The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (11 page)

Chapter Nine

“
Never trust a man whose beauty is greater or
fortune less than your own. For some, this will result in distrust
of the entire male population. Even so, consider it sound
advice.”
—The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Jane and
Annabelle Huxley upon news of Beau Brummell’s precipitous departure
from London to avoid debtor’s prison.

He began not with her lips, but with her
neck. Sliding his mouth gently along her skin from just beneath her
ear down to her mother’s pearl necklace, his hot breath caused
shivers to course through her body. He surrounded her, his size and
heat and spicy scent making her head spin.

Breathlessly awaiting his next move, her
belly tightened and she bit her lower lip. “Lucien?”

“Hmm?”

Her heart leapt as his tongue slid beneath
the pearls and his lips nibbled their way to her other ear. She
moaned as tingles of pleasure shimmied beneath her skin, tightening
her nipples.

“I don’t think I can be quiet.”

He didn’t answer, instead suckling at a bit
of flesh where her neck met her shoulder and stroking his hands
along her backside, pressing her hips into his hard thighs so that
her lower belly cradled the hard ridge there.

“I mean,” she continued, reaching for her
next breath, his mouth and touch filling her veins with hot, rich
wine. “I will
try
not to carry on so that you can enjoy a
peaceful interlude, but …
oh!”
She jerked and shivered in
pleasure as his palm cupped her breast and stroked her budded
nipple through the fabric of her bodice. “Truly, my lord, when you
touch me, I lose the ability to concentrate, and the sounds escape
without my permission.”

“Victoria.”

“Yes?”

“What are you on about?”

She blinked and paused, panting as he plucked
pins from her hair. “Oh. Well, Lady Berne was most helpful in
offering advice on my wifely duties.”

He removed the stems of lily of the valley,
dropped them to the floor, and unwound long skeins of golden curls
from their perch upon her head. His eyes glittered and burned with
what appeared to be fascination. For long moments, he simply stared
without blinking.

Really,
she thought.
It is just
hair.

“Your wifely duties.”

“Mmm. Yes. The countess said I must l-lie
with you if I wanted children. And that I must try to keep qu-quiet
because husbands tend to prefer it.”

He frowned. “Utter nonsense,” he
muttered.

“My lord?”

His eyes glowed with impatient fire, his
mouth firming into a straight line. “I have no idea what Lady Berne
told you. It is possible you misunderstood or that she is a bloody
simplet—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Suffice it to say I do not
prefer silence while I make love to you. Quite the contrary.”

At this, the knots in her stomach loosened,
and she felt more relaxed than she had at any time in the last two
days. She sighed in relief and smiled brilliantly up at him.
“Truly? Oh, that is wonderful, Lucien.”

He blinked several times, swallowed visibly,
and the muscles along his jaw worked as though trying to control a
reaction. After a few moments, he stroked a hand along the side of
her head, lifted one long curl away from her shoulder and rubbed it
sensually between his fingers.

“Should you have questions about your wifely
duties, you must come to
me
, do you understand? No one
else.”

“Of course, I—”

Suddenly, he grasped her shoulders and spun
her around to face away from him. Then she felt him brush her hair
aside and begin unfastening the buttons at the back of her dress.
Given that he was a man, had been a soldier, and came from a noble
family, she was a bit shocked at how quickly and deftly he
accomplished his task. Truly, he was more adept than her former
lady’s maid, Delphine, a young, haughty French girl who had left
the duke’s employ after the scandal broke. Victoria had been forced
to make do with two of the upstairs maids at Clyde-Lacey House, a
fact that reminded her of the pressing need to find a new lady’s
maid.

Although, considering Lucien’s apparent
skills in this area, perhaps it is not so pressing,
she thought
wryly. Within moments, he had finished with the buttons and unlaced
her stays. She clutched the bodice to her chest as it slumped on
her body. He then spun her back around to face him.

“Now, then. Your duties are as follows.”

He had unfastened his tailcoat and waistcoat,
and was shrugging out of both of them, a raven wing of hair
dropping rakishly along his forehead.

