Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (24 page)

She kept her chin down, the silence of the streets a reassurance she'd narrowly missed an unexplainable confrontation, no matter that a sob clogged her throat in objection. Benedict had looked shocked and angry, so very angry. She had no other words to describe the glinting flash of betrayal in his eyes. Cautious, as she needed to find a hackney and return home before further disaster struck, she secured the safety of the coins in her pocket and slipped down the closest alleyway where a small lantern protruded from a wall up ahead. She walked toward the sallow light, hopeful it indicated a waiting hackney stand, aware of the danger she tempted, and desperate for the security of her bedchamber.

Footfalls echoed behind her, boot heels on cobbles, hard and fast, and her heart responded with its own panicked tattoo. Thieves, drunkards, and criminals owned the night and now that she'd strayed so far from Hay Market, who knew what terror she'd invited. Her lungs heaved with each exhalation. Still the steps came closer. Whoever had decided to investigate her person wasted no time in the quest. Her slippers couldn't carry her fast enough. Unencumbered by traditional dress, she was quick to move though the next three steps brought her to a brick wall and an unanticipated dead end. Fear became a stranglehold and with a silent appeal skyward, she prayed for divine intervention, balled her fists tight, and whirled to confront her pursuer.

Only to stop a hairsbreadth from colliding with Benedict.

Benedict.

Immovable, and heavenly.

Hard chest. Hard stare.

Thank God.

“You ran from me?” Accusation lent his words a steely edge, though an undertone of hurt managed to survive.

“You scared me.” Her excuse sounded paltry as it quivered forward.

“You left me.” The slow-spoken indictment threatened as he took one last step, towering over her in the ambient darkness.

Here lay true danger.

“You…” she fought the urge to sag against his chest and press kisses to his face “…cut your hair.” There was no mistaking her despair. She unclenched her fists, all of a sudden undeniably grateful and wanting nothing more than to be cherished in his embrace.

He claimed her mouth, took her words with a kiss, the hard slash of his lips wanting to punish as much as seduce, and she acquiesced, melting into him with equal measure of unleashed hunger.

There was no gentleness, their joining composed of succinct pleasure and raw need, a graceless desire that needed to be satisfied. Fear, turned relief, turned desire. Her mouth opened in welcome, his tongue thrust in with urgency and she moaned her approval, owning her fierce yearning, begging for reprieve from the relentless ache. He dragged his tongue against her lips, tasting and licking, nipping in wholly erotic seduction, and she felt the stroke of his tongue everywhere—the nape of her neck, the tender peaks of her nipples, down deep, between her legs.

She'd lost her breath from running like the wind and seeking escape. She'd regained the same when Benedict gathered her into the shelter of his arms. Yet as soon as his mouth took hers, she became breathless all over again.

He pinned her to the bricks with his body, a solid wall of protection and menace, his hands touching, soothing, seeking to satisfy and tempt. With an artless gesture he removed her cap, the ribbons holding her braids discarded soon after. His nails abraded her scalp as he threaded his fingers and combed through the lengths. And still they continued the kiss, unwilling to shatter the fantasy and expose the truth that they stood in an alley stealing a moment that could never last.

The hour was past, too late for thinking, and for reason and common sense. She wanted him. Needed him, and in a quaking moment of realization, she owned what her heart knew all along. She loved him. Not because of their intimacy. Not the risk or adventure. Nor the vulnerability or peril of her situation. No. It was the undeniable pull that kept her connected to him, no matter if days or weeks passed without contact or conversation. The sense of peace and pride, the belief that with him she could envision a future filled with happiness. It was what she'd sought from the moment she'd vowed to journey to Brighton and experience effortless life. It was more. He was more, and while she knew she could never have him, never make this moment last longer than what it was, she would treasure it, offer herself and drench him in her respect and adoration. Allow him to know how very preciously he'd touched her heart.

“I want you.” She whispered her confession.

He chuckled against her neck, low and husky, as if her admission amused him. Meanwhile his hot breath sent a frisson of anticipation down her spine and she swayed deeper into his embrace.

