The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (23 page)

“I am wild for you, Jane,” he muttered.

She was beyond answering, surrendering to instinct. He swept his right hand up over her hipbone to her breasts. His thumbs massaged the rosy tips until dizzying pleasure stole over her and she pushed herself against him. Slowly he stroked the silky inner skin of her thighs with his other hand until she was spread open to him, her cleft glistening with pearlets of moisture.

“Grayson,” she said, her voice catching. “I'm not ready—”

“Oh, you are,” he said as he tangled his fingers in the damp curls of her sex and caressed her creamy flesh with a magic that set off wild shivers inside her. Jane closed her eyes, drugged with pleasure, too in love with him to question her instincts, to stop. His finger pushed inside her, and she felt the heated sensation all the way to the base of her spine.

Seduction. The merest brush of his fingertips scorched her skin like a brand. She was falling apart while he remained strong, sure of himself, a man who reveled in the art of sensuality. She buried her face in his shoulder; the carnal promise in his smile had brought a blush to her very soul.

“It feels good, doesn't it?” he murmured. He slipped another finger inside her snug passage, his jaw muscles tightening. She moaned and moved against his hand, answering him without words.

“I knew you were a devil,” she said softly.

“You have no idea how demonical I can be.” A rich laugh rumbled in his chest. “But you'll find out. We'll do some very, very wicked things to each other tonight.”

She peered up at his chiseled profile. “Do you really think I'm bad?”

“Of course, Jane. Every woman is, if given the chance.”

She couldn't help laughing at that. “Listen to you, making decadence out to be a virtue.”

“Well, from my position, it is.”

“I hate that you sound so experienced,” she murmured.

“I love that you don't.”

But the truth was that he might have been making love for the first time. He could barely remember all the techniques he had mastered, the lovers who had taught him, and yet somehow his instincts felt sharper than ever, focused on pleasing this woman. His heart beat like a war drum in his chest with his desire to possess her.

Everything had gone as he had planned except for the unexpected erosion of his restraint, his emotional involvement. But Jane would be Jane, even at the moment of her moral downfall, practically turning the tables on him until he wondered who indeed would emerge the victor in their game. The possibility of defeat, however remote, only stimulated him.

But he would win this battle. He would master her body, mark her his own, make her beg him for more. He quickened the movements of his fingers and felt her delicate muscles contract as he brought her to a climax. She twined her arms around his neck and molded herself to his body, a seductress in her own right as the aftershocks of pleasure inundated her. He watched her in shameless enjoyment. The fierce tenderness he felt for her humbled him. Making love had never involved his heart before.

Then he was positioning the tip of his penis to enter her, his ballocks nestled below her cleft. The invasion into her body made her tighten all over, and he reacted by slowing his penetration, whispering soft reassurances and sliding his large hands under her hips to steady her.

“Jane,” he said hoarsely, “give in to me.”

Her hands tightened around his neck. His shaft felt huge inside her, pressing into her moist passage, stretching her in a ritual of pleasure and pain. “I'm trying,” she whispered.

“I want you.” He pushed a little deeper inside her, relentless in his need. “I want you so much.”

She wanted him, too. She wanted to know him this way, to take him completely into her body. She wanted to drown in him, to feel his power in every part of her. Her eyes widening, she stared up in unabashed fascination at his shadowed face. He was beautiful, her seductor. The erotic intensity in his blue eyes sent little shocks of lightning up and down her back. His muscular biceps strained as he held his body motionless above hers. Her blood thrumming in suspense, she whispered, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

He threw back his head, and she felt herself splintered by his initial thrust. Uncertain what would follow this sensual onslaught, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and anchored herself for the next stroke. Even then she was taken by storm when his hips surged forward, embedding himself inside her to the hilt. She felt the strength forced from her body.

“I—can't—”

He grazed her trembling mouth with a kiss, murmuring, “I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.”

