Our Wicked Mistake (30 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

BOOK: Our Wicked Mistake
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She stroked him from ballocks to the flared tip and watched his reaction from underneath the fringe of her lashes. “Tell me how this feels.”
“As close to heaven”—his exhale was audible—“as I will ever come.”
She leaned closer so her breasts brushed his chest. “Would you prefer my mouth?” She delicately rubbed the tip of his cock. “Here?”
“No.” His muscles tensed.
“No?”
“If you do,” he explained on a low growl, “our evening will be over very quickly.”
“Well, we don’t want that. Do we, Altea?” Her voice was sultry, and she was
never
sultry, she thought with emancipated delight. Or at least she’d never thought of herself in that way. But with Luke it was . . . different.
They fit together, and not just in a sexual sense. The insight stilled her hand, made her breath catch, and she lifted her face to gaze at him. He wasn’t perfect ... no, far from it. He was cynical, guarded, sexually experienced but emotionally inaccessible. But he was also a warm, kind man in many ways, though she doubted he’d ever thought of himself that way. When she’d needed him, he’d come to her without question, and she’d known—and still knew—he’d protect her. If she was certain of anything in the world, it was that she was safe with him.
I love you.
Almost. She almost said it out loud. It had been close, and it shook her.
“I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do, but I could join you on the bed.” Long fingers caught her chin and tilted her face up so he could brush his mouth against hers. “A suggestion only.”
“Yes.” The hushed word was rife with double mean ing, and maybe he caught it, for he looked into her eyes for a single, long heartbeat.
Madeline licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “Join me.”
“A sound idea, I agree.” He smiled.
He was too attractive, but she’d known her resistance to his aura of charismatic charm was nonexistent from the beginning. She was, in a word, outclassed by his ex perience. And if at the start she’d recognized it, she knew it now more than ever. Fighting the battle had simply ceased to be important to her. Even if it meant she would be hurt later, she didn’t care, not now, not while she could hold him in her arms and taste his kiss, his passion.
“Undress.” She didn’t say
please
, but punctuated the directive by slowly pulling her nightdress above her head in a languid, seductive movement.
“My absolute pleasure.” Luke sat down, seemingly oblivious to his erection, to tug off his boots and remove his breeches. Sleek, nude, and magnificently aroused, he stood before her and lifted a brow.
“Climb up and lie on your back,” she instructed.
He did so, his eyes glittering beneath heavy lashes as he climbed onto the bed and lay on his back, his power ful body at odds with the submissive pose.
There were scars. She’d seen them before, of course, but never asked because she wasn’t sure how much she dared. However, he’d said she was in charge and could ask anything. Madeline eased on top of him, skin to skin, his cock hard against her stomach, her finger tracing a pattern across his shoulder. “How did this happen?”
“I took a ball at Talavera.”
A few inches over and he might have died. Madeline leaned forward and kissed the small, vivid mark, acutely aware of how grateful she was to have him in her life. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“It happens in war.” His fingers caressed her spine.
“And this one?” There was a jagged line across his ribs on the right side.
“Salamanca.”
“You don’t like talking about it.”
“It’s over. Besides, when a beautiful, naked woman is sitting astride my hips, I confess my thoughts are scattered to the winds. Madge, I know I promised you could be in charge, but could you possibly bring yourself to—”
She stopped his words with her mouth, leaning forward so her hair fell over her back and his shoulders, her tongue tracing the lower curve of his lip before provocatively dipping inside his mouth. It was as if a small detonation had taken place, with fire escalating along her nerve endings, and the kiss turned hot, wild, unrestrained. At his urging she rose, took his hard cock in her hand, poised herself above him, and lowered herself as he filled her, inch by slow inch.
True to his word, he gave her command, letting her ride his hips, the slick friction slow at first and then more urgent, their breathing increasing in rhythm with the rocking motion of pelvis to pelvis. She shuddered first, going tense and rigid as the pleasure took her. It wasn’t until Madeline collapsed forward that Luke pulled her close and climaxed with a low, hoarse groan and convulsive arch of his spine.
The aftermath was always her favorite. Postcoital bliss was hearing the thud of his heart, feeling the clasp of his arms, inhaling the smell of clean sweat and sex. He rarely spoke after intercourse, and this was no exception, and she was content with the silence.
Soon she was going to tell him. She hadn’t intended he ever know she loved him, but it was a secret no one should keep, she had come to realize. How many tortured lovers had held the precious knowledge and suffered for it? Luke could either walk away or he could choose to stay, but her feelings counted also and she
wanted
to tell him. If she never said it, she knew in her heart she would regret it—for herself, and, truly, for him also. He was a grown man. And what person did not benefit from knowing someone loved them?
She’d lost Colin, and thought the pain of it was too much to bear, and she’d come through it not unscathed, but wiser.
If she lost Luke simply because she loved him, he didn’t deserve her.
“Tell me more about Spain.”
He stiffened. It was almost imperceptible, but be cause they were so closely entwined, she felt his muscles tense and the lazy caress of his fingertips on the damp skin of her back stilled. “I’m not sure what it is you wish to know.”
Maybe it was the contentment after a surfeit of plea sure; maybe it was their increasing intimacy that was no longer just sexual attraction, but she dared to think their connection had deepened to a point where she could probe at least a little.
Can you promise me you won’t die . . .
Those words he’d said to her after the debacle with Lord Fitch still hung in her mind. There was substance behind them, but she was at a loss as to what had prompted it.
“You must have lost not just comrades, but friends.” Madeline rested against his chest, speaking slowly. “I cannot compare your experiences with any of my own except Colin’s death.”
The man holding her didn’t comment.
“I’m not prying,” she explained softly, “but I admit I am trying to understand.”
It was enlightening that he didn’t pretend he didn’t comprehend just what she was asking. Luke’s fingers re sumed the same gentle rhythm over her skin, but it took a moment. “Spain has nothing to do with my life now.”
“Is that why you are still such good friends with Alex St. James and Lord Longhaven?”
“We knew each other before the war.”
But something had happened. She could hear it in his voice.
She laid her palm flat against the spot where his heart beat. “You don’t want to tell me.”
“No, I don’t.”
Then, as if to soften the cold, clipped words, his arm circled her waist and drew her even closer, if that was possible. His voice was hoarse. “Please, Madge, don’t ask me.”
Chapter Twenty-two
 
