Reason to Wed (The Distinguished Rogues Book 7) (13 page)

“Kettle. Pot. Black.” Harriet tossed her head. “Windermere stares at you just as much tonight. Wasn’t there a part of you that wanted revenge against Meriwether when he announced his marriage?”

She had indeed. She sank into the chair, feeling embarrassed with her outburst. She had no call to question the way Harriet lived her life when her own love life was just as unconventional.

“I suppose you are right. I’m sorry, my friend. I’m just as guilty of playing with fire as you are.” She met Harriet’s gaze and her friend nodded, accepting her apology. “He does that a lot. Stares at me, I mean.”

But when she glanced across the room to where Richard stood in mixed company, her pulse jumped in the most disconcerting way because he
wasn’t
paying her any attention.

Look at me, lover
.

Richard turned his head in her direction and heat smoldered in his blue eyes when their gazes met.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle smile of acknowledgement.

“Well, you are exquisite.” Harriet laughed softly. “We both deserve to be noticed.”

She lowered her eyes quickly, disconcerted by how much she craved Windermere even now. They had met briefly this morning in his study, a fast and furious tongue lashing across his mahogany desk that had sent papers and ornaments crashing to the floor. Heat warmed her cheeks and she could almost feel his breath beating across her skin as he whispered her name in the wake of her release. A release he’d not shared this time. It was the first time he’d ever held back. She owed him and would repay him soon, but she had to get her traitorous libido under control first.

“Ladies.” Richard’s deep voice interrupted her train of thought, sending tremors of lust tumbling through her limbs. “I trust you have everything you need.”

Her pussy quivered as she met his gaze.
Not yet.

“Oh, yes.” Harriet glanced between them and then chuckled softly. “But I was telling my dear friend how weary I am this evening. I was about to wish her a good night and retire. Until tomorrow.”

Esme watched her friend saunter out then braced herself. She was not so undone by her desires to let a man, and everyone else in the room, see she was as close to being out of control as it was possible to be.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said softly as he took Harriet’s place at her side.

Her thoughts were filled with his gasps and moans and the intensity of his lovemaking. She swallowed down her panic. She did not want to need Richard like this. They had no future together, but as soon as she saw him her thoughts quickly plotted out how to drag him off to a quiet room and make mad, passionate love. “I was thinking of this morning.”

“What a wonderful coincidence. So was I.” He studied the clock over the mantelpiece, the tip of his tongue resting on his upper lip momentarily. “Care for another?”

Her pussy clenched in memory of what that tongue could make her feel. “I do owe you for this morning.”

“I thought to wait until tonight.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a wicked smile as he held her gaze. “I would be so happy if you could indulge me particularly tonight in something a little unusual.”

Esme nodded eagerly, though a little frightened by how her feelings had changed for him. A week ago she would have laughed at the idea that she looked forward to being intimate with Windermere. Now, she couldn’t wait to strip him of every piece of clothing he possessed. Even a few minutes’ wait suddenly seemed an eternity until he touched her. Esme slipped her hand over his thigh and squeezed. “Yes.”

“Thank you.” He stared at where her hand rested and she jerked it back, astonished by what she’d done in public. They did not ordinarily touch where anyone could see such caresses. Esme preferred discretion in her lovers. In herself too. A hand held to exit a carriage or to dance was far different from groping his thigh in front of his guests. Heated glances were normally the only outward display of emotion she allowed herself in public.

“I think we should slip away sooner than later.” He met her gaze and exhaled slowly. “Meet me outside my study on the terrace in five minutes. There are a few things we will need.”

“Anything you wish.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” When he excused himself after a long interval of silence, Esme was glad to see him go. She was embarrassed, and she hadn’t felt this unbalanced for a long time. Had she ever felt this way for a lover?

Esme slowed her breathing deliberately in an attempt to regain control. She had a few minutes to wait and then she could escape into his arms. She frowned. Since when had she ever fallen apart when a man so much as suggested a tryst? She did not need men in her life. She chose to have them for the fun of it. Making love to Richard was exciting but all too addictive. To her chagrin, they were as well-matched out of bed as in it, of late.

There hadn’t been anything to disagree about since their first night together, actually.

As the clock reached the appointed moment, Esme all but flew out of her seat, hurried along to his study, and let herself into the poorly lit room. Richard stood in the open doorway, lantern and burlap sack stacked at his feet. He picked up a cloak—her own, she discovered—and dressed her in it. “The woods can be cold. I hope you don’t mind riding at night.”

“No, of course not,” she whispered, picking up on the tension in his voice.

He took her hand in his and before she could draw back, he bound her wrists together firmly. She tested her bonds. “I see the reason behind your questions now.”

He led her toward the stables by the dangling end of rope without a word and when they reached the dark structure, the unlikely figure of Oswin holding two saddled horses appeared from the shadows.

The butler bowed formally. “Good evening, my lady.”

If the butler thought it odd she was bound and being led around, he said and did nothing to suggest it. “Oswin.”

Oswin held the bridle of her mare as Windermere lifted her into the sidesaddle and made sure she was secure in her stirrups. He gave her the reins to hold, and then mounted his own horse, settling his sack on his lap before he took her horse’s bridle from Oswin.

The butler backed away, taking the lantern with him.

“I’ll lead you,” Richard insisted.

Esme sighed. “I can ride on my own, even with my hands bound like this.”

“Would you rather be put over my lap on the saddle?”

She gaped. “Windermere, what’s got into you?”

“You…and there’s only one thing left to do about you.” He shook his head. “No more talking until we’re away from the house.”

