More or Less a Countess

by Anna Bradley

  “Didn’t you hear me, Lady Dare? I said get out.”

  Violet took two halting steps toward the bed, but Nick’s angry hiss made her freeze. “Christ, you’re worse than Gibbs. Neither of you seem to have the least idea what out means.”

  Violet didn’t answer, because a hot, tight knot rose in her throat, and she couldn’t say a word. She didn’t realize she’d closed her hands into fists until she felt the sting of her fingernails biting into her palms.

  “Are you confused, my lady? Allow me to clarify my meaning. I don’t wish to see you, and I don’t wish to speak to you, so I fail to see why you’re still standing in my bedchamber.”

  The knot in Violet’s throat grew so thick it threatened to choke her, but by now she recognized it for what it was, and once she gave way to it, it swept all before it. Her exhaustion, her hopelessness, her fear—all gone in one single, powerful rush, like one wave swallowing the next and hurtling the water back out to sea.

  It left a single thing behind in its wake.

  Anger.

  No, fury. Sudden, sharp, cleansing fury.

  When she still didn’t move, Nick jerked up in his bed and let out an ear-splitting roar. “Damn you, I said leave my room at once!”

  Such a frightening bellow would have sent a meeker woman running for the door, but Violet hadn’t ever been afraid to stand her ground, and she didn’t intend to start now.

  “No.”

  “No?” His lordship was accustomed to having his bad temper indulged, and his voice rang with disbelief. “No?”

  “I believe you heard me perfectly well, my lord.” Violet didn’t spare him a glance, but marched across the room toward the windows. “I wish to speak with you, and I won’t do it in the dark.”

  Nick threw the coverlet aside and leapt from the bed. “If you lay a single finger on those drapes, Lady Dare, I swear I’ll—”

  He didn’t get any further, because Violet dove for the window, snatched one of the heavy silk drapes in her fist, and jerked it open with a quick snap of her wrist. A narrow beam of sunlight spilled across the room, but before she could grab the other one he was there, his bare chest at her back, and his powerful arms wrapped around her, trapping her against him. “Do you suppose I won’t toss you over my shoulder and carry you out myself? You should know better than that by now.”

  Violet shivered as his warm breath drifted over her ear, but she kept her voice cool and steady. “I don’t pretend to know what you’d do, my lord. I hardly know you anymore.”

  A soft, mocking laugh fell from his lips. “Oh, but you do know me, my lady.” He turned her to face him and wrapped his fingers around her wrists. “I’m The Selfish Rake, remember?”

  Violet blanched as she stared into his cold gray eyes. A part of her wanted to do exactly as he ordered—to flee this room, and leave Nick in the darkness to battle his demons alone, but two years of solitary struggle hadn’t freed him from his ghosts. He’d never be free of them—not until they were torn loose with bare hands.

  Very deliberately, Violet began to prod at the rage inside him. She wanted his fury—she wanted to make it heave and shudder and swell until there was nothing left to feed it, and it burned itself out.

  “You are selfish, my lord. I thought I’d wronged you with that sketch, but only the most selfish of men neglects his wife and abandons his every honorable impulse to wallow in self-pity.”

  “You…I…” Angry red color rushed into his cheeks, and he was so furious he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, but Violet didn’t even consider a retreat. Now that she’d begun, she’d finish, and face whatever consequences fate dealt her.

  “Is this how you envisioned our marriage, my lord? When you insisted I become your wife, did you imagine yourself sneaking into my bedchamber each night to touch me, without ever making me yours?”

  The color drained from Nick’s face. “You want me to make you mine, my lady?”

  Violet raised her chin. “We both want—”

  He jerked her hard against his chest. “Oh, I want, my lady. I want to toss you onto my bed right now, spread your thighs and sink into that lush heat I’ve dreamed of every single damn night since I first laid eyes on you. I want to put my hands all over you. I want to make you sigh, and moan, and beg me to take you, and I want to hear you scream my name when I do.”

