Not giving him a chance to reply, her tongue tentatively flicked out to connect with the tip, tasting him. "Mmm, salty. A bit like what sin tastes like, I imagine."
"Kilby," he choked out, his fingers tangling in her black hair as her lips drifted teasingly over the hooded ridge of his manhood. "Have mercy."
She turned back to face him, her violet eyes dancing with impish delight. "Why should I? You taught me half the fun is partaking in the torment."
Lady Kilby Fitchwolf had finally awakened. The violet-eyed enchantress had just discovered her powers, and Fayne was completely ensorcelled. He closed his eyes, savoring the magic of her mouth on his cock. The untutored caresses of her hands and mouth were tantalizingly erotic. No courtesan or highly skilled mistress could have aroused him so thoroughly.
Fayne moaned. "Ride me," he said, desperately needing to be inside her when he came. The rigid control he had always prided himself on seemed to swiftly evaporate whenever Kilby was near.
She sat up partway, her hand idly stroking his inner thigh. Although it had taken some persuasion to convince her to come home with him, he liked having her naked in his bed. She looked like a wanton pagan goddess with her white skin gleaming like captured moonlight. His kisses had reddened her lips, and her long black hair flowed down about her waist in alluring disarray.
She gave him an inquiring glance. "Do what?"
"Mount me, my little wolf." He guided her until she straddled him. Fayne rubbed his straining cock against the curly thatch of her sex. "Would you not like to ride and tame your ravenous beast?"
Kilby was clearly fascinated by the suggestion. "Show me.
Fayne cupped her buttocks and positioned her sultry heat over his arousal. She knew what he craved. As she moved against him, her wetness enticed him deeper. His splayed hands on her buttocks tightened as he thrust his cock into her welcoming sheath.
"Now ride," he commanded hoarsely. Gripping her hips, he demonstrated the friction he craved.
Kilby eagerly embraced the new freedom of her position. She moved slowly at first, rolling her hips against his as she took his full measure. Gradually, exploration and her growing confidence had her quickening her pace. Fayne groaned. He reached up and his hands squeezed the pliant flesh of her breasts.
"Am I doing this correctly?" she asked dreamily.
By God, Kilby was devastating him! Each downward stroke was exquisite. Her snug sheath was milking the head of his cock, demanding his surrender.
Fayne refused to disappoint his lady.
Pulling one of her breasts to his hungry mouth, Fayne suckled her nipple fiercely as his other hand teased her clitoris. The impetus sent her hurtling toward her release. Fayne's guttural shout mingled with Kilby's sweet, faint cry as they lost themselves in the staggering throes of their shared orgasm.
Kilby collapsed on top of him, burying her face against his shoulder. Her lithe body was shaking from their exertion and slick with sweat. Their bodies still joined, Fayne shivered as tiny quakes surged from his cock. He gently pushed himself deeper, savoring the sensation.
"Hmm," she mumbled in his ear. "My mother used to tell me that riding daily was good for my health. You have broadened my perspective on the benefits of her wisdom."
Fayne managed a weak chuckle. He smoothed her hair from her face and tenderly kissed her. "Give me a month or two to recover and we will do this again."
Kilby carefully disengaged from him and rolled onto her side. "A pity. We only have an hour or so before I must return home. Perhaps we should ring for Hedge and have him concoct an elixir for your waning stamina."
Fayne rolled on top of her and caged her face with his hands. "Waning stamina? What irreverence! Now, my dear lady, you force me to prove myself—"
"Again?" Kilby interjected, not believing he was capable of taking her again so quickly.
In reality, his violet-eyed wolf had wrung him dry. Still, there were other ways of pleasuring her. "Again," he demanded, gliding his hand up her thigh. He pressed his thumb firmly against her clitoris and the jolt had her hips lifting up off the mattress. "An hour or two will be just enough time."
************************************
"Did you fall asleep again?" Fayne murmured against her ear.
