Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (6 page)

She had little knowledge of it.

Not even one kiss worth.

The realization spurred her to action. To look into his eyes might prove her downfall, but she raised her gaze to his.

He matched her curiosity. His eyes a rich shade of mahogany, framed by long thick lashes. A flicker of amusement gleamed in their depths and her heart squeezed with panic. What was she doing? Had she lost all sense?

“I need to leave.” She managed the words despite her constricted throat. “I shouldn't be here with you.”

A shadow of some unidentifiable emotion passed over his brow. “The cottage is empty and you can't leave in this weather.” His reply sounded calm and even, unlike hers. “Aside from the downpour, the lightning is dangerous, and there's no way you can find your way home in the darkness. I'm not about to venture outside until the rain lessens.”

His words were reasonable, but her pulse hitched another notch. She had no rebuttal other than a silent wish that he didn't stand so close or smell so intriguing. The rain brought out a subtle masculine scent, leather and shaving soap, that permeated her memory ensuring she'd never forget the detail. Her eyes skimmed over the whiskers at his chin, blunt and bristly. How would they feel against her fingertips? Her neck? The forbidden thought did little to settle her composure.

“Perhaps I'll stand near the fire.” The words escaped as a husky murmur.

“You may move wherever you wish.” He stepped away to enable her to pass, despite his words issuing a challenge.

As she did so, she was rewarded with a smile, a flash of white teeth, straight and even. She slanted him a sideways glance, aware of the gleam in his deep brown eyes. For him this seemed a game. A wave of foolishness swamped her, the necessary elixir to at last restore her heart to a normal rhythm. She busied herself with arranging her skirt before the flames, rubbing her hands together and making a show of gathering warmth. Had the downpour lessened? The rain on the roof seemed lighter, softer, unless it was her own heartbeat in her ears that hampered the sound.

“Are you warm then?”

His question sounded genuinely curious. Here was no ravisher of women, stalking the night hours in search of prey to capture. She almost laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion she'd conjured.

“Would you like some tea?”

He would make her tea? La, definitely not the action of a depraved seducer. Her pulse calmed considerably.

“It would warm me, no doubt, but I can't possible stay. I shouldn't be here and the rain has reduced to a drizzle. I shan't melt if I leave to find my way home.”

“I can't allow you to slip into the night unescorted. Who knows what mischief you may encounter next?” He paused and she didn't miss the implication of his question. “Where do you live? I'll return you once the weather abates.”

He approached the fire to stand beside her and again she looked away. She had the niggling feeling that to look at him overlong would be to succumb altogether. He possessed a carnal attractiveness that was absent of the gentlemen in London—a virile, sensual quality that caused her to blush when she considered it.
Good God, to experience his kiss.

The wild notion took hold and anchored her resolve, securing her disinclination and transforming it to reticence.
This was the adventure. This was the moment she craved. One kiss and then she'd dash out the door, a mystery, unable to be found. Forever changed.

She turned to face him where he'd approached from behind. “That sounds a logical plan.” She clenched her still-damp skirts to calm her trembling hands. “How can I thank you?”

“There is no need. A mermaid and a pirate are kin to the ocean.”

He curled a sincere smile and she experienced the full force of his handsomeness. Pirate, prince, pauper…it didn't matter. His gaze, as intoxicating as brandy, warmed her from the inside out.

“Perhaps a small token.” He reached forward to raise a curl between them, caressing the lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Something to remind me I haven't drunk too much liquor and imagined this little nighttime escapade.”

She almost laughed. How was it he read her thoughts, peered into her heart and realized her secrets? “Of course.”

He bent to his left boot and removed a dagger that quickly caught the firelight on its blade. Her breath snagged, realizing late she'd been far too trusting and more than foolish. Perhaps her father was right of mind to secure her a future where she would never be tempted by wanton adventure. This remembrance prodded her to act, mindful of the scarcity of her time in Brighton. While she considered this, he sliced through the crimson ribbon at her collar, removing the length to twist tight with a strip of leather meant for his hair. He tucked it into his pocket, the gesture confusing and…intimately romantic.

