Tonight or Never (21 page)

Chloe could feel him trying to come inside her yet more. The position was allowing him to enter her very deeply. He burrowed in another inch.

John was a very big man, and she was still tender from the newness of her experiences with lovemaking. She
whimpered,
a combination of confusion and desire.

"Don't fight it." He laved the indentation of her collarbone. "You'll enjoy this, sweet; you'll see… trust me?"

Chloe bit her lip, silently nodding her head. In this, as in all things, she trusted him. If he said he was going to bring her pleasure, then he would. She relaxed around him.

Her unconditional acceptance of him moved him greatly. He hugged her to him. "I'm going to glide all the way into you now—as far as I can go. We'll be like the swans, Chloe, gliding together…"

He did as he said.

Slid into her as far as he could.

The fullness of him throbbing within her took her breath away. In fact, he was within her so tightly…

"John."

He moaned something low, his hand cupping her chin to turn her to him. Angling his head, he joined their mouths.

"Like the swans," he mouthed against her lips, moving now inside her, gliding back and forth in an easy rocking motion.

The white owl hooted into the night; the breeze drifted around them; the moonlight silvered them. They became one with the night—part of the very essence of the magic of the scenery around them.

Lord John made love to her.

His compelling slides within her took on strength and purpose as he increased his actions.
Caught along with his wife in the spell of
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
.
In the spell of Chloe's charms.

Bringing her hips into the contour of his own, he pinned her to him in a taut hold, stroking firm and fast. He called out her name over and over. He remembered her taste and inhaled her essence all over again as he strained inside her. His cries matched hers as he strove to bring them higher and higher.

Chloe knew she would never forget this night.
Ever.

Her head fell back, encountering the muscled wall of his chest. It was all she could do not to yell out her true feelings for him. Somehow, she managed to hold back. It was not time—nowhere near time…

One of his hands released her hip to palm her breast, while the other maintained
its firm hold
on her. He brushed the tip with a skimming caress. The fine touch, so at counterpoint to his other motions below, made her ache with longing.

How could a woman want a man so much?

A sob of desire escaped her lips.

John answered her by placing hot, hungry kisses on the back of her neck. His hand left her breast to skim her nether curls. She knew what he was going to do. Her hand came over his wrist to stop him—it would be too much.

"No, please, don't." She gasped, breathless.

He ignored her request, sinking his fingers in the rich, red hair. Finding what he was looking for in a well of her liquid honey.

His forefinger stroked the hard little nub in circular motions as he mirrored the action inside her by rotating his hips.

Chloe screamed her release into the night wind.

With a guarded strength, he drove into her fiercely, his raw cry echoing hers as he too found completion.

Chloe sagged in his grip, almost fainting in his hold. The experience had overwhelmed her physically and emotionally. John gathered her in his arms, carrying her back into their room.

When he bent over her to place her in their bed, he was surprised
to see
tears on her face. He wiped one away. "What's this?" he asked,
concerned,
his voice still hoarse from his own experience.

"Beautiful," she whispered. "It was so beautiful."

His eyes became suspiciously damp. "Yes, sweet, it was."

John was at a loss for words himself, so he simply joined her in bed, covering them both with a thin coverlet.
Making sure to wrap her securely in his arms.

It had been the most wondrous experience of his life.

And it worried him profoundly.

Chapter Nine

Surrounded by
Cyns

A few days later, John happened to be crossing through the foyer when a great pounding commenced at the front door of the house. Eyebrow raised, he stood in the center of the entry, wondering what new trouble was about to fall on his doorstep. One thing could be said for
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
—it was never dull.

The butler hastily walked to the door, apologizing to Lord Sexton the whole way, as if the noise on the doorstep were somehow his fault. He opened the door to seven shouting Frenchman, all speaking at once.

And a bedraggled bunch they were too.

The poor butler put his hands up to try to bring some order to the fracas, but the French were having none of it. Each one tried to talk over the other in an effort to get his opinion heard.

John calmly stepped forward. "Having a bit of a problem, Calloway?"

The staid butler cleared his throat.
"Aye, my lord.
Can't make heads or tails of what they're saying."

"Allow me." John faced the motley group, surprised to recognize the
Cyndreac
brothers on his doorstep.

"In English, lads."
He grinned at them, oddly glad to see they still had their heads. For all their rowdiness, they were an engaging bunch.

"Lord Sexton," one of them spoke up in perfect, unaccented English above the yammering of the others. "We are seeking Countess de
Fonbeaulard
and her granddaughter—if this servant will only let us by!"

"And what is your business with them?"

"Do not be foolish! We seek asylum, of course! We have just escaped from the Place de
Greve
! We are great friends with the
Fonbeaulards
; now if you would let us pass…" He was younger and slightly shorter than John but still managed to look down his aristocratic French nose at the viscount. "We have had an ordeal—as you can see."

They did appear some the worse for wear. They were bedraggled, filthy, and probably starving as well. Despite their state, they were still remarkably elegant.

