If he didn’t quiet her, and quickly, someone from the main house would hear her and come out to investigate. And while his cock was rather accepting of their current position, with her squirming atop him, being discovered thus was far from what either one of them wanted. The last thing they needed was to be leg-shackled.
Aidan didn’t know what else to do. The need for silence grew heavier upon his mind. He moved one hand to the back of her head, pulled her down, and kissed her.
Emma was in the midst of calling Mr. Cardiff a scurrilous, indecent cad, following a litany of other insults, when his lips pressed hard against hers—further earning every name she’d called him and more. Her eyes flew open at the contact, only to find his boring into her as though he was trying to etch every detail of the moment permanently into his brain.
He would do something like that, too. Emma had no doubts on that score. It would be just like the loathsome cur he was to take such delight in the moment that he ruined her that he would wish to relive it in his mind over and over again. For that matter, he might be committing it to memory so that he could recreate it in a piece of artwork later.
The licentious brute.
Even as his lips moved over hers, deftly maneuvering in such a way that he could slide his tongue across her tightly closed lips, he readjusted the hand against her nape and angled her head. His touch was almost punishing, falling just short of potentially bruising. And yet, while it was absolutely nothing at all like what she’d imagined a kiss would be, she couldn’t help but part her lips for his questing tongue and shudder in delight at the sensation of his invasion.
She’d always thought her first kiss would be sweet and tender, thoroughly romantic. She’d imagined herself so in love with the man kissing her that she’d lean in and one foot would lift up behind her, toes pointed, oblivious to everything but the man she was with.
She was oblivious to everything but Mr. Cardiff, but in such a different way. His kiss was demanding, aggressive, needy. It was perhaps because of how different it was from her imaginings that she was so lost within it. Within him.
For what it was worth, she did lean in, seeking more. More heat. More pressure. More of his roving hands and heated lips, which were now traveling along the length of her neck, his tongue dipping out to taste her.
Just more.
Which was all wrong. This was the path to disaster, and they were racing along it neck-or-nothing. She had to slow him down. She had to separate herself from him before they were caught in such a compromising position.
Before she lost her heart.
Emma squirmed against him, desperate to stop him, but her efforts were pointless. Short of ripping her gown, she couldn’t escape his vise-like grasp on her. She screamed her frustrations, but the sound was muted against his mouth even as her fisted hands were tangled in knots of fabric against his angular, dangerously muscled chest, rendering them useless in her struggle. Her fists pressed back into her so hard it almost hurt.
As he worked his tongue between her lips once more to stroke inside her mouth, he let out a groan of sorts. His eyes darkened in the pale moonlight—twin pools of lust that undulated with a need she’d never witnessed before—pools that mirrored what she knew must be evident within her own eyes.
He tasted dark, a perilous and inadequately masked feast of sin.
His tongue swept over every inch of her mouth, tasting and exploring and kindling something wanton and delicious and, to this particular point in her life, left unheeded.
With one arm still holding her tight to his chest, Mr. Cardiff shifted her higher over his body until her lips were at a level with his and he could plunder her more freely. The friction of shifting fabrics and hard muscles against her breasts left them feeling heavy and needy, and somehow aching.
Without realizing what she was doing, she opened her fists and flattened her palms against his chest, mimicking his actions and exploring the hard angles of his muscles.
He let out a growl, feral and inhuman—her only warning before he left her mouth to ravage the path leading from her jaw to her earlobe with his lips and tongue. Breaths coming in rapid bursts, pulse pounding loud in her head, Emma’s entire being swam with unfamiliar sensation.
She didn’t know how she came to be on her back with him above her and the cold, hard earth beneath her.
She couldn’t have possibly determined when he’d stopped suckling against her earlobe and nibbling the spot just behind her ear to move lower.
All she knew was that her hands remained trapped between their bodies, kept immobilized by his superior size, and Mr. Cardiff’s hot, searching mouth had moved perilously close to the edge of her bodice. Her back arched up as though her traitorous body welcomed his assault upon her senses, and a storm of anxiety-laden pinpricks rattled against her core from the inside.
It was too much. Too wrong.
Too needy.
A moan tore from Emma’s lips when his questing fingers drew down the cap sleeve of her gown and his tongue dipped beneath the fabric, the moist heat of it sliding over the sensitive flesh of her bosom in a way that left her trembling in both terror and desire. She couldn’t want him like this—so needy and raw. She couldn’t let herself feel such a deep well of sensation. Not until she had a husband. Not until he couldn’t rip all her hopes and dreams out from beneath her and leave her a shattered mess.
Thus, it was the terror that broke through the haze of sensation first.
“Stop. Stop this.” Emma thrashed her legs, startled at the discovery that she could move them again. The moment of realization halted her struggle long enough that Mr. Cardiff was able to reposition his thighs and trap her legs beneath him.
But he did stop kissing her so intimately even if he remained atop her, staring down with a wild look in his eyes and frayed breaths spilling from his lips. She reached out her hand to cup his cheek—an instinctive gesture—but pulled back before making contact.
In an instant, his eyes filled with profound remorse. As fast as it arrived, it was replaced by sheer panic.
