One Sinful Night (11 page)

Vivienne was all but naked, in nothing but her gartered stockings and heeled shoes. How had he done it? Were there classes a man took to learn how to undress a women with such ease? Still he kissed her and she was grateful for the dark.

His shirt and jacket were still on, but his breeches were missing. Again she wondered how Aidan did it so effortlessly. All the while he was still kissing her, devouring her. Her body thrummed in response to the naked feel of him pressed close to her bare skin. That elemental, primal part knew this made her feel like a woman. She knew what was coming and longed for it. Ached for it. Would go mad if she didn't get it. She wanted him inside of her desperately.

His voice, thick with lust, whispered seductively in her ear, “Tell me what you want, Vivienne.”

Was he mad? How could he not know what she wanted? Had she protested in some way? She was obviously agreeable to the situation, albeit he had dragged her into the closet unwillingly. He had to know how she felt, for she had not resisted him in the slightest.

“Ah…I…ah…I want you,” she managed to murmur.

“And just what do you want me to do?” His voice was wickedly decadent. She gasped as he pressed his hardness against her.

“Th-that…” she panted in short, gasping breaths.

“You mean this?” he asked with false innocence as he thrust himself inside her.

“Yes,” she cried, but before she could even get the word out of her mouth he had withdrawn from her and she almost wept with the loss of it. She arched toward him trying to get him close to her again, but he backed away.

“Tell me first…” He kissed her mouth again, cupping her breast harder.

Her cheeks were burning. “Aidan…”

“Tell me why…” He plunged into her again and pulled out skillfully, leaving her whimpering. “Tell me,” he demanded in silky tones.

“I want you inside of me because you belong there,” she blurted out breathlessly, shamelessly.

He drove into her as a reward, remaining longer this time before he withdrew. “Tell me…”

“I'll tell you anything, Aidan, just please don't stop,” she begged. She must have given him a satisfactory answer because he was inside of her again. This time she wrapped her leg around him to hold him to her.

“Oh no,” he laughed low in his throat, “Oh, no, you don't.” He thrusted deeply once, twice, and then a third time before he withdrew. He was impeccably controlled in his movements, whereas Vivienne was weak and quivering. She would die if he didn't continue.

“Tell me who else has had you.” His voice was edgy, demanding.

“Aidan!” she cried, her eyes open wide in the darkness. She could feel his gaze piercing her.

“Tell me.” He lunged into her and withdrew once more.

She pressed against him, begging him, “Aidan, please, please.” She was sobbing now. She had to have him. She was going mad.

“Who else?” He was pounding her hard now, thrusts deep and long, in rapid succession. It was what she had wanted. Her body rocked against the wall.

Her words came in sobs on short breaths in rhythm with his thrusts. “No one else, Aidan! There has…never been anyone else. Just you, Aidan. Only you.”

“Ah, Vivienne.” He kissed her face, her hair. “Why, why…?” He leaned his head against hers.

She whispered to him, “It's always been…you for me. It will only…ever be you. Only you can make me feel this way. It's you I love.”

He kissed her to silence her sobs, kissed the hot tears on her cheeks, but he kept giving her what she needed and wanted from him, “Yes, love. It's only me now.”

He was losing that control he had earlier, lost in the feel of her body, and his movements became more forceful, more demanding of her. Their passion intensified. It was about possession and need. Vivienne belonged to him. She always had.

Then she whispered, “Now tell me, Aidan. Why me?”

“Because,
muirnin
…you're mine—” Carried away in the emotion, his body's response grew more frantic.

She was lost then, clinging to him, crying. Tears spilled down her cheeks. But the intense feelings between them only increased in fervor. With one hand braced on the wall behind her, he lifted her and she wrapped her stocking-clad legs around his waist. He drove into her then, giving way completely to their passionate need. She felt herself explode in waves of pleasure and Aidan called out her name. They climaxed together, drowning in a sea of emotional and physical bliss that was unlike anything they had felt in years.