 
 
L
uke had returned from his trip early the evening before, abruptly changed his clothes, and gone out. Elizabeth knew this because he’d barely managed more than a swift greeting, and she wondered at his haste. He had not appeared at breakfast either, and when she asked later in the afternoon, he was ensconced in his study with his solicitor.
Miles, she hadn’t seen at all in days.
For the past week, he’d been a veritable ghost in the house, leaving early and coming in when everyone else was abed. Still pointedly avoiding her, she knew. It was all worse than ever.
The kiss needed to be addressed. And she wasn’t good at waiting, she’d discovered. So he was uncomfortable. Well, she was uncomfortable too, and damn Miles anyway for letting her brother intimidate him.
If
that
was the problem.
She’d thought about Miles and that telling kiss every waking second since it happened. Hence this visit, which was something she’d never done before. Her usual interaction with her half sister involved planned family gatherings, and those invitations were not accepted all that often. Regina liked to live an unfettered life, though Elizabeth did know that she and Luke saw each other fairly often.
The drawing room was fairly typical of most of London’s upscale town houses, except, of course, the presence on the polished tables of chipped Greek statues, most of them missing some part of their anatomy, and a vast array of art in all different styles that was rather fascinating. She had to make a conscious effort not to stare and keep her attention on the conversation. This was the first time she’d been in her sister’s home.
“Your mother would not like you stopping by like this.”
Elizabeth thought Regina was probably right. “I don’t see why. Luke does.”
“Luke is the viscount and can do as he pleases.” Today Regina was elegant in a dark green frock bordered with black ribbon, her rich hair loose about her shoulders. In contrast to her fashionable attire, she was barefoot. She looked beautiful, and characteristically unconventional.
“You are my sister,” Elizabeth pointed out.
“Your illegitimate half sister from an affair our father had before he married.” There was no trace of resentment in Regina’s voice. “Your mother and I are polite to each other and maybe even a little fond of one another, but she doesn’t approve of me for a variety of reasons, the least of which is my birth.”
“That is her difficulty, not mine. I came for advice.”
At that declaration, her older sister looked amused, cradling her porcelain teacup in one palm, her body relaxed in her chair. She swung her foot. “I see. And where do Luke and your mother think you are now?”
“My mother was out when I left, so she doesn’t even know I’m gone. As for Luke, he’s no longer paying much attention,” Elizabeth muttered. “I suppose I should be grateful for it.”
Regina laughed, and in her place, Elizabeth might have laughed too. Regina said tranquilly, “I don’t suppose you have a prominent position in his thoughts at the moment. He’s in love with Lady Brewer, and it is very hard for him to reconcile with his past.”
Luke? In love? True, he’d been distracted lately, but ...
love
?
“What past?” Elizabeth might not have asked, but there was something comfortable about Regina, something that invited confidences. Maybe it was how she’d never cared about proprieties. Her birth, of course, had precluded a proper entry into society, and it seemed to suit Regina very well. Elizabeth was never sure how to feel about having an older sister born on the wrong side of the blanket. It meant her beloved father had a mistress—though he hadn’t yet met her mother, that was clear enough. But still, her half sister’s existence said something about him as a man—albeit a young man, as their births were almost two decades apart.
“I don’t know the specifics and I have never asked, but it has to do with a woman and the war.” Regina looked into her cup and added softly, “He loved her, and she died.”
Elizabeth was unaccountably shocked. Luke always seemed so collected, so invulnerable. “How do you know this? He’s never said anything at all about it to me.”
“Of course not, Liz. Nor has he told me. He isn’t likely to either. Why recall the pain if there is a way to avoid it? Just the same, it is always there with him. He carries it around, and now he is going to have to make a decision of some kind about Lady Brewer, and it is occupying his thoughts constantly. But at least I notice he’s sleeping.”
“I wasn’t aware he wasn’t,” Elizabeth muttered, brushing back a loose tendril from her chignon. “Apparently I’m not all that observant. How do you know? You live here.”
“That is how I know. He hasn’t come to see me in the middle of the night.”
It was unreasonable to feel betrayed because she was younger, she wasn’t his confidant, and yet a part of her was jealous of their easy relationship. “Luke doesn’t tell me anything,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I suppose that is no excuse for me not being more persistent in trying to understand why he stays so distant. I asked him, but he redirected the conversation.”
“You are nineteen. When one is nineteen they are allowed to be self absorbed.” Regina smiled with her unique serenity. “I think that is probably why you never noticed Miles and his infatuation with you.” She frowned. “Actually, I am not being fair to him, I suppose, by call ing it that. It has been going on far too long for it to be a mere fascination of a sexual nature.”

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