“This time, we will do it properly,” he promised, his hands going to the tiny buttons of her bodice.
Carmalina pushed his hands away. “This time, you go first,” she said with a tentative smile.
He’d seen her naked more than enough times; now it was his turn to stand vulnerable. Although she doubted he would feel that particular emotion, recalling the way he’d strutted like a rooster yesterday in his room. She knew he was just as proud of his body and his power nude as he was when dressed.
“Why don’t you undress me?” Justin suggested, a wicked gleam in his eye.
“Is that what a mistress is supposed to do?” Carmalina asked with a flutter of her eyelashes. She liked it when he was playful. She forgot to be embarrassed or ashamed when he made her feel some measure of sexual power.
“A woman is supposed to disrobe her man, yes.”
“Well then, I suppose I must comply.”
“Just get on with it, vixen, before you hurt me.”
Smiling what she hoped was coquettishly, her tears forgotten, she rose on the bed and kneeled on the edge where she could reach him. The buttons at his throat were no obstacles. She undid them slowly, one by one, until, with a curse, he ripped the garment over his head. “Do not test me. I’m not a patient man.”
“You started this, my lord.” She dared him to disagree, to call a halt. When he didn’t, she climbed off the bed and circled his naked torso. With one finger she traced the muscles up his back, down his spine then up again, over his shoulder to the crisp hairs on his chest.
“Can I taste you the way you tasted me?” she asked. She may appear to know what she was doing, but truthfully, she had no idea. She’d never been closer to another man as she had Justin. Suddenly she was glad Antony hadn’t made her his wife in every way. She’d loved him but to consummate their marriage and then have him die days later would have made his passing even more unbearable. It would have made this, now, unthinkable. Encroaching was the thought that if Antony had lived, she would never have met Justin Trentham. She would never have seen the countries she’d seen, lived the experiences she’d lived.
“What goes through your mind?” he asked. He skated his hands down her bare arms from the little sleeves of her day dress to capture her wrists and place her palms flat against the hard planes of his stomach.
“I was thinking that some things happen for a reason although it is not until later that you can see it clearly.”
“Like what?” He guided her hands up and down his chest, over hard nipples, teaching her silently how he liked to be touched, how he wanted her to touch him.
“If my husband had lived, I would not be here, with you, like this.”
“Are you sad about that?”
“No. Not sad. Not anymore. It would have been a sin for God to let him live after the injuries he suffered.”
“What happened?”
Carmalina looked up, searched his intense gaze. Did he really want to know? Now?
“Tell me,” he whispered.
“There was a storm and his fishing boat was washed upon the rocks.” Carmalina shuddered when she recalled the first time she’d been allowed to see her beloved Antony. His back had been broken and he looked like he was already dead but she’d smiled and laughed and sat with him for days, at his bedside, watching him die. In all that time she’d railed against God for taking him away from her. That was when she’d come to the conclusion she was being punished for her happiness. Irrational as it may be, it was the only explanation for the sad events that made up her life.
The death of her parents, then her guardian and aunt, then her husband. She now feared being happy. Look where it had gotten her so far. Just when she started to feel contentment, her life had almost fallen apart again.
“Why did you marry him?”
“Because we were betrothed but most of all because I loved him.”
“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”
Her memories faded away with the seriousness of his tone. “No,” she replied. Her hands stilled on his warm skin.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t love me.”
“Love is overrated. We have something between us, something stronger. I know you feel it.”
“A healthy relationship between a man and his wife cannot be about the lust they feel towards one another.”
“It’s more than some have.”
“Do your parents love each other?” The last thing she wanted to talk about was their families and pasts but she had a feeling he needed it more than her.
“In a way,” he told her. As he spoke he went to the cabinet in the corner of her room, poured himself a glass of sherry and took a sip. “Ah, ghastly stuff,” he muttered, put the glass back down and continued his story. “My parents had an arranged wedding. Their fathers were neighbors so naturally they were paired from a young age.”
“There’s nothing natural in that.” Carmalina bristled. “My parents met each other, fell in love and then got married. That is the natural order of things.”
“Not in England, bella. Most unions are for money, or power, or both. They are political and greedy, not loving.”
“But—but so many unhappy couples.” She couldn’t understand why a civilized race like the English would practice such antiquated notions.
“Most learn to live together in a sort of harmony. Divorce is not usually an option among the ton.”
“Are you ever going to marry?” Carmalina already dreaded the answer though it had nothing to do with her.
“I will.” He nodded, seeming so sure of himself and his answer.
“For love, duty or scandal?” she asked as she sat back on her heels on the bed and waited for him to come back to her.
“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t decided my reasons.”
A shiver travelled down her spine. Once again, he’d said something and she’d missed the unspoken words.
“Do you really want to talk about this, bella?” He captured her hand, kissed her knuckle.
“You wanted to talk,” she reminded him, her heart skipping a beat in expectation.
