She gazed up at him. “Tell me that I make you happy.”
His face tightened as if in pain. “Oh, love,” he said and ran his finger down her cheek and then caressed her lips with his thumb. “Do you truly want to pleasure me?”
She nodded, taking his fingertip into her mouth.
“Come here,” he said. He stood up and tossed his shirttail over his cock, stepped out of his shoes, and held out his hand to her. When she rose, he swept his arm under her knees, lifting her into his arms.
Was he going to love her as a husband loves a wife? She wasn’t afraid at all. In fact, she had never felt so certain about anything in her life. Looking back, to the first time she saw him when she was still just a girl, she somehow knew she wanted to be his before she could even understand what that meant.
Then he laid her upon his bed. She sank into the mattress. He untied her robe and spread the sides like wings from her body. His gaze drifted from her face, slowly down to her breasts. She loved how he studied her, how her body heated and shivered under his intense gaze.
He buttoned back his trousers and then reached for his cravat and undid the knot. “You pleasure me when you wrinkle your nose and laugh.” He slid the cravat off his neck and let it fall on the floor. “You pleasure me when we walk side-by-side talking about nothing.” He removed his coat and waistcoat. “You pleasure me just by being near me.” He leaned down, one knee on the bed, and brushed her lips with his. She ran her hands under his shirt, lifting the fabric until she could see the contours of his taut muscles around his belly and the rise of his chest. He yanked the shirt over his head, revealing his strong shoulders and arms.
She put her hand behind his neck. “You’re so handsome,” she said, drawing him to her for a languid, deep kiss. His lips drifted down her neck and to the breast he had neglected before. He teased the hard tip with his tongue, making her writhe under his touch. She clutched his biceps, wanting to pull him onto her, feel him on her—inside her. Do something to sate this hunger.
He lifted his head. A devilish twinkle lit his eyes, as if he were playing, knowing full well the need he elicited in her body. He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, bunching her night dress around her waist. He looked down at her most private place. The back of his jaw tensed, and he let out a low sigh. Suddenly, she felt shy and vulnerable.
“Are you going to do those things from… from James’s caricatures?” she asked.
He curled the side of his mouth. “Maybe a few of the more gentle pleasures.” Then he grew serious again. “But I won’t penetrate you. I won’t ruin you. What happens tonight will be our little secret. I’m just going to help relieve you of this tension.”
He drew up one of her knees, opening her wider. Vivienne released a deep breath, feeling nervous and excited to be so intimately known.
“You’re exquisite,” he said quietly, then ran his finger between her folds. Her gaze flew to his face. A slow smile spread over his lips as he began circling that small peak between her thighs.
Her muscles tensed, and she opened her mouth, but couldn’t make a sound but the tiniest whimper as an intense pleasure wracked her body.
“Just don’t fight the feeling,” he advised, moving his finger faster.
Tremors shook her body, and she arched her back, pushing herself against him. “It’s so sweet.”
He continued working his magic. She could scarce keep her breath as pleasure mounted in her like compressed steam. Her legs began to shake, even as the rest of her body became rigid.
He leaned down and gently sucked her nipple and then flicked his tongue across its tip. She released a high, soft cry as tiny spasms broke over her body. She wanted more, something she couldn’t articulate, his scent, his feel, all of him. She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, toppling him on top of her.
“I want to feel you,” she gasped.
“Dear God, you’re undoing me.”
She felt his cock, straining against his trousers, and began to rub her mound against it, wrapping her legs around his. He moved with her, matching her rhythm, urging her to go faster.
“Tell me to stop,” he hissed, his voice hoarse and thick. “Say ‘no, Dashiell.’”
Her nails dug into his arm. Her knees trembled as her heels pressed into the mattress. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Dammit, woman, I can’t control myself.”
She felt him pull away. “Don’t!”
He was back again, but this time his trousers were pulled down, just the bare skin of his sex rubbing her peak. His breath was hard against her cheek. She could feel the power of his body pushing against her. She writhed beneath him, her desire stoked and desperate for some release. She was almost there. Almost… Her mind went silent as pleasure like waves crested through her. She clutched him, sliding her swollen lady parts against his hard cock, milking the sensation.
Vivienne’s climax resonated to his core. He could hear the thoughts in his head, warning him not to do what he was about to do. But some primal beast had taken over. He couldn’t stop himself.
He covered her mouth with his, her fingers threaded his hair. His penis was so hard, it hurt. He thrust, feeling her virgin barrier resist and then slowly give.
She stiffened and her body rose up. For several seconds, she was still. He was terrified that he had hurt her. Then her lips curled into a smile, and she released a long, soft moan, relaxing around him. “At last,” she sighed.
He clenched his teeth. Yes, at last. All those years of pent-up yearning, now flowing forth like a wild, foaming river. He tried to restrain himself to a slow pace, but couldn’t. She was so tight, so amazing, and so beautiful in her wantonness. He thrust and thrust, ravenous.
What the hell are you doing? He had just taken her virtue. And not the way it should have been done. Not slow and gentle, but desperate and fevered.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried in her ear.