Apparently even the rigors of dungeon life weren't enough to dampen their joie de vivre.

He was going to let them in, of course. But he needed to make one thing clear to these wild pups before he did.

Leaning insolently against the door frame, he blocked the one who had spoken to him from sweeping past. "Let's get one thing clear between us, Count
Cyndreac
."

Seven count faces watched him haughtily.

"I am the master of this estate; it is my approval you need seek—for
everything
."

"You?"
One of them sneered. "You are but a fixture, from what I hear!" He tried to elbow past John, but the viscount held his ground.

"Hmm. Sorry, lads, but this fixture is wed to the mistress of the estate, which means…" He let the idea sink in.

All fourteen of the golden eyes widened at once.
Message delivered
.

It was rather comical, the speed with which they began to ingratiate themselves to him.

Two of them slapped his back; one winked at him; another nodded approvingly; while still another declared him the finest choice for the countess.

"Who said anything about the countess?" he asked softly. "I am husband to Chloe."

"Not Chloe!" A great wail issued forth. Apparently this news did not sit as well with the brothers. "But we intended to marry her!"

John shook his head. "All seven of you?" he asked dryly.

"Do not be foolish! We decided on the way here that
Adrien
would marry her! Now what will we do?" They all threw their hands up in the air.

John couldn't help but smile. "I hadn't realized any of you fellows were on the marriage mart. All of the stories I've heard have indicated just the opposite."

"Well, yes, but this is different!" one answered.

"How so?"

"We need an estate!"

"Ours has been confiscated!"

"What is a count without an estate?" They all speared him a pointed look.

Up until very recently John had been a viscount without an estate.

"Believe me, lads, you'll survive," he intoned sardonically. "Come on inside—you look about ready to drop." He held the door open for them.

They gratefully entered.

The
Cyndreacs
were brash but likable; John bore them no ill-will, and they were close friends of his wife's family.

"
Merci
, Lord Sexton," the one who first spoke said. "We are grateful for your hospitality; it has been a difficult journey."

"How did you get here?" he asked quietly.

"It was the Black Rose. He saved us from the blade in the
nick
of time." The youth grinned cheekily at his pun, although John noted he was a tad white around the mouth. The experience had been no lighthearted romp for them. John admired the lad's bravery.

"And he brought you here?" John inquired curiously. This was a peculiar turn of events.

"To your very doorstep, Lord Sexton."

John rubbed his chin.
"Hmm."
First
Zu-Zu
, now the
Cyndreacs
.
Very curious.

The butler led them up the stairs. "One thing else, Counts." They all turned on the stairs to look at him. They really did appear exhausted. John felt a trifle sorry for them.

"
Oui
?"
They all said at once.

Whatever he had to say could wait. He smiled kindly at them. "Rest well; you're safe here."

They all smiled gratefully at him, hurrying after Calloway.

Good Lord, they were younger than he thought.
Younger and bound to be trouble.
They appeared to be from about sixteen to around twenty-one or thereabouts; although he couldn't tell who was what, they all looked so much alike.

Wonderful.
Seven
brothers who, by all accounts, had had no parental guidance in years and, as members of the—until recently—privileged
class, were probably spoiled rotten. They certainly had a wild reputation. It almost rivaled his. Not quite, but then, not many did.

He grinned.
The Seven Deadly
Cyns
.
Here in his house.

The smile slowly died on his face.
In the same house as his beautiful Chloe
? The viscount's normally golden skin tone paled.

He would guillotine them himself if they didn't behave!

See if he didn't.

Percy ambushed John as he made his way down for dinner that evening. Already he was late.

Chloe had spent the afternoon helping the countess bottle some aromatic oils, a task she told him she especially enjoyed after the winter.

Since they had barely left their room the past few days, he had sent her on her way with a quick kiss, deciding to explore some of the Heart family legacy stored in the attic.

He had unearthed two very interesting personal diaries and they captured his attention the entire afternoon.

Briefly, he wondered what had become of the Sexton personal belongings. Perhaps he could begin tracking some of his own family's legacy and purchase it back? The idea intrigued him. He made a mental note to ask Chloe what she thought of the idea. Chloe was very good at ferreting out details; she would be of invaluable help in the project, if they decided to undertake it.

Admitting the fact that he had no head for figures, he acknowledged that she would probably be the one to do the research, cataloging, and purchasing as well.

Actually, she would have to take charge of the whole thing.

He blew out a gust of air. Maybe it was too much to ask of her. Well, if he let her know he would work right alongside her, perhaps she would consider it.

The Lord of Sex goes on an antique-hunting mission
. He snickered. Who would believe this?

He was thinking about how enjoyable it might turn out to be—chasing down the pieces, traveling together to acquire them—when Percy waylaid him in the hallway.

It was the Spanish fly dilemma revisited.

Why did I take this hallway
? John recoiled from the injustices of fate.

"Percy, will you cease! I am not interested in the
noddy
color of your breeches!"