 

After a few moments, Aidan gathered her in his arms and sank to the floor, resting his back against the wall and cradling her on his lap. He could barely catch his breath, but he tenderly kissed the top of her head. She cried softly, burying her face against his chest.

“Ah, my beautiful Vivienne…What have we done now?” he whispered into her silky hair, stroking her with long, soothing motions.

How had he managed to lose control of himself? He certainly had not planned on seducing her this afternoon, although the thought was in his mind that if he had her once, then he would get her out of his system. Now he had just taken her standing in a closet, while her cousins searched for her outside in the hallway. It had been the most incredible encounter of his life. But, good God, what was he thinking? Why did he come completely undone when he was with her? What power did she hold over him?

Vivienne, his lying, deceitful, lovely Irish witch. She now wept against his chest. She seemed so fragile and lost, not at all the fiery woman who slapped his face or sucked on his fingers or set his blood to boiling only a short while ago. His heart ached at her tears. How was he going to get her dressed and out of there without getting caught together?

“Vivienne, Vivienne…Stop, love. It's all right.”

“You left me, Aidan. You asked me to marry you and then you left me.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “You didn't believe in me. In us.”

He froze then, choking out the words, “I saw you with Nicky Foster.”

“No, Aidan.” She shook her head against his chest. “You didn't see what was really happening. And you never asked me about it. You never spoke to
me.
You made assumptions and you just left.” Her voice was low and husky from crying.

“What was there to say? I know what I saw, Vivienne,” he whispered tightly, feeling the familiar anger rise within him. “You—half-naked and kissing Nicky Foster.”

He knew why he didn't believe in her. He'd seen it with his own eyes. Still etched clearly in his memory was the image of Vivienne, her long hair tousled and loose hanging to her waist, and Nicky Foster, a simple farm boy, locked in a passionate embrace. With her dress unbuttoned and her bare breasts showing, they kissed each other passionately. It was quite clear what had been going on between them. His stomach clenched at the mere recollection of the day he caught them together.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Yes.”

“Did you believe that I ever loved you, Aidan?”

“I thought so at one time.”

She sighed heavily. “You asked me to be your wife. We were going to be married and go to England together, weren't we?”

He nodded at her descriptions of the events. He remembered that time most clearly. He loved her with a fervor that left him weak. When he found out he had unexpectedly inherited the earldom of Whitlock and had to return to England, he was desperate to marry Vivienne and bring her with him, in spite of his mother's opposition to her as his wife. Determined to marry her, Aidan scheduled an earlier date for the wedding. It would not be the grand wedding that he had envisioned for her, but time was not on their side. He needed to claim his earldom, and he wanted to do that with Vivienne at his side, as his countess.

But then…Then she ruined everything. As his mother predicted, Vivienne did not really love him. He'd been completely wrong about her. She only desired him for his money and title. All his dreams with her were destroyed. Completely and utterly destroyed. By her.

“I loved you, Aidan. We were in love with each other. I wanted to be your wife. What earthly reason would I have had to be with Nicky Foster, of all people, when I had you?”

He was silent for a long moment considering her words. His hands continued to stroke her hair. “What are you saying, Vivienne? That I was wrong? That I didn't see you with your arms around him with my own eyes?”

“My arms were not around Nicky. They were trying to push him off of me. And I was not kissing him. He was kissing me. Against my will,” she sobbed.

He stiffened at her words. “Am I supposed to believe that?”

“Why wouldn't you believe me, Aidan? At the time, what did I have to gain by deceiving you?”

“And you had everything to lose by telling me the truth,” he countered quickly.

At her silence he wondered, what
did
she have to gain by being with Foster? Nothing. Not a bloody thing. That's why it wounded him so deeply. She threw everything they had away for nothing. Nicky Foster, that brawny, beef-headed, potato farmer. Foster had escorted her to a few dances before Aidan returned from school that summer. And now she wanted him to believe that she wasn't willingly in Foster's arms? Dared he believe her words? Could what she said be true? No. He saw it with his own eyes. He saw her kissing Nicky…saw her undressed…smiling, laughing, even…

“You certainly didn't look as if you needed to be rescued from him, Vivienne.”

