Married to the Viscount (34 page)

But he would make it up to her, now, tonight. “I certainly don’t want you to be the perfect viscountess. I want you to be yourself, my wife. That’s all.”

“You said you would never—”

“I know what I said,” he rasped. “I was wrong.”

He saw the question in her eyes seconds before he seized her lips with his. His heart roared in triumph when after a moment’s hesitation, she opened her mouth to him. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, seeking to blot all doubt from her mind.

He should do it by telling her the truth. And he would. But not until after he’d proved to her how sweet it could be between them, how much he needed her. He refused to risk losing her by telling her everything now.

As she melted inch by inch against him, he released her wrists to remove his other glove. Then he went to work on the buttons of her gown.

She tore her lips from his, her eyes huge in her face. “If this is another cruel trick—”

“No,” he said hoarsely, nuzzling her pretty earlobe and then the scented patch of skin beneath it. “It’s no trick, I swear. I simply can’t stand to be without you anymore.”

When she looked as if she’d protest further, he kissed her again, throwing his everything into it to distract her from what he was doing with her buttons. And it worked…until he tried to slide her gown off her shoulders. Then she jerked
back from him with an expression of panic. She attempted to wriggle off the desk, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Let me make love to you, my darling,” he whispered. “I need you. My God, I need you so much.”

Twisting her head to the side, she murmured, “You say that now when we’re playing, but later—”

“No more playing.” He caught her by the chin to turn her face up to his. “I want you in my bed. Tonight. And every night after.” Shrugging off his coat and waistcoat, he reached for her gown again.

But she caught his hands in hers. “You’re too foxed to think clearly.”

“Or perhaps I’m just foxed enough.” He didn’t feel all that foxed, however. Yes, he’d had one too many brandies, thanks to Blakely, and his brain was a little fuzzy, but he knew quite well what he was doing. He was taking Abby—his wife—to bed.

He forced a smile. “You once told me I only have fun when I’m foxed.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Her face clouded over, and her grip on his hands tightened. “Yes, but then you come to your senses the next day and regret it. You’ll regret this, too.” She cast a furtive glance about the study, and her uncertainty seemed to deepen. “If you even finish it.”

Bloody hell, he would never live down that last act of idiocy. And he was certainly paying for it now. To think he’d actually believed a week ago that it might be
good
if she hated him.

Well, he’d discovered to his chagrin that having her hate him was sheer hell. Even having her distrust him was a torment, though he couldn’t blame her for her distrust. Twice he’d started something and not followed it through, and the second time…

Guilt dealt a blow to his gut. What an idiot he was. He
shouldn’t have started this
here
, in the very place where he’d destroyed her dignity.

Tugging one of his hands free, he lifted it to cup her cheek. When he ran his thumb over her soft skin and felt the dampness there, his guilt deepened to a gnawing ache, and he swore to make it up to her.

“You have every reason to think ill of me, darling. I’ve been unfair to you, I know. But never again. I’ll finish it this time, and I won’t regret it.” Well, perhaps that last wasn’t true, but he wouldn’t dwell on that right now. “I want to consummate our marriage. We’ll go upstairs to my bedchamber, away from this cursed room—”

“No. It has to be here, where you shamed me.”

He stared at her. “Why?”

“Because I want it to be here, that’s all.”

Her insistence gave him pause, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. “All right.”

She warily searched his face, then thrust her chin up stubbornly. “And you have to do something else, too.”

“What?” He suspected he wasn’t going to like this.

“You have to be first to take off all your clothes.”

Chapter 20

Your employer’s secrets are a sacred trust. It is your honor to keep them, and your shame if you do not.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

C
urious to see his response, Abby held her breath.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you want to stay here in the study?” he asked hoarsely. “Turnabout is fair play? You plan to do what I did to you and leave me here naked and aroused?”

She tilted up her chin. “Do you think that’s what you deserve?”

“Yes.”

