“Are you saying you left it?”
“I’m saying I haven’t been as devoted to it as I once was.” The fingers that had curled her hair around the shell of her ear lingered, skimmed over her cheek, and came to rest near the freckle. He touched it with his thumb. “You’re not quite so brazen this afternoon as you were in the coach.”
Her cheeks flushed. “It’s easier in the dark, don’t you think?”
“Not always.”
Lowering his mouth to hers, he took because he could, because he knew she wouldn’t object, and because he was hungry for the taste of her. Kissing her was wrong on so many levels, but he had ceased to care. No one was about to witness their transgressions.
Her fingers scraped his scalp, tugged on his hair, held him in place while her sweet sighs echoed around them. He wound his arm around her back, and brought her in closer, pressing her breasts to his chest, breasts he wanted to see, touch, taste. Why was she so protective regarding what was beneath her bodice and not what was beneath her skirts? In his experience, the opposite was usually true.
But then again, Grace had never been common, ordinary, or like anyone else.
When she pulled back, her lips were swollen and damp. He wanted to swoop in and claim them again.
“I have the impression that you’re not teaching me a lesson,” she said.
“No, I’m simply being wicked and taking what I have no right to hold.”
“Too much power is given over a kiss.”
“I’ve shown you where they can lead.”
“As long as it’s mutual, I don’t understand why it must be forbidden.” She slipped out of his hold and began walking, swaying her hips slightly.
Grabbing the reins of both horses, he fell into step beside her. “Because women are supposed to remain pure.”
Peering over at him, she scoffed. “But not gentlemen. So unfair. Perhaps I shall stand in the center of the ballroom and invite every gent to kiss me. Surely if he makes my toes curl, he’s the correct one.”
Do I make your toes curl? hung on the tip of his tongue.
“I mean, I can’t possibly wait until my wedding night to discover if he is a marvelous kisser. What if he slobbers or has rancid breath or doesn’t like using his tongue?”
Although he knew he had no right he despised the thought of another man kissing her. Reaching out, he pulled her to him, cupped her face between his hands, and blanketed her mouth with his own. He didn’t want to discuss potential suitors for Grace. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be elsewhere.
Sometimes he thought he might go mad. But at that particular moment, madness was the farthest thing from his mind. Grace took over his thoughts. The feel of her in his arms, the sweep of her tongue through his mouth. He backed up until he landed against a tree that he could use for support while he nestled her between his thighs.
Sweet Christ. She writhed against him as though she sought the same surcease that he did. But he wouldn’t take it, couldn’t take it, not with her, not when he couldn’t give her a marriage based on love. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t make her glad that their paths had crossed.
As smoothly as possible, without breaking from the kiss, he turned them around until she was supported by the tree. Her riding habit was perfect for what he had in mind as it lacked the layers of petticoats that would prove bothersome to his quest. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around her knee and lifted her long leg, settling it just below his hip. Bless her height and long limbs.
“Lovingdon,” she whispered on a breathy sigh, and he gritted his teeth at the thought of her saying another man’s name. She opened her eyes, and he saw the heated passion that was burning inside her. Had he ever known a woman who was so quick to ignite? “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No, we shouldn’t, but you tend to do things that you shouldn’t. Why stop now?”
“Is this a lesson?”
How he wished it was. “No. I just want to feel you shuddering in my arms.”
“I want to shudder in your arms.”
With a growl, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her sweet fragrance along with the earthy scent of her earlier exertions. She dropped her head back, giving him easier access to the silky, sensitive flesh as her fingers dug into his upper arms.
He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her skirt until he could cup the bare skin of her calf. Firm muscle. He skimmed his fingers higher, along the back of her knee.
She gasped, giggled, sighed.
“Ticklish?” he rasped near her ear, wondering when his voice had grown so rough.
“A little, but don’t stop.”
“I have no intention of stopping.” Although if she asked, he would. He hoped only that she wouldn’t ask. He wanted to give her this, even as he recognized that in the giving he was also receiving. Her happiness, her joy, mattered to him. It was the reason that he’d made this journey, that he would suffer through this deplorable event when he’d much rather be in London focusing only on his needs. But somewhere along the way, she’d become a need, a need not to disappoint.
He trailed his fingers along the marvelous length of her silken thigh. If they were in a bed, she could wrap her legs around him three times over. He fought back that thought before he became of a mind to search out a mattress. He couldn’t put his finger on when she’d become so damned appealing. He’d always liked her, but what he felt now went beyond that. Still, he had no desire to examine it. He wanted only to become lost in her pleasure.
His fingers found her sweet center. She was already so wet and hot. Releasing a tiny moan, she pressed herself against him and clutched his shoulders as though she would soar into the heavens without anchor. Then one of her hands was traveling down his chest, his stomach, lower still—
“No,” he growled.
“Not fair,” she said on a thready breath. “I want you to feel what I’m feeling.”
“I do feel it.” He slipped a finger inside, and she throbbed around him. She was so tight. He didn’t want to think about how marvelous it would be to be buried inside her. “Let me just enjoy you.”