“I was explaining to him that I loved you, not him.”

“And he just happened to know you were at our cottage and he picked that exact moment to declare his love for you? And with your dress open to your waist?”

“I was waiting for you. I honestly don't know why he was there or how he knew I would be at the cottage. I guess he just followed me.”

Good God! Did she think him an idiot? He didn't want to hear anymore. He had put all of this behind him years ago and felt no need to revisit it now. He buried that part of his life, yet it seemed she had just unearthed it all again. Just how had he ended up in this dark, little closet in the portrait gallery with Vivienne this afternoon mystified him. If she was found there with him, she would be ruined. Hell,
he
would be ruined.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, taking his arms from around her warm body.

Her voice was very soft, “You still won't believe me?”

Aidan stood up and began to fix his clothing.

“After everything we meant to each other, after everything we did together, after what we just did—” her breath caught in her throat.

Aidan stilled and stared at her in the dim light, wanting her to stop talking. He pulled her to her feet roughly. “Get dressed.”

“Ten years ago I gave you everything, Aidan. I gave you my heart, my soul. I even gave you my virginity,” she continued ruefully, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Do you think I gave all that away for nothing? I loved you. I believed in you and trusted you.”

“And I trusted you. I asked you to be my wife and you betrayed me. You gave yourself to another man.” He handed her the gown he had removed from her body with such passionate need only moments earlier. “Get dressed, Vivienne.”

She grabbed the gown from his hand and angrily turned her back to him, while she fumblingly donned her clothes. Although it was a small comfort, at least she had stopped crying. He reached to help her fasten the back of her gown and she slapped at his hands.

“Don't touch me.”

She didn't want his assistance, but she had no choice. She couldn't very well go around with her dress undone. He tried not to let himself dwell on the thought that he had dressed Vivienne this way many times before and she had always welcomed the feel of his hands on her back. That was before she had betrayed him. Standing stiffly with her back to him, almost flinching at his touch, she allowed him to refasten her dress.

“I'm sorry for what happened in here just now,” he whispered contritely.

She turned and faced him in the dark, but he sensed her coldness. “Not nearly as sorry as I am.”

Pushing past him she angrily swung open the closet door. Light poured in and his eyes adjusted to the glare. He tried to grab her arm but she flinched from his grasp.

“I said don't touch me,” she ordered with undisguised bitterness.

“Vivienne, be careful. You can't just prance through the house looking like that. Someone might see you and—”

“And what?” she interrupted scornfully, giving him a hard look. She continued in a pronounced Irish brogue, “I'd be compromised and you'd be forced to marry me? A common Irish whore?”

“You said it. Not me.”

“But you were thinking it,” she accused him.

In response to his guilty silence, Vivienne continued with an icy calm, “Don't worry, Aidan. I wouldn't have you.”

Turning from him, she stepped heedlessly into the portrait gallery, taking purposeful strides down the hall. With the house full of guests anyone could see her. He followed carefully behind her, watching as she stopped and pressed her hand against the wall. To his surprise, a small door sprung open.

“Where are you going?” he demanded in an angry whisper.

“Again, don't worry yourself, Lord Whitlock.” She gave him a scathing look. “No one will see me.”

He watched her slip inside and close the door behind her. And he felt like the worst kind of heel. For taking advantage of her just now. For what his words implied. Why did everything with Vivienne end badly?

He waited a few moments and then followed her through the secret door. The stone staircase led him to an upstairs corridor. Quietly he opened the panel at the top of the steps and peered down the hallway just in time to see Vivienne enter her bedroom.

What a mess his neat, orderly life had suddenly become. In a matter of days, Vivienne Montgomery managed to turn his life upside down yet again.