by Tarah Scott
“By God,” he muttered.
She gave a low laugh and pumped his erection.
“Leslie,” he growled.
She squeezed.
“You will drive me over the edge in minutes.” Seconds.
She responded by pumping faster.
His heart raced. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had brought him to climax so quickly. He was about to embarrass himself. He gently bit down on her nipple. She threw back her head without slowing her rhythm on his cock. Pleasure ripped through him. He grasped her shoulders and thrust faster into her fingers.
Her heart pounded against his mouth. She wanted him. He wanted to be inside her—badly. She squeezed. His climax rolled over him before he could attempt to halt it. The pleasure dug so deep it bordered on pain. He buried his face in her breasts and thrust until the blood in his ears dulled to a low roar.
At last, she released him. Evan closed his falls, then withdrew the handkerchief from his inner breast pocket. He grasped her hand, the one that had brought him to pleasure, and wiped her hand clean of any of his seed that might have spilled on her. When he finished, he folded the handkerchief and tucked it back into the pocket.
Evan gazed at her face, but couldn’t make out her expression.
“I am uncertain whether to apologize or thank you,” he said.
She laughed. “Interesting choices.”
He pulled her close. “If you would like to come to my room, I can show my appreciation.”
“Indeed?” She nuzzled his neck.
His cock twitched.
She kissed the sensitive flesh between neck and shoulder His cock began to rise. His cock hadn’t hardened this quickly after an orgasm in…longer than he cared to admit.
“I have already taken my pleasure with you. Unless you want me to bury myself between your legs, I would advise you to wait until we reach my room to continue your assault.”
Did she just shiver?
“I like trees,” she whispered in his ear.
God help him. She would send him to his grave.
There were worse ways to die.
Evan kissed her. He grasped her skirt and lifted. She widened her stance. His heart began to thud. She was so bold. He reached between her legs and cupped her mons. She arched into his hand. Gently, he slid a finger into her curls, then dipped between her moist folds. When he inserted a finger inside her, she rocked against him. He might bring her to climax with his finger before his cock was hard enough to fit inside her. Maybe.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. He slid his finger in and out of her slick channel. Her small gasp against his mouth caused his heart to beat wildly. With his thumb, he gently massaged her sex as he continued to thrust his finger inside. Her grip tightened in his hair. She rocked against him. Faster, she rocked. He increased his speed. She panted.
Evan’s cock pressed in pleasurable discomfort against his falls. He made quick work of the buttons of his falls while maintaining a rhythm. Her breath quickened. When she cried out, lust washed over him. She convulsed. Evan yanked his finger free, lifted her left leg over his hip and fitted his cock to her opening. In one quick thrust, he buried himself hilt deep. Her hold on his neck tightened. He realized her intent, lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pulled back, then drove deep again.
Leslie pressed her face against his shoulder. He plunged so deep, Evan wasn’t sure where she began and he ended. He thrust hard and fast. She bit down on his neck. His orgasm crashed over him like a tsunami. His body went rigid. Her panting against his ear sent a shock wave through him. He thrust again.
She drew a sharp breath and rocked against him. Evan realized she was reaching for another orgasm. He gritted his teeth and drove into her again and again and again. She arched, and he gave thanks when her channel convulsed around him. He couldn’t have lasted much longer. His pleasure had sapped his body. Aye, this woman would put him in his grave. Just as she had her first husband, he thought with a laugh.
When she collapsed against him, Evan held her close until both their heartbeats slowed, then he gently lifted her off him and set her on her feet. She clung to him. Satisfaction rippled through him. So, he’d affected her as much as she had him.
When she straightened, he released her, and she pulled her sleeve up over her shoulder.
She brushed her dress, and said, “I suppose we should return to the party.”
Evan took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, then started them back toward the mansion. “By the time we returned to the party, everyone will be talking about you,” he said.
She laughed. “Everyone already talks about me.”
“You seem to enjoy the attention.”
“Sometimes it is…unavoidable.”
“As when you challenge an earl to a race?” he asked.
Leslie looked up at him. “You don’t approve. Why bet on me?”
He laughed. “I dislike Barton far more than I could possibly disapprove of your racing.”
“So, you do disapprove.”
A moment of silence passed before he said, “Why do you race?”
“Avoiding the question?”
He shook his head. “If you were any other woman, I would probably disapprove.”
“What?” She laughed. “That is by far the smoothest response I have ever heard from a man.”
They neared the dim light that fanned out from the open balcony doors. “Most women who might race would do so to garner attention. I suspect that isn’t the case with you.”
From the corner of his eye, Evan noted that she dropped her gaze.
“The wind through my hair and the power of the animal beneath me are thrilling.”
He looked down at her. “Is that so?”
She snapped her head up and met his gaze.” You do not agree?”
He gave a slow nod. “I am a sailor, my lady. I understand the thrill of a challenge quite intimately.”
She smiled. “Of course, you do--and you cannot blame me. Women love thrills, as well.”
“Is horseracing the only thing that thrills you?” he asked.
Her mouth quirked. “There are many things in life to thrill a woman.”
He nodded again. “So I see.”