“First, you will submit to your husband.”

He was so handsome, she was simply lost for
several seconds. She longed to trace his mouth with her fingers,
brush that black lock from his forehead, and trail her lips along
his straight brows where they lowered over glittering eyes.
“S-submit?”

“Yes. That means you will let me touch you
and kiss you and make love to you whenever I desire.”

He swiftly unraveled his cravat from around
his neck in a few deft turns and tossed it on the chair where he
had thrown his outer garments. He reached up behind his head and
pulled his white linen shirt off in a quick motion, adding it to
the pile.

Her eyes widened, lips parting on a sigh. His
broad, naked chest was … oh, Lord. So beautiful. A masterful
creation of hard, defined muscle, tightened into ridges along a
flat belly, and dressed with a black triangle of crisp, curling
hair. While clothed, Lucien was a large, imposing figure of a man,
his shoulders wider and his arms thicker than most other gentlemen.
Nude, he was even more magnificent, the strength and force of his
body clearly needing no padding.

As she struggled not to swoon on a tide of
longing for those arms to once again embrace her, he continued to
lecture in a low rumble. “Second, you will
not
temper your
responses whatsoever. When I give you pleasure, I want to hear it.
If I cannot make you scream, I am not much of a husband.”

Those arms reached toward her, and, thinking
he meant to embrace her, she eagerly stepped forward, nearly
stumbling. But, instead, he merely grasped her wrists and pulled
her hands away from where they clutched her bodice, causing her
dress to fall from her breasts and further down her arms. With
swift efficiency, he stripped her of her gown, corset, chemise, and
petticoat.

She was naked in the suddenly cold room, but
for her stockings and garters. He left those in place, his eyes
burning her skin from feet to throat, pausing for long moments at
the juncture of her thighs and on her flushed, hardened
nipples.

In the watery white light shining through the
windows, she feared he would notice every flaw. The mole on her
hip. The odd dimples on her knees. The extra flesh on her thighs
and buttocks that no amount of walking or riding seemed to
diminish.

Wondering at his sudden silence, she shifted
uncomfortably and tried to cover what she could with her long hair
and her hands. His eyes, blazing with a ferocity that sent a tingle
of alarm down her spine, shot up to meet hers. Without a word, he
grasped her wrists to pull her arms away from her body in a repeat
of his earlier action, but this time he pulled her forward until
her breasts were crushed against his chest, his arms closing
tightly around her bare back. The pleasure of so much heat and
pressure and texture against her skin, but especially her breasts,
was indescribable.

“Thirdly, do not hide yourself from me,” he
growled next to her ear, the vibrations rumbling from his chest
into hers so she felt it in her bones—indeed, down to her woman’s
core, which was meltingly hot, pulsing with need. “I like to look
upon your body.”

Since his head was conveniently bowed beside
her own, she turned her cheek to stroke against his, unable to
resist feeling the faint rasp of his whiskers and breathing in the
scent of what must be his shaving soap. It was crisp and green and
spicy, like evergreen and cloves. Curious how his skin would taste,
she settled her lips on his neck and darted her tongue out to
stroke him softly, briefly.

Just as she suspected. Salt and spice. But
there was something more there, just beneath. A dark, dusky
undertone that reminded her of his mouth. She could only conclude
it was simply the taste of Lucien.

“Angel,” he groaned as though in pain. “This
isn’t going to last very long if you continue …”

She did it again, this time suckling a bit as
he had done to her.

A strong hand grasped the back of her neck,
pulling her away so his mouth could meet and invade hers. His
tongue slid inside, pulsing in and out, pushing against hers. His
arm tightened around her waist and lifted her off her feet. Within
seconds, the world tilted as she went from vertical to horizontal
in a dizzying rush. The soft linens of the featherbed cushioned her
back while the hard weight of her husband crushed her front.

His mouth left hers and immediately fastened
upon a ripe, hardened nipple. Digging her heels into the bed and
grasping either side of his neck, she moaned, “Lucien! Oh, that is
divine.”