She had, but she was not about to confess that his lovemaking had worn her out. The man was by far too smug about his talents in bed. Without opening her eyes, she rolled into him and nuzzled his chest. "Mmm . . . merely drifting." Kilby stifled a yawn. "I suppose I should get dressed."
"You don't have to on my account," he said, smoothing the stray strands of long black hair that covered her face. "Hedge could serve us breakfast in bed."
Kilby opened her eyes at his outlandish suggestion. "And become this evening's gossip? When I find the strength to search under your bed for my chemise, I will certainly hunt for your sanity!"
"Kilby," he cajoled, pressing her back onto the mattress when she tried to sit up. He used his body to hold her in place.
"Do not Kilby me, Your Grace," she said crossly, refusing to allow him to distract her from leaving again. "I cannot remain. Being here at all is risky enough."
Bracing his arms on both sides of her head, he peered down at her, his expression sober. "This is about my father, isn't it?"
They had never spoken about the night she had been with his father. Fayne had never asked, and Kilby had been reluctant to talk about those final minutes with the old duke. For some reason she could not fathom, he was demanding they speak about a night that was unmistakably painful for him and his family.
"Fayne, what is the point in discussing—" she began.
"I disagree." He relaxed his right arm and gracefully plopped down on his side. "You like being in my bed, Kilby. I'll even be so daring as to say that you love it."
"You are insufferable," she said, grabbing a fistful of his long hair and tugging sharply.
He turned his face into her clenched fist and kissed her knuckles. "No, just tenacious. Now pay attention. Lady Quennell has announced to all and sundry that she hopes to see you married this season, and yet when you get a respectable proposal from an incredibly handsome gent, you refuse him."
"Two," she said forlornly, recalling her angry parting from Lord Darknell.
“Two?" he repeated, his forehead furrowing in puzzlment.
"I rejected two offers for my hand; yours and Dark-nell's." Watching his stunned expression turn to anger, Kilby immediately regretted her confession.
"So Darknell found the courage to tell you that he was in love with you," Fayne mused, not looking pleased.
"You knew?" It was intolerable to learn that the viscount's feelings were visible to everyone but her. She was still silently berating herself for having caused her friend so much pain.
"A man recognizes his rival," Fayne said grimly. "The minute I saw you with Darknell, I knew he wanted you for himself."
"Not anymore," she said irritably, recalling the viscount's hurt expression. "I told him that I could not return his feelings. So that should please you."
The harsh muscled lines in his jaw relaxed at her admission. Slipping his hand beneath the sheet, he cupped her warm breast. "Oh, it does please me. You have no excuse now."
"Excuse? Excuse for what?" The man was not making any sense to her.
Fayne leaned over and kissed her softly on her un-protesting lips. He looked like a man who had nothing to lose. "Marrying me."
************************************
Kilby was silent.
Now that he knew for certain that his rival for her affections was not a rival at all, Fayne was determined to convince her his offer was sincere. "I could only think of two reasons why you might reject my offer of marriage."
She blinked slowly at him. "Only two?"
So she thought at the moment that he was an arrogant arse. He could charm her out of her ire. "I thought you might have rejected me because you loved Lord Darknell."
; Kilby turned away and sighed. The quarrel with the viscount had been painful. "Not the love he demanded," she said, sounding miserable.
"Good," he said, ignoring her gasp. "Then it means you are free to love me."
She had no acerbic response to his arrogant statement.
Fayne slid his hand up to her face, and adjusted it so she was forced to meet his steady gaze. "That leaves my family. You are worried that they will never accept you as my duchess since they believe you were my father's mistress."
"In part," Kilby conceded, her lip quivering with emotion.
"Kilby, what is it?" he asked, suspecting there was more to the meeting with his father than he had guessed. "Does it have something to do with why my father was in your private sitting room the night he died?"
She nodded and covered her eyes with her hand. "Have you ever wondered why Lady Quennell is so determined to help me find a husband this season?"
"Not really. Your chaperone does not seem any more mercenary than the other matrons sponsoring a daughter or niece this season," he teased, hoping she would smile.
