Just Wicked Enough Page 16

  She gasped at the intimacy of his touch. She fought to imagine a man with blue eyes gazing at her, but she saw only green. She tried to imagine her fingers were tangled in blond hair, but she could only envision hair as black as a storm at midnight.

  He kissed the inside of her thighs. He kissed just below her navel, then dipped his tongue inside. How could he aim so true, without any hint of a stumble, with no evidence of clumsiness? It was as though he was already well acquainted with the path.

  She felt the brush of his chest over her stomach and then his mouth upon her breast. She very nearly came off the bed, as her fingers dug into his shoulders, to push him away, to draw him near.

  She’d been married for three months, but never had she been touched such as this. Never had she known such incredible torment. Her flesh burned, she writhed for want of something that she knew not how to acquire. She barely recognized the whimpers as coming from her.

  She was indeed wed to the devil, for only one familiar with sin, could be this cruel, so skilled at torture. He carried her to the brink of something she didn’t understand, then left her hovering, searching, lost…

  He returned with a growl and a fierceness that had her clinging to him as he buried his face into the curve of her neck, his mouth hot and wet against her skin, one arm strong and sure holding her close while it supported him, his other hand caressing her breast as though he’d never known anything as exquisite.

  She’d never felt the full length of her naked body pressed against another’s. Her feet caressed his calves, the coarse hair there kissing her soles. Beneath her hands, she could feel the play of corded muscles across his back.

  How had she managed to miss the fact she’d married a man of such strength, such determination, such unbridled passion? It was as though each touch of his hands caressed her everywhere, each brush of his lips over her skin, each sweep of his tongue stroked every inch all at once. His deep-throated groans shimmered along her nerve endings.

  She floated into ecstasy while writhing in hell.

  Even in the darkness, she was aware of his shifting, of his rising above her. She was more than ready for him when he entered her with one long, sure stroke. The fullness of him surprised her. She’d never felt this tight, never been so aware…

  He slid a hand beneath her hip, lifted her, and impossibly delved more deeply…

  Nothing that had ever come before had prepared her for this moment as he rocked against her. She wanted to scream for him to stop, terrified of where he might be leading her. She wanted to yell for him to continue, terrified that he might halt before her journey was complete.

  What she’d experienced before, during her first marriage, had been pleasant. Always pleasant. This was something else entirely. He’d given her a hint of his power in the forest, by the pond, but it paled in comparison with what he was delivering to her now. It was pleasure beyond comprehension, sensations almost beyond enduring.

  He was rough and gentle, harsh and tender. He was all those things.

  She didn’t think it possible, but her body tightened more firmly around his and then she was screaming, screaming as he carried her over into a realm where she flew among the stars.

  She was vaguely aware of his final thrust, the shudders rippling almost violently through him, the trembling in his arms as he held himself above her.

  Her own arms, limp, fell away from him.

  She was aware of his harsh breathing, heard him swallow hard. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, even as he eased his body from hers. Her sensitive skin felt the brush of his as he moved off her. She heard his feet hit the floor, felt the covers being drawn over her with unexpected tenderness.

  She was cognizant of movement. The door clicked, and she caught sight of the silhouette of his nude body outlined by the light pouring from his bedchamber just before he closed the door in his wake.

  Leaving her alone and more lonely than she’d imagined it possible to be.

  She rolled over to her side and allowed the tears to fall. What had passed between them should have been shared by two people deeply in love. It shouldn’t have left her bereft. And yet it had.

  Still clutching his dressing gown in his right hand, Michael crossed his bedchamber and dropped onto the sofa set before the fireplace. Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands, hands that still carried his wife’s sweet scent. The fragrance filled his nostrils, causing his body to harden painfully.

  He thought he’d prepared himself for what he’d demanded of her: pretend he was another. He hadn’t expected the anguish brought on by knowing she’d envisioned someone else making love to her.

  He brought his head up, his chin still cupped in his palms. When had he ever made love to a woman? He bedded women. Pure, simple, and selfishly. Oh, he cared for their pleasure, always sought to please them as much as they pleased him, but what he’d experienced tonight…

  He’d touched every inch of her with his hands and his mouth. He’d memorized every dip and curve. If he awoke blind in the morning, he could carve a perfect likeness of her.

  He released a brittle chuckle. No, he couldn’t do that as he had no skills at carving.

  But still, he could see her so plainly. Now he knew the exquisite silkiness of everything he’d seen that night in the bathing room. He wanted to return to her now, hold her close, stroke her again, hear her cries—

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Pretend they were for him.

  He’d told her to pretend, not realizing he’d be desperate to do the same. Not realizing the anguish he’d feel because he wasn’t the one she wanted in her bed.

  Dropping his head back, he plowed his hands through his hair. At least she’d touched him. And she’d been so tight, so incredibly tight he’d almost spilled his seed as she’d enveloped him in a cocoon of wet heat. Already his body yearned to experience that sweet torment once again.

  But he’d hesitated at the door, considered returning to her immediately. He’d heard her sobs. No, she’d not welcome him back tonight.

