“You’re hard and soft at the same time,” she marveled.
“Soft?” He didn’t think so. At the moment, his truncheon was so big and thick that she was using two hands to pump him.
“Your skin is like velvet,” she clarified. “Wrapped around a poker or something.”
He choked back a laugh. “How, er, poetic of you.”
“Books were never my forte.” Her thumb rubbed against the slit in his cockhead, and his neck arched in bliss. “Why is it wet here?”
“Because you’re touching me so well, lass.”
“Oh… so this makes you feel good?”
Good wasn’t the word for it. Randier than a sailor, maybe.
Like he was about to unload his cannon—definitely.
But all he could manage was, “Aye,” because her thumb was drawing exquisite circles over his engorged dome, smearing his pre-spend, making him shudder with need.
“You’re sensitive here,” she murmured.
“’Tis like your pearl for you. In this, we’re not so different.”
To illustrate his point, he reached between her thighs. His cock seeped a little more when he found her pussy freshly dewy, her bud bold and slick. He diddled her, and she moaned, her grip tightening on him.
“That’s it, lass. Do it harder, faster,” he urged.
She instantly obeyed, and God, her hands—they were made to handle him, to bring him to the brink. He returned the favor, plowing his fingers into her cunny as she frigged his cock. Soon they were both panting, racing toward climax. His balls drew up, heat roiling at the base of his shaft. She came again, her pussy clenching his driving digits.
He bit down on his lip to prevent a shout, tasting blood as he erupted in her hands. He shot his seed again and again, drenching her palms, molten trails leaking through her fingers.
Flopping onto his back, he dragged her into his arms and tried to catch his breath. Dazedly, he thought to offer her a handkerchief, but that would presuppose that he could move. And he wasn’t certain that he could. Ever again.
“Carlisle, that was,”—Violet’s voice was breathy in his ear—“tip-top.”
His lips curved up in the darkness. Because, Christ, she was right.
Making love with her was tip bloody top.
Chapter Nineteen
After lunch the next day, Violet was given permission to stroll around the courtyard with Carlisle. Others were also enjoying the graveled paths, which were bordered by hedges, scattered Greek and Roman statuary providing points of interest. Across the way, Vi saw Wick; thankfully, he looked back to his usual self. He was paying attendance to Miss Turbett, her father following at their heels. In front of them, Parnell and Goggs were escorting Primrose and Polly, the four laughing merrily.
Sitting on a bench at the center of the quadrangle, Emma kept an eye on everyone.
“Did your sister suspect that you left your chamber last night?” Carlisle asked as he and Vi walked along the path.
To an outside observer, Carlisle’s expression would appear impassive. Beneath the brim of his hat, his rugged features were schooled, and he looked every inch the proper lord in his tobacco brown frock coat and biscuit trousers tucked into polished Hessians. But Violet recognized the intimate gleam in his eyes, and it made her insides as warm and gooey as a freshly baked treacle tart.
Trying not to blush, she said, “Not that I know of. To be on the safe side, I did arrange several pillows beneath the covers. So if she looked in, she would have seen a sleeping form.”
“Enterprising.” His lips twitched. “Done this often, have you?”
“You’re the first gentleman I’ve snuck off to see,” she said candidly.
“I meant pulling the wool over your sister’s eyes.” His gaze narrowed. “As to sneaking off to meet gentlemen, I’ll be the first and the last. There’s no going back, Violet. It’s time we made things official between us.”
Joy and trepidation warred within her, a confusing mix. On the one hand, there was their fierce and undeniable attraction—as evidenced by their most recent interlude beneath the wardrobe. Just thinking about those steamy moments quickened her pulse. Yet their desire and compatibility felt new; they’d been enemies longer than they’d been lovers.
A marriage could not succeed on physical attraction alone, she reasoned. There had to be friendship and respect for one another. She knew from experience that she couldn’t change who she was; she couldn’t bear it if they wed and he ended up… disappointed.
Running her gloved fingers along the top of a hedge, she strengthened her resolve. “I told you my terms last night, and they haven’t changed. If you want to court me, you’ll have to do it while we’re working together to help Wick.”
His forehead lined with frustration; she braced for his refusal.
“Why do you want to be involved in this dangerous business, lass? Why is working together so important to you?” He was looking at her intently, as if her answer truly mattered to him.
“Because I want you to like me,” she blurted.
“I do like you.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” she said sadly.
He quirked an eyebrow. “If our time in the Priest Hole, the library, and, most recently, the wardrobe hasn’t convinced you, I’d be happy to give it another go.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Not that kind of liking. The other kind.”
“What other kind?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“The kind where you admire my qualities and respect my views,” she said in a rush. “Where we share common interests and, to put it plainly, we’re friends.”
“I don’t want to be your friend,” he countered. “I want to be your husband.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive conditions. I don’t want to be wed to someone I don’t enjoy spending time with.” And I don’t want you to regret marrying me.
