Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets

by Barbara Pierce

  At Tulley's sluggish nod, Fayne said, "Good."

  He slammed the door and locked it. Pivoting slowly, Fayne confronted the lady who was determined to drive him mad. He took out his handkerchief and wiped Tulley's blood from his hand. "Have I ever mentioned to you that your choice in lovers is atrocious?"

  Dry-eyed, Kilby ignored his question. "Fayne, you can­not challenge him."

  "No?" He was rather skillful at evasion, too. "Then per­haps you should stop running away from what's between us and choose me."

  "I beg of you, do not challenge Lord Tulley," Kilby said, clutching his arm.

  He moved away from her. "Do not dare defend the man to me!" Fayne paced in front of her, reminding her of a hungry lion in a cage. "He had you pressed against the wall. His hands were on your throat. Tulley had every in­tention of taking you by force. If I hadn't found you—"

  She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. "Yet you did. Lord Tulley did not harm me. Please let it go."

  In mid-stride he switched directions and lunged for her. Kilby shrieked as he backed her against the wall. Earlier when they had spoken in the ballroom, she had sensed the dark, unpredictable emotions simmering beneath his affa­ble mask. The earl's attack had cracked his fragile veneer, placing her in a very precarious position.

  "Have I misunderstood, Kilby?" Fayne held her against the wall with his body, calculatingly re-creating the scene from which he had just rescued her. Gently, he placed his hand on her bruised throat. "Did I interrupt something you desired?"

  "That is an outrageous suggestion!" she snapped, angry that he could believe she wanted the earl's hands on her. Especially when she had been valiantly resisting Fayne. "I never encouraged Lord Tulley!"

  "Are you so certain?" he asked, the hand at her throat tightening imperceptibly. "I have watched you for weeks, flitting from one gentleman to the next."

  She rolled her eyes at his reasoning. "As is every other unmarried lady this season. Lady Quennell has made no secret that she hopes to secure a match for me before I re­turn to Ealkin. There is nothing criminal in my actions."

  "It depends on your perspective, I suppose," Fayne con­ceded, curling his fingers against her throat and stroking her neck. "When you gaze at me through those haunting violet eyes, I see within them an unspoken promise."

  "An illusion," she blurted out, suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was staring at her. For some reason, it had become awfully warm in the room. Unable to hold his gaze, Kilby turned her face away.

  Fayne grazed his lips along the line of her jaw. "Perhaps," he absently murmured. "Let us test your conjecture."

  Kilby could barely breathe as his hand left her throat and slid down the slope of her breast. Fayne did not need his hands to restrain her. He used his hard, lean body to pin her in place. His hands jumped from her waist to her arms. The sensation of his fingers on her bare flesh made her shiver.

  Her nipples constricted painfully in response to his touch. She squirmed against him. "Fayne," she huskily pleaded, no longer thinking about Lord Tulley.

  A tremor went through him at the sound of his name on her lips. The tender stroking ceased. Fayne caged both her wrists and winged them up over her head. He leaned into her body, reminding her who was touching her, who had control.

  Although fully clothed, Kilby felt vulnerable stretched out like a sacrifice against the wall. "You have proven your point, Fayne. Release me."

  "Is that truly what you want, little wolf?" He covered her mouth with his, lingering so that she still felt the scorching heat after he withdrew.

  "Yes!" Well, not exactly. She liked kissing him, but his dominating manner was unfair.

  Fayne expertly spun her around, so that her front was facing the wall. Holding her wrists above her head, he used his mouth to nuzzle her sensitive neck. "I think you are lying. The real question is, which one of us are you trying to fool?"

  Without warning, one of his hands seized the edge of her bodice and tore open the back. She cried out as a hail of glass buttons from her dress struck the floor, scattering in all directions. Kilby bucked against him, but he managed to hold her in place one-handed, using his hip as a brace.

  "I am not trying to fool anyone," she said, gritting her teeth. The blasted man was too strong from her vulnerable position.

  "No, Kilby, you're not." His hip dug into her back and he slid lower. She realized he was groping for something from his boot. The pressure eased slightly as he straightened.

