Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (11 page)

“This is reckless more than restless.”

“Are you trying to frighten me away?” she whispered, and it amused him.

“Not in the least. I'm noting something we have in common.”

She stood motionless, unsure, he surmised. No sudden rainstorm prompted their swift response and for a long stretched silence, they stood three paces apart and utterly quiet, though a tension danced between them as if a flash of lightning had all at once been unleashed and was searching for a place to settle.

Before she could change her mind he took the initiative and reached out his hand, relishing when she placed her cool fingers within his. He had no idea what the lady intended, but he'd grant her a boon and see where the evening led. Romantic challenges always proved interesting.

“My education is lacking in the subject of merfolk and how long one can exist on land. I should taste your kiss now before you disappear into the night.”

A soft laugh escaped, the sound unbearably erotic in the darkness, and he all at once wished for more than the implied promise of an embrace. Who was this woman who'd appeared in his life to tempt and tease him? Her innocent kiss consumed his thoughts with an underlying energy more powerful than any courtesan or wanton he'd bedded, yet she embodied a sensual timidity that demanded he explore, teach, and discover every nuance of her beautiful body. How far would she allow his expedition?

“Or perhaps you're a goddess of the sea?” He removed the blanket from her shoulders and led, lantern in one hand, her trust in the other, to where he'd spread the coverlet across the sand, far away from the water's edge and out of view of the cottage, his action indicating a bold assumption.

She didn't object.

This area, shielded by a rocky escarpment, offered the perfect location for a romantic tryst. He regretted the absence of a bottle of wine, yet he'd never bothered with romantic notions. The women who usually warmed his bed didn't require coaxing or coddling, only payment in some form whether that be a flaunt among society or jewels delivered in a velvet box, and he obliged, content to avoid the stranglehold of emotion.

Yet deep down, in a dark corner of his soul he rarely visited, he kept the truth. A secret locked away behind the walls of his heart. He wanted love.
Ached for it.
Needed it more than the air he breathed. Craved it more than title, reputation, or wealth and had no words to express the force of this desire, so he dared not confront it. Perhaps, someday.

Angelica followed Benedict across the sand to where a wall of rock lent privacy, the effort needless considering the dark hour and obscure location. Even the lord of the house on the cliff dreamed on his silk sheets by now.

Her escape to the ocean had cleared her mind of the nightmare and instilled a spirit of self-examination. Liberation grew stronger with each step upon the path. It wasn't rebellion in any form, more so the only gift she could give herself, and for the first time in her life she felt powerful. Suddenly it was all that mattered.

By the time she'd reached the sand, her confidence and determination overcame all hesitation. What use did she have for virtue? To keep the quality safely locked within when her father's plan ensured she'd never experience true love or passion.

Tonight, lit by the golden glow of the full moon, she could taste forbidden magic, the rush of emotion her sister had described as worth any cost. Benedict would provide exactly what she coveted: an experience to remember before her father shut her away in a convent. His talks with the vicar were endless and determined, Helen's fate determining Angelica's once her sister had fled. How complicated and twisted, the choices and consequences.

She wouldn't label her sister unfairly. Helen had taken control of her future. To her credit she hadn't crumbled once her secret was discovered, her beau forced to leave London. Their father proved a wicked adversary for a man so religiously devout and pious, but then title permitted indiscriminate actions that were often swift and unjust. Without doubt, Angelica lacked the courage Helen possessed, but she could claim this moment, no matter her future days would be composed of bleak prayer and solemn regret.

Tonight, she wasn't Angelica Curtis, daughter of an earl. Tonight she lived a fantasy. She created the rules and made each choice.

Blinking twice to clear the vestiges of contemplation, she focused on the man in front of her. Benedict had dressed for the occasion, his shirt tails free in the shallow breeze, his boots and socks discarded. The lantern placed by his bare feet illuminated a large coverlet made wider by the blanket he worked to lay flat. Exactly what did this pirate expect from their meeting? The question raised a wave of anticipation equivalent to her tremor of impetuous indecision.

