His Wicked Embrace

by Adrienne Basso

  He was so tall and broad and muscular. Even with her considerable height and even wider padded skirts, he easily dwarfed her. There was something intimate, almost forbidden, about the way he held her in his arms. She felt like his possession and was completely puzzled why that feeling brought her an unexpected rush of excitement instead of a logical sense of dismay.

  A young buck sporting an eye patch and a lace-ruffled shirt barely missed colliding with them, but on the second circuit around the ballroom he knocked squarely into Anne.

  The hand at the small of her back drew her closer.

  “I’ve got you,” Lord Richard whispered softly.

  Flustered, Anne raised her eyes. The tips of her breasts were touching his black evening jacket. A wave of acute tension fluttered through her chest and stomach. The voice of strict, proper training inside her head told her to pull away immediately, but Anne ignored it. Softly she pressed herself forward, helpless to control these crazy, newly awakened feelings.

  The muscles across Lord Richard’s shoulders went rigid beneath her fingers and his eyes grew dark. The look he gave her made Anne’s skin feel hot, then cold.

  He is going to kiss me, she thought wildly. Rattled by the preposterous notion, all Anne’s fogged brain could register was the simple truth that she very much wanted him to do so. And I shall delight in kissing him back!

  “Pardon me,” the young pirate sang merrily, “I do hope I missed smashing your feet.” He grinned sheepishly as he danced away.

  The cheerful apology effectively shattered the mood. Anne pulled herself back to a respectable distance, struggling to adopt an air of nonchalance that was total affectation. She nervously flexed her fingers and felt Lord Richard’s strong muscles shift beneath her hands.

  How very different his body was from hers. She remembered the time she had seen a group of farm workers laboring in the fields striped of their shirts, bronzed backs and chests, muscles straining with effort as they lifted and hauled.

  Yet Anne strongly suspected that Lord Richard’s unclothed form would put them all to shame. He was the very essence of male beauty. The artist in her longed to see and feel and explore this strange, intoxicating man at her leisure, yet the woman she was did not dare.

  “That clod has stepped on your gown and torn a section of the hem,” Lord Richard growled.

  Anne shrugged her shoulders. “He is merely enjoying himself. The pirate and pretty young shepherdess make a rather fetching couple, do they not?”

  “With feet like that, he should be dancing with the sheep, not a shepherdess,” Lord Richard muttered, “in a barnyard.”

  Anne smiled. “When the dance is finished, I shall order him to be imprisoned in the tower. Will that be sufficient punishment for his accidental crime of gown tearing?”

  “You should hack off all his toes and feed them to the hounds,” Lord Richard insisted. “In retribution for his clumsiness and to ensure the safety of all the other dancing couples.”

  Anne gasped. Lord Richard turned his head sharply, as if realizing for the first time that he had just expressed such a graphically violent sentiment to a lady.

  He cleared his throat. “Forgive my lack of sensibility, Miss Paget. When one has witnessed the type of cruelty towards humanity that war brings, you occasionally forget that gentility still exists in the world.”

  Anne’s initial shock at his blunt words disappeared.

  “Ah, but you forget, my lord, I am a warrior queen, accustomed to such violence,” Anne replied in a quiet, sensitive voice. She stroked his sleeve in a calm, comforting manner. “Did you fight at the battle of Waterloo?”

  “No. I returned to England shortly after the battle of Talavera.”

  “Talavera? It was a great victory for our cause, yet I suspect the newspaper accounts glossed over the horrors.”

  “It was truly a respectable representation of hell itself. Nothing but fire, suffering, blood, and human sacrifices.” A distant, blank coldness entered Lord Richard’s beautiful green eyes. “In the aftermath of other battles I had fought before that awful day, the usual salutation given upon meeting an acquaintance of another regiment was, ’Who has been hit?’ After Talavera I simply asked, ’Who is still alive?’ ”

  “Were you wounded?” Anne asked in an emotional voice, feeling every ounce of Lord Richard’s despair in her own gentle heart. “Is that why you returned to England?”

  “I was unharmed.” Lord Richard’s stoicism quickly returned. “My family needed me. So I came home.”

  Anne’s stroking hand of comfort stopped. An unexpected knot began to curl in her stomach. What sort of family had he returned to? A wife? The notion that he was married left a sour taste on her tongue, yet she could not in all honesty understand why she should care if he had a wife.

  Perhaps it was because she felt such an intense attraction for him, and while it was madness to dream that Lord Richard might also find her attractive, it was a harmless fantasy. If he was married, however, the situation would become utterly distasteful, certainly immoral in Anne’s unfashionable opinion.

  “Is your wife here with you this evening, my lord?”

  “I am a widower.”