  Tomorrow night, though, when she’d recovered, when she had the strength to once again pretend, he’d return to her bedchamber, to her bed. And while she pretended he was someone else, he would pretend she had no reason to imagine he was anyone other than who he was.

  Chapter 15

  Stretching beneath the covers, Kate couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so well-rested, so glorious upon awakening. Her body was fairly thrumming. She released a tiny satisfied squeal. Dear Lord, but she felt marvelous.

  She stretched farther, the soreness between her legs giving her pause. Her eyes flew open as memories bombarded her.

  “Oh, you’re awake at last.”

  Clutching the covers against her nakedness—she’d been too lethargic, too sated last night to find the strength to recover her nightgown and slip it back on—she jerked her head to the side, to the chair where Chloe was slowly rising.

  “His lordship sent me to watch over you,” her maid said. “He was a bit concerned that you were still abed. ’Tis long past noon.”

  The draperies were pulled back, sunlight streaming into the room so she could see Chloe’s blush.

  “You don’t usually sleep so late,” Chloe said. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  “I feel fine,” Kate snapped. More than fine, truth be told.

  Chloe ducked her head. “I thought a dress with a high collar would do well for today.”

  Kate was accustomed to going nude before her servant. She threw the covers back and her gaze fell on the inside of her thigh and the bruise…

  She furrowed her brow. No, it wasn’t a bruise exactly. She remembered the lingering heat of Falconridge’s mouth. Lifting her gaze to her breast, she discovered another mark he’d left behind. Scrambling out of bed, she hurried across the room to the vanity, peered in the mirror, and saw the faintest of love bites at her throat, near her collarbone.

  Her husband needed to curb his enthusiasm. She started to turn, caught s
ight of her smile in the mirror. Had she ever worn such a self-satisfied expression?

  Even when she sought to scold him for this latest offense, she didn’t know if she could do it with any true anger reflected in her voice.

  Did she really want him to dim his attentions when he’d succeeded in carrying her to heights she’d never before attained?

  Was it possible Jenny had the right of it? That passion was more desirable than love?

  “Where is the marquess now?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know, my lady. He had the carriage brought around a few hours ago.”

  She wondered if he was as anxious to avoid her as she was to avoid him. What in the world did a lady say to a gentleman who’d hardly behaved as a gentleman? How could she possibly look him in the eye, knowing all the things he’d done to her, with her? She’d never had this problem with Wesley, but then his lovemaking had been much more tamed, more circumspect…besides, she’d loved him.

  She shook her head. Not had loved. Still loved. It was much easier to meet the gaze of a man you loved. Because love encompassed trust. Facing Falconridge was going to be exceedingly uncomfortable. She wanted to avoid it as long as possible. Short of taking a journey back to New York, her options were limited. She needed a rousing round of shopping. Spending money always calmed her, made her better able to face challenges.

  Kate turned to Chloe. “Yes, I think a dress with a high collar would do nicely for today. And have a carriage brought round for me.”

  She was in desperate need of a diversion.

  Kate’s first stop was the home her parents were leasing. She swept through the front door, a woman with a purpose. Jeremy, walking through the foyer, stopped in his tracks.

  “I expected you to come by sooner than this,” he drawled.

  “Where’s Jenny?”

  “Still abed. She didn’t invite him, Kate.”

  She knew who the him was. “Then it was rather rude of him to come, wasn’t it?”

  “It was also rude of him to marry you without our parents’ consent.”

  Jeremy had been instrumental in convincing her not to fight her father on the annulment. He had the argumentative skills to convince a saint to sin. No doubt a talent he’d inherited from their mother.

  “Did you ever like him?”

  “I always liked him. I just didn’t approve of his handling of you.”

  “Handling? You make it sound like I’m a damned horse.”

  Jeremy sighed. “You know what I mean. He fairly kidnapped you—”

  “I went willingly.”

  Her brother shook his head. “I won’t rehash it, except to say Falconridge didn’t seem too pleased with the attention Wiggins was giving you.”

  “You are a master of understatement.”

  Jeremy took a step toward her, his brow furrowed. “He didn’t take his anger out on you, did he?”

  In a way he had, but it had hardly been in a manner worthy of complaining about, and she certainly wasn’t going to discuss the particulars with Jeremy. “Suffice it to say my husband left no doubt regarding his displeasure over my association with Wesley. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to visit with Jenny.”

  “For what it’s worth, I believe Falconridge is the better man.”

  She released a loud scoff. “And upon what do you base that assessment?”

  “He didn’t do his wooing in secret as though he were ashamed of his behavior.”

  “He didn’t woo me at all, you dolt!”

  With that, she spun on her heel and darted up the stairs. She didn’t want to think of all the ways Wesley had wooed her: with chocolates, and poetry, and stolen kisses. She’d never had so much attention. It had been incredibly thrilling.

  She burst through Jenny’s door, marched across the room, and yanked back the draperies. Jenny screeched as the sunshine poured in unmercifully. They so seldom had bright days like this that Kate took delight in tormenting Jenny so.

