Love With the Perfect Scoundrel

by Sophia Nash

  A large brand of rigid flesh jerked against her hip and jarred her to her senses. Oh God, oh God, oh God…Oh, please let him fall back asleep.

  “Darling,” he rasped, his voice filled with gravel, “are you trying to take advantage of me?”

  “Pardon me?” She frantically tried to think of a plausible excuse.

  “Perhaps that’s why those other idiots rejected you. You’re too fast by half. By God, Countess, I’ve only known you a day or so, and here you are trying to seduce me…Brazen is what you are.”

  Dear Lord, he was laughing at her. “I’m nothing of the sort. You just pulled me into your arms, and—and I didn’t give you permission to enter this bed.”

  “You’re making it damned difficult to keep the chill off you, sweetheart.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of keeping myself warm.”

  “Is that so? I beg to differ. You moan in your sleep and wake me every hour on the hour. And each time I come to look in on you, the blankets are on the floor. I was getting tired of being roused from my bed.”

  “Don’t you ever wear a nightshirt?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she tried to lower the one that was trapped between them and he groaned.

  “Look,” he said, putting more space between them, “since it appears I won’t get another lick of sleep, perhaps now would be a good time for you tell me more about your Mr. Brown or…”

  “Or what?” she whispered.

  He lowered his lips, leaving a whisper of space between them. “Or tell me exactly what you plan to do to me.”

  She inhaled.

  “I find detailing every touch in advance always heightens the pleasure, don’t you?”

  She exhaled roughly and tried to pull away, which he would not allow. Grace prayed for rational thought. “Mr. Brown is—”

  “Good,” he cut in, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come to your senses. Continue.”

  “Mr. Brown is one of the most wonderful gentlemen in this world. He is witty, and kind, and—”

  “Rich and handsome?”

  She stifled nervous laughter at his assumptions. But if this thread of conversation could place a measure of decorum between them, she would grab it. “Not handsome in a conventional way, but I think that makes him even more interesting.”

  He snorted. “Stop. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to hear any more about Brown. He was a fool for leaving you defenseless and alone.”

  She could not think of a single retort.

  “I’m just pointing this out so you don’t travel another inch of road with this fellow without taking a brawny carriage driver who has more chivalry in his little finger than that gentleman fop has in his entire white-livered hide.”

  She smiled to herself. “All right.”

  “What, no argument? I hadn’t known you to be so biddable.”

  “I have my good points.”

  The bedcovers rustled again and she felt the warmth of his large hand brush past her shoulder to rest on her bandaged rib cage and then lower. His palm seemed to envelope her entire hip and she could barely breathe.

  “By the by, Countess, I must thank you.”

  “For what?” she whispered.

  “For mending every last article of my clothing. I’m not fond of darning and have put it off for months. You did me a great favor, and I must say you are a fine seamstress.”

  It had been so long since she had felt the warm glow of pride, and his simple words pleased her more than any of the false compliments she had heard over the years. “I’m so glad I could do something for you after everything you have done for me,” she whispered.

  He rested his chin on the top of her brow, and his deep voice rumbled through her. “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

  “An effect of the burnt stew, surely. Probably causes naught but nightmares,” she said nervously.

  Grace was certain he would change the subject because he remained silent for a few moments.

  “I dream I’m riding toward an apple orchard in paradise.”

  She swallowed, unable to make her mouth work.

  He brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “And you’re lying under one of the trees, a book in one hand, an apple in the other—lost in thought…but obviously waiting.”

  “Stop. I’ve heard this story before.”

  “Really?”

  “This is when Eve is in league with the snake and tempts Adam.”

  She had managed to put even more space between them, and chose this moment to try and brush his hand from her hip. In doing so, her fingers slid past his groin and touched…Good Lord.

  He made a pained sound in his throat. “For the love of Christ, woman…” His words were but the merest rasp of a whisper. His teeth gritted together, “Tempt me again or tell me I am a callous ox. Remind me you are hurt or that you’re in love with that stupid Brown fellow. But for Christ sakes, sweetheart, do something—anything—before I’m forced to jump out the window and wallow in the snow.”

  Her hand had stopped, paralyzed when she brushed against his staggering arousal. She knew, without a single doubt then, that he would not caress her without her unconditional absolution, which made her position all the more difficult.

  Intuitively, she knew she was being given the chance to learn the answers to some of the sinful questions that had bedeviled her. Once she left this stranger’s hidden corner of Christendom, those answers might never be found.

  Yet, it would be so much easier if he hadn’t thrown down the gauntlet and allowed her a choice. She had thought he might just lower his lips to meet her own and she would passively accept what he did to her. Just as she had done in her marital bed. And then she would finally understand what relations would be like with a man who was not elderly or ill—a man whose virility was unequalled and whose plain, bald words she trusted more than any of the eloquent witticisms she’d heard in town.

  Oh, this was all wrong. It was sinful.

  What was she supposed to do? She certainly could not put into words that she might welcome this. It was just too far beyond the propriety that had been instilled in her since the day she was born.