Grabbing the back of his head, she held him near while her heated mouth worked its way over his neck, stirring him in ways that the most experienced courtesans hadn’t. It took so little with her to build a raging fire of need, a need that would go unfulfilled this day. While he stroked and caressed her intimately, he ran his tongue along the shell of her ear, taking satisfaction in her gasps. Latching her mouth onto his, there was a frenzy to her kiss as though she could not have enough of him.
Her hand dug more deeply into his shoulder. Then she flung her head back, her cry echoing around them, as she pulsed against his fingers. Shuddering, going limp, she fell against him. With one arm, he held her upright, absorbing each tiny tremor. Ironically, for a man who wanted no commitments, he knew he would be content to hold her here all day, into the night and morning.
Unfair to tease her with things he was not willing to give her forever. Very slowly, he pulled his hand away, and lowered her leg.
Gently, she pushed away from him, giving her weight back to the tree. Her skin was flushed, her eyes sultry. With a sigh, she looked up at the branches overhead. “You’ve taught me far too much, Lovingdon. I don’t know how I shall ever be content with another.”
“If he loves you, it will be even more satisfying.”
“If he loves me and I love him. That’s the secret to achieving both the physical and emotional release, isn’t it? Without love, as marvelous as the sensations are, the entire experience is still rather empty.”
Empty. An appropriate word. Had he not been feeling the same lately?
“I’ve upset you,” he stated.
“No. I’m simply greedy. I want it all.” Reaching down, she shook out her skirt. “I need to bathe before the evening.”
An image of wet limbs flashed through his mind. He wanted to see her in the bath, he wanted to see her as he had no right to see her. Turn
ing away, he strode over to where the horses chewed grass and shrubs. Grabbing the reins of her mare, he led the beast over to where Grace waited.
He placed his hands on her waist. Such a narrow waist. If he brought his wrists together his hands would span the width of it. If he were an artist, he would paint a slew of slender women. Her shape was elegant, refined, appealing. Leaning in, he took her mouth gently, lingering, capturing once more the feel and taste of her.
“Why did that seem like good-bye?” she asked, when he drew away.
“Because I can’t distract you from your goal while we’re here. No clandestine meetings, no wickedness. We’re to focus on identifying the man who truly loves you.”
He lifted her up onto the horse, watched as she maneuvered herself onto the sidesaddle. “I should probably arrive from another direction,” he said.
“After chastising me earlier for riding alone? Besides, I believe we’ve made it perfectly clear that you are only interested in serving as guardian. No one would ever suspect that you’ve been naughty.”
He supposed she was right. Where was the harm in his accompanying her home?
He’d slipped away from the others because he wanted time alone with Lady Grace Mabry, time to court her with no one to observe his attempts, time to convince her that she should accept his suit. But finding her was a challenge. She didn’t seem to be in the residence, so he began searching the grounds.
To his everlasting disappointment, he saw her arriving at the stables with Lovingdon in tow. Lovingdon who always seemed to be sniffing about, who appeared to be her unofficial protector.
He claimed to have no interest in marriage, but if he wasn’t careful he was likely to be ensnared by it. It seemed he was forever managing to find time alone with Lady Grace. It was not to be tolerated.
She was the heiress with the largest dowry, a portion of which included land that bordered his own property. He would not be content to marry anyone else, and his own contentment mattered above all else.
He would have to redouble his efforts to convince her that they belonged together.
As she lounged in the copper tub, Grace could not help but reflect that her skin felt particularly sensitive. While she knew that she shouldn’t allow Lovingdon to take such liberties, she couldn’t deny that she relished the liberties taken. She yearned for his touch, his nearness, his kiss. She loved him, desperately. It was a pity she desired the same degree of love in return, that she couldn’t be content to simply love.
Using her sponge, she rubbed it over her foot, between her toes. As lovely as it was, it didn’t elicit the marvelous sensations that Lovingdon did. She imagined herself standing before him completely nude, while he ran his hands and mouth over her. In her fantasy, she had no scars for him to avoid.
She feared tonight’s ball might be an exercise in futility. Shouldn’t she crave the touch of any man she might be considering taking as a husband? Shouldn’t she toss and turn at night with thoughts of his body riding hers? Shouldn’t she want him to meet her in the shadows of a garden and have his way with her?
The gentlemen were all pleasant enough. Some of them she dearly liked. Some made her laugh. Some made her look forward to their next dance. But she couldn’t imagine a single one of them grazing bare hands along her thigh or cupping her intimately. They would do that, of course. But thinking about it made breathing difficult, and not in the pleasant manner that Lovingdon had of taking her breath away.
This love business was such a complicated thing. She feared she might not figure it out until it was too late.
Dinner was turning out to be a dreadful affair, Lovingdon mused as he sat between two ladies who were determined to convince him that it was high time he placed himself back on the marriage market. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the seating arrangements as Grace’s mother was known for not giving a fig about ranking. She treated lord and commoner alike. So it was that Grace was surrounded by the most eligible of bachelors, while he was boxed in by innocent misses for whom he could generate little interest. Not that he could find any fault with them. They were pleasant to gaze upon, possessed sweet melodic voices, but they were too eager to please.