“What do you want?” he asked as he drew her flush against his body.
“I want you to make it up to me.”
His eyes sparkled as he pushed her down on the bed and worked to strip her of her clothing, one piece at a time.
Once she was left in only her chemise, he stepped back and surveyed her.
Carmalina’s skin flushed hot under his sensual scrutiny. “Please, Justin,” she begged. She wanted to feel him against her skin again. This time she would not let him escape.
She held her breath and raised herself up on her elbows when he unfastened and stepped out of his trousers. Instead of shrieking and closing her eyes, this time she looked and studied while he stood still. When she rose up to touch his manhood, standing so proud and tall, he gripped her wrists and stopped her.
“There will be time for that later.” His voice was delightfully husky and held more than a hint of promise.
Carmalina nodded. She then drew her chemise over her head and let it drop with a whisper of silk to the floor.
Justin growled low in his throat as he used his body to push her back down on the bed again. Finally, she got to feel him warm and bare against her with nothing between them, not even air.
“I don’t want to hurt you, bella.” His words were strained, his muscles corded and bunched where he held himself above her, all sinew and strength.
“I don’t care.” Raising her legs and pulling on his shoulders, Carmalina gasped when she felt the head of his erection at her core. She wriggled, tried to get closer, desperate for completion, desperate to discover what came next.
“Relax. We’re going to take it slow this time.”
With his words, he slid into her and stilled. She could feel him throb deep inside her, his gaze on her face as he watched her reaction.
“I want you to make love to me, Justin.” He needed to
hear the words as much as she needed to utter them.
“It’s too late to stop now, my love.” And to back up his words, he pulled out of her warmth only to slide slowly back, buried to the hilt. “No distractions.” He kissed her brow, her cheek, her jaw. “Nothing to stop me making you mine.”
Carmalina gasped, the friction once again working to build the pressure within, all memory of pain banished by pleasure. “I am yours.”
With each slow and sure movement he made, she climbed higher and higher on the peaks of ecstasy. This is how it’s supposed to be. Her last thought before he thrust hard.
To the sound of his triumphant roar, her world shattered into a million tiny pieces.
This time she had definitely fallen.
Fallen in love with a scandalous rogue.
* * *
Skin glistening, soft black hair spread across his chest, Carmalina looked like a dark angel. The most glorious moment of his entire life had been fixed at the exact second she’d screamed his name, head thrown back, inhibitions nowhere to be found. He would remember this day forever, but, with a sigh, he knew the spell would have to be broken. As much as Justin would give the last beat of his heart to stay exactly as they were, he had a dinner party to organize. And almost regretfully, a scandal to stir.
For a few more minutes, he reveled in the warmth of her breath across his torso, her hand resting trustingly on his bare stomach. It was that unspoken trust that he’d nearly lost when he’d taken her virginity and then stormed away as though he were the injured party. It was that trust he wanted to keep until the day he died and it was why he knew, now more than ever, that she would be his wife in every way and it wouldn’t be for the scandal. It would be for her. Carmalina.
Not one moment of his life seemed important until the day he’d met her and the sun had truly shone. He noticed little things with her that he’d never taken the time to appreciate before. The way the rain pattered on the window with a tink, tink, tink. Birds sung in the trees, their tunes making him smile to himself. Even the softness of the sheets where they now lay seemed unfamiliar even though he’d slept in the bed she now occupied so many times as a youth. It was as though his senses were heightened and he was glad, euphoric even.
A slow, contented smile curved his lips. He suddenly had the urge to hear Carmalina sing. That first day he’d heard her, when she’d stolen his wonderment, was so long ago now. He might ask her to sing tonight and probably every day for the rest of their lives.
“What are you so happy about?” a sleepy voice asked from beneath his chin.
“What have I not to be happy about, love?” He lifted his head, kissed her swollen lips. It had more effect on him than her as his manhood started to pulse and rise.
As soon as he pulled away, a husky giggle swept across his cheek and she laughed her pleasure. “You, sir, are incorrigible.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” He pushed her back and covered her sweat-sheened skin with his own.
Rather a long time later, Justin slipped from the bed and padded through to his own room where his valet awaited to help him dress. Higgins looked at him with extreme distaste and clucked his tongue with disapproval but Justin ignored him. It was his house and he was the master of it. If he wanted to make love to his mistress he could. Anywhere, anytime. The thought made him smile again.
Justin’s smile soon turned to a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that, man.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. It’s just that—that—”
“I would think about your words very carefully, Higgins,” Justin warned as he stepped into a pair of fawn breeches, nearly laughing out loud when Higgins puffed his chest out and went all red in the face.
“I would never… I would never presume, milord…”
“Spit it out, man!”
“Very well, sir. A few of the staff are starting to worry about working in a house where the master lays abed with his mistress. And…”
“And what?”
“Well, quite frankly they are worried that you will be ejected from this house and they will be out on their arses.”
