The lantern light glowed weak. Surely she imagined the emotion she saw in his expression. She released a tremulous breath and placed her fingers over his hand. She gasped when she realized he was bleeding.
“What happened?” Her fingertips skimmed his knuckles, the skin rough and broken.
“I punched the roof of the carriage so my driver would stop.”
“And here?” She lifted the torn linen at his shoulder.
“I hit the ground when I jumped and rolled to stand.” He dismissed her concern and didn’t say more, gathering her near as if to lock all her questions away despite the fact that her mind raced faster than she’d fled down the alleyway. Tucked into his embrace, he paused only a beat, then with whip-like precision rotated them both and started back, urging her forward with assertive pressure at the small of her back. He knew the streets, maneuvering them to the same square where his carriage waited, the stout groundskeeper she’d met in Brighton high atop the box, a plump tabby at his side.
“I’ll take you home,” he murmured as she stepped up, urging her inside with a pat to her bottom, his other hand firm in hers.
Once settled, they traveled for a spell in silence and she sent a silent prayer heavenward for the time well spent reclaiming her equilibrium and dismissing the yearning for further bone-melting kisses. A universe of life existed around them and all she could hear was the sound of his breathing in tune with her own until he broke the silence with the most difficult question.
“Who are you?”
“You don’t really want that question answered.” She strove for flippancy and he nodded in agreement.
“Why were you prowling around Hay Market in the middle of the night? Aren’t young ladies taught never to take to the streets alone, not to talk to strangers or enter a carriage unaccompanied? You broke three rules in one evening.”
“Reckless, not restless.” She attempted a smile and failed. “Will you take me home?”
He didn’t say a word for several revolutions of the wheels on the cobbles.
“I’ve only just found you, and you tried to elude me twice. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He said this deliberately, as carefully as one makes a wish on a falling star, and though steadfast control threaded his syllables, the pronouncement was softened by him pulling her from the seat into his lap, his mouth capturing hers with the precision of two timeless lovers. “Come home with me.”
Somehow, it wasn’t a question.
“Why are you dressed like this?” She attempted to separate from his body, all hard muscle and tight sinew, but he placed his hand at her hip, locking her in place, partially straddling him. “I prefer my pirate to a superfine coat and buff breeches.”
“Aye.” He indicated her mousy gown with an arch of his brow. “And I my mermaid.”
They fell silent, their bodies communicating to make words unnecessary in their shared heat and compromised proximity. One lantern burned, their profiles limned. Still his body lent warmth against hers, inviting every sin she’d been raised to resist. Slowly he furled her gown, over her slippers and calves to rest against her thighs and despite her quickened pulse, she relaxed, so much so that when he shifted she lost balance, her knees falling to the bench on either side of his lap, the brush of his breeches chafing the soft skin above the edge of her stockings. Her thighs tightened with the rough sensation and he chuckled in a deep masculine tone that reverberated in her core.
She didn’t object when he placed his palms atop her legs. Layers of fabric separated his touch yet the weight alone resurrected every sensation from their intimacy shared on the beach. The carriage jolted around a corner and his hands slid upward, taking the remaining fabric with them, bunching the cloth at her waist. She sucked in a breath and waited.
Inside her bodice her heart drummed. Her breasts grew sensitive. Her nipples ached and tightened. Desire, heady and powerful, urged her to act. She was all but exposed, spread against his lap, the heat of his hands and his breath on her cheek another battle to be conquered. She wanted to surrender even though he’d released his hold.
He angled his hips and her legs eased wider. His body inclined forward, the hard press of his manhood strained against the taut cloth promised to ease the deep ache inside. Against her thigh, his fingers flexed as if he struggled against impulse, barely managing to keep them in place.
She sensed his action before she experienced it, the glide of his fingertip along the slit in her pantalets, parting the cloth, finding her center. He stroked his finger against her and he groaned, the sound an echo of everything she experienced in reaction to the caress. He didn’t hesitate from there.
