Barbarous

by Minerva Spencer

  Daphne wanted to seize his words out of the air and hold them to her chest, to savor them, over and over. To—

  “What about you, Daphne? Could I not ask you the same questions, but in reverse? How can you know that I am what you want? You have had no experience with men or physical love. How can you be certain I will keep you satisfied and happy?”

  Daphne was struck by his reasoning. There was as much truth behind his question as there was in hers. There were no guarantees, only faith and trust. And love.

  “I am certain. Hugh.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I am beyond grateful Hastings and his vicious, appalling cruelty has not put you off men for life.”

  So was Daphne.

  His lips tightened and his grateful expression slid away. “Had I known what he did to you earlier this evening, you could not have stopped me from killing him, Daphne. Indeed, I am nowhere near to being finished with him.” The cold intensity in his green eye made her shiver and he was immediately solicitous. “You are chilled?”

  “I am not shivering because I am cold. I am shivering for Malcolm and how close this came to being his last day.”

  “That would have been a great loss to you?” The disbelief in his voice was unmistakable.

  “It would be a great loss if you were forced to flee England to avoid a murder charge.”

  A sly look flashed across his changeable face. “You would miss me, would you?”

  She opened her mouth but he chuckled and drew her close, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her as if she were a flower.

  “You would,” he murmured in between trailing kisses over her pulse, her throat, across her jaw. “You’d miss me terribly. And I would go mad without you.”

  His words left her light-headed and he wove his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back until their eyes met. “I want to make love to you, Daphne.”

  She blinked up at him, her body humming with a wildness she’d not felt since the last time he touched her. “Here? Now?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It took a moment for Hugh’s brain to accept what his ears had heard. He shook his head in wonder. “My God, you are a gift!”

  Hooded blue eyes flared with a need that matched his own.

  “I have wanted to do this since the moment I saw you this evening, you temptress.” He lowered his mouth to the exposed, rounded swell of one breast and she shuddered beneath his lips and pushed closer. He traced the gentle curves with the tip of his tongue, teasing the thin silk barrier that molded to her lithe body. As he’d suspected—a million years ago at the wretched dinner—her nipples were less than an inch below the tissue-thin fabric of her gown.

  Daphne shifted and arched as he suckled her through the silk, bringing the tip to tantalizing hardness before moving to the other, working her until the noises coming from deep in her throat were so hungry he had to see her.

  He held her at arm’s length, staring into her sleepy eyes. “You are so beautiful,” he said, his hands moving to the damp, stretched fabric that barely covered her. He pushed his thumbs beneath the silk and eased it down until she was exposed.

  “Good God.” He stretched the fabric even lower, until it was beneath her breasts, the taut silk forcing them high. He drank in her beauty while spanning her delicate rib cage, his fingers forming a double prison with her corset. Her head fell back, a long sigh escaping her, and her spine arched as she offered herself to him. Hugh lowered his mouth to the area between her breasts and briefly closed his eyes.

  His ever fertile imagination flogged him with arousing images: Daphne against a wall of books, her long, slim legs around his hips while he buried himself hilt-deep; Daphne bent over the big library desk, skirts bunched at her waist, his fists tangled in her blond curls, his—

  Hugh tugged the now ruined fabric back over the rosy mounds and pulled her to her feet.

  “Come.”

  Sultry blue eyes, dazed and hungry, gazed up at him and, once again, Hugh was tempted to take her over the desk. But she deserved more tenderness for what was essentially her first bedding. The desk would come later.

  He scooped her swaying body into his arms.

  “Hugh. What—”

  “Hush,” he ordered. “Get the door.”

  She blinked up at him, but found the handle without looking and flung it open.

  “Good girl.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she remained unresisting while he strode down the hall and took the stairs two at a time to get to her bedchamber.

  He was wheezing like a punctured bellows by the time he reached her door. He lowered her feet to the floor and reached for the handle. And then stopped.

