Everything Forbidden

by Jess Michaels

  By God, she was beautiful. So fresh and honest and alive. And the longing he felt to touch her nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to breathe her in, soak her in, own her in every way.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, peeling off her gloves. “I was surprised to receive your summons. How in the world do you keep arranging these notes directly to my maid?”

  Ethan shook off his reaction to her with a grin. “One of my footmen has been, er, visiting your little maid for a few months. And he’s happy to have an excuse to go to her and deliver my notes.”

  “Angelica?” Miranda gasped. “Really? My, she always seemed so innocent!”

  Ethan stepped toward her and drew in a long breath of the scent of her hair. “So do you, my little minx. But I know better.”

  Miranda gave a pretty blush that started at her hairline and disappeared beneath the scooped neck of her gown. She looked away. “I suppose you are correct in that regard.”

  “I hope you won’t terminate her now that you know her secret,” Ethan murmured as he slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back immediately. “It is very convenient to be able to pass messages to you whenever I like.”

  She sighed as his lips came down on her neck. “It would be rather hypocritical of me to end her employment for doing exactly the same things I am doing.”

  “Exactly the same?” he murmured as he bit her neck gently.

  She shivered. “Probably not exactly the same.”

  He chuckled as he slid his hands up to cup her breasts. Her knees were trembling now and she leaned fully against him.

  “Why—why did you call me here?” she gasped as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples, making them stand at attention even through the fabric of her gown.

  “Thank you for reminding me,” he whispered and turned her around to face him. She stared up at him, gaze clouded with desire. His cock was rock hard already but he knew there would be no release for him. At least not now.

  But he was going to enjoy this particular “gift” for her.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  She cocked her head. “What is it?”

  With a wicked smile, he dropped to his knees and began to lift up her skirts.

  Nothing Ethan did should have shocked Miranda anymore, but having him drop down in front of her and slide his hands beneath her skirt surprised her nonetheless.

  “Ethan,” she cried, her hands fisting against his shoulders.

  He glanced up at her with that wicked, calculating grin that was always her undoing.

  “Shh,” he soothed as his fingers glided over her trembling knees, past her damp thighs. He lifted her skirt as he went until he held it up to her waist and left her utterly exposed.

  “Hold this,” he said, motioning to the fabric.

  She released his shoulder with one trembling hand and took the bunched gown, unsure of what else to do.

  “What are you doing?” she breathed, her words ragged.

  “This,” he murmured, before he pushed her chemise aside and opened her legs. She shut her eyes and anticipated the brush of his mouth. He didn’t make her wait long.

  His tongue probed her, awakening her senses and making her utterly aware of the scene anyone would see if they entered the room. But she didn’t object. She couldn’t have cared less if disapproving Winston threw open the doors and brought in tours of onlookers. She wanted Ethan’s mouth, she wanted Ethan’s tongue, she wanted release. Everything else be damned.

  He sucked her clit, not teasing her as he’d done in the past. The explosion of release was his intent and almost immediately waves of pleasure built low in her stomach and spread needy, out of control heat through her pussy.

  “Ethan,” she moaned, clenching his shoulder with one hand while she twisted her skirt in the other. “Ethan.”

  “Let go,” he said against her skin and the vibration sent her over the edge in an explosion of forbidden sensation.

  She thrust her hips to meet his mouth, moaning his name over and over as he forced more and more pleasure from her aching body. Finally, the tremors began to subside and the wracking tingles faded to a mere whisper.

  “Here is your first gift,” he said from below her. Then she felt a sharp, pleasurable pinch on her clit that made her knees buckle.

  He cupped her backside, stroking the globes as he held her upright and looked at her. She knew her eyes were wild as she stared down at him.

  “What—what is that?” she panted, swallowing hard as the steady pressure on her clit made her tingle in dangerous, sensual ways. It was a constant reminder of her arousal, a touch that brought her to the edge, but never allowed her to go over.

