The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

by Jillian Hunter

  “You cannot deny me this, Jane.”

  In the shadows he was a stranger, her seducer, not the man she had come to trust, but a rake whose sole purpose in life was pleasure, who made seduction an unhurried ritual. Yet even as a stranger, she could not resist him. Her heart knew his name. Her body answered to his skill.

  Perhaps his voice seemed deeper, different. But Jane had desired him since the day of her wedding. She had been drawn to his potent masculinity even then, and look where her desire had led her. Discovering the gentleness beneath his sensual allure had doomed her. Now she could not resist his cruelty.

  “I cannot believe we are doing this,” she whispered as her body began to respond, hips moving, her hands stroking the ridged muscles of his shoulders.

  “I think it is a natural progression of a relationship between a man and a woman,” he said in a low voice.

  Whatever she might have said was forgotten as the pulsing tension in her belly neared its peak. She moaned, awash in pleasure as he took full advantage of her helpless sensuality to drive his tongue deeply inside her.

  It was bliss. It was humiliating and uplifting and not enough for either of them. She smothered another moan as her body came apart, pinned where she lay between his arms. For a full minute she could not bring herself to open her eyes, knowing he had proved his power over her in the most elemental of ways.

  “Natural progression, my foot,” she whispered into the dark. “I could almost be convinced you planned it from the start.”

  “How devious that would make me,” he said with a deep laugh. “We have always been honest with each other, haven’t we?”

  No answer for that. She opened her eyes, her heart still pounding, as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and trousers. His nude silhouette warmed her blood, as if she had fallen asleep too long in the sun. Her gaze traveled the length of his muscular torso to the swollen member between his legs. She looked up slowly into his face, not certain what she had gotten into, knowing only that she wanted him, that she wished this could be forever, her fate.

  His silver-blue eyes gleamed in the shadows. She craved what she saw in their smoky depths, the fulfillment of her secret desires. He held her heart in his wicked hands. Whatever happened between them tonight would involve her whole being. Jane would never be a woman who could separate her sexuality from her deepest self.

  “Grayson,” she whispered. “One day someone will tame that arrogance.”

  “Perhaps it will be you,” he said, taunting her.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I think I might enjoy that, Jane.”

  “I long for the day.”

  “Practice is required.”

  She stared at him, wondering how he could captivate and infuriate her at the same time. “Is it?”

  “Months and months of it,” he answered in amusement. “Unless of course you show a natural talent, as I suspect you might.”

  Heat suffused her neck and shoulders.

  “Shall I show you how it’s done?” he asked in a deep whisper.

  She suppressed a shiver, her body more than ready for what he promised. “Please do.”

  He lowered himself to her. Instinctively she pressed her breasts against the hard plane of his chest. He shuddered at the contact and ran his hands down her back to knead the rise of her bottom. His fingers followed the arch of her spine, teased the heart-shaped indentation below. His large hands moved over her, taking possession.

  “Give me everything,” he whispered. “I want it all.”

  Turning onto his side, he took her in his arms. The feel of his muscular body against hers flooded her with longing. She lifted into him, craving closer contact. With a shiver of anticipation, she felt his erect penis pulsing against her belly. Before she could stop the instinct, she brought her hands down to touch him. Her fingertips closed around hard silken muscle. He groaned and pushed himself against her, muttering, “Touch me like that, and I will be tamed.”

  “I wish that were true,” she whispered. “I think you’ll always be wild at heart. I shall have a devil of a time taming you.”

  She was wrong, he thought. She did not know what he felt, how she had changed his life, how empty and shallow his world had been before her. How only in her hands, at her touch, could he be gentled. He was entranced with her, as hard as iron, hurting so badly he had almost forgotten the part he was supposed to play. No. No playacting right now. Loving her was too real.

  “I am wild for you, Jane,” he muttered.

  She was beyond answering, surrendering to instinct. He swept his right hand up over her hipbone to her breasts. His thumbs massaged the rosy tips until dizzying pleasure stole over her and she pushed herself against him. Slowly he stroked the silky inner skin of her thighs with his other hand until she was spread open to him, her cleft glistening with pearlets of moisture.

  “Grayson,” she said, her voice catching. “I’m not ready—”

  “Oh, you are,” he said as he tangled his fingers in the damp curls of her sex and caressed her creamy flesh with a magic that set off wild shivers inside her. Jane closed her eyes, drugged with pleasure, too in love with him to question her instincts, to stop. His finger pushed inside her, and she felt the heated sensation all the way to the base of her spine.

  Seduction. The merest brush of his fingertips scorched her skin like a brand. She was falling apart while he remained strong, sure of himself, a man who reveled in the art of sensuality. She buried her face in his shoulder; the carnal promise in his smile had brought a blush to her very soul.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured. He slipped another finger inside her snug passage, his jaw muscles tightening. She moaned and moved against his hand, answering him without words.

  “I knew you were a devil,” she said softly.

  “You have no idea how demonical I can be.” A rich laugh rumbled in his chest. “But you’ll find out. We’ll do some very, very wicked things to each other tonight.”