  Heat rushed over every inch of Violet’s skin at the dark desire in his voice, but even as seductive warmth bloomed low in her belly, she wanted to beat her fists against his chest in frustration. “Yet you’d deny us what we both so desperately want because of a sketch? I’m your wife, Nick. Your wife. You insisted on this marriage, and now you’re content to let it wither away like your mother’s dead flowers in the conservatory? If you want me, then take me.”

  He laughed, but it was a dark sound, filled with despair. “I want you, sweet—I want to take you more than I want to breathe, but when passion overwhelms you and you do cry out a name, I’m afraid it won’t be mine.”

  It won’t be mine…

  He’d whispered the last words, but they echoed inside Violet’s head long after the room had gone silent. She went limp against him as the hope drained out of her, and with it any urge she had to keep fighting. She was tired, so tired, and this battle had already been lost, hadn’t it? It was lost before she had a chance to fight it—lost in a single blow.

  The exhaustion she’d been struggling against fell over her again, and dear God, it was so heavy this time, heavy and wet and suffocating—far too heavy for her to fight it. She could scream until her voice was gone, beat her fists until they were bruised and aching, drop to her knees and beg, and still it wouldn’t be enough.

  He was never going to forgive her, and she…

  Oh, how could she ever have believed Lord Derrick had broken her heart? How could she have thought that tiny scar was anything like this wound that cleaved her heart in two? She’d never mend it, and she’d never recover from it. It was hers now, and she’d never crawl free of it.

  He was staring at her, his chest heaving. “Do you think this is what I want, Violet? Do you think I ever would have insisted on this marriage if I’d known what you truly thought of me? Christ, if I could go back to that night in my aunt’s sitting room and make a different choice, don’t you think I would, for both our sakes?”

  Violet forced words through her numb lips. “You wish you hadn’t married me.”

  “Don’t we both wish it?”

  She stared up into his handsome face. His eyes were so beautiful they’d win any woman’s heart, but she’d known that from the start, hadn’t she? She’d known he’d take her heart, and that he’d break it. And yet it was strange, so strange to find it could be broken again and again, in the time it took to say a single word.

  She dragged in a few short, shuddering breaths, but she couldn’t swallow back the tears stinging her eyes. They would spill over, fall down her cheeks, and she didn’t want him to know, didn’t want him to see…

  But he did see, and his face went ashen. “Violet.”

  He tried to pull her against his chest, but she tugged her wrists from his grasp.

  “Violet, please.” He reached out his hand to her, but she backed away and flew across the room to the door.

  She never got it open, because in the next breath Nick was there.

  “No.” He braced his arms on either side of her shoulders, trapping her between the door and his body. His chest was bare, his skin warm, and within seconds her senses were swimming with his scent, that impossible, wonderful scent of amber and wood, and…

  I can’t do this.

  Deep inside, Violet began to tremble. She jerked at the door knob, desperate to get away, but Nick reached down to cover her hand with his, and stopped her from turning it. “No.”

  He was too close—so close she could feel the vibration of that one quiet w
ord against her back, and he wouldn’t let her go, and she was tired, so tired…

  Tears began to spill down her cheeks, and Violet gave into them. She let her forehead fall against the door, let the despair take her, but for all her heartbreak these were quiet tears, her weeping silent in the still room.

  But Nick heard her. He heard, but he didn’t try to stop it. He didn’t say a word, but pulled a long, shuddering breath into his lungs, then slowly, as if he were afraid he’d frighten her if he moved too quickly, he wrapped his arms around her and gathered her against his chest.

  He held her for a long time, until at last the final tear was wrung from her and her gasping sobs quieted. She was too exhausted to struggle with him, so she simply stood, every muscle in her body trembling with fatigue, and waited for him to release her.

