A Touch of Passion: A Rouge Regency Romance: (Disgraced Lords #3)

by Bronwen Evans

  But the nights were the worst. He’d dream of her wild abandon under him, over him, in front of him, every which way a man can make love to a woman, until his groin throbbed with need.

  He felt he was going mad. He couldn’t escape her. He could sense his resistance faltering day by day.

  Being the coward that he was, he did his best to ensure that they were never unaccompanied. Meals were always taken with at least Rush or Seaton in attendance, and Grayson kept at least one man with him at all times. There was no way he was going to be alone with her while she was on this ship. He knew he wasn’t that strong, and he was determined to win, if not the battle, then the war.

  It had been several weeks since he’d had a woman in his bed, and he would not let Portia gain that sort of control over him just because he was horny. He needed lots of protection from her womanly charms.

  So far he’d avoided her not-so-subtle traps, but Grayson knew that Portia’s growing frustration spelled trouble. She was tenacious when she wanted something. She looked fragile, but his red-haired siren had the resilience of a tigress, and after one week at sea she was definitely on the prowl.

  So it came as no surprise that when he arrived in the stateroom for dinner, he found the door to Portia’s cabin wide open. The playful sounds of splashing greeted him, and before he could stop himself, he caught a very clear view of a very naked porcelain-skinned temptress, lying with eyes closed in a steaming tub in the middle of the adjoining cabin.

  He was hit with tantalizing feminine scents rising up with the steam, along with her long copper-red tresses streaming down the side of the tub.

  She opened her hazel eyes and licked her lips. His body grew hard instantly. Flames of desire burst through his veins until he felt his body was simply liquid heat. God, she was beautiful. His mouth dried and his fist clamped onto the open doorway. He would not enter.

  With a tigress’s purr Portia said, “Seaton commented today that you’d been so busy you hadn’t rested properly the last few nights. He seemed to think you haven’t been sleeping very well. Is that true, Grayson?” She ran a seductive eye over his hardening body, stopping at his groin. He hardly recognized her as Portia. The night of reckoning was here. Good God, how did he fight this sensual vision?

  She continued, her eyes drinking him in. “Rush informs me you’ve been taking the night watch at the helm the last few days. I suggested to Rush that he get a warm bath ready for you—it would do you good after being in the chilly air night after night. We can’t have you getting sick.” With a twinkle in her eye and a naughty giggle, she added, “But it was just too tempting, all this water. I couldn’t resist.”

  Resist … yes, that was exactly what he must do, he told himself, even as his hands relaxed their grip on the door and one foot entered the cabin.

  She sat upright in the tub, the top of her pert breasts visible above the water, her long hair swirling around her shoulders. His mouth watered. His other foot entered the room.

  With a raised eyebrow, and in a voice he hardly recognized, she soothed, “You do look a tad chilly after your watch. Would you care to join me? There’s room for two?”

  Staring at her, he couldn’t force out a single word.

  “What’s the matter, Grayson?” she cooed.

  He closed his eyes and tried to control his need, but the way she said his name was intoxicating. His cock throbbed uncontrollably.

  “You’re not shy, are you?”

  He opened his eyes. Unable to speak, he simply stared at her.

  She lay back and let her long hair fall over the side of the tub in waves of silk. She took a washcloth and ran it down over her face and across her bosom. He followed the cloth with his eyes, like an addict focused on his next fix.

  “Why don’t you shut the door behind you?” Her husky murmur caressed him across what now seemed a claustrophobic space. “We don’t need an audience.”

  His foot moved a step closer.

  She smiled. It sucked all the breath from his lungs.

  “If you won’t come to me, I’ll have to come to you.”

  At her words she rose gracefully from the tub, water streaming over her luscious curves. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he knew she could hear it. He stepped closer still.