Chapter Five
“What are you dreaming about, Leslie?”
The softly spoken question startled Leslie from her thoughts. She set her tea cup on the breakfast table beside her toast and shifted her attention from the two riders she’d spotted through the window to Alice, who stood to her left.
“Oh, Alice, I did not hear you enter. Join me for breakfast. Baroness Trent’s cook is quite good.” She nodded at the table, laden with eggs, bacon, toast, pheasant, meat pies, pastries and more.
“I don’t believe you would have noticed Prinny himself.” Alice settled in the chair to Leslie’s left.
“I was merely admiring the view.” Leslie lifted her steaming teacup to her lips and sipped.
“Hmm.”
She lowered the cup. “You must admit, it is a lovely day.”
Alice chuckled. “I see the lovely sights this morning.” She nodded toward the riders. “The gentleman on the right is Sir Stirling,” she said an instant before they disappeared into the stables. “The other is Mr. MacLaren, if I am not mistaken.”
She was not mistaken.
Alice’s mouth twitched with laughter. “No wonder you are so dreamy this morning.”
Leslie inhaled her cup’s fruity steam and wished she might request something stronger. But such a request would be unthinkable this time of day. “I admit to feeling a little dreamy.” She lifted the cup to her lips and said, “I did not sleep well.” God knows, she should have slept well, given how spent she’d been after her lovemaking with Evan in the garden. Leslie sipped the tea.
Alice’s face crinkled with concern and she paused in filling her coffee cup. “Oh dear, not another sick headache?”
Relief loosened her shoulders a smidgen
at the change in subject. Leslie set her cup down and smiled. “No, I haven’t had one of those in ages. Truly, I believe the doctor was correct. They were part of my grief over Carr.”
Grief or guilt? Guilt over the worry she had caused her late husband over antics that most wives would never have dared. Most women would have been too intimidated by Carr to do aught but submit and obey. Even she had trembled, inwardly, a time or two at his stern reprimands. But her exuberance had always rebounded until she found herself pulling at the reins again.
His doctor had said his self-controlled ways and his desire to attain perfection in the running of his estate had put a strain on his heart. But she had caught Carr’s unguarded glance, a time or two—steely gray eyes softened, just a tad, by love. Her wild ways are what had put a strain on his heart.
I am who I am. He knew when he wed me.
A too-familiar tightening in her chest made her seek solace in her tea. Perhaps one day the guilt would fade. But her guilt was born of her genuine and deep affection for him. Yet, for all his kindness and patience in the bedchamber, outside of it, he’d refused to understand her. He had never accommodated her as she had tried to him. He had asked too much of her. She would never again subject herself to wedlock.
“There he is.” Alice’s voice cut through her reverie.
“Who?” Leslie lifted her gaze.
“Young Mr. MacLaren.”
Leslie shifted her attention to the window. He walked alongside Sir Stirling, tall and lean in his well-cut riding clothes. Her pulse skipped a beat. Even from this distance, Leslie fancied she could feel the reckless, youthful energy that radiated from him. Warmth settled low in her belly at the memory of him driving deep inside her last night. She released the breath she had unknowingly caught.
Alice laughed. “When I see you dreamy-eyed and sighing over the mere sight of a gentleman, I fear we’re in for quite a time.”
“I told you. I had a frightfully disturbed night.” Leslie pursed her lips and used all her willpower not to look out the window again. “I think I shall retire for a nap.”
“But the gentlemen are coming in.”
“They will be at their cards all day.”
“Perhaps they will indulge us ladies in a card game.”
Leslie frowned and pressed a hand to her head. “I do not want to chance a headache.”
Alice studied her, doubt in her eyes. “I have never known you to be afraid of a man, not even Carr.”
“Afraid? Now you are being silly.”
The doubt in Alice’s eyes turned knowing. “I do believe you have a tendre for the man.” Before Leslie could deny the accusation, Alice added, “That was an interesting…altercation between you and Mr. MacLaren’s former paramour.”
Leslie scowled. “You love gossip too much, Alice.”
Alice laughed without rancor. “Perhaps, but you must admit this piece of gossip is quite juicy.”
Thankfully, the door opened and the air filled with manly scents of leather and cologne as Evan and Sir Stirling entered. Leslie repressed a groan when Alice directed a flirtatious look at MacLaren.
“Mr. MacLaren. Sir Stirling.” Alice’s voice sounded warm and womanly.
Sir Stirling reached her first and took the hand she extended. “Lady Langley, what a lovely surprise. After such a late evening, I had not expected to see you before noon. The rest of the household is still abed.”
Rising in time for breakfast was a novel situation for Leslie. Usually, she dragged Alice into some madcap adventure that lasted until dawn, then slept until noon. Having spent a night full of heated dreams wasn’t like her—even after a night of such erotic lovemaking—and left her feeling oddly vulnerable. She’d woken with a strange hollowness that persisted. Until now.
Those piercing blue eyes stared straight through to her soul. Anticipation tingled through her belly and down to her toes, as though something she’d waited a dreadfully long time for was about to happen. How ridiculous. This was just the start of another chase, another fling. One of many.
