Hot Historicals Bundle with An Invitation to Sin, The Naked Baron, When His Kiss Is Wicked, & Mastering the Marquess

by Jo Beverley

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat, awash with guilt and an astonished, almost fearful, tenderness. Christian was everything that Jeremy wasn’t: confident, sometimes reckless, and full of energy and health.

  And yet, he was much like Jeremy, too. He had the same kind and loving demeanor, the same devotion to family and friends, combined with the courage of a man of honor. That’s what terrified her. Not that Christian was so different from her husband, but that he was so much the same.

  Wretchedly, she stared back at him, conflicting emotions swirling about inside her. But in all the chaos, she was able to grasp one essential truth. In this moment she wanted to be with Christian, no matter the consequences.

  Gently, he held her face as his mouth covered hers in a soft, sweet kiss. She clutched at him with trembling arms, telling herself to push him away. How could she betray him like this? Betray herself, and everything she knew to be right? She had to tell him the truth, had to let him make the decision for himself.

  But when his tongue parted her lips, taking hot possession of her mouth, all her guilt and good intentions fell away. Only sensation remained. The tingling feel of his long, muscular thigh flexing against her leg, the exciting roughness of his calloused hands on her cheeks, the wet sweep of his tongue into her mouth. Nothing else mattered but the imprint of his hands on her flesh, the mark of his mouth on her body.

  He released her face and lashed his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. Her breasts, spilling over the top of her skimpy bodice, pressed into the soft wool of his coat. The brush of fabric across her sensitized skin made her shiver, and her nipples, barely contained by her stays, contracted into hard little points. He devoured her mouth, licking and nibbling at her lips, sucking on her tongue as if she were a juicy sweet to be consumed. And that’s exactly how she felt—like a hot, honeyed morsel, ready to be eaten.

  And, God help her, that’s exactly what she wanted him to do.

  She opened up to him, sucking his tongue into her mouth. They tangled, and she relished the taste of him—sweet yet scorching, and powerfully male. His energy streamed into her, filling up the sad, empty places where all had been silent for so long. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she gripped his shoulders, struggling to get closer, to plaster every inch of her body to his.

  He broke the kiss, lifting his head to look at her. She gasped an incoherent protest, then buried her head in his cravat, overwhelmed and mortified, her need for him robbing her of strength.

  “Shh, sweetheart,” he murmured, moving one hand in a soothing glide down her spine.

  “Why … why are you stopping?” she quavered, unable to still the tremors racing through her limbs.

  He uttered a low laugh that sounded more like a feral growl. “I’m not. But I’ve got to slow down. I’m only seconds away from having you flat on your back with your legs spread wide and me deep inside you.”

  She jerked back to look at him. His eyes blazed with lust, and his crude but exciting words made the soft flesh between her legs throb and grow moist.

  “Oh, I …”

  She trailed off, too entranced by the way his hands were now roaming over her body to speak. His long fingers briefly shaped her hips and waist, then moved up the bare flesh of her arms, leaving a velvety heat in their wake. Her eyelids half closed as he stroked across her collarbones and brushed his fingers up her neck, tilting her head back so he could kiss the shivery spot below her ear.

  She sighed with voluptuous pleasure. How could those hands—so calloused and hard from years of soldiering—be that tender against her skin? So able to send shudders of pleasure along her nerves?

  “What were you saying, my love?” Christian murmured against her neck. He pushed her hair back and carefully set his teeth to her skin, giving her a tiny, tingling bite.

  She jerked in his arms, a hard throb pulsing deep in her womb.

  “I—ah, I wouldn’t mind if you did that,” she managed.

  He suckled her neck, his tongue soothing the place where he had just set his teeth. She went boneless in his arms, her head falling back. Sensation stormed through her. Never had she felt so much, even during her marriage. She and Jeremy had enjoyed relations, but nothing like this. Christian’s touch made her blood rush and her heart pound. Her limbs trembled, and she had to repress the urge to beg for more, like some helpless supplicant.

  “Is that an invitation?” he asked, easing her down onto the trundle bed.

  “Yes,” she whispered. The bed was so narrow he had to lie half on top of her, one leg between her thighs as he propped himself up on an elbow.

  She gazed up at him through half-closed lids, enthralled by the passion that carved his features into a wild, rough beauty. His lips pulled back in a sensual smile as his fingers busied themselves in the lacings of her bodice. Carefully, he tugged down the delicate fabric, exposing the flesh that plumped up over her stays. Clarissa’s mouth went dry as she watched him draw one finger over the tops of her breasts, skimming the dusky flesh that ringed her nipples. She shivered, sparks of heat dancing along her skin.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  He looked up, their eyes locking on each other’s. Need flowed between them, linking them with a single, overwhelming hunger. She nodded, too overwhelmed by desire and trepidation to utter a word.

  His gaze flared with a possessive heat, his unleashed passion rolling over her like a wave. With a swift movement, he yanked at her stays and her breasts spilled free. Christian hissed out a breath, a harsh, triumphant sound that set her heart pounding with a tiny jolt of panic.

  But then he bent and pressed a reverential kiss on her chest, just over her racing heart.