“Fine,” he said quickly. “We’ll be friends.”
“Just saying it doesn’t make it true.”
“Tell me how to make it true, and I will.”
His commanding tenacity made her heart stutter. Perhaps that was why she’d never known desire before him. She’d been around boys all her life, but Carlisle… he was all man.
“To see if we’re a true match, we need to get to know one another, share confidences,” she explained. “I want you to treat me as you would a friend—Lord Blackwood, for instance.”
“That makes no sense. Of course I’m going to treat you differently from Blackwood,” he said, his tone incredulous. “I want to share my bed with you, not pass the time playing billiards and talking about the hunt.”
The mention of his bed made her knees wobble. “Why can’t we do all those things?”
For an instant, he looked baffled. He recovered quickly. “If that’s your wish, then we can.”
“But physical attraction aside,” she persisted, “do you trust me the way you trust Lord Blackwood? Value my opinion in the same way?”
“That’s not a fair comparison. I’ve known Blackwood for years.”
“Fair enough. Then we need more time to get to know one another,” she conceded.
“How much time?”
“As long as it takes?”
“That’s not an answer.” Now he sounded annoyed.
“Are you certain you want to court me? We’re so different.”
“I’m certain,” he said flatly. “You’re the one who needs convincing.”
“And I’ve told you how to accomplish that.”
He came to a halt in front of a statue of Hercules, depicted performing one of his labors. Carlisle’s expression was as fierce as the marble figure’s. “All right.”
“All right?”
“If it’s your wish, we’ll work together.”
She felt like she’d imbibed champagne, bubbles of joy bursting inside her. “Thank you—”
“Don’t thank me yet. There are rules.”
She should have known.
He took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm and placing his hand over it for good measure. They continued walking. “If we do this, you’ll be guided by me. You’ll heed my advice and not act recklessly. Most importantly,”—he pinned her with a glance—“you’re not to put yourself in danger, do you understand?”
“I understand,” she said giddily.
“That’s settled, then. When shall I speak to your brother?”
“Um… about what?”
“To make my suit known,” he said with a hint of impatience.
Panic trickled through her. She’d thought they were talking about a private understanding, just between the two of them. She wasn’t ready to expose their budding relationship to public scrutiny.
“It’s too soon to speak to Ambrose. Everything has happened so quickly and—”
“There’s no reason to drag your heels. Lord knows we’re already concealing too much from your family as it is. I must insist that I court you properly, out in the open.”
She strove to come up with a compromise. One that wouldn’t lock Carlisle into a decision he might later regret. “How about we decide at the end of the house party whether or not you ought to speak to my brother?”
“Why wait? The time for dithering is over.”
“I’m not dithering,” she protested. “This is an important decision, one that affects the rest of our lives. I just want both of us to be certain.”
“I am certain,” he said stubbornly.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve been through this before.”
“You have?” Surprise made her halt, but he kept going, dragging her along. “When? I mean, everyone says you’re a confirmed bachelor. There’s no talk of you being attached to any lady.”
“The instances happened in my youth and were not widely known.”
“Instances—as in plural? More than once?”
“That is the generally accepted meaning of plural.” His tone tight, he said, “I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say I believed I had the affections of the young ladies involved. With the first, I was her brother’s friend. I helped squire her through her season and bailed her out of more than a few scrapes. She always expressed her gratitude and showed a certain preference for me—or so I thought. When I declared myself, she said she’d never thought of me in that manner.”
“Oh… I’m sorry.” Vi didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t want your pity,” he said with disgust. “I’m telling you this so you understand my perspective. The second instance started off similarly to the first. The young lady had given me every indication that she thought I was acceptable to her. When I asked for her hand, she agreed.”
“What happened then?”
“She wanted our engagement to be kept secret for the time being. Said her sister was newly engaged and she didn’t want to steal the other’s thunder.” His expression was stark. “After a month of skulking around, I told her that I wanted our courtship to be out in the open. It was then that she confessed she was in love with another man. She eloped with him a week later.”
Butter and jam. He’d been strung along by ladies not once but twice. For a man as proud as Carlisle, that must have been difficult to bear. Vi recalled his earlier accusations about her being a flirt—and realized she now knew the origins of his prejudices.
Then another thought occurred to her: in these incidences, had his heart been broken? She found she didn’t like that notion at all.
“Were you very… hurt?” she said cautiously.
“My pride was. I was angry as hell. After that, it was clear to me that I have no talent when it comes to reading females. I don’t understand the hidden signals of your sex.”
Her relief that his heart hadn’t been involved faded at his disgruntled look.
Brows lifted, she said, “Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t understand them either.”
“Given my aversion to flirtation and such games,” he went on grimly, “I avoided the Marriage Mart.”
“What changed your mind with me?” She hoped that he’d say it was her character and charm.
“In the past year, marriage has become a necessity for me. From a financial standpoint.”
Be still my beating heart.