  Anne released the breath she had been holding. She was so intent upon hearing his answer that she barely noticed he spoke of his widowed state without any trace of emotion in his voice.

  They twirled gracefully around the ballroom one final time. Anne felt a pang of regret pierce her heart when the last strains of the music died away. She had so enjoyed being held in his arms. She curtsied low and waited to be escorted to a quiet corner where she strongly suspected she would spend the remainder of the evening craning her neck searching for Lord Richard while pretending disinterest in his whereabouts.

  But instead of returning her to the sidelines, Lord Richard steered her away from the crowd and out the open French doors. Heart thumping madly, Anne allowed herself to be led into the garden to a more secluded spot among the flowers and trees.

  Now what? Would he pull her once again into his arms and steal a kiss? With uncharacteristic recklessness, Anne secretly hoped that was his intent. Still, she cautioned herself to be sensible.

  She had never been overly disappointed by her lack of male admirers, but tonight she felt a perplexing need for Lord Richard to find her desirable. She wondered how it would feel to be wanted, just once, especially by this extraordinarily powerful man.

  If she indulged this strange temptation, however, it must only be on this one magical night. Her future plans of freedom and independence would not be jeopardized by the complication of a male relationship.

  “ ’Tis a lovely evening,” Anne volunteered, “though perhaps a bit warm. Is it usually this warm in Devon at this time of year?”

  “It’s July.”

  “Well, of course I know what month it is,” Anne replied with a slight laugh. “I can assure you, my lord, the summers in Cornwall are never this warm.”

  “Is that where you are from? Cornwall?”

  Anne’s step faltered slightly. “No. I grew up in Hampshire. We keep a house in London, but with the season nearly over Papa gladly accepted Sir Reginald Wilford’s kind invitation to visit. He is a distant cousin of my mother’s.”

  Anne turned her head up toward the sky, deliberately avoiding Lord Richard’s sharp green eyes. She had never before questioned the unusual way her family lived. Especially since the plan was of her own devising and necessary in order for them to remain members of polite society. Yet she felt uncomfortable telling Lord Richard the half-truths she had grown so accustomed to uttering.

  “I am rather surprised,” Lord Richard replied. An undercurrent of accusation crept into his voice. “I have known Sir Reginald since I was a young boy. I always found him to be a somber and reclusive man, something of a hermit. I find it difficult to imagine him inviting a parcel of energetic relatives for a prolonged visit.”

  “Goodness, you make us sound like a tribe of primitives,” Anne said. Her h
and fluttered to her neck and she adjusted the stiff collar of her costume. “Sir Reginald has been most welcoming. My father has a keen eye for horseflesh and has been advising him on the acquisition of several prime mares. Mother has generously lent her assistance in the running of the household and shared some of her best recipes with Sir Reginald’s cook. He remarked just last evening that he has never sat down to a finer table.”

  Anne deliberately paused for a breath. Gracious, she was babbling. He must think she was the biggest fool, but Lord Richard’s inquires into her personal affairs made her very nervous.

  “I stand corrected, Miss Paget. Sir Reginald is indeed fortunate in his choice of houseguests. Pray tell me, what exactly do you do to enhance Sir Reginald’s dull life?”

  Anne decided she did not appreciate the mocking edge in Lord Richard’s voice. She stiffened her spine and held his gaze steadily as she spoke.

  “I keep my two sisters and my two young brothers out of doors as much as possible, and when they are inside the manor house I move them to an unoccupied section so Sir Reginald can enjoy the quiet he so treasures.”

  Anne knew she had struck home with her answer by the slight frown that appeared on Lord Richard’s handsome face. “You are a most resourceful woman,” he said at last.

  “You need not sound so astonished, my lord,” Anne countered. “It takes only good manners and common sense to remain a pleasant houseguest.”

  They came to a secluded section of garden surrounded by hedges. Without speaking, Lord Richard grasped her elbow and sat her down on the stone bench strategically placed inside the small maze. He immediately joined her, sitting closer than was strictly proper.

  Anne breathed deeply of the night air. It was filled with the distinctive scent of rose mingling with an edge of expectancy. Senses heightened with almost unbearable anticipation, she waited.

  “Will you remove your mask?” Lord Richard asked, reaching boldly for it.

  Suddenly Anne felt frightened. She knew she wasn’t beautiful or enticing or provocative. Fearing that once Lord Richard saw her pleasant but plain features, he would no longer find her worthy of his attentions, she held up her hand to forestall the removal of her mask.

  “Please?” he coaxed.

  Honesty won out over curiosity. It had been an exhilarating flirtation, and if it was to end now, then so be it. She grasped the mask between her fingers and slowly pulled it away from her face.