  It was then she noticed his colossal frame was shaking. From the sharp exhalation of warm breath on her shoulder, it appeared he was in pain. And abruptly, she threw off all the many layers of modest decorum that had always bound her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you when I touched…Well then.” Mortified, she stopped, raised her chin a fraction of an inch, and kissed him chastely—just the merest brush of lips against stubbled cheek.

  It was, quite possibly, the most daring thing Grace Sheffey had done in her entire life.

  “Oh sweetheart,” he murmured roughly. He pulled her back into the heat of his body and nuzzled her neck, sending little shivers of tension down her body. His presence was overwhelming. She felt like a mouse caught between the huge padded paws of a lion whose soft fur surrounded her face while he sniffed her, trying to decide how best to enjoy the morsel before him.

  The barest edge of his teeth nibbled the column of her neck until he reached her mouth. He paused, the tension unbearable.

  In the flicker of the firelight, he was staring at her, his amber eyes grown dark, almost black in their intensity. “Are you certain?”

  She nodded once, very slightly.

  “I must warn you I’m not like those chivalrous fops who would stop at the first sign of hesitation—or the ones who make promises. I’m not that sort of man. And I don’t fancy morning regrets or tears, mind you.”

  “For someone who gave the impression you might welcome this,” she said quietly, “it appears you are doing everything you possibly can to change my mind. I assure you I harbor no expectations, and I won’t have hurt feelings if you don’t want to…” she inhaled, “to…In fact, I’m quite used to stopping or reneging or whatever you call it.” She pushed against his wall of a chest. “I told you I have that effect on gentlemen, so I’m inured t
o it.”

  “Really?” He tightened his massive arms around her again and allowed his heavy arousal to fully fall across her thighs. “Dolts. Complete dolts, the lot of them, if that Brown is any example.” He lowered his lips to hers with infinite care and…and she was lost in a whirlpool of heat. Heat like the flames licking from the fireplace. And if she had thought she was hot then, a moment later, she felt like the center of the sun.

  This was not the kiss of a gentleman. It was not respectful or chaste or decent. It was molten and lush and harsh.

  And Grace loved every moment of it.

  She nearly fainted when he drew his tongue along the seam of her closed mouth and dared to part her lips. It was such an invasion. This man was pushing her to touch, to taste, to breathe in every inch of him. His lingering scent, that pine and supremely masculine essence of him lay beyond the scent of the soap he had used. He tasted of everything forbidden. He tasted of man.

  And every so often, just when she was losing her head and falling, falling, he would murmur a word or two into her ear, the rumble passing from his chest to hers, and she would be brought back to the startling reality of the moment.

  She was somewhere in the dales between Derbyshire and Yorkshire, lost in a stranger’s powerful arms, her reticence melting in the face of such wanting.

  “Mmm,” he purred. “That’s it, sweetheart. Touch me.”

  She realized she was stroking his immense shoulder while he rained kisses all over her face.

  “I’ve spent hours wondering if…” His mouth drifted to the hollow of her neck. “…if you are softer here,” he trailed lower, “…or here.”

  He eased himself on top of her, keeping his weight on his forearms, and then lowered the edge of the bandage to kiss the top of her breast, shockingly close to the ruched, sensitive tip.

  “But then,” he murmured, “there are a few other choices to consider…perhaps a bit later.”

  She had no earthly idea what he was talking about, but then he moved his mouth a fraction of an inch, to her nipple, and she could not make sense of a single thing he uttered.

  Her pent-up breath left her in a rush as he dragged his large hand across her breast while he tugged the tip of the other between his lips in a motion that released a deep pull of longing within.

  “Tell me if I hurt your injury,” he insisted.

  The almost unbearably sweet pain of desire rushed through her, and she gripped his shoulders unconsciously. She just could not believe this was happening to her, and she had the absurd urge to laugh when she looked down to see the long sweep of dark lashes splashed on his face as he reverently suckled her. She’d never imagined a man would want to do that. As if he could read her thoughts, he glanced up at her, his mouth on her flesh, and slowly winked.

  She stopped breathing when he did something sinful with his tongue.

  Oh God. She just wasn’t prepared for this. For one thing, she didn’t know what to do with her hands. For another, she was scared she would not be able to keep her voice clogged in her throat. Oh, what he was doing to her.

  He reached for her palm, then pressed his lips to it, allowing cold air to touch the peak of her well-kissed breast. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what you like, what you want me to do to you.”

  Oh, she could not do this. She couldn’t stop the trembling in her throat. “I don’t know what you mean. Don’t you know what to do?”

  The deep rumble of laughter echoed from him. “Darling, there are just too many options.” He lazily trailed his tongue around the tip of her breast. He looked up. “Won’t you help me narrow the possibilities?”

  “No,” she whispered, wishing but far too shy to ask about the possibilities.

  He grinned at her. “Well, then we’ll just have to explore them all.” He had rolled to the side and was now stroking his hand down the dale between her breasts, past the bandage, all the way to her navel. Her sensitive skin registered the rough calluses of his palms and she shuddered. And suddenly his fingers were sliding lower, perilously close to the jointure of her body. She stiffened.

