Wicked Seduction (20 page)

She saw the truth of it in his eyes and in every line of his body. He believed himself an animal.

“Let me kiss you, angel,” he whispered. “Let me remember what it is like to love a woman.”

Those were the words that undid her. They so clearly expressed what he needed to do, and what she needed to feel: love. If only for a night and only a love of the body. She wanted it desperately. And so this time when he leaned forward to claim her mouth, she met him halfway.

She let him plunder her lips, open her mouth and thrust his tongue inside. She let him lift and mold her right breast with one hand while the other gently supported her down to the bed. Then he left her mouth to rain kisses upon her body. He touched her neck, shoulder, and breasts, where he suckled until she grabbed his shoulders as an anchor against the sensations he built.

Belly and hip came next, as he shook off the reach of her hands. He slipped off the edge of the bed when he began to kiss the top of her thigh. She did not know what he was doing, so she raised her head in confusion.

“If I am beside you, nothing will stop me from taking you.”

“But—”

“Press a pillow to your face. It will muffle your sounds.”

“But—”

“Do as I ask, angel. I will not hurt you.”

She knew he wouldn’t. And more, she knew that whatever he intended would be both deeply scandalous and incredibly wonderful. So she did as he bid.

“Trust me, angel,” he said against her skin.

She did. So she let him gently—firmly—spread her thighs apart. His lips were still on her leg, his tongue stroking circles across her skin. She was glad, then, that her face was buried in a pillow. She burned with embarrassment, but she did not stop him as she felt him gently shift between her legs. He set her calves on his shoulder while still pressing soft kisses into her inner thigh.

Then she felt his fingers stroking her open. His touch flowed from her center upward, outward, opening everything to his touch. Never had anything felt more intimate, and she tightened her thighs, lifting away from him in reaction. But there was nowhere for her to go and soon she felt something even more shocking.

He was kissing her there! His lips pressed tiny kisses up her thighs until he was at the apex. Then she felt his tongue, swirling about her folds, licking while she arched in wonder. Fire shot through her belly and her heart felt like it would explode. But nothing compared to the sensation of his tongue so wide and so strong as he pressed . . . she didn’t even know where. But he did it again, and she felt a scream building in her throat.

Her body arched and her legs tightened. She wanted him to do it again and again while the tension in her belly grew. Instead, she felt his fingers pushing into her. First one, sliding in so easily, and yet she felt its width and every knuckle. He pulled it out only to push in again, and she whimpered without even knowing why. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

She got another push, this time of two fingers, and she liked the thicker feeling, the stretch that he gave her. Her movements on the bed were slowing, her mind caught up with the sensations of his fingers pushing into her.

But he withdrew them again; this time though, he flowed his thumb upward to press against that wonderful place. It was too fast a movement and too soft, so she arched to push against him.

“You cannot believe how beautiful a sight this is,” he said as he stroked her again, this time harder. “I love watching your breasts in the moonlight. I love seeing your body move when I touch you.”

Her legs were spread as wide as they would go, her body alternately arching into him then flowing down, only to push upward again.

“Press the pillow against your face, angel. Do it now.”

She hadn’t even realized that the fabric had fallen away. That the lift and lower of her hips had dislodged it. She grabbed it now, pushing it tight against the scream he built in her. His fingers were pushing inside again. And this time when he withdrew, he rolled a long circle over her spot higher up.

She whimpered, the sound caught by the pillow. And then he pressed his mouth to that place. He sealed it with his lips and thrust his tongue against her. He moved rhythmically, pushing hard then sucking, pushing hard, then sucking. Her entire body pulsed with his mouth. Her legs tightened. Her blood pounded in her ears. And the heat—sweet heaven, the fire that raced over her skin!

He pushed with his tongue again. And again. And then he sucked hard.

She burst apart. Her body convulsed in waves of pleasure. Her mind soared, and yes, she screamed.

He held her while she arched on the bed. He pressed kisses into her thighs that sparked tiny bursts of flame under her skin. And the tremors continued, one after another. Growing smaller with each passing moment, but still filling her with such sweetness.

This was what physical love felt like. This is what lucky ladies experienced in their marriage bed. And this is what she wanted with Kit. She let the pillow fall from her face, her body still suffused with delight. She looked down at him, not even ashamed of how she lay sprawled with him between her thighs.