His unhesitating answer tipped scales already teetering in his favor. She
had
briefly considered doing to him what he’d done to her. After all, she’d sworn not to fall under his spell again. She’d promised herself that once she had him regretting his actions and wanting to keep her, she would spurn him as cruelly as he’d spurned her.

But now that the moment was here, everything was different. Perhaps he really had always liked her just as she was. Why he’d fought staying married to her at first was still a mystery, but he wasn’t fighting it now. Or at least she thought he wasn’t.

Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. He could change his
mind between here and his bedchamber. Or get halfway through the seduction and pull back in regret.

No, if he wanted her, he’d have to prove he meant it. He’d have to risk the same thing she’d risked for him time and again—his pride.

Careful to keep her expression unreadable, she reached up to smooth back a lock of his disheveled hair. “There’s no way you can know what I’ll do, is there? I mean, since I’ve turned myself into this coldhearted creature who sneaks around and all.”

He winced. “I suppose I deserve that, too.” He searched her face, his eyes hot, intense. “So this is a test of my sincerity?”

“A test. Or my revenge.” She refused to lower his risk. “Take your pick.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he glanced away. She wondered if she’d gone too far, expected too much.

Then his gaze swung back to her, hard and determined. “Well then, we should do it right.” Leaving her seated on the desk, he strode over to an oak chest, removed something she couldn’t see, then turned back to her.

When she saw the box in his hand, she froze. “No.”

“It’s a different one, Abby.” He ambled toward her with the easy strides of a hunter keeping pace with his prey. “But if you want to do to me what I did to you—” He handed the peep-show box to her.

Despite her apprehension, curiosity got the better of her. What could it hurt to take one look? Preparing herself for something shocking, she gazed inside, then swallowed.

Dear heaven. This was definitely naughty. The caption said “Circe and Ulysses.” In keeping with the myth of the beautiful witch who’d enticed the great Greek traveler on her island, not only was the woman in the image naked, but the man was, too. Naked, and yes, fully aroused. He lay on a bower of leaves, his well-knit chest, sturdy thighs, and jut
ting member exposed to Circe’s mouth and hands, which caressed him with the most astonishing intimacy.

She jerked her gaze from the box and strove to look nonchalant, not all that easy considering she blushed furiously enough to light a room. “How many of these wicked boxes do you possess, anyway?”

A half smile ghosted over his lips as he dropped onto the chaise longue to remove his boots. “Only those two.”

“A likely tale,” she said with a snort.

“The only way you’ll find out for sure is to stick around for a while. As my wife, you can search the whole damned house from top to bottom and unearth every one of my dastardly secrets.” He rose, his smile vanishing. “Or if you prefer to make me suffer as you did and walk away, you now have the means to do that, too. I won’t stop you.”

After striding over to the door in his stocking feet, he locked it. The snick of the key echoing in her memory decided her. Maybe she ought to give him some of his own back before she forgave him. If he would endure what she’d endured, he had to be sincere.

“Very well,” she said. When he turned back to her, eyes alight with curiosity to know which choice she’d made, she added, “We’ll try the box.”

His eyes darkened to wet slate, and he looked so lost she almost relented. But it was about time his lordship learned what it was like to never know where one stood.

She slipped off the desk with the peep-show box in hand, feeling her gown gap open at the back. Ignoring the cool air on her skin, she strolled up to him and held out the box. “Look in it and describe what you see.”

“I don’t need to look in it. I know the image well enough.”

She planted one hand on her hip. “For heaven’s sake, are your friends and fellow statesmen aware of your private vice of looking at naughty peep-show boxes?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I doubt it. Why? Do you plan to tell them?”

Feeling a surge of power, she tapped the box with one finger. “I might.”

“Then I might have to tell them I’m not alone in my vice.” His gaze scoured her from turban to slipper, coming to rest on her bosom. “That my pretty wife has a penchant for the things as well.”

When his husky words tightened a knot of need in her belly, she cursed herself for her easy response. He wouldn’t manipulate her this time. She wouldn’t let him.

Setting the box aside on the desk since he didn’t need it, she took hold of his cravat. “Describe what’s in the middle of the image,” she commanded as she unknotted the scarp of silk.

