A Wicked Lord at the Wedding Page 6

  No safety there. His eyes glittered down at her with an elemental desire that laid her heart bare. Her husband, a man she did not recognize, but hungered for all the same. He had hurt her.

  “I have never kissed a woman with whiskers before,” he said softly.

  She had to laugh. “And I’ve never kissed a rat.”

  “Then we must be very desperate.”

  “Or married,” she said, wriggling back into a sitting position.

  He sat back, his expression watchful. “You’ll be glad to get out of that costume when we get home.”

  “That depends,” she said after a pause.

  His brow lifted. “On?”

  “On what I shall be getting into.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.” His rich voice resonated in the dark confines of the carriage. “We’ve just turned off Brompton Road.”

  She glanced over his shoulder to the window. That was the old tavern on the corner. Surely she could last a minute or so more. But she could not fend him off indefinitely as she had the past few weeks.

  What to do? Engage? Escape? But to where? The marriage laws, as deeply rooted in Anglo-Saxon autocracy as he appeared to be, provided no feasible escape from living with her husband.

  Why he had waited until tonight to pursue his marital rights seemed irrelevant. She suspected she’d given him more than a little encouragement. He slid back against her. She opened her mouth to object, then stopped at the naked longing in his look. Raise the drawbridge. Call out the guards.

  His hand cupped her chin. “Elle,” he said gently, using his pet name for her. “You still want me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “And I want a gold-wheeled carriage, a palace in India, a hundred servants at my beck and call. I want wine with every meal and—in my father’s words—things that are not always good for me.”

  “I’ll be good for you.” He stared at her in conviction. “And good to you. Please say that you want me.”

  The carriage slowed.

  “Very well,” she said. “I want you in the way that you probably mean. But even more I want to know that you won’t walk in and out of my life again and expect me to wait, or to be the same.”

  “I realize that now.” He paused. It seemed too easy. “Is that all?”

  “Well, you have to prove it.”

  “Can’t I have you now and offer proof later?”

  She shook her head in exasperation. The carriage rocked to a stop. Her cousin’s footsteps scuffed against the cobbles. She and Sebastien sat for another moment, regarding each other in heated silence. Her every female instinct craved his hard-sculpted body in her bed again. But her heart sought retribution for his neglect.

  “Welcome home,” she said.

  Then she picked up her tail with as much dignity as she could muster, and left before he could say anything to stop her.

  Chapter Seven

  He watched her dive through the carriage door her cousin had opened and stride across the pavement to their Belgrave Square town house. He sat back with a sigh of pent-up desire. What pitiful male arrogance to expect she’d want him back without certain demands met on his part. A woman needed explanations and apologies. Damn if he could find the words to make her understand why he’d stayed away so long.

  He shook himself and stepped outside into the night. His gaze shot to the figure lurking at the back of the carriage.

  “Is she upset with you?” Will asked, materializing from the misty shadows.

  “I didn’t hear the door slam,” he said. “Let’s hope she left it unlocked.”

  Will held up a conciliatory hand. “Look, she’s my cousin, as close to me as a sister could possibly be. But that doesn’t mean I can influence her behavior, and if you don’t mind me saying—”

  Sebastien looked around sharply. Two horse men trotted toward the carriage, then suddenly crossed the street. He stepped in front of Will, instinctively guarding him.

  “London is unsafe these days,” Will commented after several moments elapsed. “A gentleman is afraid to walk to his club after dark.”

  “What with this Mayfair Masquer breaking into bedrooms?” he asked wryly.

  Will lowered his voice. “I don’t think we were ever in any actual danger.”

  Sebastien grunted. “Lighting bombs in a crowded ballroom is not what I consider to be a harmless pastime. And just because I went along with this tonight doesn’t mean I’ll do so again.”

  Will stared down at his feet, looking for all the world like a chastened schoolboy. Wisps of straw-blond hair escaped his bell-trimmed hat. His rice powder had smeared, white chalk merging into triangles of black boot polish. “Perhaps you should leave finding the rest of the letters to her. If only to prove your love.”

  Love.

  Sebastien gazed up at the elegant white stucco town house. Candlelight flickered behind the third story bay window, illuminating the ironwork balcony. “Even a man in love needs leverage, doesn’t he?” he mused.

  “I hope you’re not seeking my advice. I don’t have the guts to ask the most desperate of debutantes to dance.”

  Sebastien laughed. “No. Only to set her dress on fire with your gunpowder theatrics.”

  “Did I do a decent job?” Will asked, his grin widening.

  Sebastien tactfully avoided an honest answer. “You looked after Eleanor while I was away. Nothing else matters.”

  “It’s your turn now.”

  His mouth twisted into a droll smile. “Well, wish me luck.”

  Eleanor peeked out through the bedroom curtains to the lone figure in the street. Will had trundled off into the night, presumably to get his beauty rest for rehearsals tomorrow at the theater.

  She wondered if Sebastien was going to stand there forever.

  Had he changed his mind? Had she frightened him off?