“That was incredible,” she breathed.

He grinned like a schoolboy. Then he pressed a long kiss against her thigh before slowly straightening up from the bed. She held out her arms. She wanted him lying against her, his body pressed hard and full on top of her.

“Come lie down for a bit,” she said.

He looked at her, his gaze dark and hungry. Then he suddenly covered her with the sheet. “I dare not.”

She frowned and pushed up on one elbow. “Just for a bit, Kit.”

He shook his head. “I have seen men take women in their sleep.”

“But—”

“The men, Maddy. They were the ones asleep. We were packed in so tight sometimes, men and women all pressed together. Men dropping with exhaustion, their eyes closed and their mind turned off. They became animals, thrusting and taking without even knowing what they did.”

“But you’re not—”

“I want you that badly, sweet Maddy. I will.”

She bit her lip, then abruptly made her decision. “Then do so,” she said.

His nostrils flared, and his body went tense. “You would have me take your virginity? Ruin you forever?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

His hands tightened into fists by his side and he took a step backward. She lifted up, boldly letting the covers drop away from her breasts. His gaze went immediately to them, and she inhaled deeply just to make them more visible. He closed his eyes.

“You would have me lose what little honor is left to me?” he rasped. “The one thing I never did as a slave was rape a woman. You would have me lose that?”

She shifted onto her knees. Her breasts bobbed and the covers slid completely away. “You cannot rape a willing woman.”

“You don’t know what you are saying!” he cried, his voice going deeper with each word.

“I do,” she said firmly. Then she quickly leaped off the bed and rushed to shut the window. She slammed it down, the sound loud in the silent house. “I intend to be caught with you, Kit. I will trap you into marriage.”

His eyes flew wide and a look of panic flashed through his expression. “You want me by force?” he gasped.

“I do.” She lifted her chin, stunned at what she had just declared.

He looked equally struck, his mouth slipping open as he stared at her. But then he seemed to recover. His mouth closed first, and he released his breath on a long, steady exhale. His hands relaxed by his side while his shoulders slowly straightened. A look of gratitude crossed his features—so quickly she thought she dreamed it—and then his entire face became shuttered. Then worst of all, his eyes became cold.

“I won’t do it,” he said.

The words were so far from what she expected that her mind could not grasp them. “W-What?”

“I won’t,” he repeated, his voice low but no less clear. “You can scream if you want. Bring the entire house down on us, but no matter what you do, I will not marry you. You cannot force a man who cares nothing for his reputation.”

She blinked against the tears. She understood every word, and yet she could not believe what he said. “But you want me. You think I am beautiful.”

“I do. You are. But the answer is still no.”

She gasped, the pain cutting through her so deeply that she pressed a hand to her chest. Suddenly, she felt naked standing before him. She saw him step forward reflexively, as if to go to her, but she twisted away. She abandoned the window to grab her dressing grown and wrap it tightly around herself. And when she was covered, she lifted her head to look at him.

He stood in the middle of the room, his hands thrust deep into his pocket, his expression tortured.
How dare he,
she thought.
How dare he look so miserable right now?
She wanted to say something cruel. She knew that by morning, she would have a dozen jibes to throw at him, but right now she just wanted him gone.

“Angel,” he rasped. “You think you want me now. I am the first man to show you pleasure. Of course you think to build a life on that.”

“I am not a fool!”

“Neither are you experienced.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and when his hand fell away, he looked more miserable than she had ever seen. “Angel, I am not what you want. I cannot give you the life you deserve.”

“How dare you,” she hissed. “How dare you sneak into my bedroom, show me such things, and then tell me I do not know what I want. I do not understand what I
deserve
. Of all the arrogance! Will you next tell me I cannot marry who I chose and put me on a boat for my own good?”

She saw her words hit him like daggers. His body recoiled in horror at the comparison to what the Earl of Thornedale had done to him. “Angel—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Maddy,” she ground out. “My name is Maddy!”

He bit his lip and nodded, his expression guilty, and yet still stubborn. She saw it in his tightened jaw. No matter what she said now, he would not change. He would not marry her.

“Get out,” she hissed.