  Daphne raised her shapely brows and gave him a look of cool hauteur that made his erect cock throb.

  “She’s not in there, is she?”

  “She?”

  “Your maid.”

  Her lips parted. “I believe you’re frightened of her.”

  “You’re bloody right I am.” He gave her a gentle push. “You go in first. I shouldn’t be surprised if the old gorgon is lying in wait to catch me defiling you.”

  She gave a low, delighted laugh and shook her head, but opened the door and disappeared inside.

  Hugh had to wait only a few seconds before the door swung open.

  “Ahoy, Captain Standish! The coast is clear,” she said in a stage whisper.

  “Ha. How droll you are.” Hugh stepped inside and closed and locked the door before turning to her. She wore a smile he’d never seen before: saucy, erotic, teasing.

  “And just what do you find so amusing, my lady?”

  “You.”

  Hugh yanked her close and held her tight. “Is that so?” he murmured against her temple, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling until he was dizzy.

  She made a sound suspiciously like a giggle. “What would the world say if they knew the fearsome One-Eyed Standish was cowed by a lady’s maid?”

  Hugh nibbled her jaw, which he decided was his new hobby. “I will deny it to my last breath.”

  Her hands slid around his neck and she pulled him down, pressing her mouth over his. Hugh stood unmoving under her exploration, his body vibrating with want beneath the tentative probing of her tongue, surely the most erotic experience of his life—until she latched on to his tongue and sucked it into her mouth. He groaned; languages didn’t seem to be the only thing she learned quickly.

  Just when Hugh believed he could not bear another second of suggestive sucking without throwing her onto the bed and plowing into her—she released his tongue.

  But she wasn’t finished.

  She lightly dragged the very tip over his lips, as if drawing his features, leaving a searing trail of heat as she kissed and licked and nipped her way up his scar, pulling his head lower and feathering the torn, tender skin with the lightest of kisses. Before Hugh knew what she was doing she’d untied the ends of the strap that held the patch over his eye.

  He moved to grab it, but she flung it away and then clutched his face in both hands and pulled him lower.

  “I want all of you.”

  He hadn’t believed he could become any harder; he’d been wrong.

  Her lips were already dropping kisses around the damaged skin around his eye, as if to claim the territory as her own. Air moved over his sightless orb, the sensation making him feel strangely naked and vulnerable. So he closed both eyes and gave himself up to her exploration, which stalled at his temple, where the line disappeared into his hair.

  “Mm, you smell so good,” she murmured, her nose pressing against his scalp. “I smell mint and something else . . . something sharp and spicy I cannot place.”

  “It is bergamot in my shaving soap. That old woman Kemal makes it for me, swearing it will protect me from bad spirits,” he laughed. “If you like it, I will bathe in it for you.” He all but purred as her hands moved from his hair to massage the rigid muscles of his neck while pulling him lower and lower, until he was almost bent d
ouble. He gritted his teeth and pulled away before straightening his back. Slowly.

  “Hugh?” Her eyes were blue pools rippling with reproach—and lust.

  “I’m an old man, darling. You must take care not to break me.”

  She snorted and he reached behind her, grabbed several cushions, and piled them up.

  And just because he knew it would ruffle her feathers, he ordered, “Now lie back like a good girl.”

  She gave him a dangerous stare but complied.

  Hugh took a step back to admire her. Her expression was sulky as she pulled her legs onto the bed, folding them demurely to one side, the silk gown molding to her body. Her eyes glared up at him in a slightly out-of-focus way. Her lips, lush and pink in general, were now deep red and swollen from tormenting him.

  He fiercely wished he had two eyes to drink her in. Which made him remember something.

  “Where are your spectacles?”

  She shrugged. “I can see.”

  “But you usually wear them.” He paused. “In fact, you haven’t worn them all evening. Why?”

  A frown puckered her brow and she gave him an adorably mulish frown. “What of it?”

  “Why aren’t you wearing them?”

