The Viscount's Addiction (5 page)

She leaned closer and locked gazes with him. He felt a physical wreck.

“Well?” she said in a soft, provocative voice. He barely heard her through the pounding in his ears.

“Hmmm?” he asked, his mind racing with sinful thoughts. “Would you like to hear about my trade with the plowmen?”

Hell’s fire, she was a shameless little doxy. “Indeed.” His gaze raked over her wantonly positioned body before returning to her face.

“It was a simple arrangement. They were hired to scythe the field. Every night for a week I would ride to their camp. The fire would be blazing.” Her delicate fingers unbuttoned the top two buttons of her pastel blue dress, and fanned her exposed cleavage. “It would feel very hot against my skin.”

It was all Ryder could do to keep from reaching forward to grab her hips, lift her onto his lap and grind her against his throbbing cock.

“The men would sit around the campfire passing around a jug of ale. The fair-haired one with the big capable hands would be playing a slow, melancholy tune on the fiddle. I always came clad in a thin shift with nothing at all beneath. After a little ale, I would let the shift slide off my shoulders and down my body until it puddled at my feet. And there I would stand, surrounded by all these men, utterly naked.” She paused and looked at him for a long, breath-stealing moment.

“One of the men would carry me to the back of a wagon filled with soft bedding.”

Ryder found himself looking at the front of her dress, wondering how quickly he could rip it open and have her completely nude. He wanted to devour every inch of her.

“Shall I continue, Lord Blackwood?” she asked in a sultry tone.

Ryder swallowed hard. “If you’d like,” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding rough to his ears. His cock was aching with need, and she hadn’t even touched him.

“There I would lie atop the quilts, slightly drunk and completely vulnerable. The men would pitch rocks to see who would have me first. I was always glad when Thomas won because his hands were so talented. He would rub me with a sweet-scented, warm oil—”

He sat up straight. “What kind of a plowman has a stock of scented oil on hand?”

She stared at him as though annoyed with the interruption. “Thomas used it for his raw, callused hands. Truth be told, the oil really didn’t soften them much. They were still excitingly rough.” She made a move to button up her bodice. “If I’m boring you.”

“Actually, I’m highly entertained.” He marveled at the evenness of his tone. His cock was so entertained that if she didn’t finish the story he might provide his own ending. He tugged on his trousers.

The minx dropped her gaze demurely to his crotch. She glanced up in a hurry. “How flattering to think that my little story could entertain a man with your history.” She brought both of her hands up and caressed her long, graceful neck. “Thomas would start at my throat and then he would massage lower, his rough hands making my skin tingle.” Her pink tongue traced over her upper lip as her hands smoothed over her shoulders and the tops of her round, alabaster breasts. “He would insist that I part my legs until they nearly trembled. And then he would touch me here.” Now her hand pressed provocatively at the vee at the top of her thighs so teasingly veiled by her dress. “There were times, of course, that I would play coy—” she fluttered her sable lashes, “—and then Thomas would call for assistance. One man would hold me down while the other explored.”

Ryder could not suppress a groan as his erection pushed against the fabric of his snug-fitting trousers.

“Of course, the rest you can imagine,” she said with a sweet smile. With feline grace, she lifted herself off the bench and smoothed her dress down.

A new, thoroughly possessive feeling overtook him. He leapt to his feet. “And did you do all this while married to me?”

“Surely, the idea doesn’t offend you? When you believed me Lewis’s wife you thought he should share me without complaint.”

The fog of opium had completely dissipated and his emotions were intensifying. He felt an acute stab of jealousy. “I asked you a question, woman. Did you couple with those men while bound to me?”

“You wish it so, I am sure, so that you can more easily dissolve the marriage. I am sorry to disappoint you then, because I’ve made the whole thing up. I taught Thomas’s children to read, so he gave me Titus.” Her beautiful green eyes were glossed with tears. She picked up her skirt and raced back to the garden.



Jessie was sobbing by the time she dashed into the ancient courtyard. The surrounding walls were crumbling, but the flowering vines she had planted to cover them made it an inviting place to sit and read, or in this situation to hide.

