Pursued By The Viscount (8 page)

It was no different this time, his kisses deep and claiming until Rachel lay limp and acquiescent as he kissed his way down the nakedness of her breasts, past her tightly fastened corset, and lower still.

Her fingers clenched at her sides, but she offered no word of protest when she felt those marauding lips against her belly, the sensitive indentation between her abdomen and the tops of her legs. It was exquisite torture to feel Lucien’s fingers parting her curls and then the heat of his mouth when it closed over the tiny nubbin hidden there. Rachel had only ever seen that tiny swelling when she bathed, and even then only in a cursory way, having had no idea what use it had buried away between her thighs. She knew now.

Pleasure
.

It was hidden away like the pearl within the oyster shell because it was a thing of immeasurable pleasure. It swelled and pulsed under the attention of the moist stroking of Lucien’s tongue.

She cried out, beset by an overwhelming rush of sensations. Heat. Moisture. And pleasure of a depth unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

She became lost in it as she arched up into each stroke of Lucien’s tongue. She felt raw and exposed, disbelieving this was even happening, but not caring as long as Lucien continued what he was doing.

She was almost mindless with need by the time his finger caressed along her cleft, moistening it from knuckle to tip, before it slowly breached her channel.

There is no pain
, she realized in wonder. Only a continuation of that all-consuming pleasure.

She cried out, something breaking loose and soaring high when that finger stroked along something deep inside her with each thrust. At the same time, Lucien suckled hard on the pulsing nubbin above.

Color. Light. That immeasurable pleasure. All coalesced as for several long minutes, Rachel’s body trembled and throbbed. As she took and owned every second of it, never wanting it to end.

“Again,” Lucien murmured as that first finger was joined by a second, the two thrusting and stroking while he suckled and bit lightly on her still-pulsing nubbin.

Rachel’s second release was even more powerful than the first, leaving her shaking and incoherent as pleasurable aftershocks racked her body.

Lucien lifted her and seated her on his thighs, cradling her in his arms as Rachel rested her head tiredly against his shoulder. “I did not hurt you?”

“No.” She gave a groan as she turned her face into his jacket, having slowly become aware that he was fully dressed while she wore only her corset and stockings. That the room was permeated with the perfume of the copious juices flooding between her legs and glistening on Lucien’s lips.

Lucien tensed. “I did hurt you. Damn it—”

“No,” she hastened to reassure him. “I am only… It is overwhelming. The pleasure. The—the intimacy.”

“Ah.” He relaxed again. “The best lovemaking should be intimate. An unhurried feast for the senses. There is a time for haste, for an edge of desperation, of danger. But not tonight. Tonight I wish for you to know and feel every facet of your pleasure.”

Rachel was very aware of the length of his arousal pressing against her bottom. “And your own?”

“The wait will make me all the more eager for tomorrow evening.”

She stirred herself enough to look at him. “Tomorrow evening…?”

He raised dark brows. “Too soon?”

Rachel could feel the tension in his arms and thighs as he waited for her answer. “I do not want to monopolize you. I appreciate you must have other…friends with whom you wish to spend time.”

“If that is your way of asking if I have a mistress, the answer is no,” he assured her dryly.

And the question a little late in coming, Rachel realized guiltily. She had not given a thought before now to there possibly being another woman in Brooketon’s life. “What of your male friends?”

“They are either recently married or about to be. Only Whitney remains single, and he is currently occupied with a situation at his estate in Yorkshire.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “So you see, pet, at present you are my only means of diversion from the tedium of Society.”

Rachel responded warmly to both that amused glitter and his term of affection. “Then by all means, we shall meet again tomorrow evening, my lord.”

He relaxed back against the chaise. “What invitation have you accepted?”

“Only your own, my lord.” She looked up at him beneath lowered lashes.

Lucien chuckled. “Then I shall have to think of a suitable amusement to keep you occupied.”

Rachel found herself very much looking forward to tomorrow evening. To seeing and being with Lucien again.

Rachel sang softly to herself as she arranged flowers and greenery in a vase in the cavernous entrance hall of Shaw House. She had ventured out into the sunshine of the garden earlier, to cut the last of the summer roses.

She felt light as air this morning. Happier than she had ever felt before. Yesterday evening with Lucien had been…a revelation. Her cheeks warmed and her body tingled in awareness every time her thoughts drifted to having Lucien’s mouth and hands on her so intimately.

He had been a considerate and experienced lover, knowing of a lady’s pleasure spots and yet somehow making her feel special, the intimacy uniquely their own.

He had kissed her again, long and deeply, after accompanying her home in his carriage. A kiss that had made her toes curl and caused a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach.

For the first time in many years, Rachel felt truly alive, filled with anticipation for the days—and evenings—ahead.

“Those are very pretty, Mama.”

Rachel turned, a beaming smile lighting her face as she looked at her young son in his new blue skeleton suit. William had been filled with pride when he was considered mature enough to wear the suit rather than the “dresses” he considered babyish. “Thank you, darling.” She caught him up in a hug. “Are you and Nurse going for your morning stroll?” She smiled at the nursemaid who accompanied him, a young woman who had been with her since William’s birth.

“Yes, my lady.” Becky looked on indulgently.
 

“Come with us, Mama,” William wheedled as he twined his arms about Rachel’s neck. He had inherited his blond curls and dark eyes from her, but his features were all his father: round face, full lips, a stubborn chin. Rachel loved him in spite of that likeness rather than because of it. William was not responsible for who and what his father had been. “We’re going to feed the ducks in the park.”

