Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3)

by Natasha Blackthorne

Just seeing her sent his heart pounding. He loved her so much it was like a pain in his heart. He would do anything to keep her safe, to provide for her. To do all in his power to make her happy.

  She was his.

  His.

  The thought pounded through him with each heartbeat, adding to his urgency. Let them just get on with the wedding and then no one and nothing could lure her away from him.

  But Winterton could take her from him through some act of wickedness, violence against her…

  Damn it, what was taking so long with Davey?

  He cut a glance at the doorway and saw Davey, being hurried along by his nurse. The boy was wearing his best pale blue suit and a lace trimmed cravat. Adrian was sorry that Brentwood, his heir, could not be here. Adrian had thought to wait, to have a few days to cherish Miranda alone, without the intrusion of the world, of the strain that would be caused to her by the differences in their social status and the disapproval of those closest to him. But Drake had been correct; the wedding must take place without delay.

  Davey’s nurse led him to a chair in the rear but Adrian extended a hand. “Davey, come.”

  With a solemn expression, Davey slowly walked toward Adrian and Miranda, his wide eyes glancing repeatedly at the other adults.

  When he reached Adrian’s side, Davey stopped. Adrian put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Stand here with me,” he said.

  But Davey wasn’t listening. He was staring up at Miranda, spellbound. Then he turned to Adrian.

  “Are we marrying Miranda today?” he asked, speaking her name slowly, like Mir-and-ah. His piping voice carried weakly over the music of the trio. Adrian was glad. The other adults could not have heard him. It was a private moment between himself and his son.

  He nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Really and truly?”

  “Really and truly,” Adrian flashed a smile at Miranda.

  She smiled back, but she was pale, there was something strained in the curve of her mouth.

  How intimidating this ceremony must be for her. He had not given that enough thought. But of course he had noticed Jon practically glowering at her and meeting the slightly sinister and always enigmatic Baron Drake for the first time must be disconcerting.

  Adrian turned his attention to the minister. “Let us begin.”

  ****

  Miranda sat at her dressing table, naked but for an emerald green silk wrapper. Adrian had untied the belt and it gaped open exposing her belly and legs. His large, warm hand splayed over her breast.

  She couldn’t stop staring at the ring on her left hand. A heavy gold band upon which a ruby had been mounted.

  The precious stone seemed huge, glittering with depth and fire. The finest, most expensive kind.

  Adrian had assured her that he had not spent all his money on it. It was a family heirloom. Wearing such a relic made her feel as though she were the most scheming impostor.

  “Lady Danvers,” he said, his voice rich with passion, adoration and a touch of wonderment.

  Certainly she felt wonderment.

  She was a countess.

  A countess.

  She had not previously realized her desire to achieve marriage to a nobleman.

  She had kept such a foolish aspiration buried deep inside. Hidden even from herself.

  But the sense of relief, joy, accomplishment and—yes, admit it—triumph that sang in her blood would not allow her to deny it any longer.

  The self-knowledge rested on her uneasily.

  All this time, she’d had no right to chastise him for desiring to possess her beauty. She had been driven by desires no less base than his.

  Dear God, the sense of utter security of her new title was heady.

  “I gave you my name, my title, and made you my wife to protect you.” He whispered the words against her neck.

  With those words, she melted inside.

  Yes, she was a countess. Adrian’s countess.

  He’d done that to protect her against Winterton. And she loved him all the more dearly for that. For the sacrifice. She turned to him and put her hand to his cheek. His skin was smooth and the scent of his shaving soap, smelling of green woods and delicious masculinity intoxicated her.

  “I like being a countess,” she dared to admit.

  “Good.” His tone was so resolute that she laughed softly, a little surprised.

  He gave her breast a squeeze. “It is good that you like being a countess because you are most definitely my countess now.”

  He bent towards her breasts, his eyes glittering with lust.

  “Maybe I like the idea of being called Lady Danvers too much.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her quizzically.

  She chewed her lip.

  “Second thoughts now? Already, my love?”

  “Not second thoughts, not exactly.”

  “What then?”

  “Disquiet.”

  His hold on her breast slackened a bit. “At me?”

  “No, myself. I feel a sense of… I don’t quite know how to put it.” She drew her brows together. “Triumph.” She sucked in her breath at her confession. “Oh dear, what a horrid thing to feel. What an even more horrid thing to admit.”

  He stroked her breast, sending darts of pure pleasurable anticipation through her. “No, my love, it is exactly what I should expect a woman in your position to feel. It is human.” He paused, still cupping her. “Shall I bring Winterton here? Or better yet to my seat, my estate and you can flaunt your title in his face and he can do nothing to retaliate for I will be there?”

  Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. “All these years…”

  “What?” he asked, his voice full of tenderness.

  “So alone. Always alone.” She had trouble speaking in whole sentences, so great was the sudden welling of emotion. “Mama was there.”

  “But she was not there for you.”

  “No, she wasn’t.” Miranda swallowed harder. “Cassandra wanted… wanted… she demanded a high price to be there, for me. Almost too high a price for my sanity.” Her voice broke and she continued hoarsely. “I was so very alone.”

