by Diana Quincy
He felt the need to inform her that his circumstances had changed. “I think you should be aware that there will be no more parties in the playroom.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m thinking of having it renovated.”
She blinked. “Truly? Why?”
“I find those types of entertainments no longer hold any appeal for me. I cannot risk having one of the girls happen upon me in that situation.”
She smiled. “I must say, you’ve surprised me.” He’d pleased her. Given that her smiles were not easily earned, he felt triumphant.
“It’s something about the way Patience and Prudie look at me…with complete and absolute trust. They think I am a much better man than I actually am.”
“They do seem to worship you,” she agreed.
His chest felt constricted. “It’s rather annoying because now I live in fear of disappointing them by revealing I’m not the man they believe me to be. The way they look at me makes me want to live up to their expectations of me.” He felt ridiculous putting words to such nonsense. “Silly, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not in the least bit silly.” Her soft blue eyes shimmered with feeling. “I think it’s rather wonderful.”
He shook his head, feeling unworthy of that look in her eyes. It was too similar to how Patience and Prudie regarded him. He was accustomed to being viewed with disdain or outright contempt, first by his father and then by many in society who took exception to Sinful Sunny and his unapologetically debauched lifestyle. Of course, many attempted to mask their true opinion of him due to his powerful position in a society that did not rank a man according to his true worth.
Then there were those who looked upon him with raw greed in their eyes, hoping he would drop a considerable sum at their brothel or gaming tables, while his latest opera singer or actress might aspire for the gift of a trinket or two if she was especially accommodating between the sheets. But Finch, the way she was looking at him now, showed none of that, and Sunny didn’t quite know what to do with it.
“Have a care, Finch.” His laugh was uneasy. “Don’t you go and forget who I truly am.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that perhaps Lord Abel was correct about you.”
He couldn’t help but ask. “Why? What did my uncle say about me?”
“He said I should give you a chance to become the man you were meant to be.”
Sunny scoffed, emotion roiling in his chest. “The man I really am?” He dipped under the glistening surface, welcoming the cool water against his hot cheeks, and swam to her. He surged up, coming to a standing halt before her floating legs.
He wrapped his fingers around one of her trim ankles. “This is who I truly am.” Cradling her heel in his palm, he allowed his other hand to wander farther up, to caress the shapely turn of her calf. “I’m a man who gives in to his baser urges, no matter how decadent.”
Chapter 21
Satisfaction roared through Sunny when Finch did not stop him.
He felt her legs tense under his touch, but she did not pull away. Fire raced through his blood despite the brisk water. He bent down to press a gentle kiss on her ankle. He heard her gasp, despite the roaring sound in his own ears.
Her foot was small in his hand, pale with a delicate arch. He trailed his lips to the top of her foot and then around to the side, indulging himself with the occasional lick, tasting the saltiness of her skin and the cold sweetness of the fresh spring water. He wrapped his mouth around her big toe and sucked.
She jerked. “Adam!” But she did not pull away. He watched her as he wrapped his tongue around her toe. Her head was back, her eyes closed, as her back arched and her body tensed. With a final lick, he released her toe, running both of his hands slowly up the back of her legs.
They were pale and smooth and delightfully long. Traversing the length of them seemed to take forever in the best possible way. He moved his hands around to the tops of her knees and then over the tops of her legs, until he reached what he wanted—the soft warm center at the apex of her thighs. He pressed his thumb against the sensitive knot at the top of her mons, his other hand supporting her bottom, steadying her so that he could play with her.
His prick was swollen and wanting, but Sunny focused on Finch and the way her face grimaced with pleasure, her white teeth biting down on her bottom lip. He ran a finger along her folds, reveling in their silky perfection and dipped a finger where it longed to be, inside her.
She tensed and cried out softly as her channel closed around his finger, urging it farther inside. He knew the places where a woman’s pleasure was centered. He’d been with females who’d demanded that he learn, especially as a youth when he’d bedded much older women. And he wanted nothing more than for Finch to reap the benefits of that knowledge.
He bent his finger inside her, tickling her inner wall, and she moaned and arched up, and he smiled and knew he’d found what he was looking for. He played with her, touched her, drove her to sublime desperation until she cried out and the throbbing around his finger made him almost come himself.
But it wasn’t enough. He wanted all of her. He moved swiftly through the water, closing the distance between them.
She surged forward into his arms as if propelled by the same madness that drove him. She wrapped her legs tight around his hips, her infernal flannel shift bunching between them. Their lips met, hard, hungry, and impatient. He pushed his tongue deep into her mouth to tangle with hers. She was honey and fire all at once. The kiss was long and passionate, the intensity unlike anything in his experience. It gentled into something less urgent but also more tender and soulful in a way that was completely new to him. He didn’t want to rush with Isabel, not like the last time. He wanted to savor the taste of her, the feel of her lips, the press of her body, the urgency of her hips against his desperate prick.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his heart beating painfully hard, sensation coursing through every part of his body—from his toes to his scalp. He had never before kissed a woman just for the sake of kissing her. It was always a prelude, an appetizer before he screwed her. But with Finch, the kiss itself was its own pleasure.
