Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (31 page)

“It has proven to be a tumultuous day. I wonder if I'll accomplish sleep tonight. I'm rather restless at the moment.”

“I agree. But you are far stronger than you believe, granddaughter. Allow you heart to calm and know you made the right decision. Your father is no longer thinking clearly. Religion has poisoned his mind rather than soothing his soul. Who knows what the future holds, but whatever path you follow, now it will be your decision. I am so very proud of you and your sister.”

“Thank you.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “You're right, of course. The upheaval of emotions is overwhelming, but it's all for the best.”

Grandmother clasped her hand with a firm, reassuring pat. “If you need anything at all, please come find me. My room is down the long hall to the right.” With a soft kiss to her cheek, Grandmother left and Angelica's attention wandered.

Where did Benedict sleep? Was his bedchamber nearby? How sinful the memory of the last time she'd left him. She treasured that lasting glance of him within the sheets strewn haphazardly against his muscular chest, his arm abandoned to the pillow overhead, his bicep outlined in smooth, hard definition. Her pulse sped with the remembrance.

Did he sleep now?

Or did he wonder at her intentions?

If only she dared find out, for no other reason than to thank him.

And kiss him.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, demanding to be freed. She should obey its call, but how to know which room Benedict occupied?

A subtle knock disturbed the night for a third time and she moved to the door with soundless steps, the hour near midnight.

“I couldn't retire until I was assured you had everything you needed this evening.”

Benedict met her eyes, his gaze intense as if she were a lock that needed to be picked, a secret to be discovered. He need only to look closely to see love in her eyes.

Everything she needed?
The ironic question stoked the longing, alive and insistent, heating her blood.
Everything she needed stood before her.

“Not at all.” Her heart raced, threatening to burst from pounding, as his question wended its way through her ribs, unlocked the cage, and set her love free. She opened the door wider and stepped back so he could enter.

Benedict followed, the click of the closing door his reply to her bold invitation, and they tumbled to the bed, their feet tangled as their mouths crashed together, his full searing kiss leaving her breathless, her passionate gasps a thing of his dreams.

Her undressing proved effortless. The silk robe fell open to his touch, the lace chemise straps no match for his determinate intention. He flung the scraps to the floor, met her mouth in another steal-your-breath kiss, and rolled to the side to shed his clothes as quickly as possible. His eyes never left her face, though his hands worked with alacrity. Struck by the lovely clarity of her gaze, he watched as a becoming blush crested her cheeks to tempt with wanton promise.

Desire, hot and demanding, fired him to move faster, yet he needed to rise to discard his smalls. He cursed at the inconvenience. At last he stood unclothed at her bedside, his effervescent water nymph as perfect as an apparition, composed of smooth porcelain skin and rosebud nipples, offered on satin sheets, awaiting his sensual attention. He summoned every shred of steadfastness, wanting to last, to give unending pleasure with all the wiles he'd learned. A wicked smile curled his lips and he climbed atop the mattress.

Where to begin? He didn't deliberate long. There was no gentleness in his touch, no innocent exploration. They both knew what they wanted and weren't fearful to take it. This was maddening love, insatiable passion, and he needed to taste, touch, bite every inch of her all at once.

She matched his fervor with equal voracity, her fingers attempting to grasp his hair and find anchor, the short ends leaving her adrift to grip his shoulders, hold tight to his arms. He savored every flick of her tongue against his, each lingering kiss, but he needed more.
Wanted more.

He chuckled low against the flat of her belly though it had nothing to do with amusement. He licked a slow trail between her legs. Her raspy moan begged he thrust his tongue into her sex and he complied, her core sweeter than he remembered, hotter than he dreamed. He tortured her a bit, pleased as she arched and tensed, her thighs tight beneath his palms, her body bowed to climax, anxious and yet unwilling to yield like a wave that wouldn't break. He slid his tongue against her core and she shuddered. So close. She wavered on the edge, so he drew back and her objection broke the silence, eyes shot open, breath coming hard and fast.

“No.” The single syllable was all she managed.

