Reckless Viscount

by Amy Sandas

  She felt…cherished and treasured in a way she could never have expected. There was a new sense of personal power and intimate delight present in her being that was something of a revelation. The feeling was so wonderful that she couldn’t even call up a drop of shame or embarrassment for having indulged in the pleasures of lovemaking while in the midst of such a public place. Rather than being shocked by her wanton behavior, Abbigael found herself excited by the liberation of such a hedonistic act.

  She didn’t realize that a silly smile had spread across her lips until Leif looked at her and grinned.

  “What thoughts are dancing through that sharp little mind of yours?”

  “I never would have thought I had it in me to be so wanton.”

  Leif laughed and lifted their joined hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I knew it all along.”

  Abbigael cast a skeptical gaze at her husband. “Oh, you did, did you? And what exactly was it in my manner that gave away a secret so well guarded even I was unaware of it?”

  “Your manner is very fine,” he assured her with a barely suppressed twist of delight to his lips. “That is not where I first caught a glimpse of the wickedness within you.”

  “Where then?”

  He stopped and turned to face her. His eyes swept over her features. “I saw it in a multitude of small things. Things another man may miss by looking too directly at the obvious.”

  Abbigael eyed him with a touch of suspicion and a dose of fascination. “What do you mean?”

  He brushed his thumb along the arch of her eyebrow. “It was in the other-worldliness of your fairy eyes.” He touched his index finger to the center of her bottom lip. “And the way your lips parted with breathless anticipation when I spoke to you and how your voice shielded the words you wished you could say. It was in the energy barely contained in the thoughtless movement of your hands and the forced sedateness in your walk. You were clearly meant for more than what the constraints that had been placed on you would allow. And now you are liberated.” He finished with a confident grin.

  Abbigael was amazed by his perception, but a part of her had to ask, “Am I liberated? Truly?”

  Leif lifted his brows and thought for a moment.

  “Only you can know the answer to that, Irish.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The carriage brought them to the front door of Leif’s townhouse.

  Their walk back through the gardens and then the carriage ride through the streets of London brought a return of composure to them both. But it was a façade. Sexual tension swirled in the atmosphere as thick and palpable as a London fog.

  Leif watched Abbigael.

  She continued to be an enigma to him.

  Her passion was undeniable and explosive. Not unlike her temper, once roused it was not easily doused. The first time at the inn had branded his memory and he had been unable to keep from replaying the scene in his mind a dozen times since. It was frustrating that he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about her that charmed him so completely and had him hard and aching just by the thought of her. He hadn’t planned to take her again in the gardens, but once she had given herself over to the kiss, he could no more deny the need he sensed in her than he could ignore his own.

  He studied her seated so calmly across from him. She hadn’t spoken much since they left Lover’s Lane and he wondered at her thoughts. But more specifically, he wondered what to do next.

  She was his wife.

  She had been a virgin before he had touched her.

  He knew those things should mean something, but every time he had her arching and moaning in his arms, he forgot about all of that and only wanted to indulge in the fiery lust that burned within him. Wasn’t there some code of proper behavior between husband and wife? Wasn’t that why so many men sought their pleasure with mistresses and courtesans?

  He had to be breaking the rules with Abbigael. Surely a proper husband did not make love to his wife in the middle of Lover’s Lane. That he would break the rules was no surprise. What amazed him was that his little Irish wife didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

  “Are we going in?” she asked when he continued to sit and stare at her minutes after the carriage had stopped moving. Her eyes were bright and clear even in the darkness and he felt the hum of electricity flowing between them.

  His cock pulsed to life, urging him into action.

  “Of course.”

  He opened the door and jumped to the pavement then turned to help her down.

  God, he didn’t think he had ever anticipated a night quite so much.

  As she stepped down to the pavement beside him, he lifted her hand and turned it over. Then he lowered his head to place a solid kiss in the center of her palm before turning and walking her to the door.

  Inside, the house was eerily quiet.

  Langley had long since gone to bed and only a few candles lit the wide entryway. Leif hadn’t had the funds to update to the gaslights many people were starting to install and he rather liked the subtle glow of candlelight.

  He turned to Abbigael, and without a word he helped remove her cloak and set it on the small table. Her throbbing pulse was visible at the base of her slim throat, there was a breathless tautness in her shoulders and her gaze dropped to his mouth at the same time that her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  Leif swallowed hard and urged his blood to a slower pace. He had every intention of making this night as long and memorable as possible. It would not do for his libido to jump ahead of itself.

  As if her sole intention was to challenge his control, she smiled in a distinctly secretive and feminine way as she took a step toward him. Placing her hand on his chest, she tilted back her head and the look in her eyes stopped his heart. Then she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her warm, sweet lips to his.

  His heart jumped back into the race with a galloping jolt. Even after all of the physical intimacy they had already shared, or perhaps because of it, that simple innocent touch had his lust raging as if he were a boy in the midst of his first infatuation.