  She couldn’t keep the stridency out of the last word; it carried all the pain she’d kept pent up too long.

  “You will never be alone again, Miranda,” he said, with equal stridency.

  He had changed her life. Forever.

  He moved and put his sensual, warm mouth to hers.

  She accepted his kiss and opened to him, putting all her gratefulness, all her love into her response. She put her hand to his chest and met the texture of his wool coat then slid over the satin of his waistcoat and felt the low buzz of frustration within herself that he was wearing too much.

  He took the edges of her wrapper and pushed them down her shoulders so that now she was sitting on the silken garment, no longer wearing it. He cupped both her breasts, gently, but she sensed the tension of his holding back. For several moments, he caressed them, drew circles over her nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

  Desire built within her. Desire she knew she’d never be able to feel for anyone but him.

  He bent again and put his lips near her ear. “I married you to protect you, to give you the shelter of my title,” he repeated himself. “But more than that, Miranda, I married you to possess you.” His hot breath blew over her neck. “You’re mine.” He nipped her earlobe, a sudden sharp pain that sent shivers of both heat and cold through her. “Mine,” he said, more harshly as he placed his palm flat to her belly.

  Wild surges excitement shot through her, centering deep in her pelvis, growing stronger as he slid his hand lower. She wriggled with the energy pulsing through her and wetness flowed between her legs.

  He reached her mons, his fingers straying between her lips, touching her wet, tingling flesh. “This pretty little cunny is mine.” He put his lips to her breast, his warm breath teasing her erect nipple. “Mine forever.” />
  “Yes, yes,” she said, writhing in her seat and spreading her legs to give his questing fingers better access.

  He traced his tongue over her straining nipple. Waves of delight raced down deep, deep, deep into her stomach. He teased her nub with his fingers, teased her until wave after wave of pulsing, pleasurable anticipation made her shiver and shudder, teased her until her need became like pain and she grew wetter than ever.

  She clutched his head, tugging on his hair. “Adrian, please, please, take me—” She sucked in her breath as he entered her with two fingers. She moaned at the sense of being filled. “Take me to the bed.”

  He groaned, the sound seeming to vibrate into her bones. He withdrew his fingers and raised his head. Passion dazed eyes met her own then he lifted her from the chair, stopping to yank the sleeves of the wrapper the remainder of the way down her arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her upon the velvet bedspread. The silken nap felt wonderful against her naked, stimulated body and she writhed both in need and the pleasure of feeling the decadent sensation beneath her.

  He knelt by the bed, and grasped her thighs, pulling her body until her buttocks rested on the very edge of the mattress. He pulled her legs even further apart then he spread her intimate lips wide open to his hungry gaze. He brushed his index finger over her erect, straining nub.

  A jolt of fire flashed through her. She cried out and lifted her hips.

  “This shall be the first time I have tasted my own countess.” He bent his head close, so close that his hot breath teased her. “Lady Danvers,” he said, turning the title into a breathy, sensual torture of heated air, brushing her, caressing her.

  Wild shivers of anticipation made her writhe like a mad woman.

  Or was that a woman driven mad by desire?

  He touched the tip of his tongue to her nub.

  One soft, slow lick. The feather-soft stroke sent another series of wild shudders through her.

  Then he gave her a whole series of those soft, slow licks.

  “Adrian! Adrian!” She gasped, closing her legs, hugging his shoulders with her legs. His wool coat felt harsh against the insides of her thighs, scrapping her, heightening all her sensations.

  He continued to give her those leisurely licks. “You are so wet, so deliciously sweet, I could taste you like this all night.”

  Need shot through her belly, a deep knife like sensation of pained lust. She whimpered.

  He continued to torment her.

  “Adrian, please…” She arched herself into those sensual, velvety warm lips and clutched his hair in her hands, trying to press his face closer.

  He resisted and lifted his head. “Now my love, there will be none of that.” He traced his fingertip lightly over her nub. “You know that naughty girls have to wait longer.”

  She moaned, a sound of aching frustration, holding back on the urge to grip his shoulders more tightly with her legs. If she tried to press him too much, when he was in a teasing mood like this, he did indeed make her wait. And wait.

  All the while he gave her exquisite sensual torture.

  “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked, softly, letting his breath blow over her heated, throbbing flesh.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she said, closing her eyes and trying not to writhe. Trying to please his vanity enough that he would please her.

  He rose and kissed her belly.

  She moaned, a soft sound of defeat. “Adrian…”

  “Hush,” he said, tersely, pressing a line of kisses to her taut flesh. “I can be your lover or your tormentor. I shall be husband and protector and all things to you.”

  “You are…” She took a panting breath. “You are.”

  “I think you need a further demonstration.” He had kissed his way up her stomach and was now kissing the underside of her breast. He shifted and the heat of his erection burned her through his clothing, his wool trousers just as maddeningly scratchy as his coat. He shifted again and she sensed him unbuttoning his fall. “You say you like the idea of being Lady Danvers?”

  “Yes,” she admitted in a sigh.