Justin relaxed a fraction. He was ready to defend his actions, but to a servant? If the man didn’t like his job or his employer’s antics, he could leave anytime he wished.
“And who, pray tell, is going to ask me to leave?”
Higgins’s face darkened to a shade of purple that reminded Justin of an unripe wine grape. “Well, sir, we’ve seen what happens after a son is disinherited, after the money runs out.”
He wasn’t surprised the staff knew of his mission or his affairs. What did shock him was that they worried about his finances and his ability to pay wages. Even without his father’s money, which he hadn’t taken for years, he was rich in his own right. He’d worked hard, paid back every bit his father had allowed him and then built his capital. He had enough blunt to make even the loftiest duke jealous.
“You needn’t worry, Higgins. Even if I couldn’t pay your wages, Uncle Oliver will take care of you.” He was not going to boast of finances to the help. How could he without openly admitting to running one of London’s most profitable hells.
Higgins answered with a humph and a snort that could only be described as derisive.
As soon as he was presentable, Justin skipped down the stairs, checked the preparations for dinner and then called for Tzander. He needed a ride to clear his head.
When he’d suggested this evening’s entertainment, it had been purely to spread the gossip faster and wider. Now that he’d decided to make Carmalina his wife, a pang of conscience settled heavy in his gut. To keep using her in such a way was beyond despicable.
Just when he was on track to secure his future, guilt had to go and rear its devilish head. Again.
He’d already taken advantage of her in the worst way, and when marriage had first come to his mind, it hadn’t been an honorable union to make up for his sins that had prompted it. Other than his mother making her opinion known, he hadn’t heard hide nor hair from his father. It was as if the man had decided to permanently ignore his youngest son. Which was neither new nor surprising.
Childish games. That was how his father had described his every attempt to garner a shred of his attention. Before Justin had taken his first step on the path to hell, he’d tried to dazzle his family with his abilities at activities he’d had plenty of time to practice since he was never outside doing the things he’d truly wanted.
He could beat a man at chess with both hands tied behind his back and a blindfold over his eyes. He could disarm his opponent in a rapier duel in less than two minutes but when he’d been bored one winter and taught himself to play the piano, his father had sneered and told him it was a lady’s task to tap on useless keys to make a sound no one wanted to hear.
After that day, Justin made sure whenever his father was in his study, the piano would make as much music as he could draw forth. How many times his father had roared and told him to stop, he couldn’t count. It was the first time the old man had truly shown emotion and even though it was anger, he finally acknowledged his son occupied the house.
Always a quick lad, he’d discovered the best way to get his father’s attention wasn’t to be skilful and talented, but to be a little hellion and leave a trail of destruction miles wide and just as long. Right up there with the countless times he was yelled and railed at were the times he’d been struck.
Recalling the first time his father had struck him wasn’t difficult for Justin. He’d just released his father’s prized hounds. It took two days for the footmen to round them up. It was one of the times Justin hadn’t been acting out. It was an accident that he hadn’t latched the pen properly after playing with a new litter of puppies. He hadn’t even bothered to defend his actions, to explain. The murderous look in his father’s eyes proclaimed defense as useless. As his hand had struck his cheek, the blinding pain bringing tears to his young eyes, Justin made his decision. Then and there he’d decided he would do
anything he could to be rid of his family once and for all.
Over the next few years, he’d tried to run several times. Each time he was brought back and locked in his room for weeks. Eventually he decided it would take more than distance. He would have to be expelled from his family. It was the only way.
The busy streets of London finally fell away and Justin rode at breakneck speed, the wind pulling at his hair and clothes as Tzander’s hooves left divots in the rain-soft road. His favorite stallion liked to gallop and Justin liked the thrill of the ride, only today he couldn’t stop thinking of Carmalina and how she looked, innocently curled in her bed, hands tucked beneath stubble-rubbed cheeks.
He wondered if his infatuation with his mistress would continue after they were married.
God, he hoped so.
Chapter Fifteen
The buzz of voices that rose from the parlor made Carmalina’s hands sweaty, her pulse race and her breath hitch. She was so nervous she may as well have faced the guillotine, not a room full of Justin’s friends and acquaintances.
“Would you like me to announce you, madam?” Newberry enquired, his hand on the door ready to open it and tell the world she was about to enter. Even when she’d worn the scarlet gown to enter a gaming hell, she hadn’t been so agitated. So wary.
Carmalina shook her head at the butler and retreated a step. These people would not only judge her, they would have full control over how the gossip spread, who heard it and what they heard. It was the reason for the party and she would be silly to think otherwise.
Even after making love throughout the afternoon, she was under no disillusion that Justin had changed his mind about anything. Why should he? His scandal rolled along with the force of an avalanche and it seemed every time she spoke or acted, it gained momentum, bigger and more powerful.
“Is everything all right, madam?” Newberry stood in front of her now, a look akin to sympathy on his wrinkled face, although she could have been mistaken. It was hard to tell.
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