  Her lovely lashes shadowed the glow of desire in her eyes.

  “Take me upstairs,” she whispered.

  A stab of lust shot straight from his chest to his groin.

  “As you wish,” he replied, wondering how his voice could sound so even when his body shook with the hunger that gripped him. He grasped her hand and led her to the stairs, barely resisting the urge to take the steps two at a time in his haste to get her to bed. He thought he may have heard her giggle softly, but he couldn’t be sure he heard right through the hazy roaring in his ears.

  Reaching the second floor landing, he turned automatically to the left. He entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them, then released her hand to start a warming fire in the grate. Within minutes, the room was illuminated with a fiery glow and heat billowed out to warm them.

  Standing, he turned back to his wife and every muscle in his body froze in sudden alarm.

  She stood where he had left her, just inside the doorway. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she perused the details of the room with wide and startled eyes. When her gaze came to rest on the plush mound of pillows in satin, silk and velvet that made up the centerpiece of the room, Leif’s stomach clenched painfully.

  He could see the amazement then the startled dawning of understanding in her perceptive gaze. And ultimately the deep-red blush of shock and an awareness that couldn’t be taken back.

  I’m a bleeding idiot!

  Any man who knew his arse from a hole in the ground knew not to bring his innocent bride to a room where he had spent years entertaining paramours of all varieties. He imagined he could hear an echo of pleasured gasps and sighs and smell the pungent musk of sex.

  He opened his mouth to say something and nearly choked on the air he involuntarily sucked into his lungs.

  What could he say?

  After an unknown number of long, excruciating minutes, she settle
d her crystalline gaze on him. Proud and direct in spite of her obvious distress.

  “Is this where you sleep?” she asked in a tone that triggered a subtle twitch in his right eye.

  “No,” he replied, his jaw tense.

  She swept another glance about the room.

  Leif stood stiff and unmoving, resisting the urge to shift his weight from one foot to the other. He felt like a school boy caught diddling himself in the water closet.

  She kept her gaze averted. “Is there another room?”

  Forcing himself into action, Leif crossed the room to her and reached for the door, opening it wide.

  Silently, she preceded him into the hallway. He suffered a quick internal debate regarding whether he should start checking each of the other bedrooms to see if any of them were inhabitable or simply take her to the only other room that had been in use since he purchased the house ten years ago. He decided he couldn’t do worse than he had already tonight and he led her to his Spartan bedroom near the servant’s stairs at the end of the hall.

  He pushed open the door, and with a bow of his head, he gave a grandiose and self-mocking sweep of his hand, gesturing for her to enter.

  She passed by him without looking up as she crossed the threshold.

  Stepping in behind her, he leaned back against the wall next to the open door and crossed his arms over his chest. There was no point in closing the door when he expected they would be back on their way out in another minute.

  The night was on a surefire track to disaster.

  He could have planned this so much better, he silently chastised himself. Where was the great seducer now?

  She perused the room much as she had the previous one. Only this time, he could not see her face. He didn’t have to follow her gaze to know what she saw. A room of bare necessity illuminated only by the glowing embers of a fire Mrs. Hempstead must have lit and left to burn down.

  He kept his gaze narrowed and eyed the slim curve of her spine and hips with covetous yearning. He desperately wanted to strip the layers of clothing off her body and feel every line and dip and bend with the bare surface of his palm. He wanted to kiss every shadowed crevice and taste the musk of her pleasure.

  His cock stiffened painfully in response to his thoughts and he shifted his stance against the wall.

  She turned then to look at him.

  For once, he couldn’t read the expression on her face.

  He tried to appear calm, unaffected, indifferent. But every muscle in his body was fully taut and his chest was so tight that breathing caused a perceptible ache.

  “That other room,” she began softly, then paused to trace her tongue over her lips. “Is that where you bring your women?”

  He wished he could tell what she was thinking in the tone of her voice, but she gave nothing away.

  “I have a past. I won’t deny it.”

  She lifted her chin a subtle notch higher. “I know. Lady Blackbourne told me that you pleasured women for money.”

  Leif clenched his teeth then forced his jaw to loosen. He would strangle Anna when he saw her.

  “I only took what was willingly offered.”

  “You used them,” she accused blandly.

  “The using was mutual,” he growled.

  “Did you love them?”

  Leif swallowed the defensive urge to scoff at the naïve question. Instead, he took a deep breath and answered as honestly as he could.

  “Love is just a word men and women toss about when they are trying to get something from each other.”

  “That is a very jaded perspective.”

  “Based on experience, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t reply and the tension in his body was becoming unbearable. He still wanted her with an unbelievable urgency that began to feel more and more doomed as the silent seconds ticked by.

  He had never felt so deeply entangled in a woman’s reaction. There was an odd hint of desperation hovering in the muted light of the room. He feared the desperation came from himself and that suspicion created a feeling in his bones that was both disturbing and incredibly arousing.