But neither took root as he pulled her close with a swift, unexpected tug, until her body nestled against his, perhaps to create a buffer from the outside world. He had captured her within his embrace to hold her safe. But no, she was wrong. No safety lay here.

His mouth found hers, hot and insistent, and she whimpered with the sudden onslaught, surprise fast transforming into desire. This was why she'd come to the beach. This man, his kiss. It may be foolish and perilous, as reckless as he taunted, but nonetheless worth the price. If only to lose herself for one evening.

His hands framed her face as if he meant to keep her imprisoned for his pleasure. His kiss was deliberate, fraught with barely contained restraint. She laid her palms flat on his shoulders, the solid strength of his broad physique the perfect anchor to steady the tide of emotion daring to carry her under. She smoothed her hands around his neck. The satiny stands of his long hair brushed across the back of her palms, sensual and evocative, and her nervousness eased a little, lost in pure bliss, though her heartbeat battered the inside of her chest.

He licked across her lower lip as if to entreat her surrender, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. His tongue—hot velvet—brushed against hers, his kiss rippling through her to reach each nerve ending. The tips of her fingers were lost in the silk of his hair; the soles of her feet burrowed deep in the sand. Her breasts became heavy and tight, her knees weak, and between her legs, in her most private, intimate place, she grew wet and sensitive as if each stroke of his tongue against her lips, jaw, neck, was a stroke against her core. The reaction alarmed and thrilled her, every pinnacle of sensitivity new and invigorating.

Her breathing stuttered. She struggled not to drown in the onslaught of sensation, this unknown raw desire that promised an abyss of pleasure. He slid his hand slid down her spine, tracing the curve with the pressure of his thumb to settle on her backside where his palm gripped her buttocks, pulling her closer against his body. Benedict represented pure masculinity: strength, daring, confidence, and she drew from him, followed his example, any timid inhibition abandoned in the heat of their embrace. He offered the very things she'd yearned for throughout life and she sank further into his arms, her breasts pressed shamelessly against the firm muscles of his chest, his shirt parted so where her neckline edged, her skin touched muscle—hot, smooth and hard.

He murmured something she couldn't decipher, the vibration of his low husky words echoing in her chest, teasing her nipples tighter, sensitive to the chafe of fabric. How easily he could pull her into a world of immeasurable pleasure, how willingly she would go.

He released her mouth to trail kisses below her ear, his touch a mixture of precious reverence and bold sensuality. This was not a man to be trifled with. Her experience was nonexistent, limited to innocent flirtations and awkward embraces, but Benedict was as virile as the pirate she'd likened him to, and the illusion of being captured, plundered, and ravished by such a man heightened her curiosity, all consideration of consequence dismissed with one incendiary kiss.

Cool air whispered across the back of her calves. Awareness beckoned with languid command as if waking from a dream or drifting off to sleep, caught in that extraordinary span of time and the uncertainty that accompanies transitions in consciousness. Recognition warned he'd gathered her wrapper in his fist, raised it higher, dragged her night rail in its wake. She barely shook her head for clarity and he dropped his hold. His hands came to her shoulders to release her from their kiss, his breath harsh in kind to the rhythm of his chest against her breasts.

“What is it, my mermaid?”

“Angel.” She insisted, her voice sounding unlike herself.

“Of course. Angel. A gift from the heavens. Have I startled you?”

His words seemed sincere though his question held a note of amusement.

“No, not at all,” she lied in a cracked whisper. She could only view him in shadows as the lantern cast a dim light from below. Her heart thrummed a heavy beat and she wondered what he would do next. Would he see through her veneer of confidence?

“A dance on the beach in the moonlight, as elegant as any social function. Would you like that?”

Almost as if he read her mind, he began a gentle sway, their bodies pressed so closely, their breathing joined in rhythm.

“What do I know of ballrooms?” Her answer brushed against his chin as she followed his lead.