  She turned from the window in utter exasperation and went to her dressing table to remove the last of her whiskers.

  What an impossible man to predict.

  Had all that kissing and heavy breathing been a prelude to a passionate evening or to another night of twiddling her thumbs in the dark? Thumbs that were dying to undo his costume and reacquaint themselves with the lovely muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his other parts.

  She pulled off her hat and her cap, purposely dropping them in the middle of the floor. Let Lord Boscastle comment on what a little sloven her ladyship had become. She tugged off one of her jackboots, threw it over her shoulder, and clumped back to the window.

  Only one more peek, she promised herself.

  Just one. Maybe he would look up and remember she was waiting for him. Maybe he would even remember that they were married and he’d promised he would never go missing again. Husband and arrogant guardian, her left foot.

  Oh! She thought she could make out his tall, mist-enshrouded figure hurrying off in the direction of the square. Was he running after something, or away?

  “Coward,” she whispered. “You aren’t brave enough to face me.”

  She shook her head, backing away in rueful disappointment. Now where had he gone? To sleep on his beloved boat?

  Well, in her opinion if he’d left her again, he belonged at the river with the rest of the rats in London. She bent to remove her other boot, disgusted with herself for hoping tonight would be any different.

  But it had been different. She hadn’t imagined the heat that had flared between them in the carriage.

  “Here,” a silky voice whispered over her shoulder. “Let me get that for you. I don’t know how you managed while I was away.”

  She twisted, lost her balance, and fell—flustered—into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly, enfolding her in his steady grasp.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said in an embarrassingly low voice. “I thought you’d gone down the street.”

  “What ever for?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve waited for you in vain.”

  He clasped her hands and led
her toward the bed, agilely sidestepping the hat, cap, and boot she had left on the floor. He didn’t comment upon the mess, but she saw his brow lift.

  He looked up at her with a smile she had dreamed about. “I thought you might want a few moments to prepare,” he said after a heavy silence, his gaze piercing her.

  “For—?” Not that she couldn’t guess what he meant.

  His strong hands settled on her shoulders. “For us to be man and wife again.”

  What a beautiful sentiment.

  What gall.

  Still, a bolt of heat streaked through her body. She didn’t care if she were dreaming or not. He stood like a tower of Damascus steel—hard, beautiful to behold, tempting to touch.

  “But you’re still dressed,” he added with a tsk of disappointment.

  She stared at him in fascination. What was happening to her resolve? She knew how unreliable he was. And yet … “I wasn’t sure you were coming back. I watched you from the window.”

  “At least you’ve taken off your whiskers,” he said with a teasing grin.

  She glanced inadvertently at the cheval glass behind him. His reflection was all she could see. Masterful, dark, and wicked. He was really home.

  He guided her by the shoulders, his voice deep and lulling. “I don’t mind being of service in these matters.”

  “So you’ve said,” she whispered, bracing her hand against the bedpost.

  “You always were a perceptive woman,” he murmured.

  “You were easy to perceive once. I can’t say the same now.”

  “My motives are quite straightforward,” he said.

  “Even if your methods of achieving them are not.”

  “Dearest, you have developed such a suspicious mind.”

  She laughed at that. “Well, you know what they say. ‘An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.’ And you left me idle for long enough.”

  “But your devil is back,” he countered. “And he has several surprises planned for those idle hands of yours.”

  Her breath caught.

  She nodded slowly. “All right. I’m game.”

  A smile crossed his face. “I thought you might be.”

  “Aren’t we sure of ourselves?”

  “I have so much to make up for.”

  “What—”

  “Let me show you.” His hands wandered down her back. “Hold still.”

  And a moment later he had not only untied the myriad black laces that crossed her back, but also those of the corset beneath. The distinct popping of intricately stitched threads broke the silence that had fallen. She was too startled to protest.

  Another ruthless tug or two, and she stood naked under his pleased scrutiny.

  “My goodness.” She stared down at her ruined costume, the cat’s tail curled in a little question mark at his feet. “Wasn’t that a subtle overture?”

  “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

  “I certainly have,” she said, looking up at him frankly.

  “Thank God for that.”

  His eyes riveted her to the spot. She lowered her hands to her sides.

  Unshielded now.

  Without disguise.

  His stare drained her of her will. While he undid his coat and cuffs, she studied the moonbeams on the carpet and wished she could appear as cool as he, as aloof, not anything to be captured. But she was human, hot-blooded, her emotions teetering on the edge. If he didn’t make a move soon, she would disgrace herself.

  He was the only man who’d ever turned her head, and she had silenced her needs for too long.

  How easily they fell into bed together.

  How effortlessly he inflamed her blood and made her forget that he had forgotten her.

  “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his hands everywhere at once. “I wish the light were better so that I could see you.”

  She laughed, cradling his face to return his kisses. “I like the dark.”

  “Then I do, too. I missed you.”

  “Prove it.”

