A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (31 page)

He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alexander?” She touched his shoulder. “If you keep running from your feelings, you’ll be a tortured man all of your life. Trust me.” He turned toward her and she stroked his stubbled chin. “I won’t betray you,” she murmured, trailing her finger along the jagged path of his scar. “I love you. Let my love make you whole again.”

He hesitated a second, then reached out and traced her lips with his finger. “I don’t deserve you or your love.”

She set the candle on the mantel and circled her arms around his neck. “I love you, Alexander. All I ask
is you let me show you. Don’t ignore me,” she whispered, leaning up on tiptoe to brush a kiss against his scar. “Don’t avoid me.” Her lips trailed down his face to his chin. “And don’t refuse me.” She touched her mouth to his. “Just let me love you.”

“Francie,” Alexander groaned. “You bring me to my knees.” He buried his hands in her hair and pulled her to him.

“Trust me,” she whispered against his lips. “Trust me and my love will make you the strongest man in the world.”

***

Francie’s words pounded in Alexander’s brain, her promises coursing through every nerve in his body.

Trust me. Don’t ignore me. Trust me. Don’t avoid me. Trust me. Don’t refuse me. Trust me. Just let me love you. Trust me
.

He was so damned tired of waging this battle against himself and these feelings that clamored inside, begging for release. What if he did the unthinkable and opened himself up to her?
Just a crack, giving her a sliver of trust? What then? Could he do that? Would she accept the meager offering or would she demand more?

There was only one way to find out. He released his hold on her and cupped her face in his hands. “Show me your love, Francie.” He bent toward her, his voice thick with emotion. “Give me the strength to show you mine.”

She smiled, a brilliant smile filled with love and desire. And hope. Her arms circled his middle and she met his mouth in a hot, hungry kiss that spoke of passion and promise. Alexander groaned and pulled her closer, nestling her hips between his thighs.

“I want you,” he said, bunching her nightgown in his hand and dragging it up.

Her throaty laugh scorched him with need. “Then you shall have me, my husband,” she murmured, pulling away. Her gown hung open, torn down the middle to reveal a generous expanse of creamy breast. A pink nipple peaked out from the edge of the fabric. His gaze followed the jagged edges of thin material ending just below her navel.

His fingers shook as he inched the nightgown from her shoulders and let it land in a white heap at her feet. The light from the candle flickered along her body, casting golden shadows over her naked skin. Her hair hung down her back in a red-gold display of fire and sunshine. His gaze drifted downward to the fiery nest of curls between her legs and he knew this goddess from heaven would indeed rescue him from his own private hell.

She moved toward him, hands outstretched, lips parted in a slight smile and held his gaze as she released the last three buttons on his shirt. She eased it from his shoulders, her hands splayed across his chest, her fingers curling in a mat of dark hair. When her fingers slid to the top of his trousers, Alexander forgot to breathe. Those damnable entrancing eyes never left his face as she worked the buttons, first one, then another, and another until she’d released them all.

The need to end this sensual torment warred with the desire to prolong the sweet anticipation. He clenched his teeth and prayed for strength when Francie pulled the trousers over his hips. He’d always been the dominant one, but not tonight. This night, his wife would explore his body and test her powers and he would let her, even if it killed him—which it might well do.

His penis sprang free—hard, ready, throbbing. When her hands circled him, it took every last ounce of control not to throw her over the sofa and dive into her like a madman. It’s what he wanted to do. What he was dying to do. He blinked hard and tried not to think of those slender fingers stroking the length of him.

“Alexander?” Her soft voice drifted to him.

“Hmm?” he grunted. He couldn’t speak, not now when he was fighting for his sanity.

“What’s wrong? You’re looking at me but I don’t think you’re seeing me.”

If only those damn fingers would stop moving. “What?” He blinked again, bringing her back into focus. “I’m looking at you, Francie,” he said, staring at her. “And I’m seeing you.”

“You sound angry. Don’t...don’t you want me to touch you?”

Now there was a question. Her finger touched the tip of his penis and he jerked against her. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop.” His words fell in short, raspy breaths. “Stop.”

“You don’t like it, do you? I’m sorry, I’m doing it all wrong.”

“If you did it any more right, it would be over right now.”

“Oh. Then you do like it,” she whispered, a faint smile brushing her lips. “Perhaps overmuch.”

“Not perhaps, Francie,” he ground out. “Most definitely.”

Her smile deepened and her eyes closed to a sultry slant. “What do you want to do?”

He swallowed and tried to force his addled brain into action. Her fingers pushed his hand aside and she stroked him again, this time concentrating on the tip, moving around it in slow circles. “What do you want to do, Alexander?” she repeated, her voice a breath of throaty sensuality.

He shook his head and reached for her wrist again.

“No,” she said. “Trust me.” Her finger found a bead of moisture and swirled it around until he thought he’d go mad. “Show me.”

“I have to see to your pleasure,” he said, sucking in a deep breath.
And in three more strokes it will be too late
.

“You will. And you are,” she murmured, leaning forward to flick her tongue over his nipple. He jerked in response and she sighed. “It gives me great pleasure to know you’re enjoying my touch.”

“That’s not what—”

“Trust me.” She pulled away to meet his gaze. “For once in your life, for this moment in time, forget about shoulds and shouldn’ts, have to’s and must nots.” She stroked the jagged end of his scar. “Let yourself be free to act as you will.
Without thought to situation or circumstance. Only feeling. Just let yourself feel. And trust me.”

She’d offered him a gift he couldn’t refuse. Didn’t want to refuse. And hoped he wouldn’t regret.