  “Rowena says men find them disfiguring.”

  “Your maid is a fool. Where are they?” He glanced at her bedside table and reached for the drawer.

  Daphne flung herself across the bed after him. “No! Wait!”

  But he’d already opened the drawer and looked inside. There were her tiny spectacles—right next to a copy of Fanny Hill. Hugh flicked the cover open to the flyleaf and snorted: his copy of Fanny Hill.

  She twisted her hands. “It is not what you think.”

  “Oh?” he said, raising his brows. “Tell me, what do I think?”

  “I didn’t steal it—I was going to return it.”

  Hugh laughed. “Believe me, darling, that is not what I was thinking.” He shut the book and took out the spectacles.

  They were unusual, a horizontal line running across the bottom third. He held them up and saw there were different magnifications in each lens. He suspected she needed them quite badly.

  He handed them to her. “Put them on.”

  She snatched them from his hand, but put them on nonetheless. She probably hoped it would help him forget about the pilfered book. Hugh smiled and stored the information away for later use.

  “Are you always this bossy?” she demanded.

  “Always. You might as well accustom yourself to obeying me as I shall soon be your lord and master.”

  “There is still plenty of time for me to change my mind.”

  Hugh stepped back to admire the intoxicating view of her prim glasses, delicious body, and petulant scowl. “No,” he said, well pleased with the picture she made. “There isn’t.”

  She grabbed them off her face and crossed her arms.

  He smiled at the small rebellion. “Come, Daphne, put them back on. There is something I want to show you and I should like you to see it. Clearly.” He lowered himself into the chair across from the bed and assumed the position of a man prepared to wait as long as it took. She stared for a moment before making a small huffing sound and putting on her glasses.

  “Good girl,” he said deliberately.

  She reached a hand up to the fragile frame as if in challenge. Hugh raised his eyebrows, genuinely curious as to what she would do and quite certain any outcome would afford him entertainment.

  With much exaggeration, she lowered her hand and crossed her arms. “Very well, what is it that you were going to show me, my lord?”

  Hugh stretched his legs and kicked off his evening shoes, one at a time.

  Her chest rose, the action pushing her delectable breasts higher.

  He removed his stockings, taking his time while he released and rolled down one, and then the other, all the while watching her. She sat up straighter, craning her neck to watch, her eyes hidden from him by the candlelight glinting off her spectacles.

  “I’m going to undress,” he said, not caring that his explanation was redundant. “Members of our class typically do so in their separate rooms or in the dark.” He smiled as he stood, unbuttoned his coat, and then peeled it off his hot, pounding body. He paused. “I should have asked—would you like to watch me undress or do you prefer I do so in the dark?”

  She swallowed hard enough that Hugh could hear it. “I should like to watch you undress.”

  Hugh could almost hear the blood go thundering to his cock and was mildly surprised there’d been any left elsewhere in his body. He tossed his coat onto the chair he had just vacated but paused in the act of removing his cravat. He first removed the emerald cravat pin and set it on the side table, moving closer to the bed as he untied his neckcloth, pulled it off, and then tossed it onto the chair behind him.

  Her eyes followed his fingers as he began unbuttoning his waistcoat and he slowed down to savor her rapt attention. When he finished the last button he shrugged out of the garment, the action pulling open the slit that ran down the center of his shirt.

  Her breasts were swelling with quick, shallow breaths and she fastened her hot blue eyes on the deep V of his shirt. Hugh watched until she became aware of his scrutiny. She stared directly at him—into him.

  He reached over his head and seized his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. He expected she’d be looking at his scarred shoulders and chest, but she was looking down, her attention arrested by his distended breeches. She’d gone utterly still.

  Hugh smiled. “Breathe, darling.”

  Her eyes darted up and narrowed.

  Hugh had begun this slow stripping because he wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a naked male body and hadn’t wanted to frighten or repulse her. But now he was thoroughly enjoying the tension that filled the room with each garment he removed.