  Jesus, what was he doing? His very hands burned with the need to touch her, run his palms from her slim waist down her elegantly curved thighs, to slide his hands through her auburn womanly curls, wet and glistening at the apex of her thighs, and feel her woman’s heat before gliding back up to her firm ripe breasts, the nipples taut and aching for his touch.

  His mouth watered, wanting to suckle, to taste, to claim her.

  “Do you need me to help you?” she purred. “Come here.” She crooked her finger and bade him move closer.

  Stay back.

  But his body ignored his command. When the haze of his need cleared he was at the tub’s edge. He’d never seen her this forward before, and clearly she knew her power. He forgot she was a virgin. Oh, she’d flirted and teased in her younger days, her innocence making a mockery of her attentions. She’d had no idea how to use her feminine wiles back then. So untutored. She didn’t even know what she’d really wanted.

  But look at her now. She was a woman who knew the power she wielded, and she was not scared to use it.

  He swallowed. Resisting her the night he’d been stupid enough to kiss her in the darkened hallway at the Cyprians’ Ball had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Ever since that night he had realized that it was imperative never to weaken toward her. Their views on life were divergent; their marriage would be a battleground.

  He’d thought that once he left for the war she would forget her infatuation. For years he’d been both flattered by her attentions and embarrassed. If he were free to ignore the dictates of his position, then maybe he would look upon her differently. But after all he’d been through he couldn’t forget his duty. Men like Robert had sacrificed their lives so that men such as Grayson could make England strong again.

  Now she was feeding his desire, challenging him to prove he wasn’t immune to her charms.

  A wave of loneliness and loss washed through him. Here was the hot-blooded woman he would marry, and yet she was not in his heart. You don’t want her in your heart.

  “Grayson …”

  Her voice took his breath away. It held such power. When she whispered his name, he stepped forward until his knees hit the edge of the tub, as if lured by some irresistible force. He soaked in the beauty standing within touching distance. Pure innocence wrapped in an outer coating of sin. The heat in her eyes made him feel flushed and feverish. Her intense stare set his body quivering with longing. God help him.

  “What is it?” she whispered uncertainly as the sound of water droplets falling off her body into the tub could be heard in the silence, along with his ragged breath.

  “You are so beautiful,” he choked out.

  “Oh, Grayson,” she whispered with a sensual smile, her uncertainty vanishing in an instant. Slipping her arms around his neck, she hugged him close.

  He was in heaven, wrapped in her heat. Slowly he let his hands slide down her back, his palms molding to the warm skin, her softness beckoning him.

  Through his jacket, he could feel her ripe, firm breasts pressed into his chest, and he had to touch them. One hand slid back up her soft wet skin and with a shudder that rocked him to his core his fingers molded over her hard nipple. He rolled it gently between his fingers.

  “I’ve dreamed of this for so long. Thoughts of our kiss at the Cyprians’ Ball kept me warm on the battlefields.” His voice was scarcely a whisper. “This is heaven.” He’d never felt this driving need for any other woman.

  Then his mouth covered hers. He kissed her with a fever, hard and demanding, and desperate at the same time. He let his dark need for her overwhelm him as his tongue slid urgently into her mouth, stealing any chance for her to catch her breath. He’d never experienced anything as molten
as the fire in her lips.

  Long passion-filled moments later, he broke off when she groaned. Shutting his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers and struggled for control.

  She pulled him closer to her nakedness. “I don’t want you to stop,” she said shakily. “There is no need if we are to marry.”

  He couldn’t respond. For several pounding heartbeats he stared into her eyes. “We are not married yet,” he said. But she licked her lips and the sight of her pink tongue crumpled any resistance. His hands came up to cup her breasts, his palms pressing against her nipples, which were pebbled into tight, hard peaks.

  She let out a whimper, and her head dropped back.

  Striving for sanity, he closed his eyes, but the smell of her hot, wet skin was too tempting. He lost his battle, dipped his head, and took her nipple into his mouth.

  She whispered his name, kissed his bent head, and caressed his arms as they held her.