He suckled strongly, the pressure increasing
her sensitivity and centering her existence on that one small bit
of flesh. Then his hand squeezed her other breast, stroked the
other nipple, and her world split between the two sources of
pleasure.

Maneuvering her legs to either side of his
hips, she ground her core against his rock-hard staff, still
contained within strained trousers.

Oh, yes. That felt nice. Better than nice.
Spectacular.

His mouth, now nibbling and gently biting her
other nipple, left her for a moment to smile wickedly and say, “So
glad you approve, love.”

Wait. Had she said that aloud?

His mouth returned to its task, but soon he
trailed open, tongue-dancing kisses along her belly, sliding his
bulk downward while grasping her waist and forcing her further up
along the bed. With nimble fingers, he unfastened her garters and
peeled her stockings slowly from her legs, tossing the scraps of
silk aside and stroking her inner thighs with a delicate touch. As
she lost her grip on his head, she reached for the coverlet on
either side of her body, gripping the cloth in an effort to release
the tension that coiled inside her.

“Lucien,” she panted. “What—what are you …
doing?
” The last word came out as squeal when a warm finger
slid down the slick folds between her splayed thighs, finding the
small, powerful nub from which intense, spiraling pleasure
emanated. The finger continued downward, slipping into her channel
and stroking gently where no one had ever touched her before. Not
even Victoria, herself.

“You are so tight, angel. So wet,” he
grunted, his thumb circling the small nub at the top of her sex,
even as his finger slid in and out below in a maddeningly even
pace. It was so good, so beautifully satisfying. And, yet, not
enough
. She longed for more, but didn’t know how to ask for
it. All she could do was moan his name pleadingly over and
over.

He kissed the inside of her leg, just above
the knee, and muttered, “Yes, now. I was going to … but damn,
Victoria, I can wait no longer.”

With that, his marvelously talented hand was
removed, and he stood up beside the bed, his face tight and
serious, his eyes hooded.

Oh, God. Was he leaving her? “No!” she
shouted hoarsely. “Lucien, please, if I’ve done something
wrong—”

“Shh, love,” he rasped. “All is well.” He sat
on the edge of the bed long enough to remove his boots, then stood
again to make quick work of his trousers. She got little more than
a brief glance at something large, darkly flushed, and extending
rather alarmingly upward from his body before he came over her
again, and all that marvelous weight and pressure and heat
surrounded her.

His mouth returned to hers a passionate
marauder, crushing her lips and thrusting his tongue inside. She
wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, rubbed her breasts
eagerly against his chest, and gleefully welcomed his return.

He groaned, moving a hand to her breast, then
down to clasp her leg and pull it wider to accommodate his hips.
She could feel the hot, smooth skin of his strange, hard appendage
sliding through the folds of her sex. Panic flared briefly as she
considered that he might be intending to do with
that
what
he had done with his finger earlier.

No. Surely not. It would never fit.

He pulled his mouth away, panting like a
bellows. Giving her nipple one last stroke, and using that arm to
prop himself up on one elbow above her, he grasped himself in the
other hand and placed the hot, blunt, rounded tip at her
entrance.

“Lucien?”

His face flushed, eyes glazed with lust, he
pressed forward.

At first, it was simply strange—a too-large
object stretching her flesh, trying to burrow inside her. While his
finger had felt good, had even satisfied her infernal restlessness
to some degree, this soon became uncomfortable. Then, as he pressed
further, rather burningly painful.

She moaned and squirmed, panicky at the
invasion. Her hands pressed against his shoulders instinctively,
trying to push him off.

“Calm yourself, Victoria. We just have to get
through this first … bit.” His words were strained, gritted out in
a way that made her think this might be just as uncomfortable for
him as it was for her. “Then it will be good. I promise.”

She paused, concern seeping into her mind as
she considered the shimmering tension in his muscles, in his face.
He appeared to be in the grips of significant agony. Reaching up to
stroke his cheek, she asked softly, “Are you all right?”

Eyes flaring, he stared at her incredulously.
“Me? I should be asking you that.”