The Scoundrel's Lover (12 page)

“Undress,” she whispered as she pulled away. She pressed a kiss to his bare neck.

He pulled back, his green eyes wide. “Annabelle—”

“You would not deny me, would you?” she asked. “Deny me the ability to please you as you have pleased me?”

He stared at her. “I would want that more than anything, but perhaps you aren’t ready to—”

She lifted a hand to cover his mouth. “Marcus, if this
thing
we share is truly meant to purge all my wicked urges, all your desires, then we can’t hold back. Please, let me do this. Let me feel this.”

She could see him struggling with some faint gentlemanly urge to protect her from what she wanted but didn’t fully understand. But the wickedness in him prevailed at last and he pushed away from her to get to his feet. He toed off his boots and then his hands hesitated at the fastenings of his trousers.

She sat up and smiled at him. “Marcus, I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” he growled. “My God, you don’t know the things I want to do to you.”

She laughed even though his words moved her beyond measure. “Take off your clothes and then we can negotiate.”

He stripped out of his trousers, revealing toned thighs and calves and the hard, long length of his cock. She drew back a fraction. He was huge, perfectly in proportion with the rest of his body. She couldn’t help but think of her tight sex. Was it even possible he could fit inside of her?

Not that it mattered since he wouldn’t. He had promised her. She had vowed the same.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked, a wry smile tilting her lips as she stared at him.

“Not at all,” she reassured him, licking her lips. “But I would very much like to…to touch you.”

He stepped to the edge of the bed, finally within reach. “As you said, Annabelle, I would not deny you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Good.” She extended her hand and gently stroked the entire length of him with the back of her fingers. To her surprise, his flesh was soft, stretched tight over the hardness beneath. She moved to sit on her knees and stroked him again, marveling at the feel of him.

He gritted his teeth, his air exiting his lungs in great gulps as he watched her. “You do test a man,” he grunted.

She smiled and wrapped her fist around him. “I don’t intend to test you, Marcus. Only please you.”

She stroked him, watching his face as she did so. She wanted to read his reactions, to see if her instincts led her true or if she needed to change. The veins in his neck bulged and he dropped his head back with a long moan as she stroked over and over.

It was heady to give him such pleasure, to watch this man, so much more experienced than she was, begin to shake as she worked her hand over him. And yet, it wasn’t quite enough. She thought once more about the man and woman in the room two nights before. He had tasted her, and now Marcus had done the same.

But the lady had tasted her man as well. Leaning forward, Annabelle darted out her tongue and gently stroked it over the very tip of his member.

He jolted at the contact and jerked his face down to look at her.

“Annabelle,” he breathed, both a warning and a plea.

She smiled up at him and then covered him fully with her mouth. She took as much as she could, pressing her tongue to the underside of his cock before she gently sucked him.

He swayed slightly, and suddenly his hand came up to rest on her head, though she wasn’t certain if that was for encouragement or to keep from falling over in a heap. Either way, she kept him in her mouth and looked up at him.

“Woman, you may kill me,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to her. “Move, Annabelle, move over me like you saw those people doing while we watched.”

She nodded slightly and did as he asked, sliding him almost all the way out of her mouth and then taking him as far as she could again. To balance herself, she gripped the base of his shaft and stroked there too, letting the wetness from her mouth lubricate her actions.

Although she had only ever seen the act in a few books and then in the chamber here in the club, she found she truly liked performing it. There was something immensely powerful about knowing that
her
actions were what made Marcus grunt above her, his hips flexing and his muscles straining. Powerful and highly erotic. Her own sex, so recently satisfied by his tongue, grew even wetter as she worked. She ached for him to touch her again.

But she set that aside, instead focusing on him. She increased the movements of her mouth bit by bit, taking him deeper, sucking as he entered and exited, and finally he moaned low in his throat. To her surprise, he jerked himself from her mouth just before he cried out an incoherent sound of pleasure and his thick, white essence shot from the head of him.

