Ives’s head felt explosive. That he had immediately wondered when he first met Padua did not mean other men should presume to do so, let alone his brothers. “I cannot believe that you are speaking so outrageously about this woman who is a lady and our guest.”
Gareth turned his head at the outburst. He leaned forward and spoke to Lance. “What is wrong with him?”
“There is nothing wrong with me. I am shocked, that is all, that you are speculating about her when she has given you no cause to do so, other than being by nature tall.”
“I am not imagining her, but the idea. The woman in my wondering is anonymous. Although I don’t understand why you are cross. We always wonder and speculate. You have never objected before,” Gareth said. “Unless—ahhh. My apologies, Ives. You said she was not your mistress, so I assumed—I did not realize that you had a tendre for her.”
“I do not have a tendre for her.”
“He does not have a tendre for her,” Lance echoed.
“It is not like that.”
“It is not like that,” Lance repeated. “Miss Belvoir is just an acquaintance. A friend. A woman in need of sanctuary. Isn’t that right, Ives?”
“I think I will thrash both of you right now.”
“Quick-tempered, isn’t he?” Gareth asked.
“Miss Belvoir is a ticklish subject.”
“I suppose that means she won’t have him.”
“That is my conclusion. At least she won’t so far. Nor will he have her, while they are here. I have forbidden all such activity under my roof.”
Silence fell. They walked on. Ives tried to shed the anger that had him in its grip.
“Just so I understand,” Gareth said. “Did you forbid it only with them, or is this a new house rule?”
“The No Sexual Congress at Merrywood edict applies to everyone,” Ives said. “Lance is damned annoyed that he has to behave, so he has decided no one will have pleasure if he cannot. You are forbidden too. He just neglected to tell you up to now.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Lance said. “His wife is in the family way. I did not need to forbid him. Nature has done it for me.”
Ives looked over at Gareth. Gareth smiled so broadly that moonlight reflected off his teeth.
They separated once inside the house. Lance retreated to his apartment, as ignorant as ever about women in Eva’s condition. Gareth went in search of his wife, presumably to have some forbidden pleasure with her, edict be damned. Ives decided a spot of brandy was in order, and repaired to the library.
To his surprise, he found Padua there. He thought she had retired like Eva.
She sat at one of the library tables, reading a large book. The lamp near her head cast a soft golden glow over her profile and the bodice of her yellow dress. She did not hear him enter. Her thick lashes remained at half-mast over her reading eyes.
He stayed near the door and admired the picture she made. Her long, lithe body angled over the book, but her back remained straight. Whatever she read gave her joy. The smallest smile lightened her expression, as if she listened to a friend speaking.
He should leave her to whatever engrossed her, but of course he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I did not know you had a tendre for her. Perhaps he did. Desire alone would be simpler. He knew how to take care of desire.
Not for the first time since he had met her, he ignored the better sense that told him to walk away, that warned getting entangled would mean compromise at best, and scandal at worst, that suspected none of this was unplanned by her, and that she might be pulling the strings while he danced to her purpose like a puppet.
Right now all that mattered was that she was lovely, they were alone, and he wanted her.
CHAPTER 13
Padua realized she was not alone a moment after she congratulated herself on translating an Italian inscription in one of the engravings. Not a sound had been made, but she recognized the presence in the room from the way the air changed. She knew who it was too.
She did not look over. She dared not until she calmed the reaction that spread through her. Delight. Excitement. Anticipation. None of those involuntary emotions boded well for her.
He walked toward her. She had to look then, and acknowledge him.
“You are deeply into that tome,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“Eva showed it to me. It is full of engravings of paintings and buildings from the places she visited.”
“The places you want to visit too?”
She nodded, and turned the page. “I expect you have been to most of them.”
“Not as many as you may think. Like most men my age, a grand tour became difficult with the war. I did go over after it ended. I visited Venice and Florence, but I did not go to Padua, for example.”
“I still envy you.”
He reached around her and turned another page. “You will get there. I do not doubt it.”
She did not see the new picture. His closeness distracted her. His confidence that she would achieve her dreams touched her. She wished she had such faith in herself. He could not know how for a woman the passage of time alone eroded one’s self-confidence.
His breath warmed her neck and shoulder when he reached to turn the page again. She controlled the way her body trembled only by drawing on all of her force of will.
She closed the book and turned in her chair. She pulled her blue wrap tighter. “I think I will go to my chamber now.”
“Not yet.” He held out his hand, to help her to stand. “Sit for a while, and reassure me that my family did not overwhelm you.”
She should go. Every instinct shouted that she should.
She accepted his hand. He led her over to a divan. She sat. He sat beside her.
The pulse of her heart seemed to throb out of her and right into the air. What had already occurred between them existed in the small space that separated their bodies, begging for attention. Even at fifteen she would have felt the lure Ives had become since he joined her in the library, and she was far older now, and hardly ignorant.
“I enjoyed our little dinner party,” she said. “I was not overwhelmed. Eva has been only kind, and it is a revelation to see how three brothers treat one another when they are not being watched by anyone who matters.”
