Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  Now she understood what Dominick meant when he’d said he saw Quinn in her eyes. Because now she suddenly felt as if there were someone else in the room with them—his memory of another woman.

  “What happened to her?” she whispered.

  “She died,” he answered softly. “Nearly three years ago.”

  “What was her name?”

  He cleared his throat. “Tryphena.”

  Tryphena. Such a powerful female name.

  “And how did she die?”

  He hesitated a long moment as if pondering what to say next. “She was an agent like myself. I shouldn’t even tell you that, but it seems like something you should know.”

  He scrutinized her as if trying to determine whether she was trustworthy and whether he’d made a mistake in sharing something so private and secret with her.

  “I won’t tell a soul,” she assured him. “There are lady agents? I had no idea.”

  He nodded. “Quite a few of them actually.”

  “That’s very exciting.” She felt so dull in comparison. What exciting or dangerous thing had she ever done? She almost felt envious, but no—the poor lady was dead. “I’m certain she was very brave, and good at it.”

  “She was indeed. All I can tell you is that it happened while she was working an assignment.” His voice went hollow, his gaze strangely flat. “I am bound by duty to a certain level of secrecy and can say no more, only that afterward I remained here in England.”

  “I see.”

  And she did. There would be some things he could not tell her. Such was the nature of this man she had married. She would have to be satisfied that some mysteries would always remain between them. She looked at him, trying to discern the answers to deeper questions. Had he loved Tryphena? Did he love her still? How deeply had her death affected him? Did he carry the grief of her loss in his heart each day?

  Sitting back in the chair, he raked both hands through his hair and stared down his nose at her, a perspective of him she found both distancing and attractive.

  “God, that was difficult to say to you,” he murmured, exhaling. “I hope you aren’t hurt, or angry that I didn’t tell you before.”

  “Not at all,” she answered softly. “Given the circumstances, there really hasn’t been an opportune time.”

  “It’s late.” He nodded. “You should go to bed.”

  Suddenly she was very tired. She’d had the urge to kiss him and, yes, even seduce her husband just moments before, but this revelation about his prior marriage dampened that impulse. Things felt different now between them, and in a good way, she thought. He’d confided something painful to her, and she could not help but believe it had brought them closer together. Although it seemed his past was filled with difficulties and tragedy, her mind felt more at ease that he’d shared them with her, even though she still had questions and might never have all the answers.

  “You’ll join me later? I’ll take the far side, and you can sleep here. I promise, I keep to my side of the bed, and I don’t kick or snore, although Daphne tells me I at times breathe irritatingly loud.”

  He chuckled at that, and nodded. “That’s reassuring to know. Good night, Mrs. Blackmer. I won’t be long.”

  And yet when Clarissa awakened sometime before dawn, he wasn’t there.

  In the darkness she found him sprawled in the chair, his long legs still clad in his breeches and boots and a thin linen towel draped across his chest. He looked so uncomfortable, the chair too small for his large frame.

  Her heart fell.

  Rather than sleep with her, he’d passed the night in miserable circumstances, without even a blanket to keep him warm. The fire still burned and so he must have tended it late into the night.

  In that moment, she realized she felt something more for him, an affection that now made her fret for his comfort and rest. If not for that feeling, she would not want so desperately for him to leave the chair and come to bed.

  There could be no more softly spoken invitations. Instead, she would insist. Starting now. She pushed back the covers and made her way across the carpet. The cool air touched her arms and shoulders, leaving her chilled. When she touched his hand, his eyes opened. Deep shadows scored his face below his eyes, proof of his exhaustion.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Still night. Come to bed so you can sleep there and not in this uncomfortable chair.”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” he growled. “I was just thinking with my eyes closed.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she retorted softly, and set to work pulling off his boots. “So just be quiet.”

  “Don’t,” he warned, tugging his leg back.

  She held on to the heel. “I said shush.”

  Setting the boots aside, she knelt and, with all efficiency, reached for the placket at the front of his breeches. Wives assisted their husband in such ways, and she wasn’t going to shrink away any longer like a frightened child.

  His hand seized her wrist. “Clarissa.”

  “Dominick,” she replied in kind, firmly. “Let me do this.”

  She needed to take care of him. She needed to be his wife.

  A moment of silence passed. His grip relaxed. “Go on, then.”

  Her hands shook—only she knew, because of the shadows. The leather was still damp, but she easily unbuttoned the four buttons at the upper edge of the top flap. Without hesitation she dropped the flap free to unbutton above and at the center of his waist. Even in the shadows she saw through the remaining triangle of leather, his sex lying flat against his stomach, larger than she remembered.

  All moisture left her mouth and she closed her eyes, realizing she had to make him stand and help her, else she’d never get his breeches off. She reached then for the towel, thinking to remove it from his chest before assisting him up—

  Only to have her wrist seized again and her body pulled atop him into his sudden embrace. She gasped, her breasts crushed against his bare chest and her thighs aligned with his, as his strong hands held her there. He exhaled raggedly through his nose and hungrily kissed her while rearranging her limbs so that she straddled him.