“Ah, Isabel,” was all he could say, even though there was so much more in his heart that he could not begin to put into words. He didn’t possess the vocabulary for how he felt, nor the capacity to fully comprehend the strange but wonderful feelings engulfing him.
He had assumed that he, a jaded man without inhibition when it came to pleasures of the flesh, had experienced everything there was to know regarding the sensual arts. But he’d never known such sweetness as this.
He remained in the moment, relishing the feel of her arms tight around him, while she ran one hand softly over the back of his neck, stroking, offering both comfort and something that also felt like solidarity. As if they were in this—whatever this indescribable thing was—together.
“You do know,” she whispered softly into his ear, “that this is impossible.”
“Absolutely.” He nuzzled more deeply into her neck, pressing his lips against the tender skin there, inhaling the scent of damp skin and fleeting notes of apples and cloves.
She sighed and tilted her head, allowing him better access. “Perhaps we should stop before the girls wake up.”
Regretfully, he released her and drew back, all the way to the opposite side of the plunge pool, hoping the distance would help him restrain himself from taking her into his arms again.
“There hasn’t been any other woman since you.” The fact that he’d been celibate had embarrassed him, concerned him really, up until this moment. But now he was happy to be able to tell her the truth. He wanted her to know.
She stayed at her end of the pool, watching him as she gathered her tangled curls and twisted them into limited submission. “What do you mean?”
“Since that nig
ht with you at the ball, I haven’t had another woman. Not one.”
He registered the disbelief in her eyes.
“One thing that I have admired about you is your penchant to tell the unvarnished truth,” she said, and he winced at the cold disdain in her voice. “I hope you will not begin to tell mistruths now.”
“It is not a lie.”
“I saw you the evening we returned from Cornwall.” Her haughty blue eyes were cool. “I saw the woman on your lap. I saw you.”
His face heated at the thought of Finch witnessing his behavior with Sable, of her watching while he’d kissed the strumpet and toyed with her breasts. He should leave it at that and let her believe what she’d seen. It was better for Finch to assume the worst about him. It would be easier to stay away from each other if she went back to despising him. But he couldn’t bear the thought of that.
“You obviously didn’t stay for long because I sent her away.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Why would you do that?”
“As much as I tried, and I did try my damnedest, I couldn’t summon the interest.”
“Why ever not? Even I could see she is a very desirable woman.”
He shrugged. “I’m not quite certain. Agatha Dawkins says the girls have reformed me.”
“Who is Agatha Dawkins?”
“A widow that I intended to make my mistress. But I could not summon the interest there either.” His eyes met hers. “It seems that the only person who draws me at the moment is you.”
He registered her surprise. Delight flashed across her face before she hid it behind a more inscrutable expression.
“So you see,” he said softly, “I find myself in quite a quandary.”
Something flew over his head and landed with a loud splash in front of him. Patience surfaced, shaking her hair like a wet canine. She swam toward the nanny.
“Izzy, you got in the water! You went swimming without me,” she said just as she reached Finch. “That’s not fair.”
“Why is it that children expect all of the fun to stop when they aren’t around?” Sunny inquired.
Finch flung her arms wide open and scooped the girl up, pressing exaggerated, loud kisses on Patience’s cheeks. “We were hoping you’d awaken soon.”
Sunny wasn’t certain whether to welcome or resent the intrusion. At the moment, all of his thoughts and emotions were a jumble. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Restless, he submerged himself as far down in the water as possible before popping back up and pulling himself out of the plunge pool.
“Where are you going, Duke?” Patience called from behind him. “I just got back in. Don’t you want to see me do a cartwheel into the pool?”
“Perhaps later.” He didn’t break his stride, pause, or turn to look at them. “At the moment, I need some air.”
* * *
—
Isabel paused near the duke’s playroom late one afternoon about a week after their plunge-pool excursion.
She was on her way from the kitchens to the nursery, but lingered for a moment on the landing, peering down the corridor in the direction of the playroom, drawn by the sounds of sawing and hammering. The renovation was clearly underway, but the duke was proving surprisingly tight-lipped about his new project.
The chamber had been completely emptied after their plunge-pool jaunt. Isabel only knew that the furniture had been discarded because Prudie happened to catch the footmen in the act of removing the sofas and chairs and had quickly alerted Isabel and Patience to the latest development.
Shortly afterward, two laborers—Dowding informed an inquiring Finch that the men were carpenters—began arriving every morning, working in the playroom almost until sundown, before departing for the day. The most curious thing of all was that the duke joined them. He was up early every morning and seemed to be in the playroom all day long.
What the devil was going on in there? She’d tried to get it out of Dowding, but his response had been a polite but firm, “I’m sure I cannot say, Miss Finch.”