Words remained unnecessary. Questions were abandoned in favor of carnality. The sounds inside the carriage—the rustle of fabric, moans of pleasure, exhalations of relief—all heightened awareness. He stripped the simple gown from her shoulders, baring her skin to press his mouth and taste, kiss, tease. She leaned into his touch. This was why intimacy was forbidden. Once one tasted such elemental pleasure, one became forever altered, like a fever that wouldn’t resolve. She would forever yearn for Benedict now.
Chapter Nineteen
He couldn’t see her body, the gown gathered around her waist in a reminder she wore too much clothing for his liking, but he could feel her, hot, slick and ready in her most precious place. He curled his fingertips into her core, flicking over the pearl at her center, and she shivered with pleasure from the inside out. He closed his eyes and savored her reaction, straining with his own desire. He wanted to take her, bury his cock in her sweet wet heat, but he held back, respect at the forefront of his struggle and some other unnamed emotion that seemed present whenever he held Angel, thought of her, or recalled her smile. His heart beat heavily. Seeking distraction from emotion, he captured her mouth in another long kiss.
He caressed her deeper, his fingers in tandem to the stroke of his tongue. The delicate skin of her inner thigh quivered against the back of his hand. She was close. He was lost. His cock pressed against the front of his breeches. Damn the trappings of proper attire.
“Come up on your knees.” He ground out the words. “Come up.” He didn’t intend for it to sound like a command.
“Benedict.” Her fingers gripped his shoulders fiercely and he knew she fought the same war as he.
“Let me touch you. Please you.” He dragged his fingertip across her cleft in slow exquisite enticement and she cried out, collapsing against him for support, her breathing ragged, her forehead lowered to his temple.
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” He captured her waist with his free hand to aid support and slid his palm to grip her bottom. Her fingers wove through the ends of his hair. They remained that way for several breaths, securely locked. “Let it come, Angel. Feel me as I feel you.” He strained his head back against the bench. He couldn’t last much longer. She was wet, liquid heat, her soft folds perfection against the caress of his fingertips. He hadn’t entered her. To do so would be to lose all control and he’d never felt so adrift, so lost in pleasure that he’d drown from sensation if he didn’t fight for every ounce of control.
He nudged her head up with his own and captured her lips in a searing kiss that explained everything he couldn’t articulate with words, their tongues tight and furious as his fingers rubbed and teased. She was molten desire, wetter, hotter, with every stroke and he cursed the carriage, his demanding desire, their clothing, the predicament, and everything he could blame that prevented him from claiming her with his mouth, his hands, his cock, hard and aching.
He couldn’t go much longer or he’d spill himself inside his smalls and with begrudging acceptance the irrational reality arrowed his confidence. What she did to him. It was black magic by any definition.
The carriage swung left, the curtain mimicking the vertiginous sway to reveal a fleeting glimpse of the outside world. They’d almost reached their destination. The force rocked Angel against his hand, her gasp of surprise incentive
to release his fragile hold on control and sink his finger inside her warmth. She tightened around him, hot and quick as climax caught her and she cried out, his mouth finding hers to smother the sound and swallow her erotic plea.
Christ.
She shuddered her reaction, collapsing where she gripped his shoulders in anchor and clamped her thighs tight around his hips. Short gasps and moans whispered past his ear, her body jerking away, yet he held her fixed, caressing her through wave after wave of pleasure until she stilled, the only evidence of their passion her damp forehead against his, the soft brush of a misplaced tendril against his jaw as she struggled to reclaim normal breathing.
He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the faint scent of cardamom and sweet cherry. He was drugged. Randy as hell.
The carriage pulled to a stop before they could exchange words. He helped her reassemble her clothing, adjusting her bodice and releasing her skirt from where it had bunched between them, the moment not awkward in the least but rather surprisingly intimate. His driver knew better than to open the door before a signal, so Kell released a long-held exhalation and eyed Angel settled on the opposing seat.