“No, you don't. You tried to run away.” His murmur was almost lost in her sigh of pleasure.

He nipped her skin, smoothed her sleeve from her shoulder, and exposed her to the chilled night, only to press heated caresses in the same place, the juxtaposition of sensations enthralling.

“Because I didn't know what to do. I shouldn't be here.” She tried to offer explanation though she'd rather not talk at all.

“You needn't be here.” He paused mid-sentence and traced the same area where he'd painted a design on the exposed skin of her chest.

She almost missed the words, spoken so softly though their meaning rang loud. She might have objected had her mind not fogged with desire and interjected she belonged to no one, but then he finished his sentence and she lost all mind to speak at all.

“Come home with me.”

“Why?” The word possessed every emotion, demanded all her courage, and she stilled, the world slowly returning. He placed a soft kiss to her cheek as she waited.

“You intrigue me.” He stated it as if he'd discovered a rare gem, his voice short of breath, his body strained against hers. He lifted a hand and replaced her sleeve, then cupped her cheek to stare into her eyes with enough emotion to cause her to believe herself precious.

The lantern light glowed weak. Surely she imagined the emotion she saw in his expression. She released a tremulous breath and placed her fingers over his hand. She gasped when she realized he was bleeding.

“What happened?” Her fingertips skimmed his knuckles, the skin rough and broken.

“I punched the roof of the carriage so my driver would stop.”

“And here?” She lifted the torn linen at his shoulder.

“I hit the ground when I jumped and rolled to stand.” He dismissed her concern and didn't say more, gathering her near as if to lock all her questions away despite the fact that her mind raced faster than she'd fled down the alleyway. Tucked into his embrace, he paused only a beat, then with whip-like precision rotated them both and started back, urging her forward with assertive pressure at the small of her back. He knew the streets, maneuvering them to the same square where his carriage waited, the stout groundskeeper she'd met in Brighton high atop the box, a plump tabby at his side.

“I'll take you home,” he murmured as she stepped up, urging her inside with a pat to her bottom, his other hand firm in hers.

Once settled, they traveled for a spell in silence and she sent a silent prayer heavenward for the time well spent reclaiming her equilibrium and dismissing the yearning for further bone-melting kisses. A universe of life existed around them and all she could hear was the sound of his breathing in tune with her own until he broke the silence with the most difficult question.

“Who are you?”

“You don't really want that question answered.” She strove for flippancy and he nodded in agreement.

“Why were you prowling around Hay Market in the middle of the night? Aren't young ladies taught never to take to the streets alone, not to talk to strangers or enter a carriage unaccompanied? You broke three rules in one evening.”

“Reckless, not restless.” She attempted a smile and failed. “Will you take me home?”

He didn't say a word for several revolutions of the wheels on the cobbles.

“I've only just found you, and you tried to elude me twice. I'm not letting you out of my sight.” He said this deliberately, as carefully as one makes a wish on a falling star, and though steadfast control threaded his syllables, the pronouncement was softened by him pulling her from the seat into his lap, his mouth capturing hers with the precision of two timeless lovers. “Come home with me.”

Somehow, it wasn't a question.

“Why are you dressed like this?” She attempted to separate from his body, all hard muscle and tight sinew, but he placed his hand at her hip, locking her in place, partially straddling him. “I prefer my pirate to a superfine coat and buff breeches.”

“Aye.” He indicated her mousy gown with an arch of his brow. “And I my mermaid.”

They fell silent, their bodies communicating to make words unnecessary in their shared heat and compromised proximity. One lantern burned, their profiles limned. Still his body lent warmth against hers, inviting every sin she'd been raised to resist. Slowly he furled her gown, over her slippers and calves to rest against her thighs and despite her quickened pulse, she relaxed, so much so that when he shifted she lost balance, her knees falling to the bench on either side of his lap, the brush of his breeches chafing the soft skin above the edge of her stockings. Her thighs tightened with the rough sensation and he chuckled in a deep masculine tone that reverberated in her core.