  Jenny squinted up at her. “Kate?” She sat up. “What are you doing here?”

  When Kate only glared at her, Jenny groaned. “Oh, Wesley.”

  “Jeremy says you didn’t know he was in town.”

  “I didn’t. And I certainly didn’t invite him. I tried to warn you as soon as I saw him arrive, but I couldn’t find you, and then it was too late and I got distracted—” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Kate. Was it awful seeing him again?”

  Kate sat on the edge of the bed. “Not as awful as I thought it would be. It helped that his wife wasn’t at his side.”

  “I suspect she’ll be at Stonehaven’s ball. Will you attend that one?”

  Kate studied her gloves. She needed new ones. “I don’t know.” Did she really want to see Wesley with Melanie?

  “He’s not nearly as handsome as your marquess.”

  Kate looked up. “I’ve told you before, I don’t judge a man on his physical attributes. They decline with time. I judge a man based on the way he makes me feel.”

  Jenny gave her a wicked grin. “And how does your marquess make you feel?”

  Kate shot off the bed and walked to the window. She heard the bed creak, heard the light touch of Jenny’s feet on the floor.

  “Kate? Darling? Whatever’s wrong?” Jenny said quietly from behind her.

  Kate swiped at the blasted tear. Where had that come from? “He exercised his husbandly rights last night.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Kate shook her head quickly, before turning to meet her sister’s worried gaze. “I thought I knew…dear God, Jenny, I’ve been married. Wesley and I were intimate, but what I experienced last night…it was rather terrifying, but not in a horrible sort of way.”

  Jenny’s wicked smile returned. She dropped into a nearby chair, brought her feet up to the cushion, and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Tell me everything.”

  “I can’t. It was too personal.”

  “Was he passionate?”

  Kate nodded. “Very.”

  “Was it wonderful?”

  Kate bit her bottom lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded.

  Jenny released a tiny squeal. “Oh, you lucky girl.”

  Kate opened her eyes, unable to stop herself from grinning. “He was so enthusiastic he left little marks, little love bruises.”

  “Did you leave marks on him?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t run my mouth all over his body.”

  Jenny’s eyes widened, and Kate realized she’d said much more than she’d planned to. She rolled her eyes. “He’s very amorous, very active during lovemaking. He’s nothing at all like Wesley.”

  “You need to forget about Wesley.”

  “How can you say that? He was my first love.”

  “But he need not be your last.”

  “Falconridge has fairly stated that love will never be between us.”

  “Men often state things that aren’t true. I pay them no heed.”

  “Now, you’re an expert on men?”

  “Hardly. Look at the mess I made with Ravensley.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Of course not, but he could stir my passions with little more than a look. I can hardly forgive him for ruining his sister’s reputation and using me to do it.”

  “Louisa seems rather happy with Hawkhurst.”

  Jenny smiled softly. “I think she is. Still, Ravensley’s handling of the situation was deplorable. In betraying them, he betrayed me.”

  “He was desperate. Mother wouldn’t consent to you marrying an earl.”

  “Are you justifying his actions?”

  “No. I just understand desperation.”

  “He was at the ball last night.”

  Kate stared at her sister as understanding dawned. “The man wearing the mask.”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Was he the distraction?” Kate asked.

  Jenny had the look of a child who’d been caught pilfering cookies. “Don’t look so shocked. We only spoke for
a couple of moments.”

  “He is to you what Wesley was to me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You loved Wesley. Ravensley is nothing more than a bit of passion.”

  Kate wished she could be as sure.

  “You’re not going to do anything silly where Wesley’s concerned, are you?” Jenny asked, as though searching for a way to turn the conversation from her own questionable behavior.

  “Of course not.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Actually, I’m going shopping. Care to join me?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m to accompany Pemburton to the park.”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  “Probably.”

  “It seems to me a woman should sound a bit more excited about the prospect of marriage.”

  “I’m excited about the prospect of having little love bruises.”

  “You’re so naughty.”

  “Not as naughty as you.”

  Which brought Kate back to wondering how in the world she’d face Falconridge again.

  Michael heard the bell above the bookshop door jangle, its vibrations putting his nerves on edge once again. He’d heard it numerous times since he’d arrived. A dozen or so people had come and gone while he’d lingered, looking through various books.

  He didn’t know why he thought he could select one his wife would take pleasure in reading, could determine which one she had yet to read.

  Besides, she had sufficient money at her disposal and could no doubt purchase the entire bookshop if she wanted. While he had only a little remaining from the sale of his father’s ring. He needed to use it judiciously.

  What in damnation was he doing here? What did he think he was going to accomplish, except to prove that he knew little about her taste in reading, which she would no doubt consider a fault worse than not knowing her favorite color?

  He simply wanted to do something that would make it a bit easier to face her later this evening, after all that had transpired between them last night. He fully intended to have her again. He would have taken her that morning, had gone into her bedchamber with the intention of waking her with a rousing session, but she’d looked so innocent, pure, so soundly asleep.