  She peered up at his chiseled profile. “Do you really think I’m bad?”

  “Of course, Jane. Every woman is, if given the chance.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at that. “Listen to you, making decadence out to be a virtue.”

  “Well, from my position, it is.”

  “I hate that you sound so experienced,” she murmured.

  “I love that you don’t.”

  But the truth was that he might have been making love for the first time. He could barely remember all the techniques he had mastered, the lovers who had taught him, and yet somehow his instincts felt sharper than ever, focused on pleasing this woman. His heart beat like a war drum in his chest with his desire to possess her.

  Everything had gone as he had planned except for the unexpected erosion of his restraint, his emotional involvement. But Jane would be Jane, even at the moment of her moral downfall, practically turning the tables on him until he wondered who indeed would emerge the victor in their game. The possibility of defeat, however remote, only stimulated him.

  But he would win this battle. He would master her body, mark her his own, make her beg him for more. He quickened the movements of his fingers and felt her delicate muscles contract as he brought her to a climax. She twined her arms around his neck and molded herself to his body, a seductress in her own right as the aftershocks of pleasure inundated her. He watched her in shameless enjoyment. The fierce tenderness he felt for her humbled him. Making love had never involved his heart before.

  Then he was positioning the tip of his penis to enter her, his ballocks nestled below her cleft. The invasion into her body made her tighten all over, and he reacted by slowing his penetration, whispering soft reassurances and sliding his large hands under her hips to steady her.

  “Jane,” he said hoarsely, “give in to me.”

  Her hands tightened around his neck. His shaft felt huge inside her, pressing into her moist passage, stretching her in a ritual of pleasure and pain. “I’m trying,” she whispered.


  “I want you.” He pushed a little deeper inside her, relentless in his need. “I want you so much.”

  She wanted him, too. She wanted to know him this way, to take him completely into her body. She wanted to drown in him, to feel his power in every part of her. Her eyes widening, she stared up in unabashed fascination at his shadowed face. He was beautiful, her seductor. The erotic intensity in his blue eyes sent little shocks of lightning up and down her back. His muscular biceps strained as he held his body motionless above hers. Her blood thrumming in suspense, she whispered, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  He threw back his head, and she felt herself splintered by his initial thrust. Uncertain what would follow this sensual onslaught, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and anchored herself for the next stroke. Even then she was taken by storm when his hips surged forward, embedding himself inside her to the hilt. She felt the strength forced from her body.

  “I—can’t—”

  He grazed her trembling mouth with a kiss, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  His voice mesmerized her, breaking through the misty haze of her mind. Her inner muscles quivered and gripped him, adjusting to the rhythm he had set. The way he rolled his hips, the gentle slamming into her, and the raw sexuality on his face stole her breath.

  “Oh, God, woman,” he muttered. “You feel good.”

  “So do . . . you.”

  “Like nothing—like no one I have ever known.”

  His words thrilled her. “Truly?”

  His eyes glinted. His voice was a low purr. “Truly, Jane,” he answered softly. “I have never opened my heart to another as I have to you.”

  She was too lost in his seduction to acknowledge the prickle of guilt his confession awakened. Surrendering her maidenhead might have been a lot more uncomfortable than she had anticipated, but there was no denying how exciting the basic crudity of it all was. Just to follow the mysterious instincts of their bodies. Bumping. Shoving at each other. Moonlight silvering the corded muscles of his chest. She shook with the violent beauty of their mating.

  Grayson had kept his entire body wound taut to stop himself from coming at the first thrust. The unbreached walls of her passage closed around him like a silken fist. The pressure in his loins had him gritting his teeth. If she gave another one of those sexy little shivers again, he would explode inside her. Only when he felt her coming apart beneath him did he allow himself to let go, driv-ing into her so deeply he was afraid he had hurt her.

  His climax reduced him to basic sensation, gripping him from head to toe. He heard her breathing his name as he buckled, wrapping his arms around her slender white shoulders. She was so small compared to him, and yet she had proved his equal in passion. They lay together like two warriors who had declared a truce after a battle, exhausted, drained, exultant.

  He had planned her seduction—and succeeded—with the same unyielding resolve he applied to the rest of his life. But he had not anticipated the feelings that accompanied his pleasurable victory. Holding her warm body next to his, their hearts beating in unison, he was overcome by emotions he could not quite reconcile with his intended revenge. Tenderness ravaged his heart and laid it bare. Never had he loved anyone so completely.

  He wanted to resent her for deceiving him; he did. He wanted to regain the upper hand in their relationship; physically this was a fait accompli, but otherwise . . . the balance remained uncertain. Revenge had been sweet, especially in the elemental form it had taken. She belonged to him now; he couldn’t let her go. Neither could he let her get away with deceiving him even if there would be hell to pay when she discovered he knew her secret.

  She stirred and opened her eyes, her heavy honey-colored hair wrapped around his wrist. Her voice was low with emotion. “Oh, Grayson, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” he whispered, his large hand splayed on her belly.

  “Like a big satisfied beast who’s just eaten a—”

  “Mouse?” he teased gently, wedging his knee between her legs. He couldn’t stop touching her now. He felt a stab of jealousy to think she might have ended up with his cousin.