Yet, those eyes had haunted her dreams. She released a quiet, slow breath, then resisted the urge for a languid stretch to ease the energy coiled in her muscles. She settled for tapping her toe under the table. A flash in his gaze caused her stomach to flutter. Had he discerned her feelings? Surely not. She’d always been able to maintain a cool exterior.
“Lady Carr.” He grasped the hand she rested on the table and bent over her fingers. He looked at her as he brushed his lips across her flesh and winked.
She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. The man was incorrigible. The men took seats opposite Leslie.
“Are you ready for the race today?” Sir Stirling asked.
Leslie picked up the toast sitting on her plate. “As ready as I can be.” She nibbled the toast.
“I should feel sorry for Lord Barnton,” he said with a laugh.
Evan heaped eggs and bacon onto his plate. A maid entered with a fresh pot of coffee and filled their cups.
“Lord Barnton deserves everything he is about to get,” Evan said.
“I think you are going to enjoy seeing him trounced,” Alice said.
“I am.” He thanked the maid, took a sip of his coffee, then added, “Just as Lady Carr will enjoy trouncing him.”
“You are looking fine this morning, Lady Carr,” Sir Stirling said.
Leslie froze, her fork midway to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?”
Mischief lit his eyes. “I said, you are looking fine this morning.”
He knows. Impossible.
“I noticed that, as well,” Alice said.
Leslie willed herself not to look at Evan—who she knew was staring—and ate the eggs on her fork. She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and smiled sweetly. “Who knew rising early was good for the health?”
“Rising early, you say?” Mr. MacLaren said.
The cad was egging her on.
“What else could it be?” she said, and cursed her rebel tongue.
His brows rose.
Thankfully, before he could reply, Baroness Trent entered with three other guests. But that didn’t stop him from casting her amused glances throughout the remainder of breakfast.
***
Early that afternoon, Leslie waked with Evan toward the stables. She liked the way the muscle of his forearm flexed beneath her fingers. She longed to feel those arms around her again.
“Your hair is quite fetching,” he told her.
She resisted the urge to run a hand over the braid wound tight at her nape. “Thank you. I find the style very functional when I race.”
He chuckled. “You have a hairstyle just for racing? Hmm.”
Hmm?
“How much have you raced, my lady?”
“Enough to know that hair flying in my face is dangerous, Mr. MacLaren.”
“Are we not close enough friends that you might feel free to call me Evan—at least when we are alone?”
“If it pleases you,” she said, and managed to keep her voice even. “But only in private, and you may call me Leslie.”
“I am very fortunate.” He covered the hand that lay in the crook of his arm.
Leslie gasped softly at sight of the Arabian held by the stablemaster just outside the stable door. Evan slowed to match her pace. The snow white of the Arabian’s coat fairly shone in the early afternoon sun. He tossed his head and the muscles in his neck appeared almost chiseled. He carried his tail high, a testament to his fine breeding.
“Spectacular, is he not?” Evan asked.
“Aye,” she whispered as they neared the animal. She tracked her gaze from his tail, along his back, up his neck to his head. Her heart sped up. “He must be fifteen hands, if he’s an inch.”
“Sixteen, in fact, my lady,” Sir Stirling said as he and Baroness Trent stepped up beside them.
“Indeed, Sir Stirling is correct,” Baroness Trent said.
“A veritable beast,” Sir Stirling murmured.
“As Baroness Trent said, he is a spirited horse,” Leslie said.
As if to demonstrate the truth of her words, Ares pawed the ground with his left hoof. Leslie left Evan’s side and stepped close to the horse. She lifted a hand and he shifted his head as if to make eye contact with her and give permission for her to touch him. Leslie flattened her palm against his neck. The thick corded muscle beneath her fingers tensed. If he’d been a man, she would have said he was showing off. Who knew? Perhaps the male of any species shared that trait.
Baroness Trent beamed. “Did I not say you would be pleased?”
From the corner of her eye, Leslie caught sight of Lord Barnton as he emerged from the stables leading a horse. His bay was just as magnificent as the Arabian. Its chocolate brown color mingled with copper in a spectacular blend.
“He is at least two hands taller than the Arabian,” Evan muttered.
“Never fear,” the baroness whispered. “Size isn’t everything. Would you not agree, Leslie?” The older woman’s eyes twinkled.
Leslie laughed before catching herself. Sir Stirling lifted a quizzical brow. Evan however, turned a cool eye on her that said, I am not the least bit worried—and neither are you.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She wasn’t a schoolgirl. What was it about him that set her heart aflutter with a mere look? A corner of his mouth curved in a tiny smile that told her he was well aware of her thoughts. This would not do.
Lord Barnton reached them. “Baroness Trent.” He angled his head. “Lady Carr, I am pleased to see you.”
“I feel certain you knew I would be here,” she said.
“I did. I am still pleased.” He looked at Sir Stirling. “Stirling.”
Sir Stirling canted his head. “Barnton. You slept well, I hope.” His eyes twinkled. “I suspect you will need all your senses this afternoon.”
“I did, thank you.” Lastly, his eyes shifted to Evan. “MacLaren.”
The young man gave a slight bow. “My lord.”