  He didn’t. He brushed the hair away from her neck with gentle fingers and buried his face in the sensitive curve of her shoulder. Violet tensed, but before she could shy away from the unexpected caress, Nick made a soothing noise in his throat. “Shhhh.”

  His lips ghosted over her neck, his kiss so soft Violet wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it until he followed it with another, then another. His mouth moved over her, dropping dozens of tiny kisses on every bare inch of skin he could reach—her neck, the curve of her nape and the arch of her shoulder. His lips were so tender, so sweet and gentle, Violet’s eyes filled with tears again.

  Nick held her through every shudder, every ache—he took her pain into himself until at last the tension left her and she sagged against him.

  And still, he never spoke a word.

  He let his touch speak for him.

  He caught her hands in his and placed her palms flat against the door, and then, one by one, he loosened the buttons on the back of her gown. A low, hungry sound rumbled in his throat when he saw she wore only a thin shift beneath. He traced his fingertips up her spine to the heavy coil of hair at her neck and slid the pins loose, his breath catching on a quiet gasp when her hair spilled down her back. He gathered the heavy curls in his fists and buried his face in them, inhaling deeply before he draped them over her shoulder and brought his open mouth back to her neck.

  His lips were warm as they tasted her skin. Violet could feel the tension vibrating in him, the barely leashed desire in his body, and a soft cry left her lips. Nick went still for a moment, then he nuzzled his face into the curve of her shoulder. “Shhh.”

  He soothed her with soft murmurs, much as one might soothe a distraught child, but he touched her with passionate purpose—the way a man touches a woman he desires—a woman he intends to have.

  He was going to make her his, and it was going to be now.

  “My lord—”

  Violet tried to turn then, to face her husband, but he curved an arm across her shoulders and held her still. “Shhhh.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but his lips drifted over her neck, and all that emerged was a breathless sigh, and…oh, dear God, she couldn’t catch her breath as Nick slipped his fingers into the open back of her gown. He drew the soft muslin over her shoulders and down her arms, then lower, down her back and over her hips, baring her skin to his gaze, until at last he tugged the gown free of her body and tossed it aside.

  He let out a low groan when she stood before him in only her shift, then he sank to his knees behind her and pressed his lips to the arch of her back.

  Violet curled her fingers into the hard wood and bit her bottom lip to keep from whimpering as he plucked at the bows on her garters and slid her stockings down her legs, but nothing could silence her cry when he rose from his knees behind her with the hem of her shift caught in his fist.

  But she didn’t protest, and she didn’t hesitate. She raised her arms and let him drag her shift over her head.

  When she was bare before him, he took her shoulders in his hands and turned her to face him. His lids had gone heavy over those shadowy gray eyes, but even in the dim light Violet could see the way they darkened with desire as he took in every flushed inch of her skin, lingering on her bare belly, her breasts, her throat and neck.

  Her mouth.

  His eyes burned as he leaned toward her, and Violet tipped her head back against the door, parted her lips, and let her eyes drift closed, her body trembling in anticipation of his kiss.

  But it never came.

  He drew in a harsh breath, and Violet opened her eyes to find he’d gone still. He stared at her for long moments without speaking, then he reached forward and traced the remnants of her tears on her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.” His voice was low and choked. “Whatever happens between us, this…” He brushed his thumbs under her eyes to dry the last of her tears. “It ends now.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply, but gathered her into his arms, crossed the room, and lay her gently on his bed. He didn’t join her, but stood motionless by the side of the bed, gazing down at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  Because he hasn’t.

  The realization came to Violet with a pang of bitter regret. He’d touched her intimately, tasted her, and brought her to release in his arms, but he’d never before seen her spread across his bed. She was his wife, and he’d never before seen her body bared for his pleasure.

  Broken words formed on his lips. “Beautiful.” He reached out as if in a daze to stroke a tentative hand down her calf. “Softest skin I’ve ever touched.” His gaze darted to her face, and a shadow of doubt lingered in his eyes. “Is this what you want, Violet? Do you…” He swallowed. “Do you want me?”