  He prepared himself for her rejection.

  It was fine. He would find her another room, then he would go find himself a very deep barrel of whisky to drown in. They would have to talk about their situation in the morning. They were still married. He may have lost her, but he still needed her fortune. He couldn’t afford to lose that.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Watching her, waiting for the disgust, the anger, the dismissal, Leif caught the exact moment when her features shifted.

  Her graceful brows arched gently and her thick lashes swept down against her cheeks then lifted again to reveal the bright glow in her eyes, shining like pin-points of crystal fire in the shadowed room. Her lips were parted and the soft swells of her breasts lifted and fell with each breath.

  She walked toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. Her gaze was trained down and to the side as if to avoid meeting his eyes directly.

  “Did you…?” she began then stopped and licked her lips, took a deep breath and began again. “When you took your women to that room, what did you do to them?”

  Something akin to the pain of suffocation swelled in his chest. “You know the answer,” he answered darkly.

  She stood directly in front of him, her breasts mere centimeters from his crossed arms, her forehead inches from his mouth. Her scent surrounded him. Rain-soaked wildflowers.

  “I mean, specifically.” She met his eyes then and a shot of need went through his chest. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from grasping hold of her and pulling her hard against him.

  “Did you kiss them?”

  His throat tightened and he didn’t understand her questioning, but he had promised her honesty. “I did.”

  “Like this?” Her voice was barely over a whisper, but he heard the words like a roar of thunder in his ears. She lifted her hands to brace them against his forearms and rose onto her tip-toes. Everything was in slow motion as she tilted her face and pressed her lips to his mouth.

  The contact was brief and not nearly deep enough, but she pulled back to see his expression and waited.

  “Not quite.” His reply was rough and gravely.

  She leaned toward him again. This time, once her mouth covered his, her tongue swept like silk against his lips.

  Unexpected bolts of pleasure shot through his gut to his groin.

  Her tongue explored and lingered in his mouth. Teasing and coaxing by turn. Sparking a fire that burned him from the inside out.

  Then she pulled away again. Her warm breath fanned against his moistened lips. Her eyes glittered with otherworld magic.

  Never had a kiss so perfectly primed him for sex. He was ready to push her to the floor and drive into her body for the next century. Instead, he eyed her suspiciously.

  Was this the end of it? Had she meant only to inflame him then leave him cold? It was a common female trick. One that had never worked on him before. However, if it was this woman’s intention to torture him in that way, he feared the rigid control he held over himself would crack and dissolve and he would crumble at her feet.

  “Then what?”

  Her soft words stirred the flames through his veins. When he didn’t answer her, she shifted her focus to her hands, moving them back and forth over his arms then up over his strained biceps to his shoulders. She glanced at him through the fan of her lashes.

  “Did you undress them?”

  Leif was beyond speech. At her gentle urging, he pushed himself away from the wall until he stood stiff and painfully erect as her pale, delicate hands moved to the knot of his cravat. She untied the cloth with swift dexterity then began releasing the buttons of his shirt. He was forced to move then as she urged his crossed arms to relax at his sides so she could finish opening his shirt down to the waistband of his breeches. Next, she ran her hands back up the surface of his abdomen, then his chest. Her touch was warm and confident and det
ermined. She pushed his coat off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind him. Then she released the buttons at his wrists and grasped handfuls of his shirt above his waist to pull the material from his breeches. That too was pushed off his shoulders and down his arms to the floor.

  She stopped then, her hands hovering over his chest. Her gaze caressing his bare flesh.

  “Did you touch them?” Her voice had become low and sultry with her growing desire. The Irish brogue richening her words like honey.

  No longer waiting for him to answer, she laid her palms flat against his pectorals. She held them there for just a moment, then she began to explore all the surfaces of his chest, shoulders, arms, even the corded length of his throat. Her fingertips danced and soothed, her palms warmed and kneaded.

  He remained unmoving under her ministrations, terrified she would stop, startled by the intensity of his reaction to her gentle exploration. Such innocent caresses had no right to be so damned erotic. He knew that intellectually, but when her hands finally drifted over the muscles of his abdomen, there was no hiding how heavily his cock pulsed against the front of his breeches.

  He risked lowering his eyes and saw the first sign of her uncertainty when her hands trembled ever so slightly near the waist of his breeches. He clenched his hands into fists so tight that if he had been holding lumps of coal, he would have turned them into diamonds.

  Instead of loosening his breeches, she rested her hands on either side of his hips and brought herself forward until she melted into him. He felt every soft inch of her from her thighs to her breasts. Her breath spread across his collarbone.

  “Did you kiss their naked skin?” she asked as she leaned forward and pressed her lips and then her tongue to a scar just below his shoulder.

  It was all he could bear.

  “No more,” he growled more harshly than he intended.