She didn't object when he placed his palms atop her legs. Layers of fabric separated his touch yet the weight alone resurrected every sensation from their intimacy shared on the beach. The carriage jolted around a corner and his hands slid upward, taking the remaining fabric with them, bunching the cloth at her waist. She sucked in a breath and waited.

Inside her bodice her heart drummed. Her breasts grew sensitive. Her nipples ached and tightened. Desire, heady and powerful, urged her to act. She was all but exposed, spread against his lap, the heat of his hands and his breath on her cheek another battle to be conquered. She wanted to surrender even though he'd released his hold.

He angled his hips and her legs eased wider. His body inclined forward, the hard press of his manhood strained against the taut cloth promised to ease the deep ache inside. Against her thigh, his fingers flexed as if he struggled against impulse, barely managing to keep them in place.

She sensed his action before she experienced it, the glide of his fingertip along the slit in her pantalets, parting the cloth, finding her center. He stroked his finger against her and
he
groaned, the sound an echo of everything she experienced in reaction to the caress. He didn't hesitate from there.

Words remained unnecessary. Questions were abandoned in favor of carnality. The sounds inside the carriage—the rustle of fabric, moans of pleasure, exhalations of relief—all heightened awareness. He stripped the simple gown from her shoulders, baring her skin to press his mouth and taste, kiss, tease. She leaned into his touch. This was why intimacy was forbidden. Once one tasted such elemental pleasure, one became forever altered, like a fever that wouldn't resolve. She would forever yearn for Benedict now.

Chapter Nineteen

He couldn't see her body, the gown gathered around her waist in a reminder she wore too much clothing for his liking, but he could
feel
her, hot, slick and ready in her most precious place. He curled his fingertips into her core, flicking over the pearl at her center, and she shivered with pleasure from the inside out. He closed his eyes and savored her reaction, straining with his own desire. He wanted to take her, bury his cock in her sweet wet heat, but he held back, respect at the forefront of his struggle and some other unnamed emotion that seemed present whenever he held Angel, thought of her, or recalled her smile. His heart beat heavily. Seeking distraction from emotion, he captured her mouth in another long kiss.

He caressed her deeper, his fingers in tandem to the stroke of his tongue. The delicate skin of her inner thigh quivered against the back of his hand. She was close. He was lost. His cock pressed against the front of his breeches. Damn the trappings of proper attire.

“Come up on your knees.” He ground out the words. “Come up.” He didn't intend for it to sound like a command.

“Benedict.” Her fingers gripped his shoulders fiercely and he knew she fought the same war as he.

“Let me touch you. Please you.” He dragged his fingertip across her cleft in slow exquisite enticement and she cried out, collapsing against him for support, her breathing ragged, her forehead lowered to his temple.

“I can't.”

“Of course you can.” He captured her waist with his free hand to aid support and slid his palm to grip her bottom. Her fingers wove through the ends of his hair. They remained that way for several breaths, securely locked. “Let it come, Angel. Feel me as I feel you.” He strained his head back against the bench. He couldn't last much longer. She was wet, liquid heat, her soft folds perfection against the caress of his fingertips. He hadn't entered her. To do so would be to lose all control and he'd never felt so adrift, so lost in pleasure that he'd drown from sensation if he didn't fight for every ounce of control.

He nudged her head up with his own and captured her lips in a searing kiss that explained everything he couldn't articulate with words, their tongues tight and furious as his fingers rubbed and teased. She was molten desire, wetter, hotter, with every stroke and he cursed the carriage, his demanding desire, their clothing, the predicament, and everything he could blame that prevented him from claiming her with his mouth, his hands, his cock, hard and aching.

He couldn't go much longer or he'd spill himself inside his smalls and with begrudging acceptance the irrational reality arrowed his confidence. What she did to him. It was black magic by any definition.

The carriage swung left, the curtain mimicking the vertiginous sway to reveal a fleeting glimpse of the outside world. They'd almost reached their destination. The force rocked Angel against his hand, her gasp of surprise incentive to release his fragile hold on control and sink his finger inside her warmth. She tightened around him, hot and quick as climax caught her and she cried out, his mouth finding hers to smother the sound and swallow her erotic plea.