She and the girls rarely saw Sunny these days. Perhaps he purposely avoided her after their plunge-pool encounter. Being alone together was obviously not safe since neither of them could be trusted in the company of the other.
Noise sounded from the mysterious chamber, but she knew it couldn’t be the hired woodworkers. She’d seen the carpenters depart well over an hour ago. As she edged closer, the tapping from within intensified. It must be the duke. Isabel had noticed that Sunny sometimes stayed locked in the playroom for hours after the carpenters had gone home for the day.
That meant he seldom went out in the evening, but when he did, he usually returned at a reasonable hour. If he’d resumed calling on his tarts, he didn’t appear to be staying in their company for very long.
Not that it was any of Isabel’s concern, she reminded herself. Yet, she couldn’t help mulling over what he’d told her, about not having been with a woman since their interlude during the duke’s ball. That was over two months ago. Was it possible the duke had abstained for all that time? The thought of Sunny remaining celibate, even if just for a few weeks, intrigued Isabel far more than it should.
The door to the playroom opened again, but it wasn’t Sunny who emerged. A statuesque blond woman in a smart powder-blue gown stepped into the corridor. She looked vaguely familiar. It took Isabel a moment to recognize her as the same woman she’d met in the duke’s study, when Sunny had handed the woman a purse full of coins.
The woman spotted Isabel. “Why hello,” she said kindly. “Miss Finch, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Disappointment rushed through Isabel. It felt like a thousand needles were stabbing her insides. “And you are Anne.”
Sunny’s visitor smiled. “I am flattered you remember. The children are well, I hope.”
“Yes, very well, thank you.”
She laid a gloved hand on Isabel’s arm as she passed her. “Thank you for everything you’ve done with the duke’s wards. I know His Grace is extraordinarily pleased.”
Isabel stared silently at the strumpet’s hand touching her arm.
“Good evening then,” Anne said. Isabel watched her glide down the stairs until the sound of the playroom door opening again distracted her.
“Ah, Finch.” Sunny emerged, shutting the door behind him. “What brings you here?”
“You had a visitor.” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice.
He locked the door. “Anne, you mean? Yes, she just left.”
“You assured me those activities would no longer occur in the playroom.”
He slipped the key into his pocket. “What activities?” He grimaced when he realized what Isabel was implying. “You may rest assured that I am not bedding Anne. I never have and I never will.” The very idea seemed to disgust him, which Isabel could not understand because Anne whoever-she-was was a handsome woman. “I assure you the playroom is in no condition for any activities of that sort to take place.”
“I wouldn’t know since you keep whatever is going on in there so secret.”
Amusement lined his forehead. “What is making you so peevish, Finch? Is it not being able to see what we’re working on? Or are you actually jealous of Anne?”
“Please.” She huffed. “That is beyond absurd.”
“Is it?” He stepped closer, crowding her against the wall. “Tell me, Isabel, are you the jealous sort?” Her name on his lips sounded incredibly intimate.
“No.” His silvery eyes pierced right through her. She hoped he couldn’t see that she was lying. The truth was that Isabel had a tendency toward extreme jealousy. Ben even used to tease her about it. She’d been quite covetous of her husband, especially when other women had flirted with him. “Absolutely not.”
“Are you certain?” His gaze slipped down to her lips and back a
gain. “I confess I don’t like the idea of you with any man. That’s why I warned Tom off. I’d have thrashed him if he’d had the privilege of bedding you.”
His show of possessiveness was doing strange things to her body. She felt hot all over. The place between her legs pulsed. “I fear I’d be a murderess several times over if I returned the favor.”
His eyes twinkled. “Not of late.” He edged closer. “Recently, I’ve lived like a monk.”
She looked down to avoid locking gazes with him, because that could lead to trouble. Unfortunately, that proved to be worse. The physical effect she had on one very prominent part of his body was evident. “You don’t look like any monk I’ve ever met,” she said wryly.
“What can I say?” He did not seem ashamed of his jutting erection. “This is the effect you have on me.”
She forced herself to meet his eye. “I should probably keep my distance then.”
He nodded and lowered his lips until they almost touched hers. “Probably.”
When she inhaled his masculine scent, want and need pounded through her, and nothing could stop her from closing the distance between them and sealing her lips to his. She felt his smile as he rubbed his closed mouth against hers, once, twice, slowly, as if he had hours to indulge himself while she wanted nothing more than for him to hurry and soothe the urgent longing spiraling through her.
He pulled her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled gently. His lips met hers, and he was kissing her—tenderly, almost lazily, his mouth silky and sure against hers. When she opened to him, he accepted her invitation immediately, his tongue breaching her mouth with long, leisurely strokes. He played with her tongue, entangling it with his own, leaving her breathless.
He tasted like life and the future, when she’d stopped living long ago, when Ben died and she’d lost everything that meant anything. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close, so close that she could feel every part of his body against the length of hers—the musculature of his chest, the hardness of his thighs, the prominent protuberance where their hips met. The kiss—full of wonder and possibility—went on and on.