A Breath of Scandal (8 page)

He went instantly hard. The bulge in his trousers grew and expanded, pulling the material taut against his loins. He adjusted himself and tugged the edges of his coat together. A groan left his throat when Lara started toward him. Her gently swaying hips made the bells on her skirt tinkle merrily. He wanted to grab her and hide her where no one could look at her but him. She was earth. She was light. She was dazzling temptress and artless seductress all rolled into one body that most men would kill to possess.

I want her
, Julian thought with dismay.
I want her more than I’ve ever wanted another woman
.

Unlike Lara, Diana had been a delicate, elegant beauty, all peaches and cream, as lovely as an angel with her blond hair and shy smile. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a wife. Good bloodlines, perfect manners, and above all, she was a lady. She hadn’t stopped him when he’d wanted to make love to her, but he could tell that she wasn’t at ease with his passion. He’d known from the beginning that she had acquiesced to his desire simply because she loved him with a pure heart that transcended passion. Julian had accepted that, and admired her for her purity of spirit, and because she found something worthy in him to love.

He would always remember Diana, always mourn her and their child who had perished with her. He wouldn’t rest until he’d found those responsible for their deaths. And he would never care deeply for a woman again, or sire another child. Losing them was too painful.

Julian sucked in a steadying breath, slowly expelling it when Lara reached him. Lust was like a roaring lion inside him.

“Shall we join the celebration? The women are bringing out the food and drink.”

Her voice sent chills of awareness racing down his spine. Low and throaty, it put him in mind of sultry nights and hot sex. She was an unsophisticated combination of wantonness and incandescent beauty. Too hot to handle without going up in flames. Just thinking about being inside her brought beads of sweat to his forehead.

He dashed them away and tried to recall what she had just said to him.

Apparently unaware of his discomfort, Lara grasped his hand and led him to the area where tables laden with food had been set up. She picked up a plate and handed it to him.

“We’re supposed to start. The others will follow.”

Julian regained his wits barely in time to hang on to the plate Lara had thrust into his hands. He paid scant heed to the food he was piling on his plate, and he followed without hesitation when Lara led him to the vacant place of honor around the huge campfire.

Someone handed him a cup of ale, and he drank deeply. The cup was instantly refilled, and he downed it as quickly as he had the first. He dug into his food, tasting little of what he swallowed. He watched Lara’s mouth as she chewed, stifling a groan when her tongue darted out to sweep a crumb from her lips. He was bewitched. Honorable, sober,
dull
, Julian Thornton, the Earl of Mansfield, was bewitched by a Gypsy wench.

Exactly what that statement meant didn’t bear thinking about. Then the toasting began. Mugs were raised to their health, their marriage, their happiness, their fruitfulness, their good fortune. By the time the toasting ended, Julian’s head was spinning.

The musicians took up their instruments. A procession of dancers twirled, whirled, and twisted to the wild tattoo of drums and the wanton refrain of a rousing tune. Julian glanced sidelong at Lara. Her eyes glittered like stars, and her supple body swayed to the beat of the fiddles.

He wanted to kiss her
. Was he drunk? Probably, but it wasn’t going to stop him. Surprising even himself, Julian grasped her shoulders and pulled her against him. Her lips were parted, their lush contours temptingly moist. He lifted her chin with a fingertip and brushed her lips with his. She tasted of ale and ambrosia. Of sin and wickedness. Of wanton pleasure.

He wanted more.

He seized her lips again, this time with less delicacy, determined to fill his senses with the taste and scent of her. At first her response was tentative, almost innocent. But when he deepened the kiss and thrust his tongue into her mouth, she caught fire, just as he knew she would. She kissed him back, arching and pressing herself against him, digging her hands into the thick folds of his hair. He caught her groan in his mouth and answered it with one of his own. Her response emboldened him. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and drew on it.

He would have continued on to the ultimate end had clapping and hisses of appreciation not alerted him to the fact that they had become the center of attention. He broke off the kiss and grinned sheepishly.