“But it’s sublime.” She shifted under him, raising her knees higher, allowing him deeper inside of her. Her thighs moved with his rhythm, racing him, teasing him. She kept her eyes, darkened and glossy with desire, fixed on his face and her lips parted, tiny soft whimpers escaping from her throat. Everything was happening too fast. He couldn’t rein himself in. She might come again, but there was nothing he could do to help her along. He was too close to the edge of orgasm.
She cried out his name as her nails dug into his biceps. Her back arched, her legs started to tremble as she bucked wildly against him. The mattress was creaking, the bed posts slamming against the wall.
From some dark corner in his mind, a tiny, rational voice called “Pull out” just as she climaxed, her vagina contracting around his cock. The pleasure was too intense. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking that panicked voice of reason screaming for him to withdraw. White light flared in his head as he released his seed, his being, into her womb.
For a moment, neither spoke. A quiet awe filled the bed. Then slowly he came to rest on her body, now damp and languid from lovemaking.
She wrapped her arms about him. “I love you.”
A sweet, complete peace radiated from her touch that melted his heart. He pulled her tighter, feeling raw and afraid. His soul was naked, all his defenses breached.
He couldn’t muster the playful or teasing postcoital words he usually told his lovers. Vivienne was innocent and trusting. She didn’t understand that what had just happened was different for him. He hadn’t loved her correctly. Not as he supposed a man should make love to a virgin, gently and carefully. He was wild and unrestrained.
“Tell me you love me too,” she whispered.
The perspiration on his skin grew cool. He bolted up. “What the hell have I done?” he cried.
She squeezed his arm. “What’s the matter?” she asked. Her voice was still drowsy and soft. Her eyes were so tender, so trusting. She shouldn’t look at him that way. He wished he were a decent man who could hold her and tell her nothing was wrong. But everything was wr
ong. A shameful urge came over him, telling him to flee.
He reached for the waist of his trousers, which were crumpled around his knees. He hadn’t even taken the time to pull his trousers off, he was so mad with passion.
“You needn’t worry,” she said soothingly. “I will marry you.”
Something in her inflection, beneath the softness, sounded almost scheming. He felt as if he were being choked and reached to tug at his cravat, but he wasn’t wearing one.
“What did you say?”
“I will marry you. You said if you ruined me, we would have to marry.”
For a moment, all he could do was stare. “Is this what you wanted?” he finally asked, in a tight voice. “To marry me?”
She smiled, a beautiful grin, a gentle light coming to her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to marry you.”
He felt like he had just had taken a hard blow in the gut. “Did you…seduce me?”
Her lips trembled. “W-what?”
“John jilted you, so you came running to me?”
“No!” She rose up to her knees on his bed. Her nightdress, bunched about her waist, slid down, exposing her belly. “It—it just happened. Perhaps I thought you might marry me, but—”
“Was that when your mouth was on my cock or when you were begging me to ravish you?”
Vivienne gasped.
He couldn’t believe he had said those words. What the hell was wrong with him? He was out of control. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it. It’s just, dammit, Vivienne, I all but told you I couldn’t marry you.”
“No. You said you weren’t capable of making a good husband, but now—”
“You aren’t so picky.”
Her face crumpled as if she were about to cry. “I think you would make an excellent husband and… and father.”
Husband? Children? “I have to get away from here.” He swung around, looking for his coat and cravat tossed on the floor.
She pressed her hands to her belly. “But I might have a child now. Isn’t that what we’ve done?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh God. You don’t know anything, do you?”
Of course, no one had instructed her on the feminine arts. She hardly knew how babies were created, much less how to prevent one. Still, a scary thrill ran through him at the idea of Vivienne having his children. In his head, he pictured her holding a newborn to her breast, like a beautiful Madonna. Then a black rage filled him. Images of his own mother replaced the Madonna. And inside he felt hollow and terrified like that little boy left alone in the darkness of his enormous chamber with instructions from whatever nurse just to let him cry.
“A woman rarely becomes pregnant after her first experience,” he said, trying very hard to believe the old myth his mates tossed around at Cambridge.
“Oh,” she said, sounding bereft, her head drooping. He didn’t know if she were disappointed that she might not have a child or that her marriage trap had failed.
“I need to think,” he said. He grabbed his shirt off the floor and yanked it over his head.
“But—”
“I can’t breathe!” he shouted.
“What is happening?” she cried.
“For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that. I’m a little upset at the moment. J-just put your clothes back on.” He wrapped his cravat around his neck and made a weak knot with his shaking hands.
“But I’m compromised. You have to marry me.”
“Not necessarily,” he said absently. Where the hell are my shoes? He had to get out of here so he could breathe again. “Just… just get some sleep, and we’ll discuss our situation tomorrow.”
“Situation?” Vivienne echoed. They were a situation. She had experienced the loveliest moment of her life, and she’d thought he felt the same.
She remembered the prediction his angry red-headed lover had made not a week ago: You’re not different. Soon this bounder will break your heart and bring you to tears, like he did all the other ladies.