  In that moment she experienced more exhilaration, more anticipation than any moment ever before with Quinn, whose face she could hardly remember because her mind was filled with Dominick, the heat coming off his body against her palms, and the spicy-male smell of his skin, and the inevitability of what was about to happen between them.

  Oh, his lips, and his kiss, and the growling sound he made deep in his throat. She had never experienced anything so thrilling. His hands pulled her knees around his hips, deeper into the cushion of the chair so that her sex settled on top of his, which felt stone hard, but hot and shockingly thick against her now-aching and needful flesh.

  She’d never felt true desire like this before. She hadn’t understood until now what Sophia had once told her and Daphne, that if they were lucky and waited for the right man, they would want and even need intimacies as much as their husbands did.

  She wasn’t a wanton—she was a wife—and she wanted more of this man, her husband. His kisses, his touch. She wanted him to be inside her.

  “You—” He breathed against her cheek, his hands moving up the bare skin of her back beneath her gown. “—make it difficult for a man to get any sleep.”

  “Is it sleep you want?” she whispered, feeling a wicked excitement at just speaking the words.

  “No.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I have tried my best to stay away, to give you time.” Fisting his hand in the sleeve of her gown, he dragged the garment off her shoulder, kissing her there and along her collarbone, making her squirm from the pleasure of it. “To give myself time.”

  Clarissa felt his sex move against her thigh, and she complied with the demands of her body, readjusting so that they aligned more intimately and sinking more fully against him. He emitted a rough grunt in response, and his hands seized tightly on her arms.


  “I don’t want time,” she said. “I just need you.”

  “I don’t love you, Clarissa,” he murmured against her skin. “I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand. I’m not there yet.”

  Feverish, she answered, “I don’t love you either. That’s all right though, isn’t it?”

  She leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands. She memorized his features in the firelight before leaning in to press her mouth to his. He responded with passion, turning his face and deepening the kiss.

  “I don’t know what’s right anymore,” he murmured. “But I know I can’t…resist this.”

  With a groan, he tugged the cambric lower…yes, oh, yes, lower, to her waist, leaving her breasts and torso exposed. The cool air touched her skin, and she shivered and then quaked from the sensation of his mouth on her skin as he gripped her firmly under the arms and lifted her several inches higher, kissing her rib cage and the underside of her breast.

  “You’re beautiful. Lovely. I want to eat you alive.”

  There was something deeply pleasurable in being handled so gently, and yet so brutishly, by such powerful hands and arms.

  “Dominick,” she heard herself say, and then his mouth closed on her nipple.

  Stars exploded inside her mind, and she moaned in pleasure, her arms coming around his neck as she inhaled the scent of his hair. He lowered her, and she again felt the power of him between her thighs. Nothing, in all her life, had ever felt like this. Her fingers scored through his hair. His tongue swirled and laved, while his mouth, in concert, kissed and sucked.

  She surrendered to instinct, arching her back and rocking against him, feeling him become harder and more prominent as she became slick and ready—

  He turned his face aside, and he breathed against her collarbone.

  “I can’t wait,” he said urgently.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “Here in the chair.” He gripped her thigh and, reaching between them—

  “Yes.” Her excitement grew, anticipating their joining, because it was something she wanted, for her marriage to be real. To be closer to Dominick.

  He moved, and she felt the sudden pressure of his member prodding against her, impossibly large. Too large?

  She gripped his shoulders.

  “Damn,” she heard him mutter. “Damn, damn. You’re so lovely.”

  He thrust his hips upward and, in the same moment, with his hands on her waist, guided her down.

  She cried out, feeling torn from the inside. Though no longer a virgin, their joining sent such an unexpected frisson of pain deep into her abdomen, her body still unused to penetration. It had hurt her first time, but not like this. She hadn’t realized two men could be so different and could only surmise Dominick was bigger. He thrust again, and she seized against him, frozen and overwhelmed, unable to proceed.

  “Are you all right?” he asked raggedly.

  “I don’t know.” Her hands rested on his shoulders, palms open.

  He stilled for a long moment…and then he pulled her closer, his mouth closed gently on hers.

  “I went too fast. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” His hands moved up her back and shoulders, kneading her skin and into her hair. “Slower now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Just please don’t stop.”

  He moved beneath her, slower now, guiding her hips into a similar movement, very akin to riding a horse at a low canter. The discomfort remained, but lessened. His hands slid down the column of her body, to close firmly on her buttocks, which he squeezed.

  One hand did not remain there, but came round to splay across her belly, the thumb dipping down to press firmly against the place where their bodies joined, directly at the center of her sensitive pearl. Nothing hurt anymore. Everything felt right.

  “There,” he said thickly.

  He rubbed in a circular motion, in rhythm with the motion of his hips, something that felt so good, she bore down against him, wanting more, taking pleasure now in his sex and the heated friction between their bodies. Her nipples tightened, feeling as hard as diamonds.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my…ahhh—” He gasped. “Your sex is so tight.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her hands squeezed his shoulders.

  “God, no, it’s good. Beyond good. Perfect.” He chuckled. “But I might die from it.”