Lara’s body was thrumming, her flesh on fire, her head spinning. Drago’s kiss made her giddy with delight. She could have gone on kissing him forever. She’d been kissed by Rondo, and one or two other men, but their kisses were mere child’s play compared to Drago’s kiss.

“Let’s go back to the wagon.”

The sexual inflection in Drago’s voice sorely tempted her, but she shook her head. “ ’Tis far too early. The celebration has barely begun.”

Ignoring Drago’s peevish look, Lara concentrated on the music, swaying and clapping to the beat. The dance was in her blood. Her mother, Serena, had been an accomplished dancer. She had been invited to perform countless times at homes of wealthy noblemen in both Scotland and England. Serena had met Lara’s father at one of those performances.

“Dance for us, Lara,” Rondo urged. Others lent their encouragement.

Lara leaped to her feet, unaware of Julian’s disapproving frown as the music captured her and carried her away. Her lithe body spun and twirled, flickering firelight transforming her into an ethereal figure composed of shadow and light. She danced with abandon, her body weaving before Julian in blatant invitation, her dark eyes gleaming.

She offered him her hand.

Julian stared at it for the space of a heartbeat before placing his hand in hers. Lara pulled him to his feet and drew him into the center of the circle.

“I can’t dance,” he growled.

Lara didn’t care. All he had to do was stand there, she’d do the rest. She pirouetted around him, hips swaying in time to the music, teasing him, leaning toward him, then drawing away before their bodies actually touched.

Never had Julian seen anyone dance like Lara. He knew instinctively that the Gypsy spitfire was dancing for him, and his loins swelled with desire for her. Deliberately she enticed him with her eyes and undulating body, then spun away so fast that his hands clutched empty air when he reached for her. Damnation! She was Mother Earth and Eve. Delilah and Cleopatra. She was every seductress known to mankind, blended together in a tempting body that oozed sexuality.

She was … Lara.

When Lara’s hips swayed forward, brushing against his loins, Julian gritted his teeth and swore beneath his breath. Did she think he was made of stone? Beads of sweat dripped down into his eyes. Was there no end to the torture Lara was inflicting on him? When she wound a scarf around his neck and gently drew him forward, Julian couldn’t help thinking that she was very good at this game, and he wondered how many men she had lured into her web of seduction. His patience shattered just as she pirouetted away from him, but this time he was too fast for her.

His arm snaked out, finding purchase around her waist. His body taut with determination, he pulled her roughly against him. Her face was flushed, her dark eyes glowing, her tinkling laughter an aphrodisiac. It was too much. She had gone too far. His body was brittle, ready to explode. He had to have her.

Ignoring the pain from his healing wounds, Julian swung Lara into his arms and carried her away from the campfire. An opening appeared in the approving crowd, and he charged through, dimly aware of the laughter and rousing cheers following him.

“Drago, we can’t leave yet.”

“The hell we can’t,” Julian growled, tightening his hold on her. “A man can take so much. But you knew that, didn’t you? You’ve been begging for this, and I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

“Drago! I didn’t mean … You don’t understand … I have no control when I dance. It’s like someone else inhabits my body. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“I knew what you were doing,” Julian rasped harshly as he kicked open the door and carried her inside their wagon. “So did every man watching you tonight. How many men have been lured into your bed by your wanton behavior?”

“Put me down!” Lara raged. “How dare you judge me and find me lacking!”

“I’m not judging you,” Julian said, letting her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. He grinned when she gave him a startled look and backed away. His erection was so hard he knew she had felt it prodding her.

“Feel how hard I am for you, Lara,” he said, grasping her wrist and placing her hand on the front of his trousers. “I’m fully capable now of giving you what you’ve been asking for since the first night you crawled into bed with me.”

She tried to pull away but he held her captive in his arms, refusing to release the hand still clasped around his staff.

“This is our wedding night,” he reminded her. Just thinking about what he was going to do to her made his mouth dry as dust.

“We’re not really married. You said so yourself.”

He searched her face. “Do
you
think we’re married?”

“Gypsies follow their own laws. My people consider our marriage a valid commitment.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Julian growled. “Do
you
believe we’re married?”