She pressed her heated face against the cool stone wall. Suggesting that she had made a whore of herself to get a horse still made her shake with rage. But it had been dangerous to trifle with such a daunting man. Especially one who had complete control over her future. The saucy flirting had been a reckless experiment that she ought not have tried.

How had she dared that performance? She knew nothing of sexual matters beyond what she’d witnessed while traveling the world with her parents. On a few occasions, she’d spied erotic rituals performed by members of native tribes.

Avenging her honor had proved almost too successful. When he’d groaned, she was sure she’d gone too far. She’d feared he would snatch her up and ravish her there on the lawn. But she’d been similarly affected. The hunger in his violet-blue eyes had sent warmth spiraling in her lower belly.

Jessie walked over to the marble urn planted with yellow roses. She plucked off a wilted blossom and stroked the soft petals over her wet cheeks. Suddenly, her skin prickled. She could feel the heat of him at her back. Pivoting to face him, she found herself staring at his chest. Lord Blackwood reached around her and removed a dying bloom as well. He enfolded it in his big fist. She understood the message—he could crush her as easily as the rose. She craned her neck to look up into his face. His eyes were narrowed in angry warning.

“What game are you playing, woman?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said and took a small step to the side. If she needed to run she wasn’t about to plow through her patch of lavender. It had taken her too long to grow.

“You know damn well what I mean.” He slowly opened his hand and the petals drifted to the dirt. “No matter the lies you tell me. It will be nothing to have this marriage pronounced invalid. Then I intend to have the lot of you carted off to prison.” His words were delivered with terrifying precision.

“Well, I suppose I should be grateful that you don’t intend to kill me.” Her back was nearly against the wall. She took several mincing steps to the side.

Rage flared in his eyes. “Do not tempt me,” he said.

As a few more discreet steps put her nearly out of his reach, his hand snaked out, wrapped around her arm and drew her back.

“At this moment, I have other plans for you.”

“I assure you, Lord Blackwood, I had no idea you were being deceived.” Her voice shook. “I was told you’d requested the marriage. That you wanted to ensure that the Blackwood lands were well cared for in your absence.”

He seized both of her wrists and lifted them above her head, clamping them against the wall. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You lying little bitch.” He ground his pelvis into her, his rock hard shaft pushing against her stomach.

Swallowing hard, she stared up into violet eyes shadowed by long black lashes. “I do not deserve to be treated this way. They tricked me as well.”

“
This
, coming from the lips of a woman who just taunted me with an erotic lie.” He shoved his thigh between her legs, lifting her to her toes. She lost her breath for a moment and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Her struggles caused her to rub intimately against the muscles of his thigh. She could feel herself getting moist with excitement. Embarrassed, she glanced up to see if he’d felt her reaction to him. He had. His lips were curled into a crooked, cocky smile.

He transferred both her wrists to one hand. Her fingers were beginning to tingle. Slowly, he moved his newly freed hand down the bare skin of her raised arm. His fingers trailed lower, tracing the top edge of her stays, which lifted her breasts like an offering. He circled the tip of his thumb around her taut nipple. She could feel the warmth of his touch through the thin muslin of her dress. She should have demanded that he let her go, but, instead, her treacherous body arched toward his hand. “Please,” was all she managed to utter. It sounded like she was begging for more rather than asking him to stop. He dipped his head and lightly bit her erect nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. She moaned in sweet pleasure.

He pushed his hand between their bodies and yanked up her dress and petticoats until there was nothing between her naked nether lips and the material of his trousers. He rubbed his leg back and forth so that she could feel the fine woolen fabric against the tender folds of her quim. If he were to release her wrists, she would surely fall in a dizzy heap at his feet. His rough handling of her should have frightened her, but instead she wanted more of it. She found him utterly compelling.

His thigh lifted her higher so that her feet dangled in the air. He pressed the side of his face against hers. The blue-black bristles shadowing his jaw were rough against her cheek. His deep voice resonated through her entire being as he spoke in her ear. “I had my uncle hand over the marriage document. You are legally my wife—
for now
. And I intend to have you in my bed tonight. And for as long as I wish.” He swept his tongue along the curl of her ear.

