With a growl, he scooped her up and shoved open the door, then carried her into the adjoining bedchamber, where he laid her out on the bed, determined to feast on her as long as she would allow.
But with his first sharp pangs of hunger abating, his frenzy began to ebb. Now he wanted to enjoy her at a more leisurely pace. Exulting in her mews of encouragement, he indulged every desire he'd had from the moment he'd first met her. He stripped her stockings from her, then tasted every part of her, fondled every inch— licking at her perfect bottom, teasing her breasts to taut pebbles, rubbing his scent all over her like the possessive beast he'd become.
She explored him, too, with a curiosity so endearing it made him laugh more than once. She seemed to find his ballocks fascinating, asking him questions that only a naturalist would think to ask. It was what he loved most about her— her thirst for knowledge.
Then he turned to pleasuring her with his mouth. He took his time, not out of need to maintain control but for the sheer joy of watching her reach ecstasy beneath his caresses. Reveling in her easy response, he stroked and sucked and teased until she'd screamed herself hoarse with her climaxes. Only then did he enter her again, this time with less urgency and more feeling.
And as he buried himself inside her warm flesh, a contentment like he'd never known washed over him. This was home—
she
was home. For the first time, he wanted to stay inside a woman forever, be with her forever. That was the real reason he'd never married— because there'd been no Madeline to love.
Love?
He pulled back from the thought. That way lay madness. She'd rapidly become all that was good in his life, all that was pure, and while her endurance of one afternoon's frenzy of lovemaking heartened him, he wasn't ready to give his heart over fully. Because if he took that step only to find that he'd frightened her off, he didn't know how he'd bear it.
Still, as he began to take her again, sliding into her with long, slow strokes, he knew he was falling fast. This was where he wanted to be, for the rest of his life.
He held on to his release until she launched into hers. Then he let himself go as he never had. And as he spilled himself inside her, he prayed he'd given her a child. Their child. Then she'd have no choice but to marry him. Either way, she was his now, in body
and
spirit. If she thought he would let her go blithely on without him after this, she was mad.
It took some time for them to come to earth, but he was perfectly happy to lie there with her curled into his arms. He would lie there all night if not for the waning hour.
"Are you satisfied at last?" she whispered, after they'd caught their breaths.
With a faint laugh, he jerked his head down to his flaccid cock. "Do you really need to ask?"
"Not about
that,
you dolt," she said, though she softened the insult with a tender smile. "Are you satisfied I can handle you and your 'insatiable desires'?"
"Sweetheart," he said with complete sincerity, "I begin to worry that I won't be able to handle
your
insatiable desires. Not to mention your insatiable curiosity."
She gave a mock sigh. "Oh dear, I feared as much." Her eyes sparkled as she ran her hand up his arm. "It's why I've never married, you know— I didn't want to inflict my unruly curiosity on a husband."
"Watch it, minx," he warned, though he couldn't restrain his smile at her parody of his earlier assertion. "When we're married, I'll expect a good deal less impudence and a good deal more respect from you."
"Oh, you shall, shall you?" she taunted him. "Well, my lord, you may expect whatever you like— you'll get whatever I choose to give you."
He gave an exultant laugh. She hadn't gainsaid his mention of marriage, which meant she intended to accept him. She might run him a merry dance, but he didn't care. Indeed, he could hardly wait to begin.
With a glance at the window, he drew back from her. "Your father will be expecting you soon, if he isn't already."
Her expression grew shuttered. "Yes, I should go home."
"I'll take you."
"No, you mustn't."
When she slipped from the bed and went into the other room to dress, his heart dropped into his stomach. He followed her, watching uneasily as she donned her drawers and her torn chemise. "Why not?"
"Because you'll want to ask Papa for my hand. I can't let you do that yet."
Damn her and her stubbornness. "You have no choice," he said as he, too, began to dress. "I'm not waiting another day to make you my wife."
"For a man who rails against morality, you can be strangely rigid in your morals," she grumbled. "But I won't let you ruin everything for Tessa by marrying me too hastily." She slid into her loosened corset, then presented her back to him in an unspoken request for help.
He caught the laces, but instead of tightening them, he used them to draw her up against him. "You have to trust me, dearest," he murmured against her hair. "I can take care of you both somehow. You must leave the matter to me."
"And if you fail? If you marry me, and she is lost to you as a result?"
He hesitated only a second, but apparently that was enough for her.
"You know it's wiser to be cautious," she continued. "We should stay apart until you've gained guardianship. Papa and I will be fine. And in the meantime, you and I have this place…I can come here and— "
"— whore for me?" he said harshly.
When she stiffened and pulled away, attempting to tighten the laces herself, he uttered a curse and brushed her hands away so he could take care of it. "Forgive me," he said as he tightened them, "but the thought of your living in such a limbo is unbearable. You might as well resign yourself to my interference."
She faced him with a scowl. "And what do you mean to do?"
"Speak to your father, for a start. I know he's desperate, but he shouldn't have relied so heavily on you to save him, letting you go to that party and— "
"He didn't know about that. That was all my doing."
"What?" he said, incredulous.
"I was the one who hoped that Sir Humphry might help us." Her voice turned bitter. "Papa wouldn't act, no matter how much I begged, and anytime I mentioned a way of bettering our circumstances, he lapsed further into his melancholy." She thrust out her chin in defiance. "So I had to rely on myself."