“You don’t love me,” she whispered.
Her limbs felt weak, her face trembled, and hot tears poured from her eyes. But she wouldn’t sob hysterically, or throw ancient vases, or hurl insults at him. At least she would be unique in that respect. She clutched her falling nightdress about her, grabbed the robe from where it had fallen on the floor, and ran for the passage. She hoped he might move to stop her or call her name. Once in the study, she waited a moment, giving him a last chance. Nothing. She jammed the panel back into place. With a mighty push, she shoved the bureau back and then kicked its side, again and again.
Foolish girl. You made John leave you and then you gave away your virtue to the worst rake in London. And now your family is going to starve because of you.
***
Dashiell shot back a glass of brandy and then poured another. He stared at the crumpled bed cover. Hot tears burned in his eyes.
“Damn me,” he shouted and threw the tumbler so hard the glass exploded when it hit the fireplace, spraying the floor with tiny shards. This time he had gone too far.
He shoved his feet in his shoes and did what he always feared he would if Vivienne got too close… he fled.
Sixteen
Two hours or so later, Dashiell was drunk in a grimy timbered tavern off Soho Square with his new best lads Lionel, a reed-like, nasal-voiced young man who had just lost his fiancée to a bank clerk, and Gilbert, a big mountain of a bartender.
“I’ve known her all my life,” Dashiell told them with a wave of his hand, splashing the drink he was holding. “She was my little sister, and she grew into this beautiful lady. Stunning. Ravishing. Helen of Troy couldn’t rival her. And her mind. The female Aristotle, I tell you.” He gulped from his glass and then set it and his head on the bar. “She wasn’t supposed to grow up, dammit, and become dangerous. I’m a loggerhead, a coxcomb, a lout. I can’t help myself. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I did. I did.”
“You want another drink, my good fellow?” Gilbert asked.
Dashiell raised himself and looked at Lionel. “You know what I want? I want you to punch me.” He pointed to the side of his chin without a bruise. “Right there. Give me a good hook.”
“Really?” Lionel slurred. “You want me to hit you?”
“Go ahead, I deserve it,” Dashiell assured him. “I’m a low, cowardly cully. A fatheaded, faithless blackguard.”
“If you insist.” Lionel pulled back his thin fist and drunkenly gazed at it for a moment, as if he didn’t recognize his own hand, and then let it fly. He missed Dashiell entirely, stumbled, and then fell into the husky gentleman next to them, seemingly embracing him.
The man flashed them a dark eye. “Sorry, old chap,” Lionel said, straightening himself. He slinked back. “I never was a fighter,” he cried. “Lost every fisticuffs at Eton. A regular dandyprat, I am. That’s why my fiancée left me for that bank clerk.”
“Now, now, just have another drink,” Dashiell said, patting him on the back.
Gilbert set another glass down before each man, including himself, and poured. “So what’s your problem, old boy?” he said to Dashiell “Why did you have to hurt her?”
Dashiell stared at the flames from the coal fire dancing on the amber brandy. In his drunken mind, he was reeling back through time to the little boy, clutching his history book to his chest, calling out for his mama who wasn’t there. To the same little boy, writing letters to his mama, begging her to come home. To all the still stone goddesses in his house, beauties who couldn’t hurt him or leave him. The words fell from his mouth. “My mama abandoned me. She didn’t love me.”
Lionel banged his fist on the wood. “My fiancée abandoned me for a bank… wait a minute, did you say your mama? Why are we talking about your mother?”
Gilbert started to sniff, his big shoulders heaving. “My mother said I was one child too many and sent me to an orphanage.”
“That’s so sad!” Lionel hunched over and began weeping into his brandy.
His body started to quiver, and he felt as if he would come out of his skin. He leaped onto the bar. “Ladies and gentleman, I would like to talk about marriage and mating customs,” he declared. “Let’s start with China, where I shall soon be traveling.”
An hour later, Dashiell had finished two more drinks and moved on to lecturing about the harems of the Ottoman Empire, despite the fact that the patrons were booing him, a few even throwing utensils at him, and his now not-so-best-lad Gilbert had threatened to call the watch. “Unknown to many in the west, harems have a rigid hierarchical structure,” Dashiell slurred and then stopped, recognizing the wild gray hair and hat of his grandfather coming through the tavern door.
“What the hell?” he said, approaching his grandson. “One of the boys told me I was supposed to come get you. That you were embarrassing yourself.”
“Actually, I was just leaving,” Dashiell said.
“Damnation, son,” the earl said as he helped his grandson off the bar. He tossed an arm over Dashiell’s shoulder as if he were injured and began to guide him to the door. The entire tavern broke into applause.
Outside, the night air felt dense and wet with unfallen rain. In the narrow gap between high rooftops on either side of the street, Dashiell could see the dark gray clouds blanketing the night sky. Low fog flowed in from the alleyways. He supported himself against a lamppost and swallowed hard to keep the contents of his stomach down.
“Let’s get a hack and take you home,” the earl suggested.
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