  “You are so very lovely, my dear,” he whispered in a deep, strong voice.

  Anne suddenly felt weak at the knees.

  Richard held her gaze and fought to keep his eyes as blank as his expression. She was not at all as he imagined. Listening to Nigel describe his darling Nicole, he had pictured a tiny woman with a provocative stare and an annoying giggle. Rather like her older sister, the busty Grecian nymph.

  But she was none of those things. Intelligent, amusing, even kind. A woman who lived by her wits. He saw immediately how Nigel would be smitten with her, but what could she possibly see in his nephew? He was far too young and spoiled to stimulate the bold Miss Paget.

  Lord Mulgrave reached out his hand and gently traced the curves of her face. She wasn’t conventionally or strikingly beautiful, but he had been completely honest when he told her she was lovely. She had smooth, flawless skin, expressive light brown eyes, a straight nose, and generous lips on a pretty mouth.

  A very pretty mouth. A very pretty enticing mouth. Knowing he shouldn’t, yet unable to resist, Richard held her face softly between his fingers, bent his head, and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

  He wasn’t sure how she would react. He half expected her to push him away and slap his face. After all she was supposed to be in love with Nigel.

  He could feel her initial surprise. She stiffened and pulled back for a fraction of a second. He splayed his hand against her back and held her in place, effectively cutting off her retreat. But he did not force himself on her. Instead he waited with mounting desire for her to make the next move.

  “I really should not,” she choked out in a harsh whisper.

  Frustration surged through him at her words. Tamping down his rioting passion, Richard shifted uncomfortably on the stone bench, resigning himself to accept her appropriate response.

  Then, to his utter delight and astonishment she sighed deeply, lifted herself forward, and kissed him back. Without restraint.

  She parted her lips slightly, and Richard ran his tongue slowly, sensually, across the seam of her mouth, tasting her sweetness. His heart beat in a wild pulse of need as she softened and molded herself against his chest, clearly aroused by their embrace.

  His disappointment over her apparent lack of morals was quickly overshadowed by the incredible sensations streaking through him. Their kiss was an intoxicating blend of pleasure and fascination. The thrust and stroke of his tongue was met with equal fire, and Richard felt the heat and coiling tension rise inside him.

  She was incredible! Soft and warm, hot and sweet. Knowing it was wrong, but not caring one wit, Richard tightened his embrace.

  “You are truly beautiful.” He whispered the words against her neck before pressing his lips against the white column of her throat.

  He set his arms tightly around her, one on her waist, the other on her shoulder. He pushed aside the cumbersome ruff collar around her neck. It crumbled like a deck of cards, revealing the luscious creamy white skin beneath. She was not a voluptuous woman, but her feminine curves easily inflamed his senses.

  He trailed a line of soft, wet kisses down to her breasts, expertly drawing down the top of her gown with his thumbs. Her skin felt hot against the moisture of his tongue and he could hear her harsh breathing even though her face was turned down against the top of his head.

  By the time the rustling sound of clothing and footsteps approaching registered in Richard’s passion-hazed brain, it was too late. His immediate reaction was protective, and almost without thinking he stood abruptly on his feet, thrusting himself in front of the disheveled Miss Paget.

  Ian stood before him and alongside the earl was Lady Althen. Their expressions of stunned disbelief informed him that he had in no way concealed the fact that he had been kissing Miss Paget. Rather thoroughly.

  “Good evening.” It was difficult to smile with clenched teeth, but somehow Richard managed.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Lady Althen exclaimed in a high-pitched squeal. “Anne, are you all right?”

  Anne? Richard spun around and glared at the woman on the bench. This delectable creature he had nearly seduced was not Nigel’s darling Nicole?

  “Gracious, Mother, I am fine,” she replied breathlessly. She struggled momentarily with the neckline of her gown before succeeding in covering her lovely breasts. “Please refrain from becoming hysterical. I don’t have any smelling salts with me.”

  Lady Althen humphed with annoyance, but her daughter ignored her. Remarkable. She had just been caught in a compromising position with a man she barely knew, yet she was lecturing her parent.

  Ian spoke, but Richard was not listening. Anne? He felt his mind spiral into a dark, dizzying vortex. Who the devil was Anne, and where in the hell was Nigel’s darling Nicole?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Adrienne Basso lives with her family in New Jersey and is currently working on her newest Zebra historical romance set in the Regency period, His Noble Promise (to be published in March 2000). She is also working on a short contemporary, Sweet Sensations, which will be published in Zebra’s Bouquet line in November, 1999. Adrienne loves to hear from readers and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed envelope if you wish a response.

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  Copyright © 1999 by Adrienne Basso

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  ISBN: 978-1-6018-3032-6