  He laughed, kissing her face, her lips, the points of her breasts until the damp heat in her belly turned to steam. His head lifted, a challenge smoldering behind his slumberous smile. “What do you want?” he asked slowly.

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  “You’re still my wife,” he said, his hand sliding around her waist. “That hasn’t changed.”

  Man and wife. A license to love as well as to lust after each other. As for the rest of their vows, she had no idea whether he had kept them, or what they meant to him now. She would address that matter in due course.

  From the instant she had kissed him in the carriage, she’d realized she would have to come to a compromise with herself. She could make them both miserable by pretending she did not desire him. But how much better to show him what he had missed.

  She had missed him so much. Every hot male inch of him. His musky scent. His low-pitched voice. The deft hands that moved over her body with a magician’s power.

  “Elle,” he whispered, deep kissing her again as if this were their first sexual encounter. His long fingers combed through her hair. His body settled against hers, his place marked, her surrender assumed. “Do you think anyone in London will notice if we stay in bed for a week?”

  “You’ve been gone for—”

  “—three years, and that’s only if we don’t count the other three when I rarely saw you.” His honest stare discomposed her. “So you see—I’ll need more than a week alone with you to make up for my neglect.” He shaped her bottom with his large hands. “Perhaps if we start with what comes to us naturally, the rest will fall back in place.”

  No. No. Wait. She refused to grant him what remained of her heart as eagerly as she did her body. The first three years of their marriage had been utterly bereft. Seeing him at the odd interval only made her miss him more. And while she might not have found contentment during the three later years of his absence, she had found her balance. No hills. No deep valleys. A safe footpath in between.

  “Get on your back, Sebastien,” she said with a resolve that, judging by his expression, surprised him as much as it had her.

  He rolled onto one shoulder, lifting his hands in laughing surrender. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “That sounds … promising. Spontaneous.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I’m yours.” He crossed his hands behind his neck, regarding her in expectant silence until her throat closed, and she realized that she had to do something to give her threat credence.

  Still, for all she had hoped for this moment of passionate revenge, the Eleanor of her powerful fantasies possessed stronger nerves than she of the vulnerable flesh.

  He lifted his brow, the superior male not only calling her bluff but reasserting his dominant place. Her gaze surveyed his nude body, a source of inspiration if ever she needed one. He had certainly risen to the challenge that she offered him. She pondered her next move, although his musky scent and overwhelming maleness certainly distracted her from cool strategy.

  He levered onto his elbow, his face smug. “If you’d rather I take the initiative—”

  With renewed determination she slid down between his outstretched thighs and raised onto her forearms beneath his erect staff. Her veins tingled in warm anticipation. She might not possess a wealth of sexual experience, but she had a keen memory for detail, and a maiden she was no more. She’d had ample time to reflect upon the few things he had taught her.

  And what she lacked in knowledge, she made up for in all the lonely hours of her imagination. Still, she would have liked a little time to reacquaint herself with the sinuous grace of his body—and its uninhibited response—to her beguilement.

  “Please,” he said, dropping back onto the bed with a moan. “Eleanor, please, for the love of God,” he said, rough breaths interspersed between each utterance. “Please.”

  “Is that please
as in yes or in no?” she asked with the eagerness of one who enjoyed her wickedness more than was wise.

  “Yes—as in I will go down on my knees to thank you every day for the rest of my life. Please take me in your mouth.”

  He shook, from his shoulders to the calves of his legs, his hard body responding dangerously, inviting her efforts to arouse him. All that strength at her command.

  It was tempting to misuse this temporary power.

  But why not? A license to lust. And if she pushed him too far—a provocative thought. She had a wildly excited husband at her command. She was willing to pay what ever price he demanded in return.

  Her tongue darted like a flame. She licked her way from his tight sac to the heavy purple knob of his sex. His hips jerked. His muscles relaxed, then tightened again. He knotted his fingers in her hair and tugged, not hard enough that she felt pain, but so that she understood he wanted more.

  “Have mercy on me, madam.” His voice rasped pleasantly at her nerves. Revenge might be more sweetly served than she’d hoped. “Don’t make me spill into your mouth on our first night in bed together.”

  She raised her gaze in acknowledgment, conceding nothing, holding his gaze for a satisfying moment. At his burning look she lowered her head to resume her campaign until she sensed he would break. It was then, at the moment she sensed victory, his body taut, dangerously still, that he suddenly caught her beneath her arms and threw her gently onto her back.

  “You’re overpowered,” he said simply.

  “You—”

  “Time to give the devil his due.”

  Her heart pounded, as if seeking to escape from her chest. In a simple act of unfair domination she had become his captive. Or had she? True, his large hands had locked around her wrists like shackles.

  But she had to admit there was certain advantage to having provoked Sebastien to this point. They could have been two strangers who had met at the masquerade.

  No confidences had to be shared.

  No promises made. Tomorrow they might be estranged again.

  Tonight they belonged to each other.

  “How can you be more beautiful than I remembered?” he mused, his husky voice warming her all over. “And even softer.”