If anything, Kilby appeared even gloomier.
She removed her hand from her eyes and took a deep breath. "It all began when word reached us that my parents had drowned."
He listened without interrupting as she told him about her brother, Archer, and his cruel accusations that stole her father from a grieving daughter, and severed a blood tie that prevented a brother from easing his lust with the one person forbidden. Fayne surmised the details she was reluctant to speak aloud, and the revelation made him want to kill her brother. She spoke of her fears for Gypsy, and the viscountess's plans to find a man outside Nipping's influence. Kilby also admitted her own plans to examine her mother's past through the eyes of people who knew her. She wanted proof that her brother was lying as she had suspected.
"And my father?" he asked after she was finished.
Kilby idly circled his flat nipple with her finger. "He claimed to know both my parents. Your father was the one who suggested visiting me while Priddy was out. I desired privacy, and the meeting was respectable," she added defensively. "We were in the drawing room. I had to get something from my sitting room and—"
Fayne took her fingers, which were stroking his chest, and brought them to his lips. "The old scoundrel followed you upstairs." His father would not have been able to resist an opportunity to coax a lady from her private sitting room into her bed.
Kilby looked relieved by his understanding. "Yes. He tried to kiss me, but I moved away."
Fayne laughed until the muscles in his stomach ached. "I would have thought less of him if he hadn't."
She closed her fingers around his hand. "And then he just collapsed without warning. His coloring distressed me and his breathing was rapid. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand. I think he was trying to reassure me." Kilby shook her head sadly. "I am so sorry, Fayne. Your father was gone by the time one of the servants heard my cries for help."
She buried her face in his neck and cried. Fayne's own eyes burned. His family's pact with Lady Quennell for secrecy had placed a guilty burden on Kilby. He supposed she blamed herself because she had not been able to save the man who had died in her arms. Nor could she explain to anyone the reasons why he had been there in the first place.
"It wasn't your fault," he murmured into her hair. He pushed back her head and kissed the tears streaking her face. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"What?" she croaked, her voice strained by her tears.
"If my father had to die without his family at his side, it comforts me to know the last face he saw was yours, my pretty little wolf," Fayne said, meaning every word of it.
They held each other until the sunrise chased away the shadows in the room.
CHAPTER 13
"You have a lot of explaining to do, madam," Archer said, storming into the Quennell breakfast room unannounced. Usually immaculate, his clothes were wrinkled and he had a day's growth of beard shadowing his jaw. His disposition was equally brusque. "Where is Kilby?"
Archer shouldered past the two footmen who tried to keep him from approaching the table where the viscountess sat alone. He braced his hands on the surface of the table and glowered. Priddy refused to be intimidated by the young marquess. Carefully setting aside her fork, she said with false cheer, "Good morning, Archer. Pardon me for saying so, but you look absolutely bedraggled from your journey. If you like, I could summon my butler and have him prepare a room and a hot bath for you."
"I did not come here for pleasantries, Viscountess. I came for Kilby," he said flatly.
Priddy's fingers fluttered to her throat. Her throat constricted painfully at the thought of losing Kilby so soon. She felt that she was so close to fulfilling her plans for her young charge. "Why would you want to take her away from London? The season has barely begun. Besides, your sister is enjoying herself immensely. It would be cruel to tear her away from her new friends."
"New friends?" the man bellowed, causing Priddy to involuntarily flinch. "I know what you are about, madam. You thought you had deceived me, but no longer. Bringing Kilby to town had nothing to do with her acquiring a social polish that you claimed she lacked. Your true aim was to see her betrothed to a gentleman of your choosing."
Priddy had never doubted Archer's intelligence. He was, after all, his father's son. She had simply hoped his own selfish motives would keep him believing her simple subterfuge until she had whisked Kilby safely out of his foul hands.
"My dear boy," she said, intentionally belittling him. "No one has misled you. What did you expect would happen when Kilby was introduced to polite society? Your sister is a charming and beautiful young lady. I thought you would be pleased when you learned that she has attained the regard of a few gentlemen."