He jerked as if slapped, his gaze going first to the window then back to her. He opened his mouth to say something to her. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t even want to see his lips move, so she spun around, giving him her back.

She heard him hesitate, and for a brief moment her heart surged. Maybe he would apologize. Maybe he would change his mind and go down on one knee before her, begging her to be his bride. Maybe.

The next sound was the windowpane lifting up and a rustle of fabric as he climbed out. A long moment later, she heard the soft thud of his feet as he jumped to the ground. Then nothing.

Kit was gone.

Chapter 18

“You have changed the ribbon to blue silk. An excellent choice, I believe, and it completely alters the appearance of the gown.”

Maddy twisted in her seat to look at the newcomer to their little party on the edge of the ballroom. She didn’t need to look. She knew the cadences of Mr. Mitchell Wakely’s voice down to every nuance. Just as she knew he had no interest in hearing her simper in response. So she didn’t. She arched a brow in challenge.

“Apparently not enough of a change, as you seem to recognize the dress.”

“Ah,” he said with his own arch look, “but I find that the details can change everything. For example, I don’t believe I have ever seen you wear that pin before.” He narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to be? It looks like an upsidedown tree.”

She chuckled as she looked down at the pin. “You’re quite right,” she quipped. “From this angle, it does indeed appear to be a tree. How clever of you to figure it out!”

“Wherever did you find such an interesting ornament?”

She almost lied to him. She almost said that it was an heirloom she’d only recently discovered. That alone would up her market value by a few hundred pounds. But she couldn’t lie to her future husband. Or rather the man she hoped would become her husband. Instead, she opted for a version of the truth that would not prick her conscience.

“It’s not mine,” she confessed. “I’m holding it for a friend. I believe we decided it was a peacock.”

“Hmmm,” he said as he narrowed his gaze even tighter on the jewelry. She hoped he was looking at the shape and design of the piece, but his next words dispelled that notion. “Quite an expensive lot of jewels to be leaving with a friend.”

“Well,” she said with a shrug that she hoped appeared casual. “It is a rather ugly piece.”

She suddenly started fussing with the folds of her scarf, deciding to cover up the jewelry. It felt wrong, somehow, wearing Kit’s broach when trying to attract a different man. But she had needed something to pin her scarf, something to change the look of a ball gown worn a dozen times too many. She was tired of borrowing from Rose, who had gotten rather snippy lately about everything, and so in desperation, she had reached for the broach. And now Mr. Wakely was touching her hand, stopping her from hiding the piece.

“No, no, leave it. I believe it is a peacock after all.”

“But—”

“Leave it, Maddy. But don’t tell anyone that it’s not yours.”

She flushed at his words, and she looked away. She ought to chastise him for using her Christian name, but she hadn’t the heart. Nearly two months had passed since Kit’s departure from her bedroom. Almost the entire Season was gone, and no one had offered for either herself or Rose. Which meant that life was rapidly becoming untenable for them both.

At least it was easier on Rose, not that the girl seemed to see it that way. Her father might bluster about the expense, but he would not toss his own daughter out. Maddy, on the other hand, had no such quarter. She had just this morning been surprised by a private visit from her uncle. He had been plainspoken, as was his wont. He had repeated that she had no hope of an offer this late in the Season. And as Rose would soon be of age, she had no need of a chaperone. Therefore, he wished to make his arrangement with Maddy official. He would even write up a contract making her his mistress. She would continue to care for the house and grace his bed. In return, he would pay her a handsome sum when he tired of her. It was all the rage, he said. And was just like a marriage.

Except, of course, it wasn’t. She had refused him in no uncertain terms. And he had given her notice. In one week’s time, she would be out on the street. How she wished she’d had the presence of mind to throw her uncle out of her bedroom. But she hadn’t. She’d simply stared at him, tears burning in her eyes, but she’d refused to let them fall.

Then, after he’d left, she’d made her decision. She would become a governess or a seamstress. Or a chimney sweep if need be. But she would
not
become her uncle’s mistress. She intended to visit an employment office first thing in the morning. That was, of course, assuming she could not bring Mr. Wakely up to scratch tonight.

“I am pleased to find you here tonight,” she said by way of opening.