“Join me inside.” His voice sounded gravelly. Damn it to hell, she unraveled him.
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can. It’s a choice like everything else.” His words regained timbre.
She whispered her response. “I shouldn’t be out in the middle of the night.”
“It’s a little late for regrets.”
“I’ve none to speak of, only concerns for my future.” She spoke with unwavering certainty, her reply rejuvenated as well.
“One hour. Give me that much and then I’ll promptly see you home.” He wasn’t in the habit of entreating female company.
“What time is it?”
She hadn’t declined the invitation outright. The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Not as late as you think.” Equivocal answers suited the situation.
“Surely my hour has come and gone.” She returned his ambiguous retort without a missed beat and he realized she reminded him of himself. The notion amused him.
The lantern light flickered to indicate the wick was almost spent. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, and her eyes fell closed, the long lashes brushing his skin as they fell. He put his lips against her ear and murmured, “Allow me to make love to you, Angel. All of you. Not like this.”
She trembled against his mouth and fell silent. He took that as assent.
He rapped the carriage roof and the door whipped opened, the steps to follow, then the little mustached driver stepped away, vanishing before he could receive additional orders. Kell stepped aside and clasped Angel’s hand to lead her from the coach up the short stone stairway to his apartments, where he retrieved a silver key from his breast pocket and turned it in the lock. He stepped across the threshold with Angel in tow, only releasing her hand when they took the long flight of wooden stairs to the next floor where he hurried them down a dimly lit hallway to a pair of closed doors at the end. He twisted the brass handle and stepped inside with nary a look over his shoulder. She needed to decide this time.
“Don’t linger at the door.” He didn’t turn, unsure he could accept the emotion on her face were she to change her mind. “Last time I made the decision for you. Step in or out. It’s your choice now.”
He held his exhalation and listened for the sound of her slippers on the floorboards. He heard one step, then the click of the door, the turn of the key, and he breathed in relief.
Angelica moved through the doorframe. A makeshift study area comprised the left and a room dedicated to dressing filled the right. A few more steps led her further into the bedchamber. She flicked her eyes in quick surveillance of the main quarters, and though the bed commanded her attention, she deflected her gaze to the other furnishings. A flutter of misplaced nervousness quickened her pulse. She’d never before entered a man’s rooms and somehow the realization made her commitment more meaningful.
Draperies in midnight blue velvet flanked rectangular windows, allowing starlight indoors, though two chandeliers laden with a multitude of candles hung overhead casting puddles of light and shadow on the floor. Crown molding in an intricate key design framed the bare walls to accompany a wardrobe and bureau of polished mahogany. At the center of the room atop a lush Axminster carpet, a huge bed dominated, topped with countless pillows in sarsenet and satin. The four-poster with thick lathed-turned arms stood dressed in rich fabrics much like the drapery, although silk and cashmere tempted at comfort and hinted at sin.
How many women had crossed this threshold? The unspoken question burned on her tongue. Here was the room of a wickedly alluring sinner, his decadent bed a symbol of erotic abandon and untamed virility, towering and commanding like the man who slept there, sinful like his acts.
She shook her head to discard the misplaced influence of her childhood. Her father’s sanctimonious preaching had no place within these walls.
Across the room, Benedict lit a bedside candle before his eyes found hers. He knew the allure of his body, the impact of his bedchamber, yet seemed absent of the practiced charm of the accomplished rake he showed the world. Time suspended as she stepped nearer, the intensity in his gaze like the north star, and she saw in his eyes the emotions he perceived in hers, the glitter of anticipation and other more vulnerable feelings neither one of them would give voice to.
She’d always behaved with decorum, mustered strength and courage, and obeyed instruction. But this was to be hers to treasure, just like shared intimacy on the beach. She’d struggled through her mother’s death, her father’s demands and detachment, her sister’s misery. She needed to feel again, to experience pleasure instead of despair.
