list as they were placed on the carts. No point driving all that way only to learn something crucial had been omitted from the supplies. One needed the planning skills of a general and a quartermaster’s talents of organization for such an endeavor as this.
While she counted shovels, picks, rakes, and sorting baskets, another cart, loaded with an awning, folding chairs, tables, and hampers containing refreshments, started on its way, carrying as well two serving maids, one of the undercooks, two more footmen, and grooms to manage the horses.
The morning was a fine one without a single cloud in the sky. A breeze kept the heat from becoming unbearable, but for anyone who stood in t
he sun, she imagined one would soon be uncomfortably warm. Lily stopped a footman on his way back to the house. “See that there’s plenty for all of you to drink, won’t you?”
He bowed. “Yes, miss. I’ll speak with Mr. Doyle right away.”
“Thank you.” She intended to do some digging herself, of course, but it was the footmen with their brawn who would do the brunt of the work. They were all of them in for a day of what would likely be the tedious labor of uncovering the foundation of the structure she hoped was there.
Before long, the second cart went on its way, too, fully laden with all the implements required for her excavation. Lily brushed off her skirt. Excitement for the day’s adventure curled in her stomach. Bronze oil-paper parasol in one hand and her map in the other so that she could finalize her approach to the area she’d chosen to start their digging, Lily headed for the front of the house. There, she found Ginny and Lord Nigel waiting underneath the portico for the carriage that would transport them to the site.
Not Wicked Enough Page 18