  He should stop this now. He’d pledged to keep emotions away from their situation until she agreed to his ideal of demure and respectable. Give Portia an inch and she would bloody well demand a mile.

  He went very still, her nipple resting between his lips. Then she shuddered and begged, “More, please, Grayson …”

  He moved across to her other breast and she groaned, digging her fingers into his arms as she arched her back to push her breasts up to meet his mouth. For long minutes his lips and tongue set about arousing her. It was tantalizing and intoxicating, and his body thrilled as he felt the shivers of response he plucked from her body.

  His hands languorously began to stroke down her back, tracing the curve of her hips, kneading her buttocks, pulling her hard against his groin. His arousal was intense, pulsating within the tight confines of his breeches. He was in agony.

  She was more powerful than any drug. If he wasn’t careful he’d become addicted, and then he’d be lost. Slowly his palm moved over her thigh to her belly, then lower to her beckoning heat. His fingers found the silky curls at the juncture of her thighs, and he caressed the tender, vibrant part of her body, slick with her own need. Although fully clothed, he shivered.

  He cupped her, stroking slowly between her wet folds. Then his finger slid slowly into her, making her gasp aloud. Her liquid heat seared his soul. He went on exploring, arousing, his fingers gliding inside her … lingering … withdrawing … “I need to be inside you. You’re so hot and tight,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

  Portia arched against him, her naked breasts seeking closer contact.

  He became intensely aware of her hands sliding over his body, exploring his back, his sides, his hips. When her hands found their way inside his shirt and softly stroked his nipples into hard peaks, lust slammed through his body.

  His pulse was wild, and he could feel her heartbeat pounding under his lips as they swept to her throat. He was rock-hard, certain that with a touch of her hand on his throbbing cock he would explode.

  Her hands glided down to his breeches. “Touch me,” he commanded.

  She was more than eager to obey, caressing his clenched belly and then curving her hand over the bulging outline of his manhood, straining to be released from the confines of his trousers.

  He closed his eyes as she caressed him through his clothes, stroking his throbbing rod. It became so engorged it threatened to emerge from the waistband of his trousers.

  His hips thrust against her touch, empowering her further. She was already unfastening his breeches. With a groan he suckled one of her breasts while stroking her wet passage, two fingers entering her heat.

  She slid her hands into the fall front of his breeches. Christ, he was about to explode.

  He dragged his eyes back to the beauty of her face and soaked in the vision of her. She was breathless, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes were watching him, devouring him, savoring every drop of his onslaught. Then her eyes closed on a moan and her grip on him tightened as his fingers continued their sensuous penetration.

  She opened her eyes as he stilled his fingers, leaving them deep inside her. She stared at him hotly, her darkened pools mirroring his desire.

  “Grayson, take me, make me yours.” It was a husky entreaty, filled with such longing.

  At those few words, reality hit him with the force of a musket shot. His head pounded with denial. No. She’s manipulating you, getting you so enthralled you’ll succumb to her bidding.

  Only once before had he let a woman get close enough to fool him, a woman he would have done anything for. He’d met her in Belgium when he went to war, and for eighteen months he’d been completely in love with her.

  However, she’d used her body, charm, and beauty to blind him to her betrayal. He had seriously considered making her his wife, even though she was not of the same social standing, a mere lieutenant’s daughter. He’d been enamored of her abundant charms, her docile and respectable manner. So much so, he’d been late to a battle, and it had cost Robert his life. He arrived in time to see the enemy gut Robert as if he were a fish. He’d held his best friend in his arms until he died, and he’d cried sitting in a bloody, body-strewn battlefield. When he went back to town, to seek comfort in her arms, she was there entertaining his general—naked save for the ruby necklace the general had just given her.

  He’d thought they were in love. She was in love all right, but only with his money and title. He’d let her manipulate him, and he’d sworn he’d never let that happen again. Now here was the woman he’d have to marry trying to do the exact same thing—for a far better reason, to be sure, but manipulating him all the same. If he gave in here, where would Portia stop?