His voice mesmerized her, breaking through the misty haze of her mind. Her inner muscles quivered and gripped him, adjusting to the rhythm he had set. The way he rolled his hips, the gentle slamming into her, and the raw sexuality on his face stole her breath.

“Oh, God, woman,” he muttered. “You feel good.”

“So do . . . you.”

“Like nothing—like no one I have ever known.”

His words thrilled her. “Truly?”

His eyes glinted. His voice was a low purr. “Truly, Jane,” he answered softly. “I have never opened my heart to another as I have to you.”

She was too lost in his seduction to acknowledge the prickle of guilt his confession awakened. Surrendering her maidenhead might have been a lot more uncomfortable than she had anticipated, but there was no denying how exciting the basic crudity of it all was. Just to follow the mysterious instincts of their bodies. Bumping. Shoving at each other. Moonlight silvering the corded muscles of his chest. She shook with the violent beauty of their mating.

Grayson had kept his entire body wound taut to stop himself from coming at the first thrust. The unbreached walls of her passage closed around him like a silken fist. The pressure in his loins had him gritting his teeth. If she gave another one of those sexy little shivers again, he would explode inside her. Only when he felt her coming apart beneath him did he allow himself to let go, driv-ing into her so deeply he was afraid he had hurt her.

His climax reduced him to basic sensation, gripping him from head to toe. He heard her breathing his name as he buckled, wrapping his arms around her slender white shoulders. She was so small compared to him, and yet she had proved his equal in passion. They lay together like two warriors who had declared a truce after a battle, exhausted, drained, exultant.

He had planned her seduction—and succeeded—with the same unyielding resolve he applied to the rest of his life. But he had not anticipated the feelings that accompanied his pleasurable victory. Holding her warm body next to his, their hearts beating in unison, he was overcome by emotions he could not quite reconcile with his intended revenge. Tenderness ravaged his heart and laid it bare. Never had he loved anyone so completely.

He wanted to resent her for deceiving him; he did. He wanted to regain the upper hand in their relationship; physically this was a fait accompli, but otherwise . . . the balance remained uncertain. Revenge
had
been sweet, especially in the elemental form it had taken. She belonged to him now; he couldn't let her go. Neither could he let her get away with deceiving him even if there would be hell to pay when she discovered he knew her secret.

She stirred and opened her eyes, her heavy honey-colored hair wrapped around his wrist. Her voice was low with emotion. “Oh, Grayson, don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he whispered, his large hand splayed on her belly.

“Like a big satisfied beast who's just eaten a—”

“Mouse?” he teased gently, wedging his knee between her legs. He couldn't stop touching her now. He felt a stab of jealousy to think she might have ended up with his cousin.

“Perhaps you ought to go back to your room.”

“This is my room,” he reminded her good-humoredly. “They are all my rooms.”

“I meant—listen, Grayson, despite all appearances to the contrary, I am
not
mistress material. We cannot indefinitely behave like pagans.”

He knew that, of course. She had marriage and motherhood etched into every bone of her delightful body. And her distress roused a great deal of guilt inside him. But he couldn't pardon her quite so easily. Let him finish the game before he granted mercy.

He pretended to give the matter thought. “Well, we certainly cannot let you become a spinster.”

She sat up slowly, the afterglow of their lovemaking apparently fading in the face of reality's complications. “I cannot become a courtesan either.”

“Lie back down, Jane,” he soothed. “You have a few things left to learn before you attain that status.”

“There is no alternative, Grayson. We have to get married.”

“Married?” he said, lifting his hand to his heart in mock horror. “Heavens above, somebody put a gun to my mouth.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Continue in this manner, and it is not outside the realm of possibility.”

“You know how I feel about the parson's mousetrap.” He smiled slowly. “Even if you are a delicious little mouse.”

She drew a deep breath. “I am a decent woman, or at least I was, you overbearing ox. It was you who presented yourself as respectable to my parents.”

“Are you proposing to me, Jane?” he asked in amusement.

“I'm afraid I am,” she said, sounding none too pleased at the admission.