  He pulled her chemise back down over her thighs and then gently extracted her skirt from her grip. He let it fall over her and stood up.

  “It’s a special toy, designed to keep you on the edge, to keep you ready for me,” he explained as he turned away to pour her a swallow of sherry.

  He handed her the glass and she stared at him. He looked so calm. Like they were discussing the weather, not the clip he had just attached to her most private parts.

  He smiled. “Drink it.”

  She downed the sherry in one gulp. The burn of the liquor only reminded her more of the heat that now pulsated between her thighs, taunting her with pleasure without allowing it.

  “I want you to wear it the rest of the day,” he explained as he took the empty glass. “And tonight to the party.”

  She shook her head, fighting for reason so she could manage to form coherent sentences. “Why?”

  He leaned in closer. “Because I want you to know, every moment of the rest of this day, that you’re mine. Every time I look at you across the room, I want you to feel that bite of pleasure. I want you to anticipate everything I intend to do to you the moment I have you alone.”

  Her head spun with that admission and with the possessive gleam in his eyes. “But—but this isn’t Friday,” she said. “You don’t own me today.”

  He tilted his head and looked at her for a long, heavy moment. Then he reached out to cup her cheek. The expression in his eyes shifted, ever so slightly. The possessiveness was still hot in his stare, but there was something else there now, too. A tenderness. Something she’d never seen in this man before.

  “Miranda, I want you to wear it because you want to feel that sensation even though we won’t be able to explore it until later. I want you to wear it because it would bring me pleasure to know you had that reminder.” He swallowed. “Please.”

  Her eyes widened at the “please”. He wasn’t demanding she take his gift, he was asking her. Giving her some of that precious control he snatched at every opportunity.

  She couldn’t deny him. And she wouldn’t deny herself. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Without looking away from her, he reached behind him for a brightly decorated box. Holding it out, he said, “And here is your second gift.”

  She shivered as her clit throbbed mercilessly. What other wicked toys was he offering her?

  “Take it,” he urged, waggling the box back and forth.

  Her fingers trembled as she reached for his gift. She almost felt like Eve with the snake, like she might be breaking every rule she’d ever made for herself.

  “What is it?” she murmured past dry lips. How could he be so calm? Her whole body was on fire.

  “Open it and see.”

  She shivered as she tugged at the ribbon and removed the box lid. Reaching inside past expensive, fragranced paper, she withdrew a soft, filmy chemise.

  “Oh, Ethan,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

  He wet his lips. “Wear it tonight as well.”

  She stared at the garment. It was so sensual and lovely. The sheer fabric was finely made and of the highest quality. It certainly didn’t match the rest of her wardrobe.

  “But, my mother, if she—”

  He shook his head. “You will wear it beneath your clot
hing. Only you and I will know, as long as your ladies maid is as discreet as you claim.”

  He stepped forward and brushed his fingers over her jaw. “Wear it tonight, Miranda.”

  With a shaky nod, she whispered, “I will.”

  He backed away. “Now you had best go back before your absence is noticed. I’ll see you in a few short hours.”

  She nodded as she turned toward the door. But before she could step away, he caught her arms and pulled her back. His mouth came down and he brushed his lips, ever so gently across hers. She opened and he glided inside, tasting, testing, but never fully possessing. It was a tender kiss. But an arousing kiss nonetheless. Between her legs, her constricted clit pulsed and her sheath grew slick with renewed desire.

  “Run away, Miranda,” he whispered as he turned her toward the door. “Before I forget myself.”

  She did as she was told and hurried from the room.

  Ethan strummed his fingers along the side of his wineglass, watching the Albright ball spin at full tilt around him. Laughing gentlemen and ladies, the same ones who had been giggling at the family’s misfortune mere weeks ago, were now dancing to the talented orchestra’s music. They were eating the food, drinking the drinks, calling it the celebration of the summer.

