“Hold these,” he ordered, handing her a wadded mound of her skirts.
And then he sank to his knees, setting his hungry mouth to her throbbing sex.
Astrid throttled her scream, the muffled sound turning into moans as he continued his onslaught with his lips and tongue. God, he knew just how and where to touch her…exactly how to circle and lash the gathering knot of tension until she was sobbing his name. Her knees buckled as pleasure streaked along her nerve endings and gathered in the space between her legs, building and building, until suddenly, the climax was upon her, her body splintering apart into aching ripples of sensation.
Without warning, Thane stood and drove his staff into her wet heat, filling her utterly even as she convulsed around him, her orgasm intensifying anew at the magnificent length and breadth of him stretching her to capacity.
“God, Astrid, you feel so damn good.”
Wrapping her legs around his hips, he hoisted her up, cradling her back against the door with one free arm, as his body withdrew and slammed back into hers. He was not gentle, mindless with hunger and lust, and she relished every second of it. She loved how undone he was…how the muscles in his shoulders bunched with primal strength, how his lips parted in abandon, how his eyes shone with passion, burning her fears away.
In this moment, he was hers. As utterly and irrevocably as she was his.
With a shout, his body worked into hers and went still. For a brief moment, indecision warred in those lovely eyes of his, and then he yanked himself from her, spilling his seed on the waxed and polished floor between them.
Panting, he collapsed against her.
…
For a long moment, Thane stood breathing hard, his forehead against his wife’s, one unsteady hand braced on the back of the study door. He had completely lost his reason and his mind. All because of a scrap of scarlet silk. Though he didn’t blame it all on the dress. In hindsight, the tension between the two of them had been building for the better part of a week.
The dress, or lack of it, had been the clincher.
The minute he’d seen her in it, his brain had fizzled. Everything that had seemed so important before, so crucial to his survival, had fallen away. Nothing mattered. Not his decision to keep his distance, his forced indifference, or his desperate need for self-preservation. Every single thought in his head distilled down to one vital, fundamental thing—she was his.
Hanging on to his unraveling self-control by a thread, dinner had been agony, and when she’d announced her intention to go out, in that fucking dress, Thane had seen red. Literally. Short of throwing her over his shoulder like a troglodyte, he was lucky they’d managed to make it to the privacy of his study, though everyone within range had likely gotten an earful of what had happened behind the solid oak door. Including—Christ—Mabel.
He felt Astrid’s eyes on him, their crystalline depths sated. “Beswick, are you blushing?”
“What? No, of course not.”
Her smile was a siren’s. “Your cheeks are flushed.”
“I have a demanding lover.”
Now it was her turn to blush. Thane smiled and kissed her swollen lips gently, noticing the reddened scrapes on her chin and neck where he’d abraded her with the bristle of his own jaw. He caressed the area with the pad of one finger and frowned.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She shook her head and blushed again. “At least no more than I hurt you.” She stroked at parallel red lines on his neck. “You’ve scratches just here.”
“Scratches?” he asked with a smirk.
Astrid arched a brow. “You took me against a door, Beswick. Surely you did not think I could control my passions while yours were on such territorial display.”
“Keep speaking like that, little minx, and I shall be forced to put said door to use once more.”
He stepped backward, and Astrid nearly fell forward without the weight of his body anchoring hers in place. The silk of her dress was hopelessly crushed, but Thane didn’t see her wearing that particular gown anywhere else. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Astrid frowned adorably, releasing the handfuls of her skirts back into place while he buttoned his trousers. “Honestly, why is it acceptable for a man to be passionate, and when a woman shows any sign of lustful urges, suddenly she is Eve incarnate, subverting the whole garden, ergo, the entire world.”
He waved an arm to the nearby chaise. “You can subvert me any time. It’s not as if the servants haven’t already guessed that their mistress shamelessly seduced their master.”
Her blush reignited. “Oh, you are incorrigible. They guessed no such thing.”
“I will bet you a hundred quid that Fletcher and Culbert are on the other side of this door, pretending to polish a candlestick or some such,” he said with a straight face.
“They’re your servants, so of course they have the most dreadful habits. I would be foolish to take such a bet.”
Thane grinned and walked over to the mantel, where he poured two glasses of cognac. He offered one to her, which she took and sat on the sofa, crimson silk pooling over her long, shapely legs. Astonishingly, he felt himself stir again. The effect she had on him was incredible, and though he was hopelessly attracted to her, Thane knew it wasn’t just physical. It went so much deeper. No wonder he’d been so afraid after the interlude at the opera. Some part of him knew that he hadn’t a chance in hell of resisting her.
“Thane, we need to talk,” she said quietly.
He took a sip of his drink and swallowed with a nod. Fear settled in his gut, a dark reminder of what he stood to lose. “Did you know how I would react when you came to dinner?” he asked. “When you wore that gown?”
“I hoped to get your attention,” she said.
“Why?”
She stared into her glass, a faint blush on her cheeks. “I felt the distance between us widening, and it frightened me. You were pulling away, and there was nothing I could do about it. I don’t presume to know what you were doing or why you were behaving the way you were, but it wounded me terribly. I didn’t want you to shut me out.”