“I will not accept your description of yourself.”
“I meant that no serious guests were present, to interfere with your camaraderie and jokes. You all could be as outspoken as you wanted. I doubt you behave the same when you are among your equals at London dinner parties or balls.”
“I suppose we did let our guard down, despite your presence. We have not all been together in some months.”
“I am glad no one stood on ceremony. If conversation had remained formal and steady, I would have wondered if it was because of me and felt bad for robbing the reunion of its joy.”
He turned toward her. His arm rose to rest on the back of the divan. “They are all curious about you.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing about your father. I explained that you are a damsel in distress who needed to leave London for a while. I also told them that you are not my mistress.”
“Wouldn’t they recognize your mistress?”
“Not currently, since there isn’t one.”
She took more pleasure in hearing that than she should have.
His gaze shifted to the top of her head. She felt vague movements in the hair on her crown, as his fingertips toyed with some curls. The small stimulation sent happy chills down her spine.
“They also wonder if I intend to seduce you.”
“Don’t they know you don’t seduce?”
“It is not something I have explained to them. Even if I had, bringing you here would make them speculate. Lance is suspicious enough that he has forbidden it.”
“I am trying to picture him saying that.” She laughed. “I suppose if the duke forbids it, I am safe.”
He leaned forward and kiss
ed her cheek. “I don’t think so.” He kissed again. “I do not indulge Lance during his fits of hypocrisy.”
She did not pretend she did not like those soft kisses.
She imagined where this could go if she did not stop it. She reacted with less alarm than good sense would dictate. That was probably because her body sabotaged her by purring deeply at the notion she might know the peak of sensual pleasure again.
“I suppose if you were of a mind for that, this chamber would be ideal, assuming no servants or family entered,” she said nervously. His breath warmed the skin on her shoulder. “You are clever at using tables, and that table where I read is large and sturdy, for example. Without the lamp it would be shadowed but not too dark in here too. Not that I am suggesting we repeat our last indiscretion. We both agreed that would be ill-advised.” She forcibly stopped the nervous flow of words from gushing forth even more.
At the same moment, he turned her head and silenced her further with a kiss on her lips.
“Remember how we agreed to that?” The call to his conscience squeaked out, an irrelevant question now.
He took her face in his cupped hands and kissed deeply. The intimacy undid her. She grasped his arms and kissed too. Their tongues battled and he won. His kisses dominated her, claiming with no quarter. Her breasts and thighs turned so sensitive he might have been licking at her skin the way she wished he would.
If she raised her lids she could see that library table. Yes. She wanted him to touch and kiss her until she was insane again and cried from the intensity. She wanted those feathers on her inner legs making her throb.
The kisses stopped and she gazed into eyes severe with thought mere inches from her own.
Yes. A calculation. A decision. Yes.
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Go up now. Quickly.”
She did not move for a few moments. Surely she heard wrong. She did not want to go. Couldn’t he tell?
He turned his back on her and stepped away.
Embarrassment and frustration crashed together. Dazed, she stumbled away. At the door she looked back. He stood there, arms folded, gazing at nothing, his profile set like it had been carved of stone.
* * *
You are supposed to be the sensible brother. Hell, yes.
Ives paced his apartment like a caged animal. Sitting proved impossible. Nothing could distract him.
He had behaved most sensibly with Padua. Honorably. Did he now enjoy the peace of the virtuous?
He wanted to punch the wall.
Not for you the bored wives, as with Gareth. Not for you the whoever catches one’s eye, as with me. No, indeed. That was too messy. Inefficient. Contracted mutual pleasure made much more sense. There could be no misunderstanding, no dramatic partings, no anguished poetry. Also no lies and no regrets. And precious few infuriating nights like this one after the bargain had been struck.
Not for him the bored wives, and definitely not the daughters of prisoners in Newgate. He avoided itemizing yet again just how stupid it would be to take up with Padua Belvoir.
Nothing but trouble there. Damnable trouble. Whether she was the innocent daughter or the conniving accomplice did not matter. He would regret it. He already did.
He paused his prowling in the middle of his dressing room. A sliver of ruthless clarity entered his fevered mind, and he grabbed it for closer examination.
He acted as if he would face future choices, but the choices had already been made. He was in deep already. Whether through design or accident, whether due to desire or negligence, his position regarding the Belvoir case had been compromised. He lied to himself if he pretended otherwise.
Which meant he had nothing to lose.
* * *
Padua prepared for bed, then sent the servant away. She moved the lamp to a table in her bedchamber, wrapped her blue shawl over her nightdress, and opened a book she had brought with her from the school. A novel by Miss Austen, which she had salvaged from the rubbish after Mrs. Ludlow confiscated it from one of the girls and declared it scandalous. Padua had not found those parts yet, and was losing hope there would be any.
She remained unsettled by Ives’s kisses. She was grateful he had sent her away. Wasn’t she? She did not really want an affair with Ives. Did she? She was fortunate one of them had behaved with sense and honor. Not her. No, she sat with a book on her lap, trying to ignore the excitement and arousal that still simmered, trying to convince herself she was relieved, not disappointed.