She stared up at him, captivated by the look of pleasure on his face, the one that made him look younger and more innocent. He panted as he collapsed forward, supporting himself on the edge of the bed.

She leaned toward him, pressing her forehead to the back of his head, and they rested that way for a while until both their breathing returned to normal.

“That was wonderful,” she whispered after what seemed like an eternity had passed.

He lifted his head, forcing her to move. His face was mere inches from hers and he smiled. “I would have to agree. I didn’t expect you to be so proficient, Miss Flynn.”

She shrugged, though the compliment made her blush. “I-I told you, I’ve read things and now I’ve seen things. And all I had to do was pay attention to your reactions to see what you liked.”

He nodded slowly. “That best lovers always do.”

He leaned in and kissed her, this time gently. She longed to melt into the kiss, to continue what they had started but he pulled away before she could do so.

“It is late, Annabelle,” he said softly. “And you should go home before someone discovers you missing.”

She pursed her lips. “Will I—will I be allowed to return?”

He tilted his head. “For your brother or for this?”

She slid off the bed and straightened up, trying to have as much strength as she could when she was utterly naked. “Either. Both.”

“I already told you that you could come here to observe Crispin,” he said. “This new arrangement changes nothing about the original. And if you still feel those dark and wicked urges you tell me you want to purge in my bed, then I welcome the chance to have another taste.”

Annabelle shivered from head to toe at the way the word
taste
rolled from his tongue. He was teasing her, although it didn’t seem like he was doing it unkindly.

“I do want more,” she admitted. “Both received and given.”

His smile faded a fraction and darkness lit up in his green stare. “Then I cannot wait until next time we are together. But for now, get your dress and we will do our best to fix you.”

But as Annabelle stooped to get the gown she had discarded not so long ago, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever be “fixed”. After all, the desire she felt in her heart, in her body for Marcus didn’t seem diminished in the slightest by this encounter.

Already she was dreaming of the next one. And wishing she could have more than just his intimate kiss.

Marcus shifted with discomfort and straightened his cravat for what seemed like the tenth time since he had been left alone in the parlor of the Duke of Hartholm. His friend…or was it former friend? Either way, Rafe had called for him two days after Marcus’s encounter with Annabelle, demanding he come to Rafe’s home.

And now Marcus waited for the arrival of the duke and wondered why the hell he had been summoned here. Of course, one reason came to mind.

Annabelle
. Rafe knew about Annabelle. And if that were true, this conversation could easily end with calls for a duel at dawn over her honor. Marcus would deserve no less. After all, he was taking advantage of a lady, wasn’t he? Turning her desires against her in order to fulfill a fantasy he’d had for years?

Only it hadn’t felt like he was manipulating her when she sucked his cock into her throat and gave him pleasure unlike any he’d known…perhaps in his entire life.

The door opened and Rafe stepped inside. The sight of the duke shoved all inappropriate thoughts of Annabelle aside, but Marcus remained cautious as he approached him.

“Your Grace,” he said, holding out a hand.

Rafe took it without hesitation, shaking it with enthusiasm. “We’re in my home, Rivers—as I told you before, please call me Flynn.”

Marcus wrinkled his brow. “It still seems highly inappropriate for me to do so.”

“It is,” Rafe admitted. “But any time I can have a moment where I pretend I am not duke, I’ll take it. And when I’m with friends, I remain as I ever was, I assure you.”

Marcus watched Rafe move to the side bar and pour two drinks. Was it possible for a man to become titled and remain the same? He couldn’t imagine that was true. All those with titles Marcus knew held themselves a little apart, reveling in the fame and fortune most hadn’t earned but had stumbled into due to a twist of fate in birth family and order.

And yet, as Rafe turned with a grin and held out a glass of scotch, his friend truly looked the same as he had a year ago, long before his inheritance.

“How is the club?” Rafe asked, motioning to the chairs before the fire.