He released a rueful sigh. “I thought we had come to a suitable arrangement.”

“Being a harlot does not suit me,” she said with an indignant scowl.

“No? I think you have a natural talent for it, though.”

“Where is that gun you mentioned?”

He traced his fingertip across her belly, watching her muscles quiver in response. “Marriage? Let me think about this for a day or two. Perhaps I can be persuaded. In the meantime, darling, turn onto your stomach.”

“On my—” She swallowed a gasp. “What are you going to do?”

“There's a looking glass to your left if you'd like to watch,” he said in a silken voice. “Otherwise, I suggest you simply close your eyes to enjoy the experience.”

He spent the entire night awakening her body. He took no precautions to prevent a pregnancy, for the first time in his life. He was completely ready to claim the children she would give him, to protect her and those she cherished. Friend, mistress, wife. He would seduce his lovely schemer all the way to the altar. He would love her for the rest of his life.

Chapter 20

Jane lifted the sinewy male arm that imprisoned her midriff like an anchor and let it drop onto the bed. The owner, a great naked, blond beast who had ravished her, gave a grunt of contentment and rolled onto his side. This reaction afforded her an eye-popping view of the long torso that tapered into lean buttocks, then iron-hard thighs. As she admired the sight, he wrapped his arm around the bolster she had vainly attempted to shove between them throughout the night.

Not, she reflected wryly, that such an insubstantial barrier had deterred him one bit. He had not made poetic love to her. He had gleefully debauched her, and she, just as gleefully, had encouraged him to new heights of decadence.

She stared in wonder at the devastation of the bedchamber. It had been a night to remember. Chairs overturned, champagne glasses on the floor, her chemise hanging like an emblem of surrender from the bedpost.

Surrender? Good heavens, she had been the one on the attack toward the end, making the most of her glorious fall from grace. Had she really let him bind her to the bed with her stockings? And those little love bites all over their bodies . . .

How had this happened? She had been such a decent young lady until recently, so well behaved, so virtuous. Yes, rebellion had always simmered under the surface, but the acts in which she and Sedgecroft had participated were unspeakably naughty by any standards. Loving him had turned her entire world upside down. The thought he might resist returning her affection was unbearable.

A hesitant footfall sounded outside the door. A soft knock followed, and she held her breath as the knob did not turn. That could only be Simon, she thought, aghast, sliding off the bed where her partner in decadence slumbered on.

She dressed in her robin's-egg blue muslin traveling gown and fished her half boots from the tangle of bedding on the floor. At the door she stopped to stare back with reproach at the reflection in the looking glass of the ruined woman she had become. Obviously she had made a muddle of her life and needed pots of tea and days of solitude to think it through.

“You could at least look as if you were sorry,” she whispered to her disgraced reflection. “The best of the beau monde tried to warn you, but did you listen? No, you became a mistress.”

 

Halfway down the stairs she remembered that Nigel's aunt lived in Brighton with her retired barrister husband. Since to stay in this house would only encourage her own latent indecency, she supposed she could ask for refuge until she convinced Simon to take her home. If anyone in her family ever spoke to her again, she thought, sighing at what she had done.

As she tiptoed between the marble pillars of the entrance hall, she spotted her pelisse and reticule on the hall stand where a servant had left them while their owner shamelessly revealed the wanton side of her nature in the bedchamber above.

She pulled on her pelisse and eyed the front door with its fanlight allowing pale shivers of sun to penetrate the villa's peaceful gloom. She would look like a Cyprian strolling the promenade alone at this hour of day, but if Sedgecroft had his way that would probably be her fate.

A deep voice reached out to her from the shadows. “My brother would never forgive me if I let you escape.” A tall broad-shouldered figure detached itself from one of the pillars and stepped in front of her. “Neither would I forgive myself, for that matter. Why don't you join me for breakfast in the green drawing room? That way, I can acquaint myself with the lady who has the head of the family behaving in such an odd manner.”