“Not a favorite of mine either.” His low sensual chuckle stalled their motion and he traced her lips with his finger, as if to confirm they indeed had kissed. Then he continued his exploration, just one fingertip, feather soft against the arc of her jaw, the outline of her ear, the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He paused there, lingered near the edge of her sleeve and waited.

He offered her this decision. He would not overstep nor take what she didn't care to give; still the situation was unlike any other life experience. Would he become angry if she stopped him? Would she regret denying this moment of promised passion?

She searched his face for a clue, but she knew he would never press his advantage. He'd proven himself through ample opportunity. Instead his eyes stared back at her with an intensity she couldn't explain, as if there were unspoken words there for her to decipher, emotions written in a different language. She didn't know what to do, how to act, and her nerves overcame her confidence in a competition that could never be won. What did he expect of her? Her body and mind conflicted while time measured each inhalation and exhalation. The moment was fraught with tense anticipation.

At last, her fingers atremble, she freed the ends of his hair, which she had been grasping as mooring. Taking a cue from his expertise, she touched her fingertip to his lips and without further hesitation slipped her hand over her shoulders to shed the wrapper, untying the ribbon at her collar, her thin night rail falling open, a transparent veil offered in total surrender.

Kellaway wanted. He wanted this angel who'd somehow fallen from the heavens and into his life, and what he wanted, he'd always taken. Yet now, while the lovely miss promised immeasurable pleasure, some unidentifiable pearl of responsibility and unfamiliar reticence forced him to cease. He wanted only what she offered, nothing more.

He watched her tentative movements, her fingers betraying her nervousness with the slightest tremble, the smooth skin of her throat rippling as she swallowed second thoughts. He forced himself to wait, allow her time and choice, for he knew once begun he'd not be sated until he tasted every inch of her. Her kiss left him undone—his cock harder than the rock at his back.

In Arabia he'd learned of
jinn
, genies of smokeless fire, who interacted with humans and angels in an attempt to steal free will. Viewing the beauty before him he wondered if she represented all three, equal parts temptress, woman, and innocent. He shook his head to clear the thought.

If only she were a lady suited for the grandson of a duke. The wild notion took him by surprise, accompanied by an irrational wave of possessiveness that fired his blood as he imagined anyone else taking a kiss from her.

But now was not the time to think of impossibilities. This night was for pleasure and he needed the blissful release found in a woman's arms to escape the recent events drowning him in responsibility and regret. Mindless pleasure with no obligation afterward would restore some semblance of peace. He'd learned that lesson from women he'd encountered in Arabia, their kohl-circled eyes and transparent clothing a jarring contrast to his homeland, their epicurean attitude and sensual culture an enlightening experience. The angel in his arms possessed none of this knowledge; her tentative movements were more provocative than she realized but he'd happily educate her were she to request the slightest guidance.

He dropped his eyes to her bared body and allowed sybaritic craving to consume all action, a hot spike of desire responding to the lush curves and soft skin held in his arms. Her breasts were exquisite, smooth milky skin and tight rosebud nipples, bathed in sallow moonlight like the mythical creature he'd conjured the first night he'd spied her dancing at the water's edge. He yearned to touch, kiss, taste. His mouth went dry with want. One hand still rested at the base of her spine and he applied the slightest pressure to move her closer, the temptation of her body divine torture. With a subtle rock of his hips, he adjusted his stance—aware she could feel his hard length against her belly. She made the smallest sound, her eyes wide with wonder. A silken wave of her hair lifted in the breeze to fall across his arm in a whispered caress. He yearned for the same when he swept her beneath him or she rode above him, her hair falling forward across his chest, their bodies locked in mutual gratification. If possible, his cock grew harder and like the proverbial frayed rope, his resistance snapped.

“This is what you want, isn't it, Angel?” He forced the words with the last of his patience.

She gave a nod and he smiled. They were alone, partially nude in each other's arms. Now was not the time to play gentleman.