His gut knotted at the thought of all she'd risked in trying to protect the man. But that was Madeline, determined to protect the innocent. "Well, that's going to stop. At the very least, your father must be made to see he can no longer wallow in his pain while you take such chances. I mean to tell him so myself."
"You can't!" she cried. "I don't know what he might do! You have to let me break it to him gently. I have to have time…"
"Good God," he said in a hollow voice, "
that's
why you won't let me offer for you— because of your father. It has nothing to do with Tessa. You're still trying to protect him."
"That's not true." Wriggling into her gown, she fastened it with only a little help from him. "We shouldn't marry until Tessa's situation is settled, and you know it." When he merely lifted an eyebrow, she added, "You don't understand. Only two days ago Papa was talking about ending his life to make things easier for me. He won't want to see your niece harmed, either. And if he thinks that his situation might help the Bickhams win her, he might— "
"— kill himself over it?" he said skeptically. "So you're going to take upon yourself the responsibility of keeping him from that, too?" He scowled at her. "He had no right to speak of suicide to you, damn it, not after what you've done for him. It was just his way of getting you to keep catering to his sickness."
"No! That's not how Papa is. You don't know him!"
"You won't
let
me know him! You won't even let me speak to him. You're worse than I am about relinquishing control. Everything must be according to your plan, and you only confide what you think we can handle. I daresay even Mrs. Harris doesn't know your situation."
"That's only because I didn't want her to— "
"Dismiss you? Your employer fell over backwards this morning to keep me from 'taking advantage' of you. She cares about you.
I
care about you. Sometimes you have to give up control and allow the people who care about you to help you."
For a moment, she looked defiant, and he thought she might argue more. Then she smoothed her features. "Fine. Take me home if you must, and talk to Papa. You won't be satisfied until you do."
"Damned right," he muttered, relieved that she'd finally seen sense.
He finished dressing as she put the final touches to her attire. But as she went to put on her shoes, she paused. "Drat it, where are my stockings?"
"In the bed, probably. That's where I took them off you."
"Would you get them? I still have to find my gloves."
"Certainly," he murmured and headed back into the other room.
When the door closed behind him, it took a second for that to register, but by the time he rushed back, she'd already found a way to brace it closed.
"Madeline!" he roared, pounding his fists against the door. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm sorry, Anthony!" she cried back. "I can't let you ruin everything because of your misplaced sense of honor. Let me talk to Papa, see what he can handle right now. I swear I'll return here tomorrow evening, no matter what he says. By then we'll both have a better idea of what's the right thing to do."
"My idea of what to do is fine, damn it!" He kicked at the door, then let out a howl as he realized he hadn't put his boots on yet.
"Anthony, my love?" she said, just on the other side. "Are you all right?"
Her concern and calling him
my love
didn't mollify him a bit. "What do you care?" he growled as he nursed his foot. "You're running off— again, I might add— because you think me an impulsive idiot who will bungle this for you and your father and Tessa."
"I don't think you're an idiot," she said through the door. "I think you're impassioned. And right now, impassioned is the last thing that's needed."
"Says you!" He drove his fist into the door, then realized he was reinforcing her argument. "Good God, do you mean to leave me here until tomorrow?"
"I'll send someone to release you as soon as I've got my hackney."
A hackney. He relaxed against the door. Thank God for small favors. The little fool didn't realize he knew every hackney driver working this section of town, another remnant from his days of wild living. Once the coach returned from taking her home, he would simply find out where she lived, then go after her.
He hurried to the window to watch futilely as she climbed into a hackney, called a boy over, gave him a coin, then pointed up to the window. Ignoring Anthony's black scowl, she set off, but not before Anthony took note of the driver.
Ten minutes later, her paid urchin rescued him, but as he paced and waited for the hackney's return, his mind replayed their conversation.
Impassioned. Misplaced sense of honor.
She talked about him as if he were a reckless fool, which was clearly how she thought of him, too.
Now that his temper was passing, he could examine that idea with less ire. Could he really blame her for being uncertain of his ability to take care of her and Tessa both? What had he done in his life to prove himself worthy of her respect?
He'd thumbed his nose at the world, angered by the injustices he'd suffered as a boy. What good had that done him? Yes, he'd amassed funds for himself, but instead of using it for a good purpose, he'd wasted it on profligate living. Madeline might be reluctant to trust people with her secrets, but he was worse. He didn't trust them with his true self. Instead, he'd spent his life hiding behind witty retorts.
Then Madeline had slipped beneath his armor. She hadn't balked at what she saw there or chided him for how he was; she'd simply given him her heart even when he'd been too much a coward to give her his.
Now his niece's future lay in the balance and it was
Madeline,
not he, who kept Tessa's well-being constantly in her thoughts, even though Madeline had unimaginable responsibilities of her own to handle.
He dropped into a chair. Instead of agreeing to be cautious, as she'd wanted, he'd selfishly tried to keep her for himself. Yes, he'd had her best interests at heart— as well as those of her father— but she was right. He didn't know her father. It wasn't his place to barge in on the man, making demands, until he did.
And despite what he'd told her, he knew Madeline's reluctance
was
largely due to concern for Tessa. He'd witnessed her compassion toward her girls. It would plague her to marry him if it came at Tessa's expense.