  She sucked in her breath when she glimpsed a small knife in his hand. "Are you planning to kill me, Your Grace?" He had told her that he did not blame her for his father's death. As she eyed the knife, it occurred to her that he could have been lying to her all along.

  Fayne heartily laughed. "You occasionally annoy me, Kilby. However, I can think of a more pleasurable means of retribution."

  Kilby felt the edge of the blade at her lower back. Fayne tugged roughly. The tension of her corset suddenly eased. With her relief came outrage. "Are you mad? You are cutting my laces?"

  Fayne was not listening to her. She felt his hand move up her back as he ruthlessly sawed through the bindings holding her corset together. Once he was finished ruining her corset, he slipped the blade under the tapes at her waist and cut them. Her petticoats slithered down her legs to the floor.

  He discarded the knife.

  "Stop cutting up my undergarments!" If she ever got her hands on that knife, she intended to shred his clothes into rags.

  "I'll buy you new ones," he promised, licking the line of her spine at her nape.

  Fayne surprised her by next doing the unexpected. He released her arms and stepped back. Relief soared through her. Letting her arms fall to her sides, she inadvertently did precisely what he had wanted her to do. Wordlessly, he hooked his fingers under the sleeves of her dress, and stripped her, corset and all. He had left her wearing only a chemise, stockings, and slippers.

  Enough was enough! Kneeling at her feet, he lifted his head and grinned. The scoundrel was toying with her. When he stood and reached for her, she seized her chance to retaliate. Attempting to burrow her face into his hand, she sank her sharp teeth deeply into the soft flesh between his thumb and first finger.

  A very satisfying yelp erupted from him, which he fol­lowed with some particularly nasty expletives. "Blood­thirsty wench!" he said, eyeing her sullenly while he shook the sting from his hand.

  Kilby dropped down and gathered up her discarded clothing circled at her feet. Her thoughts were centered on the door across the room. Once she had put some distance from Fayne, she would worry about her ruined dress, which she clutched to her chest.

  "Kilby. You cannot leave this room undressed."

  No, of course she could not. She had him to thank for that! That did not mean she could not stay out of arm's reach. With a haughty toss of her head, Kilby intended to remove herself to the opposite side of the room. Or she would have if she had not tripped on a section of her petti­coat that had slipped out of her hands. On a muffled oath, she stumbled forward. Fayne reached out to catch her, but his added weight prevented her from regaining her bal­ance. Together they hit the back of the sofa, rolled across the top and landed on the cushions.

  Naturally, she was on the bottom.

  Fayne stared down at her with a positively fiendish grin. "Intent on seducing me, eh?"

  Kilby gaped at him, surprised by his outrageous question. "You are delusional," she muttered to herself. Fruitlessly, she tried to shove him off the sofa.

  Fayne had no interest in moving, now that fate had placed him exactly where he wanted to be—right be­tween the lady's thighs. He bounced his pelvis against her, testing the cushions. "This is much better than the wall, do you not think?"

  "I hope your hand is bleeding," she snarled, delighting him with her burst of temper. "Get off me."

  Fayne might have obeyed if he was wholly certain Kilby truly wanted him to back away. Staring down at her face, he noticed her cheeks
were flushed with passion and her eyes had dilated to thin violet rings. It revealed that although Kilby was wary of him, she also desired him. Fayne blamed himself for her conflicting emotions. Earlier, he had been so angry because she had spent most of the evening avoiding him, that when he found her in the arms of Lord Tulley, he had been tempted to throttle them both.

  His temper had not improved after she begged him not to challenge Lord Tulley. Fayne had considered himself a patient man, but Lady Kilby had a dangerous habit of pro­voking him. Pride and anger had prompted him to press her against the wall and reenact the scene he had witnessed when he had discovered her with Tulley. Once he had put his hands on her, felt how her body fitted his so perfectly, his half-baked notion of punishing her faded as need over­took him. There was nothing preventing either of them from indulging their desires.

  "Listen to me," she demanded, pinching him on his arm. "You have to let me up. What if someone discovers us?"