  “Don’t die.” She kissed his jaw.

  “I need this,” he murmured, his head falling back. “Clarissa, I need you.”

  His every thrust brought her closer…closer…closer to something she couldn’t define. Something that felt more and more like paradise.

  “Dominick.”

  Something she had not felt before with Quinn.

  He groaned. “This damn chair is both heaven and torment. I can’t get deep enough.”

  “The bed…”

  Binding her tightly against him, he stood, wrapping her legs around his waist. The movement drove him deeper inside her. She gasped in pleasure, embracing him. He carried her to the bed, where they fell together in the center of the mattress, dark shadows formed of muscle and sinew.

  “Do you see?” she murmured, pulling him into her arms. “It’s not so bad here that it should take such effort to convince you to join me.”

  “I’m convinced.” He pulled the covers atop them and dipped his head to kiss her breasts and her neck and face before his hands slid to her thighs, spreading her. He lowered his hips between her legs, and his chest crushed her breasts.

  “It seems strange,” he murmured against her temple. “To be like this with you.”

  “Does it feel wrong?” She stared up at the bed canopy.

  “No.”

  “Not for me either. I’m glad.”

  He kissed her face. Her mouth, his tongue driving deep inside. Gently, he pulled her arms above her head and, at the same time, entered her again.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

  “Dominick,” she moaned.

  The pleasure. It came over her in waves, so intense she feared she might not survive the inevitable end.

  “I’m hardly inside you,” he said. “I need to be deeper.”

  Suddenly…the room wavered…and everything felt smotheringly close…and he, too heavy and hot. What had happened so suddenly to make her feel this way, when only moments before she’d been squarely at the center of heaven?

  Her stomach—felt so unsettled. Her skin, clammy.

  Oh, no.

  “Get off me. Please!” She gripped his arms.

  He stiffened against her.

  “Now, oh hurry.”

  His eyes wide and glassy, he rolled off, looking stunned. “What is it?”

  She tore free of his limbs and the bed sheets and stumbled across the room. There she found an empty basin and, leaning over it, retched.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Two days later, Dominick stood outside Clarissa’s door, dressed in his coat and hat.

  “You’re certain she can travel?” he asked Miss Randolph again.

  “Yes, sir, I vow she’s much better today.” She smiled hopefully. “I’ve even managed to get some broth down her.”

  “It’s true, I’m much better today,” Clarissa called weakly from the bed, sounding valiant, if somewhat muffled.

  He peered inside and saw her lying atop the coverlet fully clothed for travel, her boots on. Her bonnet rested on her face.

  “Much better today…” she repeated faintly, her voice trailing off.

  “If you say so,” he said to Miss Randolph, unconvinced, but he could only smile at Clarissa’s efforts.

  His pregnant wife’s morning sickness had chosen the most inopportune time to come to life and had interrupted their lovemaking in the most unfortunate way. He could not begrudge her. Of course he couldn’t. She’d been so miserable since, and he felt terrible for her and helpless to make her feel better. Not knowing what else to do, he’d left her to Miss Randolph’s expert care. Dominick
spent the next two days and nights in the common room with all the other travelers who had crowded the inn, watching the rain pour from the sky and, yes…thinking of her.

  Clarissa. His wife.

  Even though their lovemaking had ended awkwardly, they had made love. He could hardly believe it still. He hadn’t intended for things between them to move so quickly, but when she’d come to him in the dark, looking so desirable with her pale hair loose around her shoulders, and touched him so gently, his exhausted psyche had simply reacted, wanting comfort and finding it in her. She had seemed more than willing, and touching her felt natural. Exhilarating. He hoped she felt the same way too and that when she emerged from her illness she wouldn’t regret what had happened, because he didn’t, and he wanted it to happen again.

  Her kiss, her body, and her touch had made a miserable situation not so miserable. Even with the rain, and too many people crowded into the inn, his mood had held since then, lightened because of her. But yesterday, at last, the rain had stopped, leaving behind cold, wind, and dark skies—setting a perfectly dreary mood for his return home.

  “I’ll be downstairs in the common room having breakfast,” he said to Miss Randolph. “If Mrs. Blackmer is indeed well enough, we’ll depart within the half hour and arrive at a place outside Ashington by nightfall. Summon me if you’d like me to help her down.”

  Downstairs, he avoided eye contact with the attractive, ginger-haired young woman who placed a platter of bacon and eggs before him, having firmly fended off her advances for two nights in a row.

  “I ’ope your missus feels better,” she said in a feather-soft voice, imbued with false sympathy. “Been a bad few days for ’er, poor thing. ’ope you don’t have to stay another night.”

  Unfortunately, the inn servants talked, so this one knew more than he would have liked about them.

  “She is doing much better, thank you,” he answered with a curt nod. “We’ll be leaving this morning.”

  With a sigh of disappointment, she pivoted on her heel and retreated, her skirts swishing to and fro as she went, drawing the admiration of several other men, young and old. He was ready to be gone from this place that smelled of grease and burned tallow and too many human bodies.