PortraitofPassion (10 page)

She would have brushed by him with her head held high and
her gaze averted. But as she came abreast of him, as she felt the flare of her
skirts brush his leg, his hand reached out to grab her arm. She stopped there
beside him but refused to look up at him. Instead she swung her head down to
stare at his hand where it gripped her arm just above her black glove. She felt
the heat of his hand through his glove. She felt the heat of his gaze upon the
top of her head. She might have wrestled her arm from his grasp, instead she
stood silently, waiting for him to release her.

“Beatrice.” His voice was little more than a whispered
growl. His fingers flexed, tightening upon her flesh, and an image flashed
through her mind. His hands holding her breasts, gently squeezing as he
ravished her neck. “Look at me.”

“Release me,” she demanded, her voice harsh in her ears. He
continued to hold her firmly. She was finally forced to drag her gaze up to his
face. In the lamplight she thought she saw regret in his eyes. He briefly turned
his head away to look out into the garden. When he turned back to her, whatever
she had seen was gone.

He stared down at her with cold, hard eyes. No, she was
forced to amend, not cold. Hot. His eyes were hot and hard, boring into her
own. It was the same look she had seen in the park after her wild race across
the fields. Surely he could not want her still. He was mad if he thought he
would have her now.

“Beatrice.” A muscle jumped along jaw.

“You have forfeited the right to call me by name. I am Miss
Morgan to you now, should you ever have the need to address me again.” She
tugged her arm free of his grasp.

She took a ragged breath and finally looked away from his
harsh face. She felt dizzy, unbalanced. She looked toward the doors thrown open
to the night. She took one step and her vision blurred. She held herself still,
one hand pressed to her stomach, where nerves danced. She thought she might
faint. With a will born of nearly a decade of hiding her fear, her secrets, her
wounded heart, she determined not to fall at his feet. She must only walk away,
walk through the doors before her, fight her way through the crowd within to
find a quiet place to recapture calm.

She forced her feet to move, to carry her through the doors.
She did not look back to see if he followed. She thought he would not dare come
after her. He would not create a scene by following her into a room crowded
with his peers. She looked neither left nor right as she skirted around the
dance floor, past the wallflowers and under an archway into a long hallway.

There must be an empty room somewhere in this great house.
She needed a quiet place to rest. She needed to get away, from him, from them.
She would rest for a moment and then find Bertie. He would take her home.

Home. She was so tired of living in other people’s homes.
Was it so much to ask to have her own? She wanted to be home at Idyllwild where
she belonged. Where no one judged her or looked upon her with condescension,
where she knew her place in the world.

She turned the handle of a door to her right and looked in
to find a library. It was dark but for two candles that sat upon the mantle of
the unlit fireplace. Thankfully it was empty. She stepped in, gently pushing
the door closed behind her. But instead of hearing a small click as it closed
she heard the unmistakable sound of a footfall.

She spun around as Simon pushed the door open again. She
stepped back out of the way of the swinging door and in he came. Her eyes flew
to his face as he closed the door and leaned back against it. She heard the
click of it closing and then a louder click as he turned the lock.

Bea opened her mouth to order him away. Surely she would
order him gone.

Before she could say a word he stepped forward, grabbing her
by her upper arms and spinning her around to press her against the locked door.

His mouth was on hers instantly, hot and urgent. He forced
her lips apart and thrust his tongue inside. She tried to turn her face away,
to escape his angry assault. He reached one hand up to grasp her jaw, holding
her still while his mouth continued to plunder her own. She attempted to hold
herself still, to resist the lure of his kiss. He had no right. Not now. Not
ever again.

She raised her hands to his chest to push him away. But when
her hands felt the heat of his hard muscles, felt his heart beating there, she
stopped the motion. Oh God, she wanted him, she wanted his heat, his hardness.
Even now. Even after he had made clear his loathing.

