The Perfect Scandal (15 page)

She blinked, noting how adorable and agitated he was trying to maintain peace between them. She
let out a laugh. “Forgive me. I will strive to be less sensitive.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

“I still cannot help but feel that you are far more riled about this whole subject of blow books than I am about my own people. Why is that?”

He shrugged but said nothing.

“Is it because you know quite a bit about blow books and do not wish to expose me to your own vice? That would certainly explain how a whip-yielding, virile man such as yourself ever survived in respectable society. You must have handled yourself quite a bit throughout the years. Every night, would you say?”

He glared at her. “And how would you—
a virgin
—know anything about a man handling himself?”

She smirked. “My cousins have informed me of all that goes on in the privacy of a man's bedroom.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice by a whole octave. “And I do mean all.”

A small smile teased Lord Moreland's masculine lips. He leaned forward as well, closing the space in the carriage between them. “You find yourself amusing, don't you?”

“Yes. I do.” She grinned and leaned back against the seat. “So how many blow books do you own? Let there be no secrets left unsaid between us.
Two? Ten? Or are we scandalously veering into the hundreds?”

“I have
no
intention of answering that,” he drawled, leaning back against the seat. “We'll be arriving at our destination in forty-five minutes. I advise you to refrain from any more talk about blow books, or it will end with you in my lap and my mouth over every last of inch of your body. Is that what you want for yourself? Keep talking. I will ensure it.”

Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears at the thought of her in his lap and that mouth skimming the curve of her throat, her breasts, her stomach, her—

The very thought froze her brain—she was more intrigued by his threat than intimidated.

Against her own better judgment she play fully tossed out,
“Blow book, blow book, blow book. Wherefore art thou, blow book? Do you sit at Moreland's bedside or do you hide within his desk? Blow book, my dear blow book, I genuinely fear he loves you best.”
She smirked and eyed him. “Do you intend to punish me by taking me into your lap now?”

Moreland lifted a dark brow. “Perhaps we really should send you to a convent. You appear to be far more devious in nature than I.”

She laughed. “Unfortunately, my dear Moreland, you cannot dispose of me now.”

He tilted his head slightly to better observe her,
sending longer strands of his auburn hair into his eyes. “I would never dispose of such an incredibly beautiful woman,” he commented in a low, husky tone.

Her pulse skittered. How was it that in this dashing man's eyes her one leg had become two? “Do you truly think me to be beautiful?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he murmured, half nodding. “And selfish bastard that I am, I am looking forward to making you mine. All mine.” He averted his gaze in a quiet way that hinted just how much he reveled in knowing that she was indeed going to be his. All his.

She had never felt so beautiful in her entire life. Not even when she had two legs and could dance. Mentally, she was already caressing his jaw, his brow, his hair, his shoulders. She was already indulging in his touch and his body and in turn letting him indulge in hers. She was already his, all his, but the way he continued to keep his eyes averted from her own, she knew if she did nothing in that moment,
nothing
would happen. And so it was time she do
something.

She nervously bit her lip and strategically lowered the greatcoat to her lap, hoping the outline of her uncorseted breasts through her nightdress would inspire him without her having to do much more.

He paused, his gaze flicking toward her breasts.
“What are you doing?” His attention lingered on said breasts, his jaw tightening.

She shrugged ever so innocently and arched her back enough to ensure her breasts were pressing more firmly against the material of her nightdress. “Making myself comfortable, is all.”
And ardently hoping you will show me how beautiful I truly am
.

He cleared his throat. “For heaven's sake, woman, I can see your—” Fisting both hands, he glanced away. “Cover yourself.”

'Twas sad, knowing she was failing at something as simple as seducing him. Weren't breasts supposed to inspire a man into passionately seizing a woman against her will?

She chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing she ought to invite him outright to kiss her and touch her. How else was he supposed to know what she wanted?

She angled herself more toward him and offered in a casual, conversational tone, “I enjoyed our earlier kiss. Very much.”

He shifted in his seat, avoiding her gaze. “Did you?”

“Yes. Did you?”

“Probably more than you did,” he muttered.

She wet her lips, doubting that. “Would you at all be interested in…”

He jerked his gaze back to hers, a vivid intensity
etched into his rugged features. “Interested in what?” he asked in a husky tone that indicated he knew
exactly
what she was insinuating but wanted her to announce it.

Her cheeks burned as he continued to possessively hold her gaze. Mother of heaven, she was begging him to slaughter the cow before milking it.

He lowered his chin, as if warning her. “You don't want this, Zosia. I know you don't.”

She blinked. Was he denying her? “I think I know myself well enough to know what it is I want.”

He shook his head slowly from side to side as if deeply disappointed in her. “No. You are convincing yourself that this is what you want, because you feel obligated toward me. I can assure you, you needn't feel any form of obligation.”

She gasped. “Is that what you think? That I would stoop to barter my virginity to you or any man out of mere obligation? What sort of woman do you take me for? Forgive me, but it is becoming rather obvious that
you
do not want this or me.”

“I can barely
breathe
out of my own damn want,” he said in a harsh, clipped tone. “But I am not about to ravage you in a carriage like a dog in need of a quick pump. You deserve better than that.”

Zosia's brows rose slowly in disbelief. He had actually been sitting there the whole while refraining from pouncing. Imagine that. The poor man had
played the part of a gentleman for much too long and it was up to her to make him understand that when a man's intentions were noble and dedicated, he could kiss and fondle and partake all he wanted. Whenever he wanted. Wherever he wanted. And if there was anyone who had earned it, it most certainly was him.

There was only one way to go about settling this. She tugged the shoulder of her nightdress off her entire right shoulder and eyed him, challenging him to resist.

“Zosia,” he growled through his teeth.