“I wish I could.” Rachel became wistful. “But I have correspondence to deal with this morning.” No matter what her own desires might be, she kept up appearances in Society for her small son’s sake, knowing that one day, he would take his place in that world as Lord William Shaw.

Until then, she intended ensuring William had the happiest childhood she could provide. There would be time enough when he was older to introduce him to the onerous duties of his title.

She placed him back on the tiled floor before straightening. “Run along with Nurse now, darling. I will join you in the nursery as usual for luncheon. Becky, do you have—” She broke off as the bell rang over the front door and no doubt in the servants’ quarters below stairs. A belief confirmed seconds later as Alder, her butler, walked briskly across the entrance hall and opened the door.

Rachel felt the blood drain from her cheeks as she recognized the gentleman standing there.

Chapter 8

“Becky, take William to the kitchen and ask Cook for some stale bread to feed the ducks,” she instructed distractedly, her attention fixed on the doorway as her blackmailer handed his card to Alder. “Leave the house through the servants’ door,” she added sharply as she pushed her son in the direction of the hallway leading down to the kitchen. Her intention was to keep William as far away from her visitor as possible.

What did this man mean by openly visiting her at her home in this way?

Whatever his reason, Rachel did not fool herself into thinking it was because he had relented in his torment of her.

She waited until William and Becky had disappeared down the hallway before turning back to where Alder now presented her with a silver tray on which her tormentor’s card lay.

“The gentleman insists on speaking with you, my lady.” Alder’s disapproval was evident in the stiffness of his tone.

Rachel looked up at the butler searchingly. Alder had been with James for many years before he and Rachel were married. Was it possible that James’s lover had been to the house before? That James might have brought his lover here before—and perhaps also after—he had taken a wife? The two men had to meet somewhere, and Lucien had confirmed that there had never been any gossip regarding the affair. Recalling James’s arrogance, Rachel considered it a distinct possibility that he and his lover had met in the privacy of his home.

Would her humiliations never end?

Rachel made no effort to take the card, her earlier happiness completely forgotten as she answered Alder. “Give me a few minutes.” To calm and suitably compose herself, as the mistress of the house. “Then show him into the blue salon.”

“Yes, my lady.” There was no change in the butler’s expression, but nevertheless, Rachel sensed he did not approve of her decision.

What choice did she have? If she turned this man away, she had no doubt he would only accost her again publicly, as he had yesterday evening. Far better they talk in private than she suffer through that again.

She remained standing as Alder showed him into the salon a few minutes later, nor did she instruct the butler to bring them refreshment before he quietly left the room. She did not intend for this to be a long visit.

“James’s son is as handsome as he was.”

Rachel tensed, her eyes narrowing to warning slits. “You will not so much as comment on
my
son.”

Her visitor appeared unperturbed as he sank into an armchair without being invited to do so. No doubt as another sign of his disrespect for her.

He shrugged. “As I said, he is very like James to look at.”

Rachel’s gloved hands were clenched at her sides, and she breathed through her mouth in an effort not to take in the smell of this man’s overwhelming cologne. “And as
I
said, you will not discuss William.”

“Then what shall we talk about?” He crossed one knee over the other, eyes cold as he studied her. “The fact that you and Brooketon are now lovers?”

Color instantly warmed her cheeks, though she had nothing to feel uncomfortable about. She was free to make those choices, if she wished.

“I can see the guilt in your eyes,” he told her scornfully. “A knowledge and a wantonness that was not there yesterday evening.”

Rachel was surprised he could see anything in her eyes other than her dislike of him and her apprehension as to why he was here at all.
 

His jaw hardened, mouth thinning. “Does Brooketon know about me?”

“There is nothing for him to know.” Rachel prudently decided not to reveal that she had confided in Brooketon regarding her letters and blackmailer. The less this man knew about her or her efforts to thwart him, the better.

“You will send him a note today ending the affair. In fact, I shall stand over you as you write it,” he instructed coldly.

“How dare you!” Rachel frowned her outrage. “You have no right to come into my home, making accusations and issuing orders.”

“I dare because of these.” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a stack of letters tied up neatly with a red ribbon.

Rachel’s letters. Those letters she had written to him in complete ignorance of who he really was. Of his plan to keep them and use them against her.

For him to now use as leverage to make her give up her friendship with Lucien? Because this man sought to control and belittle her before he brought about her ruination? Until then, he obviously intended to keep his threat to make her life as miserable as possible.

She dropped onto the sofa, her legs shaking so much, they would no longer support her. “And if I refuse?”

Pale eyes mocked her. “You will not refuse.”

“What purpose will it serve to end my…friendship with Brooketon?”

“You do not deserve to know happiness when I have none,” he answered bitterly.

Rachel shook her head. “You could surely have found yourself another lover this past year—”

“As you have done?”

“James is dead—”

“He will never be dead to me!” He surged to his feet. “You may be able to eagerly spread your legs for every man that shows the slightest interest in you, but James was the only lover I ever wanted or needed.”

Rachel had no answer to that. She had never loved James. The opposite; his callous and cruel behavior toward her had ensured she hated him. Perhaps he had been different with his lover, but to her, he had always been a cold, remorseless man who showed her little or no consideration. She had felt none of the sorrow at his death this man obviously did, nor did she feel any now.

Her mouth firmed as she gave another shake of her head. “I will not do it.”

“Oh, but you will.” He waved the dozen or so letters in her face. So near and yet so far away. “You will write Brooketon a letter telling him that your affair was a mistake and you do not wish to see him again. You will do it now, in my presence, after which you will hand it to your butler to be delivered immediately.” His expression was cold and unrelenting.