She would never have another chance. The thought sprang into
her mind. If she fought her way from his arms, he would release her. If she
pushed him away, he would stop this madness. He would not force her. He would
walk away from her, from what they could share, from what they could be
together. He would not seek her out ever again. It would be as if they were
strangers.

She grabbed handfuls of his jacket and held on. She joined
her tongue with his and returned his caress. She closed her eyes and gave in to
desire.

He must have sensed her capitulation, for he released her chin
and softened his lips. His kisses were still wild and hungry, but no longer
brutal. His hands came around her to grasp her bottom, to pull her tight
against his hardness. She relaxed her grip on his coat and moved her hands over
his chest. Under his open jacket they went, around to his back to sweep up and
grasp his shoulder blades. She felt the muscles bunch and jump at her touch.
She pushed her breasts into his chest, rubbing them against his hard heat.

Touch me!
She moaned low in her throat and heard him
groan in response—felt that groan on his lips, in his chest pressed to hers.

He tore his lips from hers to race them down her neck, to
where her pulse beat wildly. He kissed and licked and dragged his teeth over
her flesh and she thought she would go mad with need.

“Please,” she pleaded.

At her soft cry, Simon raised his head to look into her
face. She stared back at him and she knew he saw her need, her desire. She did
not care. Let him think her a wanton, a shameless hussy, as long as he did not
leave her. She could not bear it if he left her now.

“Beatrice,” he said on a groan. “If you are going to stop
me, do it now.”

“Please,” she cried again softly, pulling her arms from
around him to push his coat from his shoulders.

“Tell me.” He reached up to grab her wrists and stop her
frantic movement. “Tell me you want this, tell me you want me.”

Bea stilled in his arms. Surely he knew. He must know that
she wanted him desperately, madly.

“Say it,” he demanded, and Bea heard the plea buried within
the command.

“Yes,” she whispered, rising up on her toes to kiss his
chin, his cheek, his ear. “I want you.”

He reached for her head, cradling it in his hands, his
fingers delving into her hair, dislodging pins. His lips swept over hers again
and the kiss he gave her was primal and untamed, his lips and his tongue
worshipping her mouth. He tilted her head and drove his tongue deep into her
mouth. Again she both heard and felt the groan that rumbled forth. She drank
his desire and wanted more.

He tore his mouth from hers. “I’ll take you here up against
the door,” he warned and Bea’s heart raced at the image his words wrought. Then
he looked behind to the sofa that sat before the empty fireplace. “There, on
the sofa.”

His words were dark, harsh. He pulled her to the sofa, more
of a chaise, she saw, with only one arm and a back that dropped away before the
unarmed end. Bea stood silently before him when he released her hand, unsure
what he wanted from her. Should she disrobe? Or was she meant to lie upon the
cushion and hike up her skirts?

Simon tore off his gloves and then his coat, unwound his
cravat, released the buttons on his shirt and pulled it from his breeches.

As if finally becoming aware that Bea simply stood watching
him, he stilled and looked at her. His hot gaze traveled from her head, down
over her face, to rest upon her breasts. She followed his gaze and saw that her
breasts were heaving, her areolas peeking out of her bodice with each breath
she sucked into her starving lungs.

With a sharp groan he pushed her small sleeves down her arms
to her elbows, pulling her bodice down to expose her breasts, pushed up by the
tight corset. His eyes never leaving her breasts, he hooked a finger inside the
top of each glove and dragged them down her arms to her wrists.

“Take them off. I want your hands on me.”

Silently Bea complied, tugging her tight gloves from her
trembling hands as Simon moved behind her and began working her corset laces
loose. Finally the infernal contraption dropped to the floor before her. His
arms came around her and he embraced her from behind, his hands, his wonderful,
warm hands, lifting to her breasts. He pinched her nipples between thumb and
finger. Bea moaned and threw back her head to rest on his shoulder. He leaned
his head forward over her shoulder to watch his hands upon her.

Bea leaned against him, still clothed from the waist down,
and pressed her bottom back, desperate to feel his hardness, the proof of his
desire.