  “Perhaps you ought to go back to your room.”

  “This is my room,” he reminded her good-humoredly. “They are all my rooms.”

  “I meant—listen, Grayson, despite all appearances to the contrary, I am not mistress material. We cannot indefinitely behave like pagans.”

  He knew that, of course. She had marriage and motherhood etched into every bone of her delightful body. And her distress roused a great deal of guilt inside him. But he couldn’t pardon her quite so easily. Let him finish the game before he granted mercy.

  He pretended to give the matter thought. “Well, we certainly cannot let you become a spinster.”

  She sat up slowly, the afterglow of their lovemaking apparently fading in the face of reality’s complications. “I cannot become a courtesan either.”

  “Lie back down, Jane,” he soothed. “You have a few things left to learn before you attain that status.”

  “There is no alternative, Grayson. We have to get married.”

  “Married?” he said, lifting his hand to his heart in mock horror. “Heavens above, somebody put a gun to my mouth.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Continue in this manner, and it is not outside the realm of possibility.”

  “You know how I feel about the parson’s mousetrap.” He smiled slowly. “Even if you are a delicious little mouse.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I am a decent woman, or at least I was, you overbearing ox. It was you who presented yourself as respectable to my parents.”

  “Are you proposing to me, Jane?” he asked in amusement.

  “I’m afraid I am,” she said, sounding none too pleased at the admission.

  He released a rueful sigh. “I thought we had come to a suitable arrangement.”

  “Being a harlot does not suit me,” she said with an indignant scowl.

  “No? I think you have a natural talent for it, though.”

  “Where is that gun you mentioned?”

  He traced his fingertip across her belly, watching her muscles quiver in response. “Marriage? Let me think about this for a day or two. Perhaps I can be persuaded. In the meantime, darling, turn onto your stomach.”

  “On my—” She swallowed a gasp. “What are you going to do?”

  “There’s a looking glass to your left if you’d like to watch,” he said in a silken voice. “Otherwise, I suggest you simply close your eyes to enjoy the experience.”

  He spent the entire night awakening her body. He took no precautions to prevent a pregnancy, for the first time in his life. He was completely ready to claim the children she would give him, to protect her and those she cherished. Friend, mistress, wife. He would seduce his lovely schemer all the way to the altar. He would love her for the rest of his life.

  Chapter 20

  Jane lifted the sinewy male arm that imprisoned her midriff like an anchor and let it drop onto the bed. The owner, a great naked, blond beast who had ravished her, gave a grunt of contentment and rolled onto his side. This reaction afforded her an eye-popping view of the long torso that tapered into lean buttocks, then iron-hard thighs. As she admired the sight, he wrapped his arm around the bolster she had vainly attempted to shove between them throughout the night.

  Not, she reflected wryly, that such an insubstantial barrier had deterred him one bit. He had not made poetic love to her. He had gleefully debauched her, and she, just as gleefully, had encouraged him to new heights of decadence.

  She stared in wonder at the devastation of the bedchamber. It had been a night to remember. Chairs overturned, champagne glasses on the floor, her chemise hanging like an emblem of surrender from the bedpost.

  Surrender? Good heavens, she had been the one on the attack toward the end, making the most of her glorious fall from grace. Had she really let him bind her to the bed with her stockings? And those l
ittle love bites all over their bodies . . .

  How had this happened? She had been such a decent young lady until recently, so well behaved, so virtuous. Yes, rebellion had always simmered under the surface, but the acts in which she and Sedgecroft had participated were unspeakably naughty by any standards. Loving him had turned her entire world upside down. The thought he might resist returning her affection was unbearable.

  A hesitant footfall sounded outside the door. A soft knock followed, and she held her breath as the knob did not turn. That could only be Simon, she thought, aghast, sliding off the bed where her partner in decadence slumbered on.

  She dressed in her robin’s-egg blue muslin traveling gown and fished her half boots from the tangle of bedding on the floor. At the door she stopped to stare back with reproach at the reflection in the looking glass of the ruined woman she had become. Obviously she had made a muddle of her life and needed pots of tea and days of solitude to think it through.

  “You could at least look as if you were sorry,” she whispered to her disgraced reflection. “The best of the beau monde tried to warn you, but did you listen? No, you became a mistress.”

  Halfway down the stairs she remembered that Nigel’s aunt lived in Brighton with her retired barrister husband. Since to stay in this house would only encourage her own latent indecency, she supposed she could ask for refuge until she convinced Simon to take her home. If anyone in her family ever spoke to her again, she thought, sighing at what she had done.

  As she tiptoed between the marble pillars of the entrance hall, she spotted her pelisse and reticule on the hall stand where a servant had left them while their owner shamelessly revealed the wanton side of her nature in the bedchamber above.

  She pulled on her pelisse and eyed the front door with its fanlight allowing pale shivers of sun to penetrate the villa’s peaceful gloom. She would look like a Cyprian strolling the promenade alone at this hour of day, but if Sedgecroft had his way that would probably be her fate.