She could not lose herself in the story the way she had yesterday. What attention she could give it only made her cross. Mr. Darcy was in the process of making the worst proposal any man could. It was the sort of proposal Padua Belvoir might receive in the unlikely event she ever heard one.
The lowest rap sounded on her door, so low she almost did not hear it. Wondering if perhaps Eva had seen the light under the door, she went and opened it.
Ives stood there in his shirtsleeves. No coats, no cravat. No pretense.
He did not say a word. He did not have to. He announced his intentions with his mere presence, and through the way he looked at her. She sensed a tautness in him, much like that in an animal right before it released its physical power.
Her mind spun with a hundred thoughts jumbled together. She should think about her reputation. She should pretend joy and triumph had not rung like bells in her head when she saw who it was. She should not allow his beauty to sway her, but, oh, his appearance awed her now worse than ever before.
The suspense in the air heralded pending disaster or victory. The excitement in itself mesmerized her, but he did too.
“You should not be here.” It breathed out, barely a whisper.
“No.” Nothing in his expression changed. Not the set of his jaw nor the fire in his eyes. “You can close the door if you want.”
She gripped the door’s edge. She could close it, of course. And she should.
His gaze locked on hers. He looked for her decision. He saw it before she knew it herself.
With one step he was over the threshold and she was in his arms. Passion crackled through him, silent lightning in a palpable storm. He lifted her, kicked the door closed, and swung her around. Breathless and unsteady, she found herself pressed against the door. His body imprisoned her there while he claimed her in a furious kiss that made the world spin even more. He dominated her, and commanded her response with searing kisses to her mouth and neck.
The arousal she had carried to her chamber, which had distracted and taunted her, surged in a wave of sensation. His heat and strength titillated her whole body. The feral energy he exuded as he handled her incited erotic stirring low and deep. When she clutched his shoulders desperately, to hold on to something tangible and real, he would have none of it. He captured her hands in his and forced them above her head, so she could only submit to the sensual chaos. Submit she did, to the kisses coaxing her primitive self, to the ache throbbing between her legs, to the body so close it became the focus of all her senses.
He stripped away the shawl from her shoulders and neck, and it floated out of sight. Kissing her hard, he pulled up her nightdress impatiently. Air cooled her legs, then her thighs and hips. He pressed his knee between her legs, raising her so she rode a hard ledge pressing up against her vulva. Her toes barely scraped the floor. The pressure aroused her, thoroughly. Deep, dark tremors of pleasure overwhelmed her.
“Enough of this.” He released her hands and peeled up her nightdress. A cloud of white cloth engulfed her head. Then she was naked, her body inches from his, waiting for the torture his caresses could create.
He looked down while his hands moved up her legs and thighs. He paused, briefly, to slide one thumb between his knee and her mound. He pressed with precision on the very spot she kept moving to relieve. Her deep moan brought wicked lights to his eyes.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, while he watched his hands slide up her body. “You are elegant. Sinuous.” His hands cupped her breasts. His thum
bs grazed her nipples. Tantalizing excitement streamed into her blood. “Kiss me now, while I drive you mad with pleasure.”
She circled his neck with her arms and kissed him hard, as best she knew how. She tried using her tongue the way he did, and her teeth. All the while his hands teased at her breasts, forcing the pleasure higher until that special madness did close in. The erotic torment left her whimpering within the kisses, and gasping out urging breaths.
His hands left her. She wanted to scold him, until she saw him strip off his shirt. He pulled her into an embrace so their bodies met with no interference. Holding him like that, feeling his skin beneath her hands and arms and against her breasts, enthralled her. The pleasure changed in that instant. Even his kiss felt different. A new intimacy touched her, and she could not ignore its power.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and started to remove the rest of his clothes.
In a slice of clarity, she saw where she was, what he was doing, and what would happen. Her nakedness felt stark. Scandalous. More than when she was on that table, even if she had been equally exposed. She instinctively covered her breasts with her arm and her mound with her hand. When his trousers lowered, she looked away.
Warmth beside her depressed the mattress. Intimacy descended on her like a mist. His scent, his skin—
“Do not be shy with me now, Padua.” He lifted the arm from her breast. “You were not before.”
She had not been so naked before. So vulnerable. She had not been in a bed either.
He banished her misgivings with a kiss that sent her reeling. Pleasure abolished hesitation and shyness. His kiss commanded that she not only acquiesce but also participate. While the fever took control again, he came over her so his body covered hers. He pushed her legs apart so his hips could settle between her thighs.
Another shard of reality broke through the sensual fog. “Are you going to . . . ?”
“Not yet.” His arms slid beneath her torso. “Soon.”
His embrace made her arch so her breasts rose higher. He tasted her shoulder, then moved slowly down her skin. She arched more, offering, urging. Anticipation made her wild and so aroused that her hips rocked.
Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy) Page 14