Everything Forbidden (13 page)

Ethan pulled the box shut and held it closer to his chest. “There is nothing to tell.”

Now Cassandra’s eyes went impossibly wide. “Are you in love with this girl, Rothschild?”

He nearly dropped the box in shock. “What?”

“There is something in your look. Tell me you have not finally succumbed to the charms of a lady.”

He scowled as he marched to the door. “Of course not. What
kind of fool do you take me for? Your payment will arrive by day’s end.”

Cassandra folded her arms as she watched him yank the door open. “Very well, Ethan,” she said softly. “I think I understand perfectly.”

“Understand!” he scoffed. “There is nothing to understand. Good afternoon.”

But as he strode out of Cassandra’s comfortable house and climbed up on his horse to ride back to his estate, he wondered that Cassandra would even guess such a foolhardy thing. Normally, she was so observant. Surely he wasn’t showing that kind of ridiculous emotion on his countenance.

The kind of emotion that would not end well for anyone concerned.

Ethan paced around his parlor, checking the clock every time he made a turn about the room. Almost time.

He shook his head at his own eagerness, but had given up trying to quell it. Soon he would be with Miranda and he could think of nothing else.

It had been two days since he last saw her. Two long days where he had been distracted by thoughts of her. Her scent still lingered on the pillows in his secret chamber. How did he know that?

Because he kept returning to the room to breathe her in.

But all the waiting was nearly over because she’d be arriving at his home in a few moments. Even though it wasn’t Friday, even though she wouldn’t be staying. But he had plans for her.

He shouldn’t. He knew that. If he was smart, he’d stick to the terms of their deal. But he couldn’t. He wanted her too much. More than he could remember wanting any woman, even his
favorite mistresses. No one had ever stoked the fire in his belly like Miranda could with just one unpracticed look.

Cassandra thought he was in love with her. But that wasn’t it. Since he left his old friend’s home yesterday, he’d all but convinced himself that Cassandra was seeing things that weren’t there. Foolish, romantic woman.

The door to the parlor opened and Winston stepped inside. “Miss Albright, sir.”

Ethan’s pulse leapt and he made a concerted effort to keep his face calm as the servant stepped aside and made way for Miranda. She stepped into the room with a brief nod for the man, but as the door closed, her gaze fell on Ethan and she smiled.

By God, she was beautiful. So fresh and honest and alive. And the longing he felt to touch her nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to breathe her in, soak her in, own her in every way.

“Good afternoon,” she said, peeling off her gloves. “I was surprised to receive your summons. How in the world do you keep arranging these notes directly to my maid?”

Ethan shook off his reaction to her with a grin. “One of my footmen has been, er,
visiting
your little maid for a few months. And he’s happy to have an excuse to go to her and deliver my notes.”

“Angelica?” Miranda gasped. “Really? My, she always seemed so innocent!”

Ethan stepped toward her and drew in a long breath of the scent of her hair. “So do you, my little minx. But I know better.”

Miranda gave a pretty blush that started at her hairline and disappeared beneath the scooped neck of her gown. She looked away. “I suppose you are correct in that regard.”

“I hope you won’t terminate her now that you know her secret,” Ethan murmured as he slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back immediately. “It is very convenient to be able to pass messages to you whenever I like.”

She sighed as his lips came down on her neck. “It would be rather hypocritical of me to end her employment for doing exactly the same things I am doing.”

“Exactly the same?” he murmured as he bit her neck gently.

She shivered. “Probably not exactly the same.”

He chuckled as he slid his hands up to cup her breasts. Her knees were trembling now and she leaned fully against him.

“Why—why did you call me here?” she gasped as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples, making them stand at attention even through the fabric of her gown.

“Thank you for reminding me,” he whispered and turned her around to face him. She stared up at him, gaze clouded with desire. His cock was rock hard already but he knew there would be no release for him. At least not now.

But he was going to enjoy this particular “gift” for her.

“I have something for you,” he said.

She cocked her head. “What is it?”

With a wicked smile, he dropped to his knees and began to lift up her skirts.

Nothing Ethan did should have shocked Miranda anymore, but having him drop down in front of her and slide his hands beneath her skirt surprised her nonetheless.

“Ethan,” she cried, her hands fisting against his shoulders.

He glanced up at her with that wicked, calculating grin that was always her undoing.