“I—”
“Let me finish, please,” she said. “I also can’t presume to understand what you’ve been through and what you have to deal with on a daily basis, and I want to apologize for asking you to go to Lady Hammerton’s. It was truly awful and thoughtless of me.”
“It is forgotten.”
As if a weight had been removed from her shoulders, Astrid inhaled and nodded. “We are married, Thane,” she said softly. “Regardless of how our marriage came to be, we are not strangers, and…I don’t wish us to be. I miss our time in the conservatory and in the library. I miss you. I know there can be fondness and mutual respect between us, and I’m not looking for anything more, if that is what you’re afraid of.”
What if I want more?
The thought came out of nowhere, making Thane suck wind as if he’d been struck in the gut. He’d been the one who’d been adamant that more couldn’t happen. That more was a basket of poisonous snakes that could not be re-closed once opened. That more would destroy him. And yet, here he was entertaining the bloody idea.
He scraped a hand over his stubbled chin, his thoughts chaotic. It had taken courage to do what she did…to face him when he’d been nothing but unpleasant and to fight for what she wanted. A lesser woman would have given up, thrown in the sponge, and cut her losses. But Astrid was not like other females. She was different. Unique. He’d known that from the start when she’d burst into his home and demanded he marry her or give her a job.
“I’m sorry,” she said, mistaking the tense expression on his face.
He drew a breath. “It is I who should apologize for the things I said, Astrid, for what I called you. I didn’t mean them. You’re not a…doxy. Forgive me.”
“Forgiven.�
Her elegant hands trembled slightly in her lap, and for once, Thane knew the shiver to be passion. Her responses were too innate to be false. If he still had any doubt, however, the look she shot him from beneath her lashes was pure hunger, and he felt his lower body jerk like a puppet in response.
“Is that so?” he murmured.
Astrid’s face flamed as she waved a hand toward the study door where he’d plastered and pleasured her body to distraction. “Apparently,” she replied. “But you can’t shut me out and withdraw the moment you feel afraid or threatened. This is all new to me, too.”
“What is?”
“Trust.”
“Then, this is a first for both of us.” Thane finished his brandy and stood, holding out his hand. He smiled when his wife took it, drawing her up against his hard body so swiftly that she gasped. At the feel of her, unsurprisingly, he felt his cock stir to life.
“Already?” she asked, glancing down to the rise in his trousers.
“A constant state where you are concerned, Lady Beswick.”
Her arms looped around his neck. “That must be uncomfortable. Let’s go upstairs and do something about it, shall we?”
In his bedchamber, Thane wrapped his body around hers and made love to her slowly, taking the time to savor every inch of her. He busied his hands with her luscious breasts. He skimmed his palm down her flat stomach and up again. He loved the feel of her…the silken smoothness of her skin, the taut buds of her nipples, the soft tuft of maidenhair at her groin.
Most of all, he savored being inside her, deep within the sleek clasp of her body. He marveled at the delicious friction between them—the tight, hot embrace of her body, as if she were made exactly for him. Retreating and filling her slowly, he kneaded her breast and sucked gently at the tendon between her neck and shoulder. She let out a needy sigh and arched her back, wriggling into him.
“You’re so warm and wet.” Thane increased his pace, drilling in and out, clamping a hand on the outer flare of her hip. Her spine bowed, allowing him deeper access, and they both groaned as his cock sank home into her.
“Thane,” she whispered. “I’m close.”
He slid his hand down to where they were joined, his fingers grazing the swollen knot at the top of her sex. His wife moaned her approval. Circling it and rubbing it, he quickened his thrusts at the same time, the erotic combination hurtling them both over the edge. This time when she came, she muffled her screams in the pillow. As he had earlier, he withdrew with a grunt just before his seed spilled in the bedsheets between them. Thane kissed her nape, inhaling the wildflower scent of her.
For the first time in a long time, he felt almost happy.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Dratted needle!”
Astrid sucked on the finger that she had pricked for the fourth time, while Mabel shot her a laughing look. It was a Mabel look, full of innuendo and mischief. Astrid laid her embroidery hoop aside. With the amount of times that she’d drawn blood, she would have been better off threading the needle through a piece of scarlet cloth.
“Though I’m usually competent with a needle, I loathe embroidery,” she said, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea.
“It’s good for the spirit.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Yes, if one wants one’s spirit to depart one’s body prematurely from sheer boredom.”
“It’s a feminine accomplishment.”
Astrid darted a look at the older woman, focused studiously on her hoop. She wouldn’t have taken the duchess as someone with a penchant for needlework. It was too…uninteresting for someone of her passions. But perhaps she was wrong. Isobel hated reading, and they were sisters.
“Learning is an accomplishment. Education. Not threading a needle endlessly over a hoop in ridiculous patterns.”
Mabel arched her brows. “So get a book and read, if that pleases you.”