There was an air of command behind the invitation. In fact, he had taken her arm and was guiding her toward the east wing of the villa. This, she thought, sneaking a glance up at him, would be Heath, a darker, quieter, more intense representation of the Boscastle male. His straight black hair was brushed back from an angular face with chiseled features and a square jaw that denoted strength. He was practically as tall as his brother, perhaps a little leaner, with the coiled, dangerous control of a panther. The arrogance was there, but more subdued. She could sense him examining her as they walked the length of the marble-tiled floor.

“It is early to be up.” He hesitated. “Especially after a day of travel. I'm Heath, Jane, as you probably have guessed. I believe we have never been properly introduced.”

She smiled ruefully. “I don't know that one would call these circumstances proper, either.”

“No?” His deep blue eyes glittered with guarded amusement.

“You know what Grayson is like.”

“Yes.” His tone was low, inviting trust. “But I don't know you, Jane.”

“I am hardly at my best,” she said, her voice breaking.

She moistened her lips, aware that his dark blue gaze flickered over her, assessing every detail of her appearance from the shadows under her eyes to the reticule she clutched nervously in her right hand. Of course he knew she was not exhausted from traveling, but from a night spent in intimacy with his older sibling. The realization brought a hot stain to her cheeks.

She shook her head. “I don't want breakfast.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Perhaps I can change your mind.”

“I know what you must think of me,” she said in a soft, halting voice.

“I doubt it.”

She swallowed, wondering what it was about him that so immediately put her at ease. “It was you at the bedroom door, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” he admitted with an apologetic smile.

“Then I am caught.”

He led her into a large room in which a cheerful fire burned and a linen-draped table tempted the appetite with a hearty breakfast for two. “Yes. I caught you going out for a walk before you had eaten. What a terrible sin that is. Come, Jane. Sit down and eat.”

“You don't understand,” she said in chagrin. “My life is unraveling thread by thread.”

“And there is no way to piece it back together?” he asked cautiously.

She thought of the rogue asleep upstairs and smiled a little sadly. “I don't see how.”

Her stomach contracted in hunger as he lifted the lid of a silver dish to entice her with a dish of crispy fried bacon and poached eggs. She sat, her hands folded in her lap, and sighed. “I could not eat after . . .”

His perceptive gaze rendered the end of the thought superfluous. She fell silent as he mused aloud, “Do you really love the monster all that much?”

“I would not be in this house if I didn't.”

“Ah.” He glanced down, holding back a grin. “Then I am sorry.” Although for which one of them, he had not yet decided. Obviously Grayson had gone ahead with his plan for revenge, which a few days ago had seemed amusing. But now that Heath sat face-to-face with Jane and formed his own personal opinion, he did not perceive her to be the shallow, duplicitous female he had imagined. Instead, he admired her spirit of initiative in escaping an undesirable marriage—his grin broke free as he remembered Nigel in bed with the Iron Glove.

“Do you find my situation amusing, Heath?”

He shook his head. “Life is what amuses me, Jane.” Rising from his chair, he retrieved the silver teapot on the sideboard to pour cups of steaming black tea for them both. “The servants in this house are remarkably well trained. They do not appear unless they are summoned.”

She wrapped her fingers around the porcelain cup. “I imagine that suits your brother's needs quite well.”

He returned to his chair. “Actually, I do not believe Grayson has ever brought a woman here before, although I know it is the fashion to maintain a mistress at one's seaside resort. The villa has been reserved for family. And do not repeat that I told you this.”

Jane put down her cup. She tried to recall what Grayson had told her about Heath. A spy and soldier, wasn't he? And he had ferreted out information about Nigel. She glanced up covertly and searched his handsome features. He seemed very patient, pleasant, but she realized it would be dangerous to underestimate him. Had he guessed her secret? Not to judge by the mask of masculine angles and shadows that were arranged into a very beguiling face. Or else he was a master of masquerading his thoughts, a valuable skill for an intelligence officer. She was afraid to ask him what new discoveries he might have made, but she really had to know.