His quickening breath wafted over her, the faint scent of brandy mingling with his ever-present citrus tang. “A man and a woman are lying on the ground.”

She yanked his cravat off, then went to work on his shirt buttons. “And how are they dressed?”

“They’re not.”

At the hint of amusement in his tone, she snapped her gaze up to find him smiling. “Just you wait,” she warned. “I liked this part of the game, too, remember?”

That wiped the smile from his arrogant lips. Feeling pleased with herself, she removed his shirt and tried not to stare. But it was impossible.

He and Ulysses could have been twins, with their sinewy chests and waists firm as carved marble. The thin trail of hair from his throat to his belly beckoned her gaze further down to where it disappeared beneath trousers that clearly bulged. The very sight profoundly affected her pulse, making it throb in the most surprising places.

Heavenly day. If he’d been this aroused when he was tempting her that night, how had he ever walked away?

By being his usual controlled self, of course. And she could
be just as controlled. “So tell me,” she whispered through a throat gone suddenly dry, “what is the woman doing to the man?”

“She’s kissing his chest,” he said quickly.

She pressed her mouth to his nipple, running the tip of her tongue over the already hard point. “Like this?” she asked as she feathered kisses over his muscular chest to his other flat male nipple.

“Yes,” he choked out.

Tugging on the other nipple with her teeth, she reveled in the rough groan that erupted from his lips, a groan that only deepened when she reached down and flicked open the buttons of his trousers. “What else is she doing?” She circled around to stand behind him as he’d done to her before.

“She’s caressing his stomach with one hand and…” He sucked in a hoarse breath when she slid her hand over his abdomen from behind, stroking the taut flesh, slipping her fingers beneath the gaping waistband of his trousers to unbutton his drawers.

“And what?” she prodded. “What is she doing with the other hand?”

“Fondling his…er…staff.”

“Show me,” she demanded. This part of their game she remembered only too well, the way he’d coaxed her to put his hand on her flesh.

“Good God, Abby, when did you became such a provoking wench?”

“I wasn’t the one to start things and not finish them,” she said coolly. “That was
your
tactic.”

“Don’t remind me,” he rasped. “I must have been insane.”

“So let’s see if you’ve come to your senses. Show me how the woman is touching the man, my dear Lord Ravenswood.”

Grabbing her hand, he drew it inside his drawers to close it around his hard flesh. “Like this, my little torturer. Happy now?”

“Not yet,” she whispered against his solid shoulder. “But I’m getting there.”

She couldn’t believe he’d endured her teasing to this point. Her heart lightened more and more by the moment. Taking pity on him, she began to stroke, up and down, relishing the fierce rigidity of his thick “staff,” the way the blood pulsed beneath her fingers, the way he sighed and moaned with every daring caress.

Using her free hand, she shoved his trousers down past his hips. Then she continued to fondle him, but she couldn’t resist kissing his back, too, and rubbing her nose over the smooth skin, rich with the musky scent of pure male. Soon he was moving his hips and thrusting his flesh into her hand, his own hands curling into fists at his sides.

Suddenly he jerked back against her and caught her hand to stay it. “If you want to leave me naked and aroused, darling, you’ll have to release me.”

“Why?”

“Remember our ‘playing’ in the bedchamber?”

That was all he had to say to make her stop. She’d done this to him then, but he’d found satisfaction as a result of her fondling.

Her eyes widened. He could have found satisfaction now, too—she wouldn’t have known enough to prevent it. So he’d really meant what he’d said about not stopping her if she wanted revenge. By warning her, he’d even aided his own downfall. Nothing could show his sincerity more.

Her heart breaking free of all doubt and fear, she laughed and drew her hand from his drawers. When she circled around in front of him, he was staring at her as if she’d lost her wits. Bending down, she removed his trousers completely and tossed them aside, then reached for his drawers.

He caught her hand. “No.”

“Naked and aroused, remember?” she teased.

He didn’t smile. “I have…scars, Abby. Ugly ones.”