Silence.

“Lara, answer my question.”

“Aye!” Lara whispered.

“Even though you know I must leave soon? That there can be nothing lasting between us?”

“Aye, dammit! You have your answer, now let me go.”

“No. I’m going to love you, my wanton Gypsy spitfire. If your passion for the dance extends to the bed, I have a long rewarding night to look forward to.”

Lara stared into Drago’s determined features and knew she hadn’t the will to stop him. His darkly handsome face gave hint of the dangerous man lurking inside him. She was all too aware of the mystery surrounding him and the pitfalls of loving him. Danger stalked him. He was no ordinary man. Intelligent, enigmatic, and imbued with an unsettling degree of secrecy. She’d have to be crazy to fall in love with a man whose name she didn’t know.

“Lara, don’t think. Just feel. I know you’re thinking that you can’t trust me, but I swear I’ll make you happy tonight. Don’t think about the other men who have made love to you in the past. Pretend that I am your first lover.”

Suddenly he went still, giving her a strange look as he searched her face. “I
am
your only husband, am I not?”

Lara shifted nervously. “I have never been married before.”

She sensed his relief and wondered about it He was going to leave anyway, so why should he care if she had another husband? He liked her, maybe even admired her, but that’s as far as it would ever go.

Her thoughts were skewered when Drago’s arms tightened around her and his mouth came down hard on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed at the startling sensation of his tongue plunging into her mouth. She was lost. Utterly and profoundly lost. She raised up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, with her mouth and with her whole body and soul.

Drago’s groan was low and guttural, his lips demanding and possessive as his hands moved determinedly over her curves. She shifted restlessly, wanting more, wanting him closer. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Your clothes, take them off,” he growled as his hands swept aside the tumbled mass of her hair to release the ties holding her blouse together.

She shrugged her shoulders and the garment fell to her waist. She wore nothing underneath. She heard him mutter a strangled oath before he lowered his mouth to claim the dusky crown of her nipple.

Lara gasped and arched into his mouth. Her fingers clutched desperately at the dark strands of his hair, and her body swayed with the sweet, drugging sensations washing over her; dark, crushing waves that inundated her with each dragging lap of his tongue. She began to shiver, stunned by the torrid rush of exquisite pleasure plowing deep in her belly and between her thighs. She wanted more; intense need weakened her knees. He must have sensed her desperation, for he swept her into his arms and lowered her to the bed in a froth of skirts.

“These will have to go,” Drago grated, grasping a handful of material and tugging.

Skirts and petticoat slid down her hips, her thighs, and he whisked them to the floor. Then he dropped down beside her and bent over her belly, his breath scorching her as his tongue dipped into her belly button. Every nerve ending screamed for something, but she had no idea what. Her breath hitched when Drago parted her legs and eased his fingers into the moist cleft between her thighs. She felt his hot, penetrating gaze upon her and stared up into his eyes, waiting breathlessly, nay, anxiously, for his next move.

The shock of his fingers sliding back and forth over her flesh, then dipping deep inside her, was devastating. She couldn’t stifle her startled cry when his mouth replaced his fingers. She shuddered and arched against him, her hands clawing into his hair.

“Drago! No!” Surely such intimacy had to be wicked.

Julian grinned up at her. “Haven’t any of your lovers done this to you?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he buried his head between her legs and feasted on her tender flesh, his tongue lashing furiously, as if she were an exotic delicacy.

“I … ahhh … please … ohhh … stop!”

Julian raised his head. “Stop?”

“ ’Tis too much.”

He sat back on his heels. “Perhaps you are right. Our passion burns too hot for this kind of foreplay. Perhaps later.”

Lara had no idea what he was talking about. She only knew that her body was thrumming with raw, wicked pleasure, but what he had been doing to her couldn’t be proper.

Suddenly he reared up from the bed and began tearing off his clothing. Lara watched in fascination as buttons went flying. Moments later he stood before her naked, his bandages starkly white against his magnificent body, now bared for her visual pleasure. Her gaze fell to his engorged staff. It rose full and thick from a nest of dark springy curls.