“I can always be found where there are beautiful ladies.” The words were routine banter, heard a dozen different ways at any ball. But the way he looked at her when he said it made her flush even hotter. Did he really think her beautiful? What with Rose not five feet from her?

“Ah,” he said in approval. “I like it when there is color in your cheeks. You have been much too peaked lately.”

That came from managing an earl’s household by day and husband hunting by night, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she decided to come to the point. She had thought and thought on how she would do this. After all, one usually didn’t baldly ask a man if he intended to offer marriage. But she couldn’t wait any longer. She glanced to the side at Rose, who was flirting rather outrageously with a bevy of young men. Then she glanced at Mr. Wakely.

“Do you think we could take a turn about the ballroom? It will be a few minutes before the next set starts.”

“Yes, it is rather close here,” Mr. Wakely said as he was jostled by yet another of Rose’s beaus. “Shall we head toward the windows? It is a little cooler there, but not much.”

“An excellent idea,” she returned as she took his arm. And as she did, she couldn’t help but wonder—would she be doing this for the rest of her life? Spending every moment at his side and in his bed? Did she want that? Of course she did, she told herself sternly. It was either Mr. Wakely or the poorhouse.

So she resolutely pushed aside thoughts of any other men, most especially a dark, tortured pirate slave, and centered herself on how exactly she should ask Mr. Wakely to marry her.

“The Season is almost done,” she began, her gaze going to the open windows. “Will you be staying in the city or visiting your relatives up north?”

“Oh, I shall remain here. Always work to do for a banker.”

She laughed, then abruptly cut off the sound. It was too high and almost horse like. Sadly, the uncharacteristic sound did not go unnoticed. Mr. Wakely slowed his step to cast her a curious look.

“Is something amiss, Miss Wilson? You seem rather nervous all of a sudden.”

She swallowed and reminded herself that he valued plain speaking. “Ah, well, that is perhaps because I am.”

His brows shot up at that and his steps came to a halt. “Is there a particular reason?”

Plain speaking, she repeated to herself. Plain speaking. “My uncle is throwing me out in a week’s time. At the end of the Season.” She said the words, then felt her eyes widen in shock at what she’d said. “Oh, sweet heaven! I cannot believe I said that.”

Mr. Wakely’s eyes had darkened to near pitch. And given that his eyes were light brown, that was saying something indeed. “Come, let’s walk a bit farther, shall we?”

“The balcony is just beyond there,” she said once she’d swallowed the lump in her throat. “We should be a bit more private—”

“No. If we keep our voices low enough, we should be private enough in the ballroom. So long as we keep moving.”

Maddy nodded, though she really doubted they would have more privacy in a crowded room. Still, she deferred to his wishes and began a sedate and very proper stroll around nearly everyone of the
ton
who was still in London.

“Why would your uncle do such a drastic thing?” he asked after a moment. His tone was so bland, she at first thought he had asked after Uncle Frank’s dyspepsia.

“He has tired of paying for my keep,” she said.

Mr. Wakely arched a brow. “I doubt you are that expensive. You have only three good gowns purchased by Lady Rose, as she is wont to tell everyone. And if you were to leave, he would have to pay for a housekeeper. You are a cost savings to your uncle, not an expense.”

She bit her lip, pleased beyond measure that someone understood her value. “Thank you,” she finally managed. “I have learned to economize.”

“You’ve done a great deal more than that, I warrant. Which brings me back to the first question. Why would he do such a drastic thing? He is not unaware of your value, I assure you. The earl knows enough about his money to see that.”

This in turn caused her step to falter as she gaped at him. “Truly?” she said. “You think he knows—”

“Of course he does!”

“But—”

“He knows, Maddy. Now smile and keep walking.”

It took her a moment, but she managed to do it. All this time, she simply thought he didn’t see what she did for him—for Rose and for his home. But he did? Uncle Frank knew how very much she managed?

“Really?” she said more to herself than to Mr. Wakely. “He really knows.”

“Yes,” he said, then he patted her hand in a polite gesture as he smiled at a nearby matron. “So why make his, um, most recent choice?”

The choice to throw her out of his house. The answer was obvious, of course, not that she wanted to face it so squarely. He was forcing her hand, guessing that she would succumb to his advances rather than face the street.