  It tore him up inside, but he stepped back from her warmth and let his arms drop from her body. A feeling of loss overcame him, so painful he almost gave in to his driving need and buried himself in her warmth.

  He reached to rebutton his breeches, pushing her hands aside.

  “No. Not until we are married. That is the proper thing to do, and you, my lady, need to learn that rules are there for a reason.”

  “What better reason to make love when contemplating marriage? My desires count too. What if we are not compatible?”

  Christ. “It will be too late to do anything but marry once we find out.”

  She simply shrugged, her naked breasts bouncing delectably with the movement. “If we aren’t compatible, this marriage won’t work. I can’t be a wife to a man who has a mistress—or mistresses, as I suspect it will be in your case. I deserve the right to find what I need in this life. The chance to find loyalty and love in another man.”

  His erection died, and a roaring fury raced through his veins. The thought of Portia with another man was something he could neither comprehend nor condone. The irony of his position did not escape him. He didn’t want to want her, but he didn’t want any other man to touch her either. Her threat almost made him decide to take her now, to claim her as his. “If we made love, woe betide any man who tried to sleep with you. You’d be mine and mine alone,” he almost growled.

  She gave him a victorious smile. Blast! He’d said too much.

  “I’m hoping you understand that if I’m to become your wife, I wish to be more than an ornament on your arm, or a woman to bear your children and maintain your home.” She cupped her breasts. “I’m flesh and blood, with feelings and desires.”

  Turning, he moved toward to the door. He stood with his back to her, trying to get his emotions and desires under control.

  “You want me. I felt it.” Her words were spoken so softly he thought for a moment that he’d imagined them.

  “When will you learn that sometimes it is not advisable to get everything you want? Life has a habit of stealing your dreams.”

  Then he strode up the companionway, feelings of self-loathing suffocating him. He burst out onto the deck, his chest heaving for fresh, cool air. He knew without a sliver of doubt that he had hurt her by turning away.

  His body filled with pain, smothering the ache of his physical n
eed for release. If he couldn’t get his desire for her under control, his ideal of a stable, respectable marriage would disappear in a puff of smoke. Not only that, but he couldn’t bear to give his heart to another. If something happened to Portia, such as in childbirth … No, he could not go through such loss again.

  He owed it to his long-dead family and to Robert to try to be the man they wanted him to be. Loving Robert’s sister put in danger what he wished to achieve.

  He’d sowed his wild oats, but war had changed him. He’d fought for home and country, a family he’d yet to have, and by God, his family would be a pillar of respectability. He would reach the potential his father saw in him even if it meant denying his true nature. Many men sacrificed more on the battlefield. Robert had paid with his life, but still, with his dying breath Robert had manifested his concern for others, his men and his sister. He would not let his death count for nothing.

  Portia Flagstaff threatened all he’d vowed when he held first Robert dead in his arms and then the burned and suffering Christian. Honor, respectability, and a quiet life, serving God and country. He was sure that was why he had been spared.

  Anger. Flaming anger.

  Portia stood in the tub shivering, feeling ten times a fool. She was ice cold. He’d resisted her. A renowned rake, whose love of bed sport was legendary, had rejected her. Worse still, he would become her husband.

  If anyone had told her four weeks ago that she’d end up married to Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, she’d have thought herself the luckiest woman alive. Now she wondered what she had ever seen in the stuffy, judgmental man.

  She took a deep breath and reached for a towel.

  She had to make allowances.

  The war had changed both Grayson and her brother. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to see men blown to bits, sliced open, or shot. Grayson had held her dying brother in his arms, and then Lord Markham had almost been burned to death. Even Philip was more subdued; the war had certainly matured him.

  Grayson had returned to England and rumors had started to circulate regarding his desire to marry. However, Portia had discounted the talk as gossip from hopeful mamas, because the women mentioned as possible candidates were women Grayson would grow bored of within a month.