"A few?" Archer seethed, pushing off from the table and pacing. "Since Kilby's arrival in town, I have received ten letters. Three were from concerned members of the ton who thought I should know that my sister has been observed on several occasions flirting with a notorious rake, one of the sauvages nobles."
Oh, dear! Her hand in her lap curved into a fist. It was inevitable that town gossip would reach Archer's ears. Keeping her expression carefully blank, she said, "And which gentleman would that be, my lord? After all, there are four of them."
"I am in no mood to parry words with you, madam." Priddy tensed as Archer circled her, his body visibly shaking with fury. "You are aware my sister has caught the roving eye of the Duke of Solitea. What were you thinking?" he demanded. "The man is entirely unsuitable for my pl—uh, sister."
Oh, she knew why Archer was furious about the Duke of Solitea's attentions toward Kilby. He was not concerned about his sister's reputation. The duke was plainly a threat to the marquess's twisted ambitions for his sister. The Duke of Solitea might not have been her first choice for Kilby— that awkward business with his father had ruined him as a possible suitor—but he was a man Archer could not control, which in the viscountess's opinion made Solitea perfect for Kilby.
"Unsuitable?" Priddy lifted her delicate brows in feigned puzzlement. "The gentleman comes from a well-connected family, has more wealth than Croesus, and has just inherited the dukedom. Such a match for Kilby would be advantageous."
She sensed her words inflamed him. During her forty-five years, Priddy had had a few dreadful experiences with violent gentlemen. She had recognized the signs in Archer's flawed temperament years earlier, long before his parents' deaths. She was certain Archer was close to throttling her for her interference. Still, there were two footmen in the breakfast room with them. She prayed Archer was not so provoked as to attack her openly.
"I disagree," he snapped. "You do not comprehend the damage you have wrought by encouraging Kilby in this manner."
She exhaled sofdy when he did not hesitate behind her chair and continued his agitated saunter around her table. "Really, Archer, do you not think you are being a tad dramatic? You told me
that you desire Kilby to marry—"
"A man of my choosing!" the marquess countered, ignoring her defense. "Did you forget our arrangement? No, the Duke of Solitea will not do. The Carlisles have always been embroiled in one scandal after another. Can you believe that one of the letters I received actually hinted that Kilby might have been involved in the old duke's death?"
Oh, this is too much! She doubted the Carlisles would stoop so low as to inform Archer of Kilby's misdeeds. One of the servants had to have gossiped to one of their betters. What good was a bribe, if one did not have the satisfaction of secrecy?
"No. No, I do not believe it," Priddy said crisply. She reached for her teacup again and took a contemplative sip. The tea was tepid, but it eased the dryness in her throat. "What are you implying, my lord? That our Kilby murdered the former Duke of Solitea so she could marry his heir? Preposterous!" She gave him a pitying look. "Honestly, Archer, your pacing is making me twitchy. Sit down and I will have one of the servants pour you some hot tea."
He ignored her offer. "No, of course not. Kilby could not harm a soul. I merely brought it up as testament to your dereliction of duties. You have much to answer for, madam, and I have traveled half the night for your explanation!"
"Well, storming into my home and threatening me will not grant you the answers you seek." She set down her teacup. Clasping her hands together, she gave him a considering glance. “The duke has been dead for weeks. If you really feared that Kilby was involved in some nasty mischief, you would have been pounding on my door sooner. So tell me, what has truly brought you here, Archer?"
Sensing she was willing to be reasonable, he calmed slightly. "If the letters notifying me about Kilby's unsavory dalliance with Solitea and your incompetence as a chaperone were not enough to bring me down to London, the other letters I received in the post confirmed it. Three of the letters were from gentlemen who want my permission to court Kilby. The other four were outright proposals of marriage. Confound it, these gentlemen are demanding to meet with me and discuss her bloody dowry!"
Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets Page 17