Fourteen

Richard rode directly into the woodland enclosure and dismounted his horse, running through the litany for the night ahead. He could still feel the touch of Esme’s hand on his thigh from the drawing room. He was ready for her, so hard that riding had been a painful experience he never wanted to repeat.

He turned his attention to the woman he’d abducted. So far, she’d barely complained about his silence and treatment. He expected her to have a lot to say soon when he threw her over his shoulder for the climb up the mount.

She didn’t appear to like being helpless.

Neither did he like to make her so, but if he was going to do this, he had to do it all more or less properly.

He approached her, grasped her about the waist and deposited her outside the gate of the enclosure with perfunctory care. The histories expected him to bend his bride to his will. He wanted to kiss Esme witless instead.

He tended their horses with brisk efficiency and then faced her. Esme, however, had wandered away, staring up at the dark canopy overhead, her demeanor calm and unruffled by his behavior. Richard gritted his teeth for the next part and pursued her. He hoisted her over his shoulder before she realized his intent. Her shriek of shock echoed in the night. “Fight me all you want but it must be this way.”

He grappled with the sack while she struggled to regain her freedom.

“This is ridiculous,” she complained.

He was not supposed to react to pleas for mercy. He was supposed to be a bloody tyrant about this abduction and force her to go with him by any means.

He gritted his teeth against softening. He’d decided to give the family tradition this one chance to be proven false. He might never get another chance for months, so it was tonight or never.

He made the trek uphill as best he could, her complaints ringing in his ears and turning them pink. At the point where she’d begun repeating herself, he’d already reached the high lookout, a break in the woodland that afforded the best views for miles around. The place was lit by moonlight almost as clearly as it would be on a summer’s morning.

Three large stones had been placed around the base of a tree that had once thrived, although now resembled a weathered stump. Roughly six feet from the base, an iron spike had been hammered into the wood.

And that was where he took Esme and secured her so she couldn’t get away.

She blew out a breath, moving her fallen hair from her eyes. “I could have walked,” she told him, her tone full of sarcasm.

He couldn’t have her too angry, so he gently smoothed her hair back from her face until it was neat. “Then where would be the fun in seeing me sweat?”

Her gaze raked him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to and because I must.” He kissed her, cupping her face and devoured the mouth that had just flayed his manhood, his honor, his character on the long walk up the mountainside.

He stood back eventually, leaving her panting and still bound. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and he bared them to the evening air, grateful for the front fastenings on her gown. Her nipples hardened as the cooler air hit them and he played with one. “You are so beautiful. Everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman.”

A soft gasp left her lips as he tugged harder.

“Even when you’re angry with me, I can still affect you.” He bent his head and licked her nipple before taking the tip into his mouth and sucking for a while.

Esme whimpered when he eased back and he blew over the tip lightly, torturing her. He could do that as long as she enjoyed it. She thrashed against her restraints, no doubt seeking to escape her bonds to hold his head to her breast, the way she’d shown him she preferred in the past days.

He turned away to rummage through the sack instead. A bottle of brandy, a fine glass wrapped in silk, a phallus made in the image of his manhood, and a soft wool blanket to wrap her in afterward.

Next, he stripped. He removed everything he wore and laid it aside in a neat pile, everything except the ring bearing the family crest that always graced his left hand.

He poured the brandy and took the glass to her. “Drink.”

To his surprise, she obeyed, her expression full of questions. He refilled the glass and turned it so he’d place his lips exactly where hers had been. He downed the lot quickly, hating the taste. However, the ritual demanded this particular elixir as the accompaniment.

Not for the first time did he wonder if his ancestors had drugged all their brides and themselves to get through this night.

He wouldn’t do that to Esme. One glass for each of them would have to be sufficient.

He put the glass aside, and lifted his cravat from his pile of clothes. He ran the fabric through his hands and then tied the stark white linen around her tiny waist. He stood back and then paced the circle, first clockwise then turned back time by walking in another direction.

He felt utterly ridiculous.

When he was directly behind her back, he danced a few stumbling steps of a country dance.

“Richard,” Esme called, her tone full of exasperation. “Come back and kiss me.”

He rushed to her, eager to answer her summons. Richard pressed his hips against hers. “My darling Esme.”

He kissed her, dragged her gown up her slim legs so they were skin to skin from the waist down. Despite being bound and essentially his prisoner, Esme made her desire abundantly clear in the way she pressed her body to his.

He caught one of her thighs and she jumped to wrap her legs about his waist, arms still secured above her head. She flexed her body so her quim rubbed against his hard cock. He caught her legs and shifted each so her feet rested on rocks placed to either side of the stump. Positioned in this manner she was entirely open to him, entirely helpless.

She braced herself against the tree trunk and took in what he’d done. Her gown rested on the top of her thighs and he nudged it higher still, baring her quim.

“Oh, my word,” she whispered. “Am I your slave tonight?”

He closed his eyes, feeling horrible and helpless, but unable to stop now he’d begun. He’d never expected to be as aroused by Esme like this as he was. He was desperate for her. “You belong to me.”

Without the barrier of clothing or position in his path, he slid into her body effortlessly. A few thrusts and he was properly seated. Esme moaned darkly and sought his mouth for a kiss.

In this, Esme’s satisfaction was supposed to come second, but he kissed and touched her, aroused her, and did all he could to make her respond as he claimed her.

Beneath his grunts, Esme sighed and moaned, unwittingly encouraging him to continue. He held her face, fingers framing her jaw and holding her steady. Met her gaze as he ground into her. She came apart, shrieking his name like the wildest of woodland creatures.