With two more steps, she closed the space between them, her fingers already working the buttons at her collar though she knew he could easily remove the gown with a determined tug. The room crackled with emotion. She stood before him and reached for his hair, missing the lengths that once overlapped his collar, finding the fresh-trimmed silky ends a new sensation to relish and, with insistence, pulled him into a soul-searing kiss.
In less than a tick of the clock, he matched her fervor, though he broke away soon after to rasp against her ear. “I’m not a man fond of restraint. If we begin, we must finish.”
She swallowed any lingering timidity and ran her palm down the placket of his breeches, his ardor evidenced by his firm arousal.
He removed her gown and underclothes with accomplished finesse, depositing her on the bed with care while he stood near the edge. She lay on her back, exposed, and his gaze flowed over her, slow and exact, as if he sought to memorize every curve and angle. She fought hard not pull the coverlet upward or at the least, shield herself from his penetrating inspection—she was no longer hidden by the cover of night or the dark interior of the carriage—but no, she’d committed to this. Wanted this. Needed to affirm the connections she perceived from the first moment they’d spoken.
At last he undressed, their eyes met, daring her to watch his every action. First his boots and socks, pushed aside with a blind kick as if he couldn’t bear to break the concentrated lock of their stare. Then his fingers worked the knot of his cravat, though he didn’t discard the strip of linen when finally free. Instead a devilish smile lifted his mouth to accompany the spark of sensual challenge aglitter in his eyes. He folded the neckcloth lengthwise and leaned in to wrap it around her ankle, the soft brush sliding elegantly along her sole in bold suggestion. Her heart hurried to beat, her pulse rushed through her veins, and her gaze broke from his, curious and disconcerted he might anchor her to the bed for his unending pleasure. The absurd notion made breathing difficult, though a secret thrill spiraled like a whirlpool in her chest to settle with impact where she grew wet and ready. He looped and knotted the cloth around the wooden post and quirked a grin that communicated he could read her thoughts. He reassured her with a wink that meant to say ‘just in cas
e you try to get away’.
While she processed this revelation, he removed his shirt, pulled it over his head in charming masculine fashion to reveal the smooth contours of his muscles highlighted by golden candlelight, the forbidden marking of his tattoo stark and striking. With each discarded piece, there went lingering inhibition, modesty, and indecision. She clenched her fists in the counterpane, her fingertips anxious to coast over his hard physique, trace the lines of the ridges banded across his abdomen, explore his devastating physique.
She knew she was wanton, a female with broken morality, but now was not the time to consider her downfall. Her future loomed like a storm cloud and she wouldn’t fault herself for savoring a little heaven, however fleeting the hour she’d promised him.
He worked at the buttons of his breeches and her eyes flared when at last he completed the task. With one sweep, down lean hips and well-defined thighs, he discarded the garments and stood before her, his body ready, his erection causing her breath to hitch.
He may have read her inner hesitation as a half smile curled his lips, but he didn’t remark on it. He climbed atop the bed beside her, discarding pillows over the edge of the mattress until he leaned on one elbow as if he had all the time in the world and merely considered where he’d like to begin. The silence of the bedchamber became deafening. She could hear her every breath, sense the heat of his eyes on her skin. She slid her ankle to test the security of the linen bond and he chuckled, low and sensual, as he leaned in and captured her breast in his mouth. His tongue lathed the tip, his teeth teased and her nipple ruched in response, every sensation funneled to one pinnacle, his mouth hot against her skin as he stroked again and again.
She whimpered, aghast at her own reaction and he paused. His lips hovered over her breast, his eyes with the gleam of unfulfilled desire. She released the counterpane, which she had gripped to temper her pleasure, and touched his erection, hot and solid, the satin rim smooth against her fingertip, his sex incredibly hard. His body jerked in reaction to her exploration and he cursed in a guttural tone, then quickly gripped her wrist.
Society's Most Scandalous Viscount Page 19