Marcus took one and sipped the scotch before he spoke. “Very well, same as ever. Your membership remains, you know.”

Rafe grinned. “I find I’m not tempted by such things now that I am wed.”

Marcus lifted a brow. He had heard rumors of the beauty of Rafe’s bride, Serafina, though he had never seen the lady in person. Everyone knew the tale of how the two had been forced to wed when Rafe inherited the dukedom and how they had been viciously attacked just weeks after that marriage.

He’d also heard that Rafe was completely in love with his wife.

“So it is true that you are happy in your choices…or what was thrust upon you without choice,” Marcus offered, his tone free of judgment.

To his surprise, Rafe’s face lit up. “Entirely so. There is no happier moment for me than the moment when Serafina was brought to me. The circumstances are not ideal, but the woman is…more than so. I adore her, Marcus. I love her with all that I am. And I realize you are shifting in discomfort now because you cannot believe I would wax poetic about a lady, but I am a changed man. Changed by love.”

Marcus examined him closely. “Yes, I can see that. And if you are happy, then I am happy for you.” He raised his glass. “To the duchess.”

“To the
beautiful
duchess,” Rafe agreed.

Their glasses clinked together and they each took another sip of the fine liquor. It was only after he had swallowed that Rafe’s joyful expression fell a fraction.

“As pleasant as these topics are, I do not think we can pretend I invited you here for such conversation. You must know what troubles me.”

Marcus pressed his lips together. “I may have a notion, yes.”

His mind filled with images of Annabelle, spread out on his bed at the club. Annabelle arching beneath him. Annabelle peering over his books with her spectacles perched on her nose.

“I want to talk to you about Crispin.”

Marcus blinked. “Er, yes, of course, Crispin.”

Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “You seem surprised. Is there something else we should be discussing?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, of course your brother must be on your mind. I only thought you had made it perfectly plain that you refused to intervene until your brother asked for help. If you sense surprise, that is the only reason why.”

Rafe nodded, accepting Marcus’s lie. Marcus exhaled a long breath. His mind was truly addled if he could not control his expressions.

“I do stand by my assertion that Crispin must desire our help before any offer will make a difference,” Rafe said, setting his scotch aside. There was no mistaking the troubled expression on his face. “But I do worry about him, regardless, and have been thinking about the situation since you last called on me. Crispin goes to the club a few times a week, doesn’t he?”

Marcus nodded. “Twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. And occasionally at other times.”

“So he keeps our old schedule,” Rafe mused. “And is he always out of control?”

Marcus pursed his lips. “Not always. I would say half the time he is his old self. He drinks, but it doesn’t make him reckless, he gambles, but he doesn’t lose too much, and he indulges in the ladies, though not as often as he once did.”

“And the other half of the time?” Rafe asked, his tone suddenly soft.

Marcus shifted. “You know it isn’t in my nature to share personal details of those who come into my club. It goes against the very spirit of the Donville Masquerade. But you and I have a history, Your Grace.”

“Flynn,” Rafe reminded him.

Marcus inclined his head. “Flynn. So I will tell you that when your brother loses control, he loses it spectacularly. He throws away hundreds, even thousands of pounds on cards and makes outrageous side bets. He drinks until he loses consciousness. Worse, there is no pleasure in these actions for him. I see his face and he is…”

“Lost,” Rafe supplied.

Marcus nodded. “That is the best way to put it. But I can assure you further that he is looked after, at least in my establishment.”

“By you?” Rafe pressed.

Marcus flashed again to Annabelle. “By myself and others. I will continue to report his actions to you if you would like.”

“That gives me more relief that I could possibly express, especially since I know this situation has caused you trouble. Between Crispin and Annabelle—”

“Annabelle?” Marcus interrupted.

Rafe shook his head. “Well, yes, her little stunt climbing into your man’s carriage and insisting to be taken to your club. You were graceful about the situation, but you could not have been pleased by her antics.”