They weren’t stubborn, opinionated, or determined to find love. They seemed in search of one thing—a husband and any lord would suffice for the role. Quite suddenly, it struck him that Grace had standards, that she wasn’t simply in want of a husband, but something more, something with value, something that placed her above all the other ladies of her station. His admiration for her rose a notch.
She might have an odd way of going about gaining what she wanted, but by God she knew what she wanted.
Grinding his teeth, Lovingdon watched as she smiled at Somerdale, laughed with Vexley, and listened attentively to Bentley. Was she seriously considering one of them?
He tried to imagine each gentleman standing at the altar beside Grace, but brought himself up short when he envisioned their wedding night. They would do more than touch her as he had. They would know every aspect of her.
They would bring her joy and happiness that he couldn’t. He wished that she had never come to him, that he had never realized the young girl he had consoled in the stables had become an enticing woman.
He did care about her, dammit, just not as she wished, not with his entire heart and soul. Those belonged to, would always belong to, Juliette.
He cared for Grace too much to place her second when she deserved to be some man’s first.
Grace loved the first night because following dinner they held a ball that continued into the wee hours of the morning. The single ladies had rooms in the east wing, the bachelors in the west. Few of the mamas and papas showed, as the event had always been geared with the younger people in mind. It had begun when she was a child and her parents promised her and her brothers that they could bring their friends to share adventures for a few days during the Season.
Over the years, the adventures had changed. Sometimes she missed the games of her youth, when spending time with the boys was fun. Now it was almost a chore.
Although there was a room set aside for cards and one for billiards, the ballroom was rather crowded. None of the rooms were for males only. Here the ladies played cards and billiards. Tomorrow some of them would go shooting.
The orchestra was almost finished warming up. She looked around for her first dance partner and spied him talking with Lovingdon. She was glad Drake hadn’t sought out an excuse not to come. This had always been a family affair, and he was family, even if he was reluctant to admit it. She knew that he knew he was loved. He had no doubts there but had scars to remind him of his time on the streets, and she doubted he would ever be completely at home in these environs.
As she neared the two men, she thought they were the most handsome in the room. Drake had a roughness to him, a toughness that his evening clothes couldn’t hide. In contrast, Lovingdon was elegant, aristocratic. Each man wore self-assurance like a second skin. They were complete opposites, one a lord of leisure, the other hardworking. But friendship bound them.
“Don’t you two look handsome tonight?” she said in greeting.
Drake leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful. I’m surprised some man hasn’t snatched you up yet.”
“It wasn’t for want of trying, but you know me. I was always hard to catch. Even when we played chase I could outrun the lads.”
She turned to Lovingdon to find him studying her intently. He had always been attractive, but tonight he seemed more so. His dark blond hair was trimmed and styled, his face freshly shaven. He had lines formed by sorrow, but she could make out a few shaped by happiness. Sorrow always dug more deeply. His face contained character that it hadn’t in his youth. He had gone through the fires of hell, and while she doubted he would see it as a compliment, to her, he had been forged into a rather remarkable man. He grieved deeply for those he loved; he kept their memories alive. He was keeping his word to help her find love, and she suspected h
e would assist Minerva as well.
The strains of the first waltz floated on the air.
“Drake, this dance is yours.” She winked at Lovingdon. “You’re next.”
“Not as many suitors here?” Lovingdon asked.
“I have suitors aplenty but I always begin with my favorite gentlemen, so I etched you onto the card days ago.”
“Rather confident that we’d be here,” Lovingdon said.
“No, but I see no harm in sustaining hope that one’s wishes will come true.”
Drake offered his arm and led her onto the dance floor. She knew his habits, knew his reservations. Knew he would dance with her and then make his way to the card room or perhaps even the library to read. He thought he knew his place, but he didn’t really have a clue.
“You know any of these ladies would be more than happy to dance with you,” she told him.
“They’re not for me, Grace. They never have been and they never will be,” he said, discounting her words. “And you managed to get Lovingdon here, but don’t think you’ve put him back together. That way lies heartache.”
It was hardly fair that he wouldn’t discuss his love life but seemed to believe it perfectly fine to discuss hers. “I’m well aware. He’s adamant that he won’t love again.”
“But then you’ve always been a dreamer.”
“I dream that someday you’ll find love.”
He laughed heartily, a deep, rich sound, and she wished the ladies of the Set could see him as she did. She thought of him as a brother too much to ever think of him as anything else, but she knew the goodness in him knew no bounds. Yet she also recognized there was darkness in him that could claim the same.
“Worry about yourself, Grace. My bloodline coming to an end would be no loss, and I’m in no need of heirs.”
“But you could use a wife. I’ve seen the way you live. You need someone to remind you to eat.”
“I make out fine.”
She wanted more than that for him, but she also knew he could be as stubborn as she. They might not have the same blood, but they had been raised in the same household, and they had some of the same traits.
When the Duke Was Wicked Page 18