  He even had to ask? His uncertainty made a sob rise in Violet’s throat, but she choked it back and held out her arms to him. “Yes.”

  He let out a long, slow breath, then kneeled beside her and lay his hand against her throat. He stroked it down her body, lingering between her breasts and on the gentle curve of her belly, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his lips when she stretched like a lazy cat under his touch.

  He never took his eyes off her. His hot gaze followed every arch and twist and shiver of her body as she undulated like a wave across his bed. “Such a pretty flush here.” He dragged a fingertip across the tops of her breasts. “Cup your breasts in your hands, sweet,” he murmured when her nipples grew hard under his gaze.

  Violet didn’t think to deny him, but slid her hands up her stomach and cupped her breasts in her palms. Some instinct made her squeeze gently and lift them, as if she were offering them to him, and Nick’s lips parted on a harsh groan. “Stroke your nipples for me.”

  Her flush deepened, but the fierce desire in his eyes left no room for embarrassment. She dragged her thumbs over her nipples once, then again, but her touch wasn’t enough—not when she could remember the sensation of his hot mouth against her, licking and teasing.

  A soft plea tore from her throat. “Please…”

  “What do you want?” Nick’s bare chest heaved with each breath, but he held back, watching her writhe against the bed.

  He was waiting for something.

  He needs to hear me say it, to say how much I want him.

  “Your mouth,” she gasped as she circled her nipples again. “I need your lips on me, your tongue—”

  He grasped her wrists and tore her hands away, and then his mouth was there, devouring her. He darted his tongue over the straining peaks again and again, then wrapped his lips around her and sucked, hard. Violet thrust her fingers into his hair with a cry, twisting and pulling with each delicious tug on her nipple, but she couldn’t have said whether she wanted to end his exquisite torment, or urge him on.

  Nick didn’t give her time to decide before he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. “Open your legs, sweet.” He growled when Violet spread her thighs for him. “Put your hand between them.” He bit down gently on her nipple when she hesitated. “Your hand, Violet.” He groaned when she slid he
r hands between her damp curls. “Now stroke your fingers…yes, just like that. Are you wet for me?”

  Violet brushed her fingertips between her legs, just as he’d done when he touched her, and warmth flooded her core. “Yes.”

  With that one gasped word, Nick’s control seemed to snap. His hand dropped onto her belly to hold her still and he buried his face between her legs. “Yes, so wet and sweet,” he murmured, stroking his tongue between her slick folds. When Violet arched her hips against his mouth he tightened his fingers around her thighs and opened her wider. He sucked her sensitive bud between his lips and worked it with the tip of his tongue, circling and darting and licking at her until her body drew taut, and with a shuddering sob she came apart against his lips.

  Violet was still struggling to catch her breath when Nick kissed his way up her body, but when he lowered himself over her, his hips between her legs, she blinked in surprise. “Are you…” She frowned with confusion at the sensation of buckskin rubbing against her thighs. “My goodness, are you still wearing your breeches?”

  “I, ah…I became distracted before I could remove them.”

  Nick caught his breath on a groan when she squirmed closer and rubbed her core against his hard length. His hips jerked against her in a restrained thrust that nevertheless brought another desperate groan to his lips. His cheekbones were flushed, his mouth open, his face drawn into harsh lines of need.

  He wanted her, desperately. His rigid flesh jerked insistently against her thigh, yet he made no move to discard his breeches. Violet brought her hands to his face, but he refused to meet her eyes, and all at once she saw the next few minutes unfolding as if they’d already happened.

  He’s going to leave me again.

  He was going to ease away from her, rise from the bed, and leave her alone in his bedchamber, without taking his own pleasure, and without making her his.

  Before he could move, Violet turned his face toward hers, and words began to fall from her lips. “I belong to you, Nick. You and no one else, and I want you to make me yours.”