  "Then we will have to be quiet." Fayne was not con­cerned. His passionate nature had placed him in some rather awkward predicaments over the years, and he had survived them relatively unscathed. Since he doubted such an expla­nation would ease her distress, he added, "The }door is locked. No one will bother us."

  "But—"

  Fayne silenced her with a sizzling kiss. Kilby stiffened in his arms momentarily, before she sighed and surren­dered to the hunger his touch always seemed to elicit. He slid his hand under her head and deepened the kiss. She moaned against his mouth. Kilby was a puzzling mix of contrasts. Every time she opened her mouth, she was telling him that she was uninterested in having an affair with him. Her body, on the other hand, told a different story. The way she responded to his questing touch revealed that she did want him. Fayne could not understand why she put so much effort into denying what they both de­sired.

  Nothing could stop him from claiming her now. Tonight.

  ************************************

  Kilby was dreaming. It had to be a dream. Kissing Fayne, the comforting sensation of his weight pressing her into the sofa transcended all pleasures she had experienced up until that moment. He was a dangerous temptation. It would be so easy for her to forget the reasons that had brought her to London and just enjoy the sensual tide of pleasures he offered.

  Fayne pulled away from her lips. "I am being selfish," he said, tugging at the complicated knot of his cravat. "No, do not move—yet." He winked and removed his coat.

  "I believe you tossed your knife over there," she said, shocked all the way to her toes that she sitting there so calmly while a gentleman disrobed in front of her. "Shall I fetch it for you?"

  He laughed and shook his head. Her gaze dropped to the front of his waist as he casually unfastened his breeches. "Not in this life," he teased, kneeling on the floor beside her. "Now that I have witnessed your fearsome temper firsthand—"

  Kilby sat up on her elbows. "I am a very agreeable per­son. No temper to speak of in the slightest."

  Fayne made a sound of disagreement in his throat. "Just keep away from the knife."

  "No, truly—"

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. "No temper, she claims," he complained, gesturing to the ceiling. "And still she argues with me when there are other, more pleasing di­versions within our grasp." To add credence to his words, Fayne took her hand and slipped her fingers into the open­ing of his breeches.

  Kilby's mouth went dry. Belatedly, she wondered if he had been baiting her about her temper because he sensed she was nervous and thought the brief distraction would calm her. She almost snatched her hand back when her fingers connected with the heated flesh nestled on a bed of coarse hair within. The fleshy rod seemed to swell beneath her hesitant caress. "Am I—does this hurt?" she asked hoarsely. Her hand trembled as she tried to make sense of what she touched. She had never seen or touched a man's rod before, although she had a basic understanding of lovemaking.

  "Only in a good way, little wolf," he replied, his green gaze fixed on her face. "Like this."

  Fayne glided his hand over her knee and under her che­mise. Unlike Kilby's, his touch was not hesitant. He parted the cleft between her legs and skillfully plunged a finger into her. She sucked in her breath, half expecting some dis­comfort, but her body had been anticipating him all along. He had briefly touched her like this in Guttrey's conserva­tory before Lady Quennell's ill-timed appeared had broken the sensual spell. Nevertheless, it appeared the encounter had left her body instinctively craving more.

  "You are as hungry as I am, eh?" he rasped, his expres­sion one of stark need. "We have circled around each other long enough, have we not?"

  His thumb expertly found and coaxed the sensitive nub hidden within her womanly folds. Kilby squirmed against his hand. Fayne was thoroughly aroused by her response. His manhood thickened and twitched, demanding to mate. That part of him was so large. She began to worry that she was too small to accommodate him.

  Using his other hand, Fayne gently removed her hand from his breeches. "Having you caress my cock is torture I cannot bear, especially when your body beckons."

  Withdrawing his hand from between her legs, he met and held her gaze. Kilby watched mutely as he tasted her desire. "Like sweet wild honey."

  Fayne then leaned over her. He shoved his breeches down over his hips and kicked them off to the side. Bracing his hands on either side of her prone figure, he crawled up until his face hovered above hers. "Kilby, forgive me, I cannot wait."

  His purpose was unmistakable when he pushed her che­mise higher and the tip of his manhood pressed firmly against her cleft. Kilby felt her body softening, anointing the broad hood of his arousal to ease his path. It was not an unpleasant sensation, she decided, relaxing slightly. "I like the weight of you on top of me," she shyly confessed.