Astrid had tried to read. She really had, but her body had felt too on edge, her mind too busy to concentrate. She had read the same essay a dozen times before giving up. A few days ago, Thane had been called back to Beswick Park…something to do with one of his tenants, he’d said. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone, which meant she and Mabel were on their own for Lady Hammerton’s spring ball that evening. And Isobel’s planned scandal. Perhaps that was why Astrid was so on edge. She worried for her sister.
“Do you know Lady Hammerton well, Aunt Mabel?” she asked. Though Astrid knew that she must, considering it was because of Mabel that Astrid had managed to receive an invitation to the exclusive ball.
“Quite well, dearest. We went to finishing school together.”
“I haven’t seen her or been introduced to her in Town,” Astrid said.
“She’s been in Bath,” Mabel said, her needle flying with small, precise strokes. “Taking the waters there.”
“Her house parties, are they usually sedate?”
Mabel smirked. “You do know me, do you not? Suffice it to say that Eloise is twice the rakehell I am.”
“Rakehells are male,” Astrid pointed out.
“Who says? There are female rakes.”
“They’re called something else,” she said dryly.
“Yes, rakehellions.” Mabel huffed. “Eloise’s parties are nothing more than a buffet selection for her to choose her latest lover. And it is a testament of my fondness for you that I am not in attendance, since I, too, am currently between paramours. Why do you ask?”
“Isobel is planning something.”
Mabel perked up. “I knew that dear girl had a spine! What is she doing?”
“Apparently three of her suitors will be there, including Beaumont, and she intends to cause a scandal to end all scandals, she says.”
The duchess upended her embroidery hoop, sending it flying across the room, and burst into laughter. “Your sister has some big shoes to fill. The scandal to end all scandals went to me nearly thirty years ago when Eloise and I were caught frolicking in the Serpentine at midnight.” She paused with a dramatic flourish. “In our undergarments.”
“You didn’t!” Thirty years ago, Mabel would have been thirty-five, a few years after being widowed.
“We egged each other on terribly. No society rule could bind us.”
“Didn’t the ton shun you?”
“They tried, but I am a duchess. And Eloise a marchioness. After our husbands died, we were untouchable. They deemed us eccentrics and moved on to the next casualty of English superiority.”
Smiling, Astrid grabbed the hoop from where it had rolled and stared at it, horrified. And then Mabel’s earlier concentration suddenly made sense. The lovingly stitched image was not a leaf motif as hers had been. Instead, it was a…phallus. A very large, very detailed specimen, complete with a pair of embroidered testicles.
“Aunt Mabel!” she whispered. “What is this?”
She grinned without apology. “You’re a married woman; surely you know what that is.”
Astrid coughed. “I do, but why would you sew such a thing?”
“I said we had to do needlework,” she answered, taking the hoop, her expression all wide-eyed innocence. “I didn’t say we weren’t allowed to have fun.”
Astrid couldn’t help laughing, her eyes watering. “How many more of these have you done?”
“Oh, scores of them. I’ve made quite a study of it. They’re all different, you know. Long, short, thick, thin, light, dark.”
Astrid choked. “I don’t know.”
Mabel stood and put her stitching away into a closed basket, which she handed to one of the young footmen with a wink. Astrid’s eyes widened with a sneaking suspicion, and then she felt her cheeks burn as she shook her head. Mabel did have good taste, though��he was very handsome. And if her embroidery was anything to go by, well endowed, too.
She smothered a giggle.
“It’s a good thing it’s hard to shock me,” Astrid said as they walked into the hallway. “Otherwise, I would be properly scandalized.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I like you, dear.” Mabel gave her a fond shove. “Now, hurry along; we must make haste if we want to arrive in time for the scandal of the season. Or this month, at least.”
It was early, but Lady Hammerton’s country estate was a couple of hours away by coach. For the evening, Astrid dressed in a deep-midnight-blue gown with silver lace accents and embroidered stars that almost made it look like the night sky. She usually favored lighter colors, but the rich color had been chosen by her husband during the fitting with Madame Pinot. A rope of diamonds had been wound into her hair, and light-gray gloves finished the ensemble.
“You look like a duchess,” Alice breathed.
“Thank you, Alice. You’ve outdone yourself, truly.”
“I only wish the duke could see how beautiful you look.”
Astrid did as well. Perhaps he would be here back from his business at Beswick when she returned. She smiled fondly. Even though he’d been gone only a short while, she missed him. She’d rather be in bed with him than attending a ball, but she had to be there for Isobel. It hurt that he would not be in attendance, but she understood how uncomfortable being in public made him.
A few short hours later, they were off in the Duke of Beswick’s crested coach. The interior of the carriage was plush and sumptuous, but Astrid wasn’t looking forward to the length of the journey. She focused her attention on the duchess opposite, who had chosen to wear a wine-colored velvet gown that made her look twenty years younger. Her amber eyes sparkled with vivacity.
“Planning to break some hearts tonight, Aunt Mabel?” Astrid teased.
“At least one or two.” She reached for a basket at her feet that Astrid had not noticed and pulled out a flask. After taking a sip, she handed it to Astrid. “It’s just a spot of whiskey.”
Taking the flask, Astrid swallowed some of the liquor.
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