  He brushed a hand across his chest and her eye followed it like a cat tracking its prey. He lowered the hand slowly, sliding it over his abdomen and pushing the tips of his fingers beneath the slick warm satin. He stroked his belly from left to right, drinking in her rapt gaze and harsh breathing. He unhooked the small catches that held his fall in place and paused to shift his pounding organ to one side, reveling in the effect the gesture had on her bodice, even if it did not offer any relief to him.

  Hugh worked the six buttons of his fall with the speed of a man who was paid by the hour. By the time he reached the last button, she was leaning so far over she was in danger of toppling off the bed and he was in danger of exploding.

  Hugh bent low to push down breeches and small clothes together and then stood.

  She was perfectly still, her gaze fastened on his aroused organ, the slight parting of her lips causing his cock to twitch wildly.

  She gasped. “Are you doing that?”

  Hugh considered asking her who else it might be, but dismissed the teasing thought when she reached for him. At which point Hugh’s erection took control of his body and yanked the rest of him toward her.

  Her smooth, cool hand closed with promising firmness around his girth.

  “Guh,” was all Hugh could manage.

  Her brows arched and she wore the same serious look on her face as when she was reading a German philosophy tome. She stroked up and down his shaft, her motions measured and confident; his entire body thrummed.

  “Is this nice?”

  Hugh found his voice—although not the same one he usually used. “Nice would not be my first word of choice.”

  Her lips curved into a smile he’d only fantasized about seeing on her beautiful face.

  “You like this.” It was not a question. Her hand tightened and swirled the head of his cock.

  “Ah God, Daphne!” He hissed in a breath, every nerve on fire, his body already primed to thrust and thrust and spend. Hugh reached down and gently removed her hand; it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

  Her eyebrows rose and he gave her a straine
d smile.

  “It has been some time since my cock has made the, er, acquaintance of a woman.”

  Daphne blinked at the vulgar word and Hugh reminded himself he was bedding a lady.

  He took her other hand and lifted her to her feet. “I should hate to end things so . . . abruptly.” She still looked adorably confused. “Besides, it is my turn, Daphne.”

  “Your turn?”

  “Mmm-hmm, my turn. You’ve seen me.” He felt his lips curve. “You’ve touched me. Now I want to see . . . and touch, you. Would you like to strip for me, or shall I undress you?” Hugh found either option deeply arousing.

  She hesitated only a moment. “I would like you to undress me.”

  A choir seemed to be singing somewhere inside his skull as Hugh pulled her close and turned her in his arms, his entire body throbbing as she submitted to his ministrations.

  She bent her head to allow him access to her gown and he lowered his lips over the vulnerable ridge of spine, reveling in her swift intake of breath as he mouthed the curvature of her arched neck, kissing the bruised, scratched skin that had been savaged by Hastings, laving her with languorous strokes. His cock pulsed dangerously and Hugh forced himself to stop.

  Savoring her sweet, salty taste, he turned to buttons not made for hands his size. As his fingers brushed her skin, she shivered, leaning into his touch. The smooth silk of her gown rubbed against the hot, sensitive skin of his erection. His inflamed brain encouraged him to rip the dress off but he worked with calm diligence until the last button was open, smiling to himself when the garment slipped but, miraculously, did not fall.

  He left the gown for the moment and turned to her hair, removing a remarkable number of pins before he could unbind the heavy rope, raking it with his fingers until a froth of blond curls fell to her waist and tickled the head of his cock.

  She stood with her hands clasping the gown to her breasts. Hugh took her unresisting fingers and lifted them, his gaze riveted as the gown slipped from her grasp. She made a small noise in her throat but her chin tilted defiantly as she submitted to his inspection; Hugh allowed himself a long, lingering look. She was slender and fine-boned, her tiny waist flaring out to unexpectedly generous hips and long, long shapely legs. Her chemise and corset were the same shade as her blushes, her stockings held up with garters embroidered with roses.