He rose to his knees and positioned against her sex, slick and hot from their love play. His cock twitched with unrelenting insistence, the blood pounding to the tip, and still he did not move. He would never last if he drove into her silken heat, weakened by her erotic enchantment, intoxicated with insatiable hunger.

“Turn over.” His voice cracked, his resolve grew harder.

She blinked in confusion, her brows lowered in question.

He chuckled despite his rampant desire and grasped her by the waist to rotate her so her stomach lay on the mattress. He ran his fingers over the curve of her buttocks, down the sides of her hips, along the lengths of her thighs, and she sighed with pleasure, once again at ease. He touched her sex, hot and waiting, his fingertip tracing a deep line, and she gave a sharp inhalation, her body tensed and poised for climax again.

How long would he be able to play this game? He wanted her like he'd never desired a woman: craved the taste of her kiss, sound of her voice, the way her eyes lit with gladness at the simplest things. This was love, heartfelt and genuine. A language he'd never learned. The notion thrummed in his veins and he captured her mouth in a mad, desperate kiss, turning her in his arms, wanting to see her face as she climaxed, wishing to do so again and again. It was all too much, all things at once, and his greed and desire near ruined him now.

Her body fit his perfectly, subtle and soft against strong and hard, but he could not pander to nuance any longer. Theirs would be a lifetime of sensual delirium, lost in erotic delectation. The realization fired his blood and he was done for. Good God, he needed release.

“Look at me.” Her eyes had closed and she never appeared more beautiful, but he yearned to see her completely when they joined, to watch emotion and sensation coalesce.

She opened her eyes halfway, carnal desire gracing her with the look of a goddess, her golden hair spread across the sheets like an aura of sunshine. This was what he wanted. To watch her in the throes of rapture, to feel her undulate beneath him as his hands coasted over her skin, gripped her hips. He thrust inside and she tightened, holding him still, but he wouldn't allow her the luxury of time and withdrew only to plunge deep again. He wanted more of her, endless more, more than he deserved, more than he'd earned. All of her.

His.

The one word became a mantra as he withheld his release and drove into her again. She was all heat and liquid sensation, taking and giving, pushing and pulling. She moaned a sexy little sound that somehow rattled his resolve and he braced his arms, palms flat on the mattress, and met her sensual confession with an aching groan. She stared up at him, her eyes expressing every emotion.

“I love you, Benedict.”

He jerked his head up, the clarity of her admission intensifying the rush of his release and he came hard and fast, filling her as she met her pleasure beneath him. Two joined as one. Always. He closed his eyes and savored the miracle.

Breakfast proved an interesting affair. The four occupants each harbored a secretive grin. Conversation was kept to the mundane and devoid of explanation. The weather had cleared and as they drank tea and enjoyed a tasty fare of oatmeal with sweet cream, hot brown bread, tangy orange marmalade, and kippers for anyone who desired something heartier, Angelica wondered if her grandmother could perceive her granddaughter was head over heels in love. More intriguing, why did Grandmother wear a coy smile this morning and what had sparked the cheeky gleam in her eyes, the rosy bloom in her cheeks?

“I suggest we post the bans immediately. I will have no trouble obtaining a special license.”

The duke's comments broke through the private musings in the room. Considering her last mental inquiry, a cough caught in Angelica's throat and she almost spewed a mouthful across the fine damask tablecloth, managing to reduce her shock to an odd hiccup as she swallowed her oatmeal.

“Good heavens, dearest. What's wrong?” Grandmother placed her teacup in the saucer. “Isn't that what you wish? I spoke with Adam last evening and we thought to offer you the easiest path to happiness. Once married, your father will lose all control over your future.”

“Of course.” Angelica recovered her composure, embarrassed at her impulsive, erroneous conclusion. The duke remarked on
her
behalf. Grandmother
wasn't
getting married. Of course she wasn't. How ridiculous. What was she thinking? She wasn't thinking. But now that she was thinking, the impact of the statements rang clear.

She darted her head in the opposite direction and met Benedict's grin.