  “And you like being a countess?” She heard the slight rasp in his voice and knew that he had freed himself. That he was stroking himself.

  Her empty, aching flesh clenched. And clenched.

  God.

  It drove her insane when he did that. When he made her wait while he did that.

  “I do like being a countess,” she managed to say, albeit breathlessly.

  “Some ladies think the title of countess bestows some special license upon them. A license to betray their wedding vows.”

  The edge in his voice made her catch her breath. The late Jane Sutherland, his first countess had lain with other gentlemen. Had done so with his grudging approval for she had made it clear she would do so with or without his consent. His marriage to Jane had been one of convenience. What gentleman could possibly have the poor taste to deny his late wife’s request?

  But he had still been hurt by Jane’s turning him out of their marriage bed. This much Miranda knew without Adrian having to tell her in explicit terms.

  And if she hadn’t guessed as much before, she certainly knew it now.

  “No other man can give what I will give you,” he said as he rubbed the head of his cock against her stomach.

  Warm, wet, silken flesh sliding against her.

  Teasing her mercilessly.

  Rendering her breathless, speechless with desire.

  “I give you my title, my body, my cock.” He rubbed himself in circles against her.

  Her intimate flesh clenched in hunger. She moaned his name and arched her hips.

  “I give you my heart, my very soul.”

  “Oh my love,” she said, in a hoarse tone, unable to form words to say more.

  “I expect your full fidelity in return.”

  “Yes… yes.” She panted as she watched him move back down her body and take her by the legs.

  “I would challenge any man who dared touch you.”

  She went rag doll limp and allowed him to push her body, to center her on the bed. He knelt between her widely spread legs, poised to enter her. “I would face him and kill him. Know that, Miranda. You have obsessed me for far too long. I ached for you for what seemed an eternity. Now that you are mine, I will never let you go. Never.”

  He thrust into her, rocking her body, shaking the bed with the force of that swift, hungry possession.

  She gasped with the suddenness of being filled, stretched.

  His weight held her down.

  She thrilled to feel his power and strength like this.

  His blue gaze burned hers as he lowered his mouth closer. Closer. “You consume me.”

  “Consume me…” she begged, lifting her mouth to his.

  He took her offered lips in a scorching kiss, sucking the breath from her even as he began to move within her.

  Her inner walls clenched him, hugged him, and begged him even more avidly than she could with her voice.

  She opened one eye, part way, and covertly watched his lean-muscled, elegantly masculine body, fucking her. She wrapped her legs about his waist, driving him deeper inside.

  But, God, could it ever be deep enough?

  Would she, could she possibly ever get enough of him? Of his magnificent body? Of his huge cock?

  He took her by the wrists and pinned her to the mattress and moved within her harder, faster.

  She threw back her head, moaning stridently, glorying in his fierce strokes.

  “Take me, take me,” she chanted. “Take everything, all I have to give. Consume me!”

  “God… God… God.” He spoke the words harshly between pants. Between savage, hungry thrusts. “God.” He transferred her wrists to one large hand and then he gripped her chin, holding her still as he took her lips in a fearsome kiss, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, taking her breath.

  He would kill her with this. With his savage, almost angry kiss, with his raw,
primal fucking. But she offered herself up to him willingly. Let him do what he would do. Let him take everything that she had to give, even her last breath. She arched her pelvis at him, absorbing thrust after thrust.

  Piercing, shattering pleasure caught her by surprise, her body convulsed with the almost painful spasms, deep, soul shuddering spasms that went deeper and deeper into her womb, sensation radiating down her thighs to her toes, until she lay panting and panting, her raw throat telling her that she’d been screaming. The wetness on her face letting her know that she was crying with the intensity of sensation.

  She opened her eyes and found her wrists freed.

  He was cupping her buttocks, still pounding into her, as his thick length caressed her inner walls again and again, his body quaking now, his cock shuddering within her, spilling his seed.

  Maybe giving her a child…

  “Yes, yes,” she said, breathlessly. “Come in me!”

  He groaned, his body still shuddering, his cock still furiously pumping seed into her.

  “Fill me to overflowing—”

  “Miranda.” He put his head into the crook of her neck and the slight bite of his teeth sent another fury of shivers through her, the hard, body jerking spasms of a second orgasm.

  Then she was falling, falling, falling into an abyss of soft, warm darkness.

  ****

  “Wedding night,” Adrian said in a musing tone.

  “More like wedding noon,” Miranda said, laughing, for the hairs on his leg tickled hers as he shifted his body in the bed.

  “Not quite noon…” Adrian said, stroking his fingertips over her breast.

  Her nipple sprang into instant attention. She laughed, softly then rolled herself until she was part way atop him. She ran a hand down his abdomen then caught his rearing erection.

  He watched her as she encircled that thick, throbbing shaft and gave him a squeeze. He groaned, softly. “Christ, woman.”

  “What?”

  “I never knew I could stay so hard, so long…” He groaned as she slid her hand up and down. “So often.”

  “It’s our wedding night, remember?”

  “Our wedding noon, remember?”

  She laughed, letting a little of her former practiced, wicked laugh bleed through for she knew it to be seductive to men.