Lifting his head, he stared down at her as a wolf regards his prey. He flicked his tongue seductively in the slight cleft of her chin then ran it boldly over the seam of her lips. Craving his kiss, she parted her lips.

“You’d better be ready for tonight, sweeting, because your dangerous game is just getting started.” He breathed the words into her mouth, his lips grazing hers as he spoke. Then his tongue was inside her mouth tasting her deeply. She responded by rubbing her small tongue over his. He pulled back suddenly and set her on her feet. Gripping the rough wall with her fingertips, she kept herself from crumbling to the ground.

His chest was heaving. He stared at her as if bewildered, then turned hard on his heels and stalked away.

Jessie stared at the broken rose. Would she allow him to do the same to her heart?

Carrying a tray of tea, Jessie passed Henry scuttling down the hallway toward the parlor, his books on the black arts clutched to his chest.

“Won’t you have something to eat, Henry?”

He curled his back, hunching his shoulders over his precious tomes as though he were afraid she’d pluck them from his grip. “Must you always disturb my thoughts? Impertinent baggage.” He hastened his pace. His behavior had become even more erratic since Lord Blackwood’s return.

In the dining hall she set down the tea and tied back the heavy curtains allowing sunlight into the room. She fingered the empty brandy glass on the table. It could only belong to Lord Blackwood, since Lewis had ridden off immediately after breakfast. She eyed the brandy decanter. Not a drop remained. Food did not hold much interest for the viscount. His vices fortified him. Opium followed by a flood of liquor. More than likely, he’d taken himself upstairs and collapsed atop his freshly made bed. She hoped he would be insensible for the rest of the day and on through the night. The possibility of having to sleep in his bed and submit to his demands terrified and thrilled her all at once. He was convinced she was as much to blame for the marriage ruse as his uncle and cousin. And he was seeking retribution for the wrongs he thought she’d done him. The
punishment
he’d dealt her in the garden still sent shivers of pleasure through her body.

After enjoying a peaceful meal alone, Jessie packed two straw baskets with the herb loaves she’d baked that morning and set out to the barn to saddle Titus. Lord Blackwood had upset her normal schedule. Her visit would be later than usual, but hopefully not so late that she would face the wrath of Retscliff, the innkeeper. Or worse, have Lucy suffer for it. Jessie still cringed, thinking of the terrible thumping Retscliff had given Lucy, merely because she’d accepted Jessie’s meager offering. Retscliff had flung the cake and ground it into the dirt. Blaming herself, Jessie had vowed not to return. After all, her visits had started as an ease to her conscience, a sort of penance for her husband’s crimes.

But after Lucy had risked venturing to Tesslyn Hall, the bruises still fresh on her cheeks, it occurred to Jessie that they were kindred spirits.

Jessie adjusted the cowl of her cape so it hung far over her face, giving her anonymity.

Titus needed no prodding. He knew the route too well. It was a good thing because Jessie had a difficult time thinking of anything other than the far too big, far too handsome viscount.

Jessie gave the deep hood one last tug to make certain her features were obscured and reined the horse in at the rear of the tavern. The weathered, splintered door sandwiched between soot-caked windows spoke of utter despair and oppression. The rope ladder that dangled from the upstairs balcony swayed in the breeze. An easy escape for adulterous men. She cued Titus to snort three times.

The door opened, and Lucy stepped into the narrow alley. She squinted against the pale, lowering sun. Lucy was not a creature of the daylight. Her blood-red lips were startling against her waxen skin. She was far too young and frail to take the abuse Retscliff dealt her.

“Jess, do not linger. He’s in a monstrous foul mood today. Poor Sarah has had the worst of him.”

Jessie handed the woman the baskets. “Won’t you leave with me?” she asked as she did every time. But what sanctuary did she have to offer? What an arrogant notion to believe that she could save Lucy, when she couldn’t even save herself.

“Soon,” was the rote response.

“The night Maggie died, did you see the man who killed her?” It had never occurred to Jessie to ask the question before. Having lived with Lord Blackwood’s vile relations, it had not seemed farfetched for one of their own to be a murderer.