“I think the first of the July suits nicely. I'm certain my new bride will wish to dip her toes in the ocean, and the temperature in Brighton is most favorable then.”

“Excellent. With three weeks to plan, I'm sure we'll pull together a spectacular event.” The duke's voice rang with genuine enthusiasm. “We'll need to invite Prinny, of course.”

“I hope you speak of the dog. Angelica and I do not wish for anything top-o-the-trees.” He slid his gaze in her direction. “At least that's what I presume.”

“Yes.” Her head bobbed like an aspic jelly, joy overflowing. “Our closest friends and family.”

“Very well. That should cut the list by half and leave a round number of two hundred.”

“No.” Benedict, Angelica, and Grandmother answered in unison.

The duke looked toward his feet and fed Prinny a kipper. “Outnumbered again.” He chuckled, the mood jovial despite the upheaval in the foyer last evening.

“I see no need to inform Mother and Father. They've never given a whit what I've accomplished, this most cherished time in my life shouldn't be tainted by their arrival and upheaval.” Benedict stated the words plainly, without emotion.

“Time wouldn't allow their travel anyway. It will make for a convenient excuse if the day ever arrives. I'm the last one to cause a scandal, young man.” The duke offered a sly wink and Grandmother giggled.

Angelica couldn't contain her smile. She'd never heard her grandmother giggle.
Ever.

“Family can be difficult. I wouldn't dare invite trouble to our wedding day.” Benedict seemed oblivious to his grandfather's frequent stares and continued with the conversation, the subject weighing heavily.

“What of Father?” She voiced the question, though she feared the answer. She may have made it distinctly clear she had no need of him any longer, but a daughter seeking independence had very few choices. Helen had run away, forsaking friends, family, and everything familiar. Angelica wouldn't have to make that sacrifice. Her marriage to Benedict guaranteed protection, but if Father desired trouble he could still cause a scandal of the worst kind. She could never be responsible for bringing trouble to the duke's doorstep.

“The Earl of Morton is not invited.” Perhaps the duke strove for levity, though the silence in the room spoke to a different condition.

When a servant knocked and requested entry, everyone started.

“A caller has arrived, Your Grace. She has no card but insists you will allow her entry. Lady Helen Curtis to see you.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Helen.” Oh dear, was something amiss with her pregnancy? Angelica sprung from her chair and aimed for the front hall. As soon as she rounded the corner and saw the sadness sketched across Helen's face, her heart dropped, all previous joy washed away in a tide of concern.

“Angelica, I have terrible news.”

They returned to the breakfast room where everyone had risen in wait, Benedict fixed by the doorway, his expression narrowed with impatience, his hands clasped behind his back like a sentry.

“Please. Everyone take your seats. I have distressing news and I need to sit in the retelling.” Helen settled at the table where everyone pushed their plates forward, a lack of appetite contagious. The room went silent soon after.

“Nora, my loyal maid, came to Hay Market before dawn. I'm sorry to report Father was in an accident last night. His carriage became stuck in the mud and while the driver failed to maneuver them free, Father exited the conveyance.” She wrung her hands and her face was pinched with disquiet. “I don't know if he meant to assist or vent his anger, but while he railed amidst the storm, he was struck by lightning. The driver reported it as a horrifying sight. It could have been his walking stick. There's no way to know.” Her words faded toward the end.

“Good heavens, Helen.” Grandmother rushed to her side. “Tell us the rest. What has happened?” Despite their difficulties, everyone seemed affected by the news. Grandmother had paled and required the support of Helen's chair to remain standing. The duke jumped up to offer assistance.

“He is resting at home. The doctor was summoned and prescribed laudanum to help with the shock and any residual pain in his limbs, but he hasn't spoken a word though he's conscious. The doctor fears Father may have suffered a severe apoplexy and called it a stroke, although I haven't seen the doctor to speak to him myself. I learned this through Nora who was visibly shaken by the traumatic events through the night and I came here immediately.”

“We must go to him.” Grandmother's voice, now strong and determined, spurred everyone to speak at once, the mixture of reactions a cacophony of opposing opinion.