“Grayson said—”

Heath turned his dark head a split second before his older brother appeared in the doorway. Jane wondered if he had been there all along, listening. He strode straight toward her, looking lithe and elegant in a pewter gray long-tailed morning coat over a white linen shirt and buff breeches. His wheat blond hair had been brushed back, revealing the bones of his face. A bolt of heat went through her as his gaze caught hers.

Despite her confusion, her uncertainty over their future together, she felt herself softening at the sight of him. Last night had tipped the balance between them even more, but she wasn't sure what it would mean. He had stolen her heart. She had shared his bed. What would be hers in return?

Everything, she thought. She wanted every single wicked inch of him for herself. She wanted him for life. What a scandalous pair they made. How Society would be shocked by their behavior. She blushed suddenly, feeling Heath's gaze upon her. Who knew what he made of this?

“I heard my name.” Grayson bent and boldly kissed the back of her neck before taking the chair beside her at the head of the table. “Was I mentioned in a flattering way?”

She wanted to slide under the table at the pleased grin on his face, even if his kiss had sent a shiver dancing down her spine. “What do you think?”

His eyes sparkled as his gaze held her immobile. “I think that after last night a little flattery is in order.”

Heath coughed and set down his cup. “As modest as ever, aren't we?”

“I'm in too good a mood to bother with modesty,” Grayson said, sending Jane a sensual smile that flooded her with warmth. “Why aren't you eating, sweetheart?” he asked in concern, putting his hand over hers. “Has my brother been intimidating you?”

He was so male, so possessive and open about what was happening between them that Jane had no idea how to react. Obviously he didn't intend to hide anything from his brother, who looked a bit at a loss himself over Grayson's behavior. “I'm not hungry,” she said, trying to wrest her hand from his.

“How could you not be hungry after we—” He glanced at Heath, his manner suddenly sober and disapproving. “Did you tell her about Nigel? Is that what has killed her appetite?”

Heath leaned back in his chair, regarding his brother with a resigned smile. “Why don't you tell her, Grayson? I do so hate to be the messenger of bad news.”

“Bad news?” Jane said, her heart missing a beat. “About Nigel?”

“All right.” Grayson's hand tightened protectively over hers. “Heath has confronted him, Jane. I don't know of any easy way to say this, so I will be blunt and tell you everything. My cousin has married another woman. She is carrying his child.”

The room seemed still and stifling, the two men watching her so closely that she could barely swallow. Jane had never considered herself a good actress or liar. Her natural instinct was to confess her guilt. “I see. Then that is that.”

“How accepting you are,” Grayson murmured. “I would not be so in your place. Jane, really, this must be settled.”

“I cannot say it is a complete surprise.” She raised her head, forcing herself to meet the curious regard of both men. “I told you that Nigel and I never loved each other in that way.”

Grayson released her hand, running his tapered forefinger along the sharp blade of a knife. “Still,” he mused, “he must be made to pay. Your parents will insist upon it.
I
insist upon it. Perhaps I shall even call him out.”

She caught her breath. “Except that he's your cousin. It would cause the worst scandal, not to mention the chance he would probably be hurt or die. I didn't want to marry him. I . . .”

He stared steadily at her, turning the knife over in his hands. “It is a question of honor, Jane. I shall do what I must to maintain my family's honor.”

Heath cleared his throat. “I'm not certain I agree.”

Grayson speared him with a quelling look. “Agree? Of course you do. There are legal ramifications, after all. Jane could sue Nigel for breach of promise, although personally I prefer to shoot him in the heart and be done with it.”

Heath arched his brow in reproach. “Leaving his wife a widow and their child with no papa? What are you thinking?”

Grayson gave a careless shrug. “Jane must be avenged.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, finding her voice, which emerged as an unflattering squeak. “In time the whole scandal will die down—”

“Never.” Grayson's voice resounded across the room like a clap of thunder. “His behavior was deplorable. I refuse to let the matter rest, and
that
is the end of it.”