Marcus fought the urge to laugh rather inappropriately. “I actually find your sister rather fascinating.”

“That is certainly one way to describe her,” Rafe said with a sigh as he downed his drink in one swig.

Marcus arched a brow, suddenly driven not just to defend Annabelle, but also to take this opportunity to know more about her. “You would describe her another way?”

Rafe pushed to his feet and moved to the mantel, where he stood, leaning against the it and looking into the fire. “She is willful and wild. Not exactly unexpected considering her last name. But she is also…very smart.”

“An interesting combination indeed,” Marcus said, hoping he sounded mild.

“She spent her life getting into trouble and then wrangling to avoid it.” Rafe shook her head. “I think my brother and I have not made it easy. The older I get, the more I realize how much she lost over the years because of us.”

“Such as?” Marcus pressed.

“Friends. Standing. Perhaps even a proposal or two.” Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face. “But now she has insisted upon her Season in the Upper Ten Thousand and she seems determined to wed a gentleman before the year is out.”

Marcus flinched despite himself. This was only a reminder of what he already knew, what Annabelle herself had told him. She had never hidden her ambitions.

“Why is she so resolute in her decision?”

Rafe flopped himself back into his chair. “Who knows? Fear that Crispin or I will destroy her only chance? Desperation for acceptance and security in her future?”

“It sounds very boring for a woman such as her,” Marcus said.

Rafe stared at him, and Marcus bit his tongue. Damn him for letting words slip that revealed too much. But Rafe only shrugged.

“Yes, I agree. I think she could do better than some fop who would judge her for being her own lovely, funny, intelligent self. But she will not be deterred. And I’m certain it will work out as she hopes. She seems to have an interest in an earl, Claybrook. I’ve determined nothing unsavory about the man, so I see no need to discourage the suit.”

Marcus said nothing, but his stomach churned at the words his friends had said. They felt like a knife to his gut, even though he was fully aware of Annabelle’s activities and desires for her future.

Rafe shook his head. “Great God, from your expression I see I must be boring you. I apologize and I thank you sincerely for talking to me.”

Marcus stood, ready to be dismissed. “I’m always happy to oblige, Flynn.”

Rafe got to his feet as well and slapped Marcus’s arm good-naturedly. “And now you must stay for supper.”

Marcus blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Unless you have another engagement,” Rafe said, tilting his head.

“It isn’t that,” Marcus admitted. “Only that…you are a duke.”

“And?”

“And married,” Marcus continued, waiting for Flynn to see the myriad of issues that should keep a man like him from the table.

Instead, Rafe laughed. “And?”

“You don’t want me in your dining room,” Marcus said quietly, wishing that the sting of having to say those words was not so very high.

Rafe’s brow wrinkled. “I asked you, didn’t I? Come, the family will begin to arrive soon and I assure you, you will be most welcomed by us all.”

“The family?” Marcus repeated, trying not to let his mind wander to inappropriate places yet again.

“My mother,” Rafe explained. “And Annabelle, of course.”

Marcus clenched a fist at his side. To see her here, in her natural environment, to be reminded just how far out of reach she truly was…

He wasn’t sure he could take that.

“Flynn, I—”

Rafe cut him off by lifting his hand. “Rivers, I insist. You
will
join us tonight. I’ll hear no further argument about it. Now if you will wait here a moment, Serafina should be almost ready and I’ll fetch her. I know she’s thrilled at the idea of meeting you.”

His friend didn’t wait for an answer, but all but bounded out of the room. Marcus paced to the fire where Rafe had once stood. He felt as troubled as the duke had looked then, though for very different reasons.

Put him in the underground and no other man in the world could be more at peace with himself. But here in the parlor of the titled, even a titled friend, and he felt very much out of place. Add Annabelle to the mix and Marcus wasn’t entirely certain that tonight wouldn’t be an exercise in humiliation and destruction.

And yet the thought of seeing her made him feel utterly alive.