  Fayne bit her on the neck playfully and smiled mischie­vously. "Then it would be cruel to deny you the chance to experience it fully." Arching his back, he imbedded him­self into her tight sheath with a single energetic thrust.

  Kilby cried out, more from his startling invasion than pain. The pain was there, however, a persistent stinging and overwhelming tightness that made her think she was stretched beyond what nature intended. "You have to stop. I am too small," she said, near tears.

  Fayne also seemed shaken. His expression was bleak incredulity. "A virgin," he said, his voice becoming accusa­tory. "You're a damn virgin!"

  His anger perplexed her. "Of course I am. I told you ..." She trailed off as the truth hit her. Kilby's violet eyes hard­ened. "I told you the truth. I was never your father's mis­tress." She bit her lower lip to conceal its slight tremor. "You did not believe me."

  He pounded the side of the sofa with his fist. "What I believed does not matter now," he hedged.

  The cretin had lied to her. He had claimed that he be­lieved her so he could bed her himself. Confound it! And she had let him. She punched him in the shoulder. "Off. Get... off... now!" Kilby punctuated each word by pounding her fist into his muscled arm.

  "Damn it, Kilby. Hold still," Fayne demanded harshly.

  Her angry struggles were not helping the situation. Each time she bucked up against him, the motion plunged him deeper into her. Fayne groaned as if she were the one hurting him. If there was pain, she was too angry with him to feel it. The painful stretching his abrupt invasion had caused had eased significantly. In fact, she slowly became aware that with each abbreviated stroke their movements became even more fluid. A curious tension began to build inside her.

  Fayne must have felt it, too. Suddenly, his fingers curled into fists. His features were taut and his mouth grim as he stared down at her. There was a mute apology in his green eyes. "I—" Strangling on the word, he fiercely rocked his pelvis against her and then he froze. Fayne clamped his eyes shut in agony as air hissed through his lips.

  A second later, Kilby felt the foreign heat as his seed filled her. Kilby held Fayne while he shuddered in her em­brace. Her hand covered her eyes in resignation. />
  Well, it was official.

  She was truly the Duke of Solitea's mistress.

  CHAPTER 9

  "A virgin!"

  Fayne had been lamenting those two words aloud ever since he had callously breached Kilby's maidenhead hours earlier, her violet eyes wide with accusation and pain. Re­alizing the ramifications of her innocence, he felt like the vilest rogue, and comparable to the gentleman who, two years earlier, had seduced his innocent sister and heart­lessly abandoned her. Fayne had wanted to murder Lord Thatcher Standish for his cruelty. Finding himself inadver­tently cast into Standish's dastardly position had made him queasy and very irked at Kilby.

  "I would have never touched her had I known she was a virgin," Fayne sullenly confessed.

  It was his fault that they had parted awkwardly. Since she refused to speak to him—and he had his pride—Fayne had helped her dress, repairing the damage to her clothing the best he could. Angry and disillusioned, Kilby had left him alone in the room.

  "It is an affliction many young ladies suffer from." Ramscar picked up the bottle of wine placed between them and refilled his friend's glass. "As men, I consider it our solemn duty to relieve them of it."

  The earl had been playing cards at White's when Fayne had stormed into the room, his brooding expression daring one and all to challenge him. Knowing his friend well, Ramscar foresaw the inevitable explosive conclusion if Fayne remained at the club. Bidding farewell to his com­panions, the earl had nudged his friend into a coach and driven him to the Red Satyr, a tavern known for its rotgut liquor and nightly violence.

  A flicker of annoyance flared in Fayne's green eyes. "Not me," he muttered, picking up his glass and swallow­ing. He grimaced. Whatever they were drinking was nasty and potent. "Bedding virgins. Troublesome business." He knew firsthand.

  "Bah, if you ask me, it is a stupid rule," scoffed the earl, pointing a finger at him. "What good is it? If you were not so damned honorable, you would be bouncing on your de­lectable virgin this very minute instead of getting drunk with me."