  “Mmmm…You’re as soft as a kitten here,” he mused, tangling his fingers in the sparse blonde hairs.

  Grace had always known she was physically different from other ladies. On several occasions she had seen hints of the lush womanly virtues of her friends in the secret club. The other ladies were more voluptuous than she, had dark thatches of hair in their most intimate places, where she was nearly bare. She clamped her legs together at the thought.

  A large warm hand closed over one of her own, now frozen on his shoulder. He brought it to his lips and then returned it to below his chest. The hard planes of his abdomen were sleek and molded like silk over iron. Her hand trembled and she couldn’t make it stay still.

  “Sweetheart…” His voice rumbled like a purring lion.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not a virgin by any chance, are you?”

  “Of course not. I told you I’m a widow.”

  “Just wanted to be sure.” His hand stroked from her hip to the side of her breast and back down. “You’re awfully quiet. And still.”

  She rolled away from him and curled to her side. “I should have warned you I’m not very good at this.”

  Silence invaded the room. She felt like crying. She just was not like other women. She never had been and she never would be.

  And then the bed covers lifted slightly and his body settled along her back as he found her hand. “Just how long were you married?”

  “About four months.”

  “Only? And were you happy with this fellow? Tell me about him. Was he anything like this Mr. Brown?”

  “I was very happy. My husband was a wonderful, kindhearted man.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, sweetheart, I’m trying to figure why you think you’re no good at this.”

  “I think it’s a bit obvious. I mean…well, look at us. Nothing’s going to happen now. I’ve ruined the moment. I’ve none of the natural passion required. Cannot inspire it, either.” She forced herself to continue. “I once spied a newly married couple—good friends of mine, actually. And it was stark daylight, and…”

  “And?”

  “And there was a billiards table…”

  He chuckled. “And?”

  “And it was scandalous, what they were doing.”

  “And?”

  “And,” she swallowed. “I could never do that.”

  “I see.”

  He released her hand and she felt the softest brush of his fingers stroking her head.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, unable to stop herself from asking.

  “Well, I’m thinking”—he grinned—“I’m glad Sam didn’t install a billiards table here. Ah, sweetheart, let me put a small part of your fears to rest.”

  She didn’t move, still curled away from him.

  “Will you turn around?”

  When he tugged at her waist, she slowly complied.

  He urged her closer. “That part about not being good at this? The part about not being capable of inspiring passion?”

  She finally dared to meet his gaze.

  “Well, it’s just not so.” He brought her hand to his groin, and she was overwhelmed by his shocking size.

  He made a sound deep in his throat as if he was in pain. “The thing is, a man can’t pretend interest like a woman. I think you can safely forget all that nonsense about not inspiring a man now, can’t you? But sweetheart, you need to tell me if I can keep touching you, if you’ll allow me the privilege. If you don’t feel passion, that’s my fault, not yours. Let me try a bit harder, will you?”

  She was too afraid that if she spoke she wouldn’t be able to keep the wobble of emotion from her voice, and so she whispered just two words. “All right.”

  “Well then…you’d best turn your back to me again. Otherwise, if you keep your hand where it is, I’m going to be more
embarrassed than you.”

  His words formed the smallest sliver of warm pride inside her as she complied, unsure of his assertion. His lips nuzzled her ear while his hands slid over the rise of her hips, then lower to the edge of her most intimate place. She bit her lower lip.

  “You know, I was right. I was sure this was going to be the softest place on you. Like spun silk.”

  Grace could feel the iron length of him against her bottom, and noticed with alarm the wet warmth between her thighs.

  And then his large hand dipped lower, into the slickness, and Grace was unable to stifle the sound in her throat.

  “Ah, sweetheart…Yes, that’s it. Let me hear you.” And then there were no more words, only his fingers stroking her with such wickedness. Yet he evaded a maddening peak she hadn’t known would crave his touch.

  Her hands bunched the sheet and she was lost for many minutes in her desire to scale some imaginary space to reach something…something. When she thought she couldn’t bear another measure of this silken torture, he plunged a finger into her at the same moment his palm closed on the elusive crest and pressed with sure precision. “Ah, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Yes…do you feel me? Don’t worry, I’ll never stop…never want to stop.”

  “Oh…” she whispered. “Oh,” her breath hitched and she moaned, lost in a violent spiral of heat rushing from where he touched her all the way to the tips of her extremities. Grace was filled with a pulsing elation so pure it ached. She arched her back in pleasure.

  Michael felt her body contract and pulse in waves, but before he could let any sort of joy reach his heart at her heady reaction to his touch, his arousal jerked against her deliciously soft bottom and he reared back, his length slipping between her slender thighs. His breath caught in his throat and he groaned yet again as she relaxed against him. The promise of what lay beyond so much heat and essence was too much temptation. And it had been too long. “Stay still,” he ground out. With a curse, he wrapped his arms under her breasts, and prayed for control.