  “Christ,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. I swear I’m not worthy to touch you.”

  She heard it, then. The doubt in his voice. The fear that he would never be good enough. It had dogged him all his life, living as he did in the shadow of his older siblings.

  With a murmur, she stroked his hair.

  “Please, Christian,” she pleaded. “I want you. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

  He placed another gentle kiss between her breasts, but then his hands were on her, shaping and kneading with a masterful touch. Fire sizzled through her veins. She moved restlessly beneath him, craving more.

  “Christian,” she moaned.

  He stroked her breasts, tweaking the hard, rosy nipples. The calloused pads of his fingers tortured her until she squirmed with excitement.

  It wasn’t enough.

  As if he knew, he cupped her breasts in his big hands, plumping them. Then he fastened his mouth on the tight point of one nipple. A hot thrill streaked along her nerves and she arched her back, eagerly pushing her pelvis against his hip, pressing hard through the layers of their clothing. A small, sharp contraction pulsed in her womb, the pleasure so intense she gave a strangled cry.

  Christian played with her, languidly moving from one breast to the other. His body pressed her down into the bed. The sense of being captured and restrained drove her wild. A luxurious, tormenting ache that she had almost forgotten these last several months throbbed between her thighs.

  He lifted, pulling back with a hard suck, letting his teeth graze over the rigid tip of a nipple. But still, as if he couldn’t help himself, he dipped again and dragged his tongue across her breast one last time before shifting away. She moaned, arching to follow his mouth.

  He held her down.

  “You have the loveliest breasts,” he murmured as he stroked the tight points. “I could do this for hours.”

  She stared up at him, stunned that he would say something … so … so exciting.

  His lips curled back, wolflike, exposing strong white teeth.

  “Would you like that?” he asked with a wicked grin.

  “Ah …” She was at a complete loss. It had never occurred to her that people talked about these things while they were doing th
em.

  He gave a soft laugh. “Another time.”

  Swiftly, he unlaced her stays and pulled them from her body. Her chemise came next and then she lay before him, clad only in her stockings and shoes.

  Clarissa blushed from head to toe as he gazed at her. But she felt only shyness, not shame. Christian’s face bespoke adoration as much as lust, and his hands were gentle as he settled her more comfortably on the bed. She waited quietly while he stood to strip off his clothes.

  As his body was revealed, her breath snagged. She saw a godlike, brawny, and powerful man. But a man who had experienced all the brutalities of war. She couldn’t help clapping one hand over her mouth.

  Christian’s head came up and his eyes filled with concern.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  She touched the barely healed bullet wound on his shoulder, and then ran her fingers along the ridge of a cruel scar that bisected the left side of his torso. “Do they still hurt?” she asked.

  He carried her hand to his lips. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

  An echo of sorrow rustled in her chest. “I hate that you have to be a soldier.”

  He drew her close. She shuddered, loving the feel of his hot, hard body blanketing her limbs.

  “Shh,” he murmured. “Don’t think about that. Not now.”

  He nuzzled her mouth as one hand shaped the globes of her bottom. Her aroused nipples brushed against the coarse hairs of his chest, forcing a groan from her mouth. Hunger and need poured through her veins, and her thighs dampened.

  “Christian,” she panted, breaking free from his tender kiss. “I need you. Now.”

  “Patience, love,” he crooned as he trailed kisses along her jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She grabbed him by the ears and yanked his head up, bringing them nose to nose.

  “Ouch,” he yelped. For effect, she thought, since his eyes were gleaming with laughter.

  “Now,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

  He made a quick, ravishing foray of her mouth, and then settled in the cradle of her thighs. She pulled her legs up around his hips to accommodate his muscled girth.

  “As my lady commands,” he said in a rumbling voice.

  He flexed his hips, nudging the broad head of his erection into the opening of her body. Holding her head between his hands, he gazed into her eyes as he surged into her. She gasped at the scorching invasion that stretched and filled her to the limit. He stilled, and his head dropped to her shoulder, his breath a pant on her skin.

  “Clarissa—” he choked out.

  “No,” she breathed. “It’s all right.” She wriggled a bit, and pleasure lanced up from the place where they were joined. It was more than all right. It was wonderful.

  With a satisfied hum, she arched her spine, rubbing her breasts against the hardness of his chest. He began to move in short, hard nudges. She greedily absorbed every sensation, running her hands over the broad contours of his shoulders, tracing the rippling of muscles down his back and across his lean flanks.

  Her touch spurred him on. He tilted her hips, moving deep, setting off a delicious, fevered ache in her most sensitive flesh. His mouth locked on hers, his tongue hot and caressing between her lips.

  Clarissa pulled her knees up, opening herself as wide as she could. She was desperate, sobbing against his mouth, yearning for completion.

  Breaking the kiss, Christian lifted on his elbows. She whimpered a protest, needing all of him—on her, in her, bringing her to rapture. Murmuring comfort, he brought his hand down between their bodies, slicking two fingers through her damp folds. She dug her heels in his thighs and cried out as a shuddering release trembled through her limbs.

  In response, his muscles began to spasm. He lunged into her, pressing down as he shook with his release. A deep groan broke from his throat, and he collapsed, curling around her.

