WANTON (18 page)

“There are worse things than being a degenerate.”

“Such as?”

“Being so stuffy that you never have any fun.”

He flexed his hips again, setting off a sizzle of sensation, and she nodded.

“You might have a point.”

“Of course I do. You should listen to me. I’ll teach you plenty of tricks you need to learn.”

She gazed at him, studying him so keenly that he was unnerved by her shrewd assessment. He didn’t want her to be so astute, didn’t want her to delve down to the middle of his cold, black heart. Again, he felt he should leave before it was too late, but he didn’t.

“I have no desire to marry you,” she firmly stated.

Her rejection pricked at his vanity, but he tamped down his aggravation. “I realize that. I’m not interested either.”

“I have my eye on someone else.”

His temper tried to flare, but he wouldn’t let it. Why would he care if she wanted someone else?

“Don’t tell me who it is,” he said. “I don’t wish to be apprised.”

“We can’t engage in any behavior that would prevent me from marrying another.”

“We won’t,” he asserted, but he might have been lying. He was aware of how quickly passion could escalate. With how attuned they were, any wicked, out of control conduct was likely.

“I’m clueless about carnal matters,” she said, “and I’m terrified I’ll cross the wrong bridge without knowing I have.”

“I know all the bridges. I won’t let you cross the wrong one.”

Her assessment intensified. “Can I trust you?”

He was taken aback by the question. He stared and stared, anxious to declare himself ethical and honest, but he couldn’t, and he laughed aloud.

“No, you absolutely can’t trust me.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” She eased away. “You should go.”

On hearing her request, his pulse actually raced with alarm, and he was swamped by the most annoying wave of sadness.

“I don’t want to go,” he murmured. “Not just yet.”

“You should though.”

He shrugged. “When have you ever known me to behave as I ought?”

She pondered him, then smiled the most beautiful, beguiling smile. It tickled his innards and curled his toes in his boots.

“I don’t even like you,” she sighed.

“Yes, you do.”

“We’re mad. Both of us are stark raving mad.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

Then he smiled too, and the most curious contentment washed over him. He kissed her again, positive that a dose of physical amour would cure what ailed him. They got on better when they weren’t conversing, and they’d be happier if they dallied. He was certain of it.

She didn’t pull away, didn’t ask him to desist. She jumped into the fray, being delighted to proceed precisely as they shouldn’t.

Swiftly, they were swept into the inferno. His busy hands set to work, caressing her, massaging her, investigating her shape and size. He was suffering from an almost desperate need to imprint her form into his memory.

She was rapidly overwhelmed, so it was easy to loosen her dress, to bare her breasts, without her noticing. He nibbled a trail down her neck, her bosom, to suck a pert nipple into his mouth.

She gasped and drew him closer, urging him to feast, which he did with relish. For some reason, he felt better in her presence, and he simply couldn’t resist the chance to be nearer to her, to impress himself on her in a way that no other man would ever be able to accomplish.

He tugged at her skirt, raising the hem up her legs, her thighs. In a thrice, he had two fingers inside her. She was such a lusty creature that her desire peaked instantly, and she was pitched into a potent orgasm that went on and on and on.

As she reached the peak, as she tumbled down, she was laughing, merry, glad for what they’d perpetrated.

“Why does that happen to me?” she asked.

“It’s a typical part of the sexual experience.”

“So I’m not abnormal?”

“No, you’re very, very normal.”

Her innocent question underscored how hideously he was acting. What sort of cad was he that he would inflict himself on her, that he would goad her into immoral conduct she wouldn’t have tried if she hadn’t met him?

She claimed she wanted to marry another man, and he suspected it was Bryce Blair. Lucas should have left her alone, should have let Blair teach her the necessary techniques once they were wed, but Lucas wasn’t that noble. Nor was he sorry that he’d forged ahead.

“I worry about what I’m really like,” she said.

“Why would you?”

“My mother was a renowned slattern, and I’ve always been afraid that I harbor her worst tendencies.”

“Your mother wasn’t a slattern, Amelia. She loved your father and reveled in her life with him. That’s all. Don’t believe the stories you’ve heard about her.”

“You’re kind to say that. I’ve rarely heard a good opinion from anyone.”

“The vicars like to preach about sin and damnation, but sometimes people just need a bit of joy.”

She nodded. “I think that’s probably true.”

“And if you have a few risqué inclinations, who cares? I never thought lewdness was a bad trait in a female.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’ll be happier if you embrace this side of your character. You’ll be more content.”

“You could be right.”

He was staring at her, and she stared back, a profound look in her eye as if she’d discovered something about him she hadn’t previously understood. He had to glance away.

Down below, his phallus was hard as a rock, perfectly positioned at the vee between her thighs. He’d dabbled with her on several occasions now, and while she’d gained some relief, he hadn’t attempted to assuage his own rampant ardor.

It wasn’t healthy to be so titillated, and every facet of his being, down to the tiniest pore, was shouting at him to take her, to have her. He was perched on the very edge of ravishment, which was a frightening place to be.

He was a master at self-restraint, at separating the physical from the emotional. But at that moment, he was out on a ledge where he’d never climbed before. If she shifted even the slightest inch, there was no telling how he might react.

Very cautiously, he eased away and rolled onto his back. He gazed at the ceiling, struggling to clear his mind and tamp down his arousal. Apparently, no deflowering would occur, so he had to locate Nanette. Earlier in the evening, he’d parted with her but, evidently, he needed to recommence the affair he’d planned to abandon.

“What’s wrong?” she inquired. “Why did you pull away?”

“I’m very, very stimulated. I have to calm down.”