He removed his hand from her sleeve and placed it over her mouth, but must have thought better of it only a moment later. Pulling it down to rest beside her body, he lifted some of his weight from her, situating it on his strong forearms.
“Promise me you won’t call out.” His words were a prayer in the night. “I doubt that being discovered in such a thoroughly compromising position is what either of us wants.”
At the moment, Emma didn’t have the first inkling how to voice what she wanted. She wanted him to go on, to take her further than she’d allowed. She wanted to be as far away from him as she could possibly be. She wanted never to be too long outside his touch. She wanted a kind man to marry her, and only then to fall in love.
Everything she wanted was a convoluted mess in her head.
But he was right. If anyone from the house party were to find them, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind what David would insist upon. Her brother-in-law was too honor-bound by half. She’d be married to Mr. Cardiff within a sennight, if not sooner.
The mere thought of it was enough to send a tingle racing over her spine. “I won’t call out,” Emma repeated, though her voice shuddered and threatened to give way before she’d gotten even the first of the words out.
Taking more of his weight onto himself, Mr. Cardiff carefully extracted his legs from Emma’s skirts and then rolled aside. He stood, brushing grass and dirt from himself before holding out a hand to assist her.
When she stood again, trying to regain the ability to breathe, the moonlight allowed her to see just how much damage had overcome her gown. There were grass stains and a few small rips along the skirt, and the bodice was completely crushed. The muslin was ruined. No laundry maid would ever be able to salvage it.
Clearly Mr. Cardiff was experiencing those very thoughts. He looked over at her and his lips quirked down into a frown. “I don’t suppose there’s much hope for it, is there?”
�
�None. But don’t trouble yourself over it.” Not that he would, anyway, but that was beside the point. “I’ll tell my maid about feeding Kingley, and that I fell down in the dark. No one will ever know about…” She gave an empty gesture with her arms toward the place on the ground they’d been tumbling about.
“I wasn’t…” Mr. Cardiff stopped himself short and pressed his eyes closed for a moment. “I shouldn’t—”
“You should go back inside before you’re missed, sir. I need to return this plate to the kitchens before Cook sends someone out searching for me.” And before she could do that, she’d have to calm herself enough that her lies would be believable. Not an easy task, that was for certain. Blast, she wished she were a better liar.
A muscle ticked in his cheek, and he started to nod, but then he shrugged and muttered an oath. “I do not understand how you have such control over me, Miss Hathaway, but I do not like it. Not in the least.”
Mr. Cardiff took three steps in the direction of the main house, blessedly heading toward a different door than Emma would use to return to the kitchens, but then stopped and spun around, grimacing something fierce. “I am everything you called me and worse. You would do well to stay away from me so I am not tempted to repeat tonight’s performance.”
Emma stood on the grounds for long moments after he left, trembling—though she couldn’t decide if the trembles were due more to fear or anticipation.
She pressed a finger to her swollen lips and winced…but then she pressed it harder, as though she could recreate the sensations he’d caused within her, which only confirmed her fears. She wanted more.
Aidan chose not to break his fast with the rest of the household the next morning, thinking it might be a better option to avoid seeing Emma Hathaway so soon after he’d nearly ravished her on the lawn. Instead, he sent his valet, Cochran, down to the kitchens to fetch a tray, and then ate in his chambers alone so he could brood.
Brooding always seemed to calm him, at least somewhat, and he certainly needed something to provide a calming effect. The whole night, he’d scarcely slept a wink. He couldn’t stop thinking about the flicker of passion she’d given him in return before he terrified the ever-loving life out of her.
Each time he did manage to fall asleep, he awoke in a tangle of sheets. The memory of her taste haunted his tongue, and his cock seemed destined to be permanently erect. He couldn’t stop thinking of the wild look in her eyes. Miss Hathaway had been more responsive than he’d ever dreamed possible, and he hadn’t even been the slightest bit gentle with her. Yet, she was an innocent. She didn’t deserve the callous treatment he’d given her, even if she’d responded favorably to it.
The worst of it was he couldn’t convince himself he’d been trying to ruin Miss Hathaway out of spite. Some small part of him had wanted her, wanted all that he’d done and more, and it hadn’t been to obtain revenge for the perceived slights against Morgan.
He was far from fit to be good company for David and his houseguests. They were far better served by him keeping his distance.
Aidan grew more confused by the moment.
After he’d breakfasted and sent Cochran to return the tray, he paced through his chambers, trying to decide how he ought to go about the rest of this house party.
In light of his highly inappropriate behavior toward Miss Hathaway—and considering he wasn’t entirely certain he wished to avoid taking it further—he thought it might be best for all concerned if he were to leave. Go back to Tavistock Manor and forget all of this had ever happened. Separate himself from the problems. Or temptations. Whichever the case may be.
Except that would mean leaving Morgan.
As much as Aidan wanted to find the strength to trust her recovery, to believe that she would truly be able to live her life without falling so desperately into despair again, Aidan wasn’t certain he had it within him.
But Niall would be here with her. It wasn’t as though Aidan must leave her alone.
He’d talk to Niall straightaway and inform him of his decision.