“Shh,” he soothed as his fingers glided over her trembling knees, past her damp thighs. He lifted her skirt as he went until he held it up to her waist and left her utterly exposed.

“Hold this,” he said, motioning to the fabric.

She released his shoulder with one trembling hand and took the bunched gown, unsure of what else to do.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, her words ragged.

“This,” he murmured, before he pushed her chemise aside and opened her legs. She shut her eyes and anticipated the brush of his mouth. He didn’t make her wait long.

His tongue probed her, awakening her senses and making her utterly aware of the scene anyone would see if they entered the room. But she didn’t object. She couldn’t have cared less if disapproving Winston threw open the doors and brought in tours of onlookers. She wanted Ethan’s mouth, she wanted Ethan’s tongue, she wanted release. Everything else be damned.

He sucked her clit, not teasing her as he’d done in the past. The explosion of release was his intent and almost immediately waves of pleasure built low in her stomach and spread needy, out of control heat through her pussy.

“Ethan,” she moaned, clenching his shoulder with one hand while she twisted her skirt in the other. “Ethan.”

“Let go,” he said against her skin and the vibration sent her over the edge in an explosion of forbidden sensation.

She thrust her hips to meet his mouth, moaning his name over and over as he forced more and more pleasure from her aching body. Finally, the tremors began to subside and the wracking tingles faded to a mere whisper.

“Here is your first gift,” he said from below her. Then she
felt a sharp, pleasurable pinch on her clit that made her knees buckle.

He cupped her backside, stroking the globes as he held her upright and looked at her. She knew her eyes were wild as she stared down at him.

“What—what is that?” she panted, swallowing hard as the steady pressure on her clit made her tingle in dangerous, sensual ways. It was a constant reminder of her arousal, a touch that brought her to the edge, but never allowed her to go over.

He pulled her chemise back down over her thighs and then gently extracted her skirt from her grip. He let it fall over her and stood up.

“It’s a special toy, designed to keep you on the edge, to keep you ready for me,” he explained as he turned away to pour her a swallow of sherry.

He handed her the glass and she stared at him. He looked so calm. Like they were discussing the weather, not the clip he had just attached to her most private parts.

He smiled. “Drink it.”

She downed the sherry in one gulp. The burn of the liquor only reminded her more of the heat that now pulsated between her thighs, taunting her with pleasure without allowing it.

“I want you to wear it the rest of the day,” he explained as he took the empty glass. “And tonight to the party.”

She shook her head, fighting for reason so she could manage to form coherent sentences. “Why?”

He leaned in closer. “Because I want you to know, every moment of the rest of this day, that you’re mine. Every time I look at you across the room, I want you to feel that bite of pleasure. I
want you to anticipate everything I intend to do to you the moment I have you alone.”

Her head spun with that admission and with the possessive gleam in his eyes. “But—but this isn’t Friday,” she said. “You don’t own me today.”

He tilted his head and looked at her for a long, heavy moment. Then he reached out to cup her cheek. The expression in his eyes shifted, ever so slightly. The possessiveness was still hot in his stare, but there was something else there now, too. A tenderness. Something she’d never seen in this man before.

“Miranda, I want you to wear it because you want to feel that sensation even though we won’t be able to explore it until later. I want you to wear it because it would bring me pleasure to know you had that reminder.” He swallowed. “Please.”

Her eyes widened at the “please”. He wasn’t demanding she take his gift, he was asking her. Giving her some of that precious control he snatched at every opportunity.

She couldn’t deny him. And she wouldn’t deny herself. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Without looking away from her, he reached behind him for a brightly decorated box. Holding it out, he said, “And here is your second gift.”

She shivered as her clit throbbed mercilessly. What other wicked toys was he offering her?

“Take it,” he urged, waggling the box back and forth.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for his gift. She almost felt like Eve with the snake, like she might be breaking every rule she’d ever made for herself.

“What is it?” she murmured past dry lips. How could he be so calm? Her whole body was on fire.

“Open it and see.”

She shivered as she tugged at the ribbon and removed the box lid. Reaching inside past expensive, fragranced paper, she withdrew a soft, filmy chemise.

“Oh, Ethan,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

He wet his lips. “Wear it tonight as well.”