She rose up on an elbow and grinned. “Have I caused your dire condition?”

“Yes, you vixen. You drive me wild.”

“Have I become a
femme fatale
?”

“I believe you might have always been one. I’m simply luring it to the fore.”

He put an arm around her and drew her to him so she was draped across his chest, her cheek directly over his heart. She traced lazy circles on his belly.

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” she asked.

“Quite a bit more.”

“What else happens?”

Though he was the most dissolute rake in the kingdom, he couldn’t explain it to her. Blandly, he said, “It’s just more of the same.”

“You’ve clarified nothing at all.”

“Your husband will show you on your wedding night.” He nearly winced at voicing the word
husband
.

“Is it difficult to accomplish?”

“Not...difficult, precisely. It’s just different from what you’ve ever experienced. It’s different from what you imagine.”

“I wish
you
would show me.”

He chuckled miserably. “Trust me, Amelia, I would love to, but I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?”

“You deserve better than me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m trying to behave honorably for once.”

“Am I having a positive effect on your character?”

“Yes.”

“Marvelous.”

He could sense her smiling, and he smiled too.

There was a wonderful sort of pleasure in the air, as if they’d finally arrived at the spot where they were meant to be. To his astonishment, he could have lain there forever, but he’d already lingered much longer than he should have, had already committed many moral sins he should have avoided.

“Where were you the past two weeks?” she asked.

“I went to Summerfield, to visit my friend, James Talbot.”

“I missed you,” she absurdly claimed.

“You did not.”

“I did! Don’t tell me how I feel. You don’t know me well enough to have an opinion.”

He snorted. “I stand corrected.” He kept staring at the ceiling, scared to look at her lest he grow even more enamored. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“Another letter—from your friend, Rose.”

“A letter! How grand.”

“That’s actually why I stopped by to see you.”

“What does she say? Have you snooped into my private correspondence?”

“I didn’t have to. I told her what to write.”

She peeked up and glared at him. “And what was that?”

“Would you grant me a favor?” he inquired.

“Maybe. It depends on what it is.”

“Would you go to Summerfield?”

“Why?”

“I just wish you would.”

“Are you trying to coax me out of London?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“What if I don’t want to leave?”

“Rose and James are getting married. She needs you to help her with the wedding preparations.”

She frowned and pouted. “You don’t play fair. I could never refuse to help Rose with any task.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Will you go then?”

“Will you come with me?”

He gazed at her, taking in the glorious sight. With her hair tumbled around her shoulders, she looked rumpled and adorable and ready for more of their intimacies.

It would be thrilling to hop into a carriage with her, to enjoy a leisurely trip to Summerfield, but it would bind them in ways he would never allow.

Ultimately, he said, “No, I wouldn’t come.”

“If I went on my own, would I see you at the wedding?”

“Perhaps.”

“Or perhaps not?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He shrugged and snuggled her down, unable to think clearly when she was staring at him. He thought he might be in deep trouble with her, that he might be developing an attachment that could never blossom.

Before James had met Rose, he and Lucas had been planning to sail to India. The venture had been abandoned when Rose had entered the picture and changed the trajectory of James’s life.

Lucas wondered if he shouldn’t proceed on his own. James was wealthy now. Maybe he’d loan Lucas the money. Or maybe Lord Sidwell would cough up the funds if Lucas swore he’d depart and never return.

He clasped Amelia’s hand and linked their fingers, nestling with her as her breathing slowed, as she relaxed.

“I’m tired,” she murmured.

“Sexual conduct can be exhausting.”

“It certainly is. I’m falling asleep.”

“Go ahead,” he said.

“You can’t stay in here. I don’t want the maids to find you in the morning.”

“They won’t,” he vowed. “I’ll just rest a bit. Close your eyes.”

“Promise you’ll leave.”

“I promise.”

She was too drained to remember that he was a consummate liar, that she shouldn’t rely on any promise he made, but this time, it was actually one he would keep.

He had no desire to run into Barbara Middleton as he was sneaking out the front door, no desire to doze off and awaken to the sound of Amelia’s maid lighting the fire and opening the drapes.

Shortly, she drifted off, her body collapsed against him. He liked that she was comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms, but she was a fool to trust him. He never lived up to other’s expectations, and if she started to count on him, she’d regret it in the end.

He dawdled much longer than he should have, until a bird began to chirp outside, until a hint of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon. Very quietly, he slipped away from her and slid to the floor.

Like a halfwit, he stood, watching her. His heart was aching, as if it had grown too large in the night and didn’t fit between his ribs anymore.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

He tugged the blankets over her, then spun and tiptoed out while he could still force himself to go.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What do you think?

“I
think
we’re making progress.”

Amelia and Barbara were in her dining room, eating breakfast. It was early in the morning. After Lucas had left, Amelia had dozed for a few hours, but she’d been up and dressed and nervously pacing when Barbara had finally staggered in.

“We’re succeeding very quickly too,” Barbara added. “When we started this, you could never have convinced me—in a matter of weeks—we’d have Lucas Drake so enthralled that he’d be sneaking into your bedchamber.”

“I never thought he’d be enthralled at all.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Barbara teased. “I don’t know a lot of things, but I understand quite a bit about men. They’re vain and obtuse and often need to be whacked over the head before they can see what’s right in front of their eyes.”

“What’s in front of his eyes?”

“You, you silly girl. He can’t stay away from you.”

“When I walked in and he was there, I nearly swooned—and I’m not even the swooning type.”

“How did he explain himself?”

“He didn’t really, not until the end when he announced that he was delivering a letter from my friend, Rose Ralston.”

“And the rest of the visit...?”

“He was brooding and angry.”