“Trust me,” she whispered, with a smile. Alexander groaned and pulled her to him, plunging his tongue inside her mouth, unleashing all the passion burning inside him since Amberden. His hands moved over her body, kneading and molding her softness to his hard lines. He wanted to devour her, swallow her passion in a wild union, pound into her until he spilled his seed deep inside her.
Trust me
, she’d said.
Let yourself be free and act as you will
. Her words drove him as he lifted her in his arms, never breaking the kiss, and carried her to the edge of the sofa. Tearing his mouth from hers, he looked once more into the blue depths of her eyes and saw heat and fire. And love. It was the last that pushed him to do her bidding.

He turned her away from him, gently coaxing her over the arm of the green fabric, and spread her legs. Then he grabbed her hips and dove into her, hard and fast and deep. She cried out once, but the smile on her lips as she turned her head to look at his face told him it was a cry of pleasure
, not pain. And then he let himself go, opening his heart as he thrust into her again and again as the freedom of love’s trust carried him to his ultimate release.

A long while later, they lay snuggled on the Aubusson rug, Alexander’s arm draped over Francie, his fingers brushing her stomach. Had he gotten her with child tonight? Part of him wanted it to be so. He pushed aside the thought, unable to deal with any more new feelings. Getting used to his new wife would be challenge enough. A faint smile played about his lips as he recalled her rather loud screams as she reached her own pleasure. Three times. He’d have to remember to kiss her next time just before, so she wouldn’t alert the household.

He sighed. The things a husband did to protect his wife. His smile faded. He would do anything to protect Francie.

***

“I’m glad you’ve finally accepted the fact Bishop’s got a bride,” the Earl of Belmont said around a mouthful of roast pork. “From what I’ve heard, he’s quite taken with her.”

Claire stabbed a boiled potato with her fork. “Oh?” She tried to keep her voice calm. “I hadn’t heard.” That wasn’t true. She’d been receiving daily reports from the young stable boy she’d hired to spy on the couple.

“That’s all anyone’s talking about,” her father said, lifting his wine glass. “They’ve been seen walking together, hand in hand.”

“You can’t believe everything you see,” she said, popping a piece of potato in her mouth.

Her father eyed her from above the rim of his glass. “Unless what you see and what you hear are the same things.” He took a sip of wine. “Then, it’s a fair conclusion that the truth is somewhere close by.” The earl turned his attention to his other dinner guest. “Wouldn’t you agree, Jared?”

Jared Crayton shot a quick glance in Claire’s direction, cleared his throat, and worked up a smile. “So it would seem.”

“Father, do we really need to discuss Alexander Bishop and his new bride?” She almost choked on the word
bride
.

“I don’t want to see you suffer any more disappointment at the hands of someone not worthy to wipe your slippers. I told you from the beginning, Bishop wasn’t one of our kind.” He stroked his beard and eyed his daughter. “I would be much more pleased if you and Jared could find some source of mutual attraction. God knows, you spend enough time together.”

Claire glanced at Jared who watched her with a faint smile on his full lips. She knew he was thinking of their most recent liaison a few short hours ago in the copse of trees on the far end of her father’s property. She’d met him there with nothing but bare skin underneath her gown. He’d bent her over a fallen tree and taken her, without rumpling her hair or wrinkling her gown.

“Jared and I are good friends, but we don’t think of each other in that light.”

“But we are very good friends,” Jared repeated, his smile deepening.

She kicked him under the table. He could be such an arrogant fool sometimes. If her father discovered her indiscretions, he’d send her to a convent. Or worse yet, he’d force her into marriage with one of her partners.

The only person she wanted to marry was Alexander Bishop. The fact that he already had a wife wouldn’t stop her from pursuing him. Wedding rings meant nothing to her. She’d shared a bed with as many married men as single ones. They’d been nothing more than conquests.

Alexander was different.

He was her obsession. She’d wanted him from the first time she set eyes on him, dressed in dark cutaways, standing alone at the Dellwoods’ soiree. Tall and devastating with his silver eyes and arrogant manner. Oh, and that wicked scar running along the side of his face. Unapproachable, that’s what people called him. Which only made her want him more. The true obsession began when he refused her subtle overtures. She’d been perplexed at first. No man had ever been immune to her charms, not even the vicar, who personally delivered three baskets of strawberries last spring after she spotted them growing in his garden and commented on her love of the sweet berries.

She
would
have Alexander. Soon. Let her father think she’d given up on him. She sipped her wine and smiled at her father, then cast a sideways glance at Jared. She’d devised the perfect plan and very soon, she and Jared would have exactly what they wanted.

“Who would have ever believed things would work out like this?” Aunt Eleanor dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I had hopes for the two of you, but some days I thought you were going to kill each other.” She shook her gray head and offered a teary smile.

Francie smiled back. She’d been doing that a lot these past three weeks. “I guess we were pretty impossible early on. Alexander’s like a different man, now.” She leaned toward her aunt and whispered, “I’ve almost convinced him to forgo the cravat and jacket at home and opt for something more comfortable, such as a lawn shirt with breeches.” She didn’t mention the fact that he was only considering the change in attire because it would prove less cumbersome to shed his clothes should the desire to make love to his wife suddenly arise...as it had yesterday in the meadow where they’d been picnicking. And the day before that in the stables. And the day before that in the carriage. And the day before that...

Of course, she’d had to agree to shed her underclothes this afternoon when they went for a late picnic.

“The way the boy looks at you is heartwarming, dear,” Aunt Eleanor said. “Just heartwarming. Your mother and father would be so pleased.”

Francie touched the locket dangling from her neck. “When I wear this, I feel as though they’re with me.”

“They are.” Aunt Eleanor lifted her teacup and took a sip. “Now, all they’re waiting for are the babies.” Her blue eyes twinkled over the rim of her cup. “As am I.”

Heat rose to Francie’s cheeks. “Perhaps one day.”