She stared at the garment. It was so sensual and lovely. The sheer fabric was finely made and of the highest quality. It certainly didn’t match the rest of her wardrobe.

“But, my mother, if she—”

He shook his head. “You will wear it beneath your clothing. Only you and I will know, as long as your ladies maid is as discreet as you claim.”

He stepped forward and brushed his fingers over her jaw. “Wear it tonight, Miranda.”

With a shaky nod, she whispered, “I will.”

He backed away. “Now you had best go back before your absence is noticed. I’ll see you in a few short hours.”

She nodded as she turned toward the door. But before she could step away, he caught her arms and pulled her back. His mouth came down and he brushed his lips, ever so gently across hers. She opened and he glided inside, tasting, testing, but never fully possessing. It was a tender kiss. But an arousing kiss nonetheless. Between her legs, her constricted clit pulsed and her sheath grew slick with renewed desire.

“Run away, Miranda,” he whispered as he turned her toward the door. “Before I forget myself.”

She did as she was told and hurried from the room.

Ethan strummed his fingers along the side of his wineglass, watching the Albright ball spin at full tilt around him. Laughing gentlemen and ladies, the same ones who had been giggling at the family’s misfortune mere weeks ago, were now dancing to the talented orchestra’s music. They were eating the food, drinking the drinks, calling it the celebration of the summer.

He shook his head. How fleeting their loyalty was. Of course, he was no better. A month or two ago, he would have been doing the exact same thing. But now it somehow rankled him, for he knew that within a few more weeks, the
ton
could very easily return to shunning the Albrights. He could only hope his money and support would keep that from happening.

He scanned the crowd, ignoring friends and the occasional flirtatious stare of his former lovers. Just as had been the case with Cassandra a few days before, none of those women appealed to him in the slightest. It no longer mattered that if he approached them, he was certain to have a rollicking good time in a quiet study or garden pathway.

He wanted the good time, for certain, he just wanted it with one specific woman. At that exact moment the crowd parted to reveal her.

Miranda.

He took a step toward her before he realized what he was doing, then stopped. Jesus, he didn’t
chase
women! Even if just the sight of her profile, as she chatted with a small group of ladies,
did
arouse ridiculous feelings and fantasies.

She turned as if she felt his stare and started when she found him watching her. Their eyes met and he saw the arousal in her expression. So, she still wore his little gift. She was still ready
for him, right on the edge of release. She dipped her chin and blushed. He couldn’t help but smile. She knew his thoughts.

He took another step in her direction. If he could maneuver this correctly, he could get her alone. He could ease the ache in both their bodies. Even just a quick tryst would be better than the driving want that made him so utterly aware of her every move.

Ignoring everything around him, he began to edge toward her in earnest. But before he’d gotten even three steps, he heard his name being screeched.

“Lord Rothschild!”

He froze. He would recognize the sound of Miranda’s mother’s voice anywhere. He’d been hiding from it for years, trying to keep out of the woman’s line of sight. But since this was
her
party and he had paid for it, he couldn’t exactly give her the cut direct.

Plastering a false smile on his lips, he turned toward her. “Ah, Mrs. Albright. How nice it is to see you. I am sorry that my late arrival kept us from greeting each other properly at the door.”

“Oh, posh! We’re just so happy you could come at all.”

She smiled at him, her eyes shining. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Dorthea Albright look so happy. He tilted his head as he subtly looked her up and down. He’d never taken much notice of her before, but now he wondered how this woman could have produced Miranda. She wasn’t tall or willowy, rather of more average height and slightly rounded by age and childbirth. She didn’t have silky blonde hair, but a mousier brown. However, there was one thing Mrs. Albright had given her daughter. Her bright blue eyes.

And suddenly she didn’t make Ethan shudder so much.

“I know that I wrote you a letter, Lord Rothschild, but I wanted to thank you in person for your generosity to my daughter, Penelope.” Mrs. Albright patted his arm clumsily. “I have been remiss in not calling on you before now.”

The shudder was back and Ethan had to work to keep his smile. Dorthea Albright was speaking so loudly that everyone around them was now staring. Miranda’s tact, along with her other more appealing attributes, must have come from her father. Or a grandmother. Or a distant cousin. Anyone but her mother.

“Your note was more than enough thanks, dear lady,” he said with a slight bow. “We do not need to speak of it any longer.”