Sudden heat consumed her. She must be too close to the fire. Again, she caught the scent of his shaving soap and breathed deep, wanting to keep the memory. She watched his face in the enveloping silence, his smoldering gaze, golden brown, fixed as if she were his only focus, as if he memorized her somehow, etching a permanent picture or wishing to divine her intentions. Indeed, this man likely gained anything he wished for. He exuded confidence and strength—a man who conquered those around him, allowing little disruption, akin to a captain who commanded his crew and the high seas.

The crack and sizzle of fresh wood in the hearth overrode the sound of raindrops on the roof. Perhaps the weather cleared at last. The breath-robbing realization that she'd no longer have an excuse to stay cozied in this cottage took hold. A ridiculous, addled thought. What was she about anyway, every thought a contradiction?

A hot spike of desire reminded her that she sought a kiss this evening. Her eyes dropped to his lips, full and sensual, crafted by the devil for kissing and seduction, and she grasped hold of her adventure with both hands, her fists clenched in her skirt with determined vehemence.

“I, too, have a request.” Her voice sounded unlike her own. Who was this bold woman who dared ask for kisses?

“I will escort you home. There is no need—”

She stayed him with a raised hand, her now steady palm lowered flat to rest on his chest, the linen against her fingertips soft and damp, the muscles beneath hard and smooth.

“I want a kiss.” Her voice almost quavered. In an unexpected twist of circumstances, she swore she saw his eyes widen before his puzzled expression transformed into one of assured complacency. When she spoke, he placed a fingertip over her mouth to stall her words. He tugged softly on her bottom lip, dragging his touch to trace over the fullness to the arch of her upper lip and delicately across her skin, down again, the subtle pressure of his caress resonating through her body instead of solely where they connected.

He swept his palms across her cheeks, brushed his knuckles down her neck and rested his palms on her shoulders. His hands were firm, possessive, and at once her body responded, full-knowing every action beyond this point was new territory, long wished for and much desired.

The warmth of his exhalation against her temple signaled he'd stepped closer, yet his hands still rested against her nape as if waiting for her to bolt, measuring whether she'd change her mind and scurry from his clutches. There was no chance of that.

She didn't know his name and didn't need to. She hadn't planned on this kiss, but she wanted it nonetheless. Nothing could remove her from this moment. It was the one lifeline she'd treasure when her future changed altogether.

A kiss? Kellaway knew women.
All kinds
. And although the young miss in front of him had a bolder approach than the trussed-up ladies in London, he could easily decipher she was out of her depth. And scared. She trembled beneath his touch and it wasn't from his intimate attentions. He had no doubt he could bring her to such a point, but that wasn't important. At least not now.

She appeared too innocent to be accustomed to the predicament of requesting a kiss from a man, gathering the affection as one might collect rare coins or decorative salt spoons. He'd have much preferred to participate in the first kiss of her life, but why would he deserve the right? He'd kissed a shameful amount of females in his lifetime. Debutantes and virgins excluded, and rightly so.

Her expression shifted to one of discomfort. Gone was the valiant confidence, replaced by a glimmer of panic in her eyes, her mouth pressed tight as if she suffered from a debilitating bout of collywobbles. He almost laughed. Best be done with her request quickly.

The rain subsided, a noticeable hush enveloping the cottage as the patter of a light drizzle tiptoed across the roof, the perfect weather for tarrying in bed. He should grant her the boon and see her home otherwise he'd be tempted to invite her to his chambers, as even the weather conspired with his lust.

Unsettled by her reaction, he searched her face for any clue as to why she would wish to proposition a complete stranger, but Lord, desire won out. This was no time for intelligent deliberation.

He took her mouth with anxious intent, unwilling to allow doubt or some other emotion to change her mind before he tasted her lips and discovered her flavor. How much could a man endure? At first sight of her in the moonlight his body had reacted. The drenched image of her now, wet and gleaming from the sudden rain, convinced him he wanted to devour her more than anything else.