“But I… I’m no heiress.” It occurred to her that she knew very little about his monetary situation and the sort of dowry he might require in a bride. Anxiously, she said, “I’m quite certain Ambrose and my brothers-in-law will throw something in the pot, but—”
Carlisle let out a guffaw.
“What’s so amusing?” she said.
“You talk as if you’re a card game.” He chucked her under the chin. “Throw something in the pot, indeed.”
“But the stakes are high for you, are they not?”
His amusement faded. Soberly, he said, “Aye, lass. In the past year, I sold off my personal holdings to keep the estate afloat. I auctioned off my stables, the breeding program I’d been building.”
She heard the thrum of longing in his voice. Although Richard didn’t say it, he had sacrificed his own wants in the name of responsibility. The same way he’d gone beyond duty to rescue his younger brother.
He’s a jolly fine chap. A truly decent man.
“I’m sorry you had to abandon your dreams,” she said gently.
He looked briefly nonplussed. Then he shrugged. “I did what had to be done.”
“Do you plan on rebuilding your stables one day?”
“Mayhap one day. There are more important considerations.”
His reply was curt, but she saw the flicker in his eyes. His dream hadn’t been completely snuffed out, no matter how he tried to discount it.
“What you want is important,” she insisted.
He sighed. “It’s not so easy, lass. There’s the estate to think of and the lives of all who depend upon it for their survival.”
“What is the situation of your estate now?”
“It’s stabilized for the time being. I implemented fiscal measures that I’m told are Draconian. My mama has yet to forgive me for them,” he said wryly.
“How could she blame you for doing what needed to be done?”
“She finds a way.”
She didn’t like his matter-of-fact acceptance of the blame. Richard’s burdens were even heavier than she’d realized, and it seemed he got little thanks for all that he’d done. No wonder he had his curmudgeonly moments. Thinking of Wick’s misleading lies about his older brother, she felt a stab of anger at her friend.
“You needn’t worry that you’ll be marrying a pauper.” Apparently mistaking the cause of her silence, he said with determination, “I’ll see to it that you have the necessary comforts.”
“I’m not worried about money,” she assured him. “My family had very little when I was growing up, and the truth is that I like a simple life.”
He gave a gruff nod. “So are we settled or not?”
Romance really wasn’t his forte. Luckily for him, she found his honesty irresistible—far more pleasing than flummery. The fact that he’d shared his past with her and was willing to work together to save Wick gave her hope.
Compromise—it made all the difference, Em had said. And compromise went both ways.
“All right.” Vi prayed she was doing the right thing. “Speak to my brother, Carlisle.”
He exhaled, and when she realized he’d actually been holding his breath, her heart hiccupped.
He brought her hand to his lips. “You won’t regret this. Now I have one more favor to ask.”
“Another one?” Oops. She didn’t mean to sound ungracious.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “I want you to call me Richard.”
“Oh… well, all right, um, Richard.”
Given the physical intimacies they’d shared, it was ridiculous that saying his name could affect her so. Yet his heated gaze made her want to swoon like some silly debutante.
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Reminding herself that their privacy would soon be over and there was still much to discuss, she took a breath. “Now about Wick. What are we going to do?”
The sensuality left Richard’s eyes, replaced by sharp focus. “Do you know how the meeting between your brother and the magistrate went?”
It had been a busy morning. Not only had Dr. Abernathy arrived to examine the body, but Billings had been unable to stave off a visit from the local official any longer. Magistrate Jones had descended upon the estate with constables in tow, and Vi had gotten a glimpse of him: his countenance would make the Grim Reaper’s seem cheerful in comparison. Guests—especially those of the cutthroat variety—had scattered like marbles at his arrival.
A panicked Billings had begged Ambrose to meet with Jones in private.
“From what Emma told me, Jones barked a few questions but stood down due to Ambrose’s sterling reputation,” Vi said with pride. “Jones was willing to let Ambrose continue the investigation on the condition that he receive regular updates.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
She gnawed on her lip. “The thing of it is, we can’t tell Ambrose about Wick’s ring now. If we did, we’d be putting my brother in a terrible position. He’d either have to withhold evidence from the magistrate, which could land him in heaps of trouble… or he’d have to tell Jones and then Wick might be thrown in prison or worse.”
From Carlisle’s strained expression, she knew he saw her point.
“It isn’t right that you have to lie to protect Wick,” he said heavily. “But the evidence against him is so bloody damning. Not only was he intimately involved with Monique, but the affair ended recently and not on good terms. And he has no witness who can vouch for his whereabouts during the time of her death. Then there’s the ring: how the hell did it end up in Monique’s hand?”
Vi had been pondering that question, too. “Maybe she had it on her person? The ring is clearly a man’s signet. The murderer would have known that planting it in Monique’s hand would throw others off his or her scent.”
“A logical deduction.” Carlisle’s approval warmed her. “And we have a fresh lead to follow. Mrs. Sumner mentioned that Wormleigh was also Monique’s lover.”
The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) Page 16