“Do not make me fully undress,” she taunted. “I have no idea how to go about doing this. But I do know men love breasts.”

His jaw tightened as he tugged at his black-leather gloves, loosening them from his fingers one by one by one. His dark eyes remained fixed on her as he stripped them from his hands, tossing each glove on the seat beside him with the flick of his wrist. “Are you certain this is what you want? Here? Now? Me?”

She tugged the sleeve of her nightdress farther down, until her bare right breast and dark nipple peered out. She eyed him again. “Does
this
answer your question?”

“You are officially damned.” He pushed himself off the seat and whipped his great cloak off her lap,
throwing it to the floor between them. He knelt before her and stared her down as his fingers effortlessly unbuttoned the flap of his trousers. Shifting toward her, he shoved his undergarment and shirt out of the way. His erection fell heavily toward her, thick and large.

She sucked in a harsh breath and slapped her hands against her face in disbelief that she had actually seen the entire length of his—

“Oh, now you wish to play coy, do you?” He hitched up her nightdress to her knees, causing her to gasp at the unexpected exposure of both her one leg and stump. “If you don't want this, you'd best start yelling right now because I don't plan on playing the part of a gentleman anymore.”

He grabbed hold of her exposed thighs and hoisted her up and onto his lap so quickly her hands fell against his chest in an effort to balance herself.

Her heart hammered, realizing she may have riled him a bit
too
much. She glanced nervously toward the curtained windows, ensuring they were still hidden from the world and the night. Which they were.

He leaned back against the seat, adjusting her to straddle him, further jerking up her nightdress so that her entire lower half was exposed.

Her hand jumped awkwardly to her stump, a raw sense of shame overwhelming her.

He roughly pushed her hand away, forcing it behind her back. “Never hide from me.”

His hand possessively rounded her scarred stump, rubbing it with his fingers and his palm, before he reached up and grabbed the sides of her face with both hands. He forced her lips down onto his, thrusting his tongue forcefully into her mouth.

His overly demanding tongue melted away not only her shame but the sway of the carriage, the night and the world around them. She closed her eyes, giving in to his hot, velvet tongue as it tauntingly slid out of her mouth. He licked her lips twice, leaving them moist and cool, then licked one cheek and the other, then the entire length of her throat, leaving everything wet as he repeatedly christened her with his tongue.

“Show me how much you want this,” he whispered in a strained voice. He slipped one of his fingers into her mouth, pushing it in deep. “Show me how much you want me.”

She sucked on the saltiness of his skin, which was still scented from the leather gloves he had earlier stripped.

He groaned and slid his finger against her teeth and tapped it before pulling it back out and pressing it hard against her lips. “Show me what you feel. Bite it. Do it for me. I need to
feel
you.”

The intensity of the moment and the desperate need that resonated in that deep, commanding voice
made her slip his finger back into her mouth. She bit down so hard, she could feel his skin giving way beneath her teeth, the bone of his finger keeping her from clamping down any more.

“Again,” he hissed out raggedly. His thumb and fingers pressed against her chin harder, as he stilled the forefinger that was still clamped between her teeth.

She didn't know why she was allowing him to take over her mind like this, but it felt so strangely wonderful, tasting him and giving him what he so obviously and desperately wanted and needed. It was only her teeth against his finger. That she could do without great harm. She clamped down even harder until her jaw ached with the rest of her.

He sucked in a harsh breath as his other hand skimmed across her breasts and trailed down between them. He grabbed hold of his large erection and rubbed and jerked its length. His fingers grazed her skin as he slid the moist, rounded tip of his hard cock against the curve of her stomach. He kept sliding it back and forth across her stomach, occasionally digging into her with it until not only his chest heaved but her own.

Desperately wanting to touch him and feel him, she released his finger from between her teeth and mouth and started unknotting his silk cravat from around his throat.

His hands jumped to hers. He grabbed both of her wrists and yanked them away from his cravat, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “No. Not now.”

She pried her wrists free and
tsk
ed down at him. “You can yank my nightdress up to the waist, but I cannot so much as expose your throat?
I think not.
” She slid her hands back toward his collar, her fingers unknotting the strip of silk.

His hands grabbed her wrists again, only more savagely, his fingers pinching into her skin.
“No.”
His voice had become savage and unfriendly. “If you insist on seeing me right now, this ends.”

She froze and met his blazing gaze, suddenly fully understanding his resistance. His scars. Dearest heaven. They were not limited to his arms. “Just as my amputation does not define what you think of me, your scars do not define what I think of you.
You
define what I think of you, Moreland.”

“I don't want you to see them. Not now.”

She swallowed. “I understand. I will not insist.”

His features softened. He released her and set his forefinger against the curve of her throat, nudging the chain on her locket. “I want this moment between us to be perfect and untainted,” he murmured, watching his own finger. He trailed the tip of that finger down past her collarbone, down past the fabric of her nightdress, skimming across her breasts hidden
beneath, down onto her exposed stomach, until it paused on the curling hairs between her thighs.

Her breath hitched.

Lifting his gaze to hers, he slid his finger down into her wet folds. He rubbed his finger slowly but firmly, probing and flicking.

She gasped against the rippling sensation that spread throughout her body.

Spreading her with two fingers, his forefinger flicked the top of her folds. He met her gaze again as clenching sensations shot up through her thighs, stomach and womb.

He trailed his other large hand around her waist, holding her firmly against the heat of his erection which pressed harder against her thigh. He readjusted his fingers, leaned into her and kept rubbing faster and faster, not even giving her a chance to breathe or think.

She edged closer and closer to a pleasure she wanted to swallow whole and burst from. It was incredible.
He
was incredible. She moaned, shockingly loud even to her own ears.