“Don’t worry, love,” he whispered against her neck. “Soon
you will have my cock deep inside you.”

He released her and pushed her toward the low sofa. She
turned to face him as she fell back on the cushion. He came down to kneel on
the floor before her, pushing her dress up to her thighs and wedging himself
between her legs, spreading them wide. Bea gripped his shoulders for balance as
she felt his cock against her, separated only by her thin cotton drawers and
his soft wool pants. He rocked against her, once, twice, watching her face,
tilted up to his.

He gripped her hips and dragged her forward to the very edge
of the sofa, widening her legs farther to accommodate him. Blindly he reached
for her slippers and freed her feet. She thought he might roll down her
stockings, but he only drew his hands up over the silk, over her calves, around
behind her knees, and along her thighs, past her garters. And still he watched
her. He watched her watching his hands.

Finally he lowered his head and captured her lips once more.
His mouth was firm, fierce upon hers. If he had not reached one arm around her
to hold her up, she would have fallen back from the pressure of his kiss.
Frantically, she reached her hands up to cradle his head, burying her fingers
in the silky waves of his hair.

Slowly he began to move against her, rocking his hips
forward and back, rubbing his shaft against her aching flesh. Shamelessly she
followed his movements, finding his rhythm, pushing against each heavy thrust.
She lowered one hand to trail down his back, bunching his shirt up out of her
way. She found his naked back and gripped him, pulling him yet closer, before
falling to grip his firm buttocks.

“Christ,” Simon ground out as he rose and lifted Bea back
and around until she was lying full length upon the sofa. He followed her down,
kneeling between her splayed legs.

He found the slit in her drawers, and much to Bea’s shock,
took the edges and tore them apart. Before she had recovered from her surprise
at the wildness his action proved, his fingers were drifting through the curls
he exposed. Bea gripped his arms, her breath suspended in anticipation.

His thumb found her clitoris and he rubbed softly, circling
around and over the nub. Bea couldn’t hold back the cry that escaped. She gave
up pretending she was anything but wanton. Her hips lifted to press his thumb
more firmly upon her and she moaned. She was amazed at the sounds he had drawn
from her with his wicked hands.

“Release me,” he whispered, arching his back to put the
buttons of his breeches within her reach.

Bea silently followed his demand, working the buttons free
with trembling fingers. She tugged his loosened pants down his hips until his
erection sprang free. There was just enough light for Bea to see his cock
jutting out from a nest of dark curls. She reached out and ran her fingertips
over his length from the engorged tip to the base. His skin was soft and hard,
velvety to the touch and unbelievably hot.

Curiosity drew her fingers down and gently she cupped first
one then both of his testicles. She was distracted from her quest to learn the
secrets of his body when he stilled his thumb to keep it pressed firmly upon
her and pushed one long, thick finger into her body. She closed her eyes and
arched up to follow his retreating finger.

“Please,” she moaned and felt his finger enter her once
more. He played with her, his thumb firmly rotating around and over her aching
clit, while first one finger, then two dipped into her heat with shallow
caresses.

“So wet, so tight,” Simon growled above her.

Bea opened her eyes to find him looking down at her,
watching his fingers play upon her. Bea thought she should have been
embarrassed for him to see her thus, spread out before him like a pagan
offering. She wasn’t. She reveled in the fierce look on his face, in the
obvious pleasure he found in her shameless response.

He came over her then, to kiss her, to lick her lips, and
drive his tongue deep into her mouth. Bea raised her hands to his waist, her
fingers plucking at the soft fabric of his shirt, impatient to touch him and he
stopped kissing her to whip the garment over his head. With his spread thighs,
he pushed her legs wider until they lay upon his, and bent over her to capture
her mouth once more.

She felt the engorged head of his cock, felt him prod once
and retreat, only to return to torture her with more of the same. He lifted his
lips from hers to look down at her. She saw the restraint on his clamped jaw,
saw the desire in his eyes.

“Say my name,” he said, his words both a command and a plea.
“Know who is taking you.”