He held her firmly, his mouth sealed to hers, unable to pull away, somewhat bewitched and bedeviled. Somehow the controlled favor he meant to deliver quickly unraveled into something else altogether…an unknown entity, a spell of pleasure. He had no explanation other than he wished it would never to stop, whatever it was. This kiss proved life wasn't all regret and resentment; it assured a sliver of hope prevailed. He'd gone overlong without genuine affection and, somehow, this kiss offered the very comfort absent in his soul.

Yet too soon the carnal physicality of her soft curves chased away unexpected notions. Lust reigned.

His hands settled at the slope of her waist, his thumbs pressed against the soft underside of her breasts. His muscles tensed. A rush of heat flooded his veins and his cock grew hard. Without thought, he pulled her against his length, relishing her gasp. Her lips parted, stunned by the strong demand of his desire and he used her subtle surprise as his entry to taste. His tongue found hers—timid at first, so he rubbed and twined in an invitation to pleasure. She hesitated, one heartbeat, two, before she acquiesced and the leash on his desire snapped. He licked across her bottom lip before his tongue plunged inside her hot wet mouth, sliding with sensual friction against her tongue, boldly meeting his stroke with one of her own.

This was fragile bliss. That rare phenomenon believed only by the foolish or otherwise affirmed.
Kismet
: he'd heard it whispered in Arabia, a force beyond anyone's control, an enlightenment elusive and precious, unlike anything he'd experienced in his jaded twenty-nine years.

He slid his hands down her arms and across her ribs to lock her closer. His mouth broke free to allow a singular chance to object, the thought of stopping an aching impossibility. Instead her head tipped back in surrender, exposing a tender length of neck inviting his attention, her skin smooth as expensive silk. He didn't refuse and traced kisses across her jaw, nipping her chin in his hurry to her nape. Her breath rushed out and he inhaled her scent, his lips hot against the pulse below her ear.

He was caught in some unfathomable spell, all equilibrium lost, and simultaneously driven to continue. One word pounded relentlessly in his brain. More. More.
More.
But she hadn't asked for more. Hadn't offered. He'd be every kind of libertine society believed if he pressed the lady. If he ground his groin against her sweet curves or fondled her lush bosom…if he lowered her neckline and rubbed his thumb across her tight nipples…if he flicked his tongue there next.

What the hell was wrong with him? What happened to his control?

He jerked back as if knifed in the heart, the motion enough to jar loose the peculiar sensation in his brain, similar to a muted joy or otherworldly effect experienced as one fell into a dream. He was a man of vast life experience. He'd never been caught so off guard or unprotected.

He searched the lady's face for any sign she'd encountered the same. Her slim brows were pulled together in a troubled vee—a reflection of the curious stunned silence stretched between them. Yet his pulse, and worse, his raging erection, ceased to calm and he turned toward the hearth to prod at the burning wood and present a façade of necessary fire tending.

God's teeth, he should leave, ride straight to a brothel and cure this irrational reaction. The idea provoked humor more than rational thought. In Brighton, he knew little relief other than the most hospitable serving miss at the local town tavern. And that was more habit than anything else.

Perhaps upon morning he'd summon one of his mistresses to visit. Damn Bitters for complaining about his company and damn himself for taking heed. Inhaling deeply and exhaling in measure, he willed his body to relax, the turnaround fueled more by anger and frustration than unrelenting desire. He stood, smoothing his palms down the legs of his breeches, fully aware he remained with his back to the lady, but the action served a dual purpose. No doubt, she needed a few composing moments to recover her dignity in kind.

Aiming for sangfroid, he pivoted; a practiced smile in place, but the room stood empty, the door slightly ajar. His grin dropped away. It mattered little how long he'd bent near the fire trying to order his thoughts and begging his body to calm. The lady had disappeared as if she'd never existed.

A hearty chuckle forced his shock to fade. Had he met his match—a mermaid who possessed the elusive cunning of a pirating rogue? She'd slipped from his grasp, yet confidence assured him the situation remained temporary. Their meeting again was as inevitable as the ocean and sky married on the horizon.