Except…damnation. His departure would alter Vanessa’s numbers for the party, and David would not let him cause his wife damage so easily.
Good God. Vanessa. Would Miss Hathaway have run to tell her sister what he’d done to her? An intelligent chit wouldn’t let a cad such as he go unpunished. If she had even a slightly good head upon her shoulders, she would have gone straight to the first female she trusted and sought advice on what to do.
If that was the case, he’d be a dead man before luncheon.
He’d been pacing for close to half an hour when the door to his chamber opened without warning and Niall barged inside.
“You’re being a poor guest. Why were you not at breakfast?”
“So kind of you to announce your presence and request an audience,” Aidan shot back. He was in no mood for Niall’s high-handed manner.
Standing sheepishly in the doorway, Cochran looked over for instruction. It wasn’t his fault that Niall had pushed past him. The valet couldn’t very well tell the Earl of Trenowyth what he could and couldn’t do, particularly when the earl in question paid his wages.
Niall reacted before Aidan could. “Leave us, Cochran.”
“Milord,” the man murmured, and he pulled the door closed as he went.
Once they were alone, Niall crossed the room and sat in the armchair by the hearth, gesturing for Aidan to take the seat opposite him.
Feeling a stubborn streak rearing its head, Aidan folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. Let Niall try to force him into a chair. They both knew that, while Niall was taller, Aidan was by far the stronger of the two. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t done any sculpting in a number of years. The muscles built from wielding his chisel and hammer had not abated in the slightest, despite the loss of some of his harder earned calluses.
Niall scowled, but he left it alone. “You sat alone last night, looking as happy to be here as one on the brink of being murdered. Then you left the drawing room early without even begging Lady Burington’s forgiveness for such an affront. You still haven’t shown yourself downstairs today, even though it is well past the breakfast hour and everyone is preparing to go into Topsham for a shopping excursion. Your presence is both expected and required.”
He stopped there, and silence fell between them. Aidan kept waiting, expecting his brother to deliver the verdict on what his punishment ought to be for his adolescent behavior, or for him to add another crime to the growing litany.
But nothing else came.
“And?” Aidan finally said, as the silence between them grew more than just a bit uncomfortable. He couldn’t shake the sense that he was yet again standing before his father as a ten-year-old boy, when he’d been caught ripping holes in Niall’s clothing out of jealousy—Niall was to be sent off to school, and Aidan had to stay behind with Morgan. He still didn’t know why he’d done it. Maybe he thought if Niall had no proper clothes to wear, then he would be forced to stay, as well?
Niall’s lip ticked further downward. “And,” he said, drawing out the word for emphasis, “I suspect your inability to behave like a gentleman and do as your hostess requires of you has something to do with Miss Hathaway.”
“Did you see—” Aidan stopped himself before he dug his own grave. “Why would you think that?” His innocent tone sounded laughingly feigned, even to his own ear.
“Did I see what?”
This was not going well. “It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.” This seemed to be becoming a habit. He hadn’t meant to say half of what he’d said to Miss Hathaway last night, and yet it had all come from his lips. And then he hadn’t even bothered to retract any of it. What would be the point? It had been the truth, devil take it.
Niall’s eyes narrowed, but he let the matter drop. “You’re to come along on the shopping excursion. You’re to make yourself seem the perfect gentleman. You’re to apologize to our host and hostess for your coarse manners, if they can ev
en be called that.”
But he couldn’t. Aidan would only make matters worse if he were to try to insert himself into the day’s festivities while he was still so unable to control his own thoughts, let alone the words that came from his mouth. “I need more time.” It came out as a plea. He never pleaded for anything, least of all with his brother.
Perhaps that was why it caught Niall’s attention. He leaned forward, propping an arm on his knee. “Why?”
Why, indeed? Aidan searched his mind, trying to sort out the answer for himself before revealing it to his brother. He might need to alter the truth for Niall’s ears. Lord knew Aidan was the furthest thing from a proper gentleman, so his behavior shouldn’t shock his brother—but for the second time this week, he felt the urge to protect Miss Hathaway. Even if what he was protecting her from was himself.
His efforts didn’t matter, in the end. “Because it does have to do with Miss Hathaway, but I’ll be damned if I can determine just what it has to do with her.” Aidan snapped his jaw closed lest he say anything more.
Niall sat back in his chair, drawing one leg up to rest his ankle over the opposite knee. He nodded, his eyes softening a bit, as though suddenly he understood everything Aidan didn’t. “You finally have an interest in her that goes beyond seeking revenge for something no one else could possibly understand.”
“What? No.”
How did Niall know he wanted revenge? He’d taken great pains to keep his pastel renderings locked away in the dower house so no one would ever see them—so no one would ever know just how sick and depraved and twisted his mind had become. He’d never allowed anyone in while he worked. Never.
“You don’t do a very good job of hiding your feelings, particularly not when you’re around Miss Hathaway.”
Aidan let out a pent-up breath, which caused Niall to raise a brow. But at least he said nothing. Since Aidan still hadn’t sorted everything out in his own mind, he really didn’t want to have to explain such reactions to his brother.
Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon Page 12