  As they lay there, a panting tangle of arms and legs, Clarissa slowly came back to herself. The pressure of Christian’s body lifted from her chest. She opened her eyes to look at him.

  Her heart lurched. What she saw on his face wasn’t some temporary infatuation. It was love—selfless, adoring, and full of joy.

  Her plan, God forgive her, had worked.

  Chapter 7

  Christian propped himself on his elbows, relishing the feel of Clarissa’s lush body lying beneath him. God, how he’d stormed into her, unable to hold himself back. He’d spoken the truth when he said he had no defenses against her. And it scared the hell out of him. But he could no more turn away from her now than he could cut out his own heart.

  She stared up at him, looking dazed—flustered, even. Not that he could blame her. He had acted like a brute—taking her with no ceremony on an old trundle bed in the attic of his family’s house. And in broad daylight. His parents would see him hanged for a scoundrel—after making sure he married Clarissa first.

  Which he had every intention of doing.

  He brushed his mouth across her kiss-swollen lips and she whimpered, her small hands fisting into his shoulders as if to push him away.

  “Poor sweet,” he murmured. “Am I crushing you?”

  She gave a jerky nod in response.

  With a deep sigh, he pulled out of her warm body and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. The damn bed was so small he almost fell out as he tried to arrange them on the mattress. That earned him a muffled giggle, one so girlish and sweet his heart turned over in his chest.

  She wriggled on top of him, trying to get comfortable. His shaft twitched with renewed interest.

  “Careful, love,” he groaned. “You might get more than you bargained for.”

  She lifted her head from his chest and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He caressed her luscious bottom and she blushed, dropping her gaze.

  “I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” she replied in a strained voice.

  Christian frowned, trying to see her face, but she kept it turned away from him.

  “What’s wrong, Clarissa?”

  “Nothing,” she said tightly.

  He knew that voice. Knew it meant she was hiding something. “Yes, there is.” He rubbed the bunched muscles between her shoulder blades. “You can tell me anything. I won’t be angry.”

  She gave an unhappy sigh that stirred the hairs on his chest. “It’s just that … this will take some getting used to. I didn’t expect it to happen.”

  He smiled, relief flooding through him. As long as she didn’t regret what they’d done.

  “Try not to think about it right now. There will be plenty of time to mull it over later.”

  She looked up, scowling. “You always say that. But sometimes things can’t wait.”

  He stroked the glorious tangle of golden hair back from her face. “You know me, Ladybird. I’m a simple soldier. We don’t like to think too much.”

  She made a scoffing noise and settled onto his chest. But even though she lay quietly for a few minutes, he could practically hear the cogs and wheels turning in her head. He gave her leg a gentle nudge with his foot.

  “Tell me what it is,” he said.

  She stirred but kept her head down. “All these years you’ve called me Ladybird, and I never once asked you why.”

  An obvious feint, but he’d play along for now. “I called you that because you were always flying away home, just like in the nursery rhyme. We could be in the middle of anything—like fishing on the lake, playing cards—and you would drop everything and dash home as if the devil himself were at your heels.”

  She blew out a pensive breath. “I suppose in a way he was. Father would be so angry if I was late for afternoon tea or dinner. And I was late quite a lot, because I never wanted to leave Rosedell Manor. I loved it here.”

  Anger pierced his gut at the memory of Clarissa’s mistreatment. “I know he used to hit you.”

  She seemed to shrink into h
erself. “Sometimes.”

  He hugged her close, the old anger warring with an aching regret. “No one will ever hurt you again, Clarissa.”

  “You can’t possibly know that,” she said in a hollow voice.

  In a swift move, he rolled her underneath him. Her eyes widened in surprise as he took her face between his hands. “Yes, I can. Because you’re mine, now. I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again,” he vowed.

  Panic seemed to flare in her eyes. She struggled, trying to push him off. “Christian, let me up.”

  He blinked, stunned by her reaction. “Clarissa—”

  “Now!”

  He rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed. She grabbed her chemise and began wrestling it over her head. When he tried to help her, she batted his hands away.

  Resisting the urge to swear, he reached for his breeches. Apparently, she was already regretting what they’d done. No doubt for myriad foolish reasons he would now have to deal with.

  He stood and watched her fuss with the ties of her chemise. When she refused to meet his eyes, his heart sank. He had to throttle back his frustration. “You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

  She smoothed her chemise, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes. Their usual amber sparkle had disappeared, leaving her gaze flat and bleak. Unease rifled through him.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said. “You won’t like it.”

  He wanted to sit next to her, to take her in his arms. But her grim expression froze him in place.

  “Say it,” he replied.

  “I’ve lied to you, Christian. I didn’t want to, but I did. It was necessary.”

  He clamped down on his flaring emotions. “About what? This?”

  She nodded, looking miserable. “Partly. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I have to now. After this …” She gestured at the bed. “I needed you to help me find out what really happened at Badajoz. To help me clear Jeremy’s name. After you refused, I decided I had to do whatever it took to convince you to help. I thought if I could make you fall in love with me … well, then you would do what I needed you to.”