  He shook his head. How fleeting their loyalty was. Of course, he was no better. A month or two ago, he would have been doing the exact same thing. But now it somehow rankled him, for he knew that within a few more weeks, the ton could very easily return to shunning the Albrights. He could only hope his money and support would keep that from happening.

  He scanned the crowd, ignoring friends and the occasional flirtatious stare of his former lovers. Just as had been the case with Cassandra a few days before, none of those women appealed to him in the slightest. It no longer mattered that if he approached them, he was certain to have a rollicking good time in a quiet study or garden pathway.

  He wanted the good time, for certain, he just wanted it with one specific woman. At that exact moment the crowd parted to reveal her.

  Miranda.

  He took a step toward her before he realized what he was doing, then stopped. Jesus, he didn’t chase women! Even if just the sight of her profile, as she chatted with a small group of ladies, did arouse ridiculous feelings and fantasies.

  She turned as if she felt his stare and started when she found him watching her. Their eyes met and he saw the arousal in her expression. So, she still wore his little gift. She was still ready for him, right on the edge of release. She dipped her chin and blushed. He couldn’t help but smile. She knew his thoughts.

  He took another step in her direction. If he could maneuver this correctly, he could get her alone. He could ease the ache in both their bodies. Even just a quick tryst would be better than the driving want that made him so utterly aware of her every move.

  Ignoring everything around him, he began to edge toward her in earnest. But before he’d gotten even three steps, he heard his name being screeched.

  “Lord Rothschild!”

  He froze. He would recognize the sound of Miranda’s mother’s voice anywhere. He’d been hiding from it for years, trying to keep out of the woman’s line of sight. But since this was her party and he had paid for it, he couldn’t exactly give her the cut direct.

  Plastering a false smile on his lips, he turned toward her. “Ah, Mrs. Albright. How nice it is to see you. I am sorry that my late arrival kept us from greeting each other properly at the door.”

  “Oh, posh! We’re just so happy you could come at all.”

  She smiled at him, her eyes shining. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Dorthea Albright look so happy. He tilted his head as he subtly looked her up and down. He’d never taken much notice of her before, but now he wondered how this woman could have produced Miranda. She wasn’t tall or willowy, rather of more average height and slightly rounded by age and childbirth. She didn’t have silky blonde hair, but a mousier brown. However, there was one thing Mrs. Albright had given her daughter. Her bright blue eyes.

  And suddenly she didn’t make Ethan shudder so much.

  “I know that I wrote you a letter, Lord Rothschild, but I wanted to thank you in person for your generosity to my daughter, Penelope.” Mrs. Albright patted his arm clumsily. “I have been remiss in not calling on you before now.”

  The shudder was back and Ethan had to work to keep his smile. Dorthea Albright was speaking so loudly that everyone around them was now staring. Miranda’s tact, along with her other more appealing attributes, must have come from her father. Or a grandmother. Or a distant cousin. Anyone but her mother.

  “Your note was more than enough thanks, dear lady,” he said with a slight bow. “We do not need to speak of it any longer.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, but we must. I beg a moment of your time, my lord, where we could speak more privately.”

  Ethan gazed across the room toward Miranda. She was standing with a man now. A handsome man, too. Ethan fisted his hands at his sides as unexpected jealousy rushed through him, especially when the bloke took a long look at Miranda’s cleavage.

  Not that Miranda noticed his appraisal. She was hardly attending to her companion. She had noticed her mother’s approach and was staring at them now. Her blush was one of mortification rather than arousal. Damn it. Ethan hated that the desire he had cultivated was now dashed.

  “My lord?” her mother repeated.

  He sighed. “Yes, Mrs. Albright. Of course we may speak alone.”

  He motioned for her to lead and followed her from the ballroom and down the hallway to a private study. As she shut the door behind him, he looked around. What had once been a sophisticated room was now shabby. The fabric on the chairs was worn, the wallpaper peeling. All proof of what Miranda had already stated and he had guessed. Her father had put the family in dire straights.