“I won’t do it,” she said firmly, repeating the vow she had uttered just this morning. “I will not do it.”

Mr. Wakely arched his brow and spoke, his voice low and slow. “You will not be cast aside?”

“What? No! I won’t become his mistress just to have a roof over my head!”

“Ah. As I suspected.”

Maddy didn’t really hear his words. She was too busy fuming less and less silently. “To think I believed him the kindest of men when I came to London. I never thought he would stoop so low. I thought he was ignorant of household things. But to know what I am worth, to know that I am a help, and yet still demand more! And such a demand! Oh, I vow I will scratch out his eyes!”

Mr. Wakely didn’t respond. He simply walked with her and occasionally admonished her to lower her tone. She could tell by the taut feel of his arm that he was angry, but no one else would know as he nodded to various people they passed.

Eventually, her passionate diatribe wound down. After all, this was not really new information. Whether done out of ignorance or lust, the situation remained. Her uncle would throw her out in less than a week’s time. And on that unsavory thought, her words finally sputtered to halt.

After a moment or more of silence, Mr. Wakely spoke. “What do you intend to do then?”

“I intend to apply at an employment agency tomorrow morning. I could be an acceptable governess.”

He nodded. “I am certain you could. But, um, I’m afraid you will not be hired. Not as a governess in any gently bred home.”

Again, his words were delivered so blandly, his tone so polite that she did not at first understand his meaning. “What? Why not?”

“I’m afraid, Miss Wilson, that any reputable agency would make some inquiries regarding your past before recommending you to a client.”

She nodded. She already knew that. “But my past is exemplary. If anything, it is rather bland.”

“Not if . . . I beg you, Maddy, do not cry out . . .”

Maddy tried to stop walking. She tried to face him square in the eye, but he would not let her. He forced her to keep meandering aimlessly through the maze of people. “Mitchell, what are you trying to say?”

He grimaced, and she could tell he had no love of what he was about to tell her. “You will not be hired if you have been an earl’s mistress for the last three years.”

It was easy to keep silent. She didn’t understand the least thing he’d said. “But that is what I am saying. That is his bargain with me. He will not throw me out if I
become
his mistress.”

Mr. Wakely shook his head. “But a few months ago, he began telling people that you have been gracing his bed for years now. Almost since the very moment you came to London.”

“That’s ridiculous!” she snapped. And it was perilously close to a scream.

“Of course it is, and I suspected it was a lie more than a month ago.”

“A month ago,” she murmured.
More
than a month ago. Which meant that her uncle had been spreading his slander from the very beginning! It took long moments for the truth of that to sink in. And for her to take the next logical step. “But that means I never had a chance to find a husband! He ruined me from the very beginning!”

“Er. Well, yes. But very quietly, as these things go. He made it clear that he would ruin anyone who made such a thing known.”

“But he is the one who created the rumor!”

“Yes. Obviously. And I believe his strategy has backfired somewhat in that it has clearly hurt Rose’s chances. It’s all rather unsavory, don’t you know, courting a girl in front of her father’s mistress.”

“But I’m not!”

“I know! I know!” He rubbed a hand over his face and directed her to a bench. It was in an open hallway and people were constantly moving back and forth, but this tiny space was empty.

Maddy sat down, feeling her entire world shift. It wasn’t so large a shift, really. Her uncle was angling to have her as his mistress. She knew that. And yet she had trouble processing the cold calculation of it all, the spurious rumor, the ruination of her chances before it had even begun. “He is my uncle,” she said, her words and her entire body feeling very small.

Mr. Wakely had no words except a sigh. His expression was miserable, and his hand continued to pat hers with unspoken sympathy as he stood beside her. But this news was so much beyond what she had imagined for this night. When she had made her plans this evening, she had imagined it ending with a kiss. A passionate kiss shared between an engaged couple.

“That’s why you didn’t offer for me last month,” she said. “Because you thought I was his mistress.”

He swallowed and looked aside. “As I said, I realized it was a lie some time ago.”

Her gaze leaped to his. “But then—”

“I am a banker, Miss Wilson. Management of money requires the strictest moral code. No one would give a man of uncertain character access to their funds. A man in my profession must appear to have the highest moral standard.”