  “I apologize for the room,” Mrs. Albright said with a grimace. “Miranda has been quite stingy about maintaining the house. She tries to act like it is for our own good, but it is trying to have to endure her miserly ways. Especially when her father kept us in such a fine fashion. I’m certain her tightfistedness is unwarranted.”

  Ethan pursed his lips. So this was what Miranda had to endure. These constant criticisms from her mother, who refused to face reality. No wonder Miranda always looked tired. No wonder she thought of her own clothing last.

  “I’m sure your daughter is thinking of what is best for your family,” he said, trying desperately to meter his tone when what he wanted to do was tell her to shut her mouth.

  Mrs. Albright shrugged. “Perhaps. Though I doubt Penelope would have had a Season at all if not for your intervention.”

  Ethan clenched his fists. “As I said, we do not have to speak of that any longer. I will supply the funds for Penelope’s debut. Simply have the bills sent to me.”

  Her eyes lit up and Ethan stifled a curse. This was going to be far more expensive than he had originally thought.

  “You are too kind, my lord. And I feel we must do something to repay you.” Mrs. Albright stepped forward and rubbed her palms together. “I wonder if there is some deeper reason for your kindness than whatever debt you owed my darling Thomas?”

  Ethan cocked his head. What was she on about? She certainly couldn’t know the truth about his bargain with Miranda. Dorthea Albright was mercenary, for sure, but he doubted she would approve of a daughter trading her virtue. At least, he hoped she wouldn’t.

  “I have no idea what you could mean, madam.” He kept his tone bored and bland.

  Mrs. Albright smiled conspiratorially. “Come now, Lord Rothschild. I wonder if perhaps you have taken a fancy to my darling Penelope? And you desire her to have a wonderful coming out so that Society can see what a gem you have uncovered?”

  Ethan flinched, though he almost felt sorry for her, she looked so hopeful. “A fancy for Penelope? No, my lady. She is a lovely young woman, but I have no designs on her.”

  Her smile f
ell. “Beatrice, then? Or Winifred.” Her brow wrinkled. “Winifred is a bit young for you, but I would approve the match in a few years.”

  “I have no intentions to pursue any of them, I assure you,” he said. “There is no ulterior motive to my support of their Seasons.”

  That was a lie, but he wasn’t about to reveal the truth.

  Mrs. Albright gnawed her lip for a moment, as if she were reevaluating the situation. Then her smile returned. “Perhaps if you spend some time with them, your regard would grow. After all you’ve done, offering you the hand of one of my daughters is the least I can do.”

  Ethan staggered back as panic gripped him. He had cultivated a certain reputation and that kept some portion of the groping Mamas away. But there were always others who gave his status in Society more credence than his questionable character. Dorthea was clearly one of the second group, willing to overlook his less savory elements in trade for the privilege and power of his title.

  “Penelope, Beatrice, and Winifred are all very lovely and accomplished,” she pressed.

  He stared at her, still too shocked to reply. And then he realized something.

  “You do not mention your eldest daughter, Miranda,” he said. “Except to criticize her.”

  She sighed as she turned away. “Miranda is, of course, very pretty and proficient in many things. But she is too spirited and independent for her own good. She inherited the trait from her father, I fear.”

  Ethan held back an unkind snort of laughter. Miranda was far more sensible and controlled than her father had ever been. “And you think I would not want her because of this?”

  Mrs. Albright faced him with a shrug. “She has already turned down enough suitors that no man wishes to pursue her. But if she was the one you wanted to marry, I wouldn’t discourage you. As I said, she has many positive qualities.”

  “Marry Miranda,” he repeated.

  The words sank into him, buzzing through his system like a thousand bees. A marriage would mean Miranda would be his. There would be no parting after a sinful night of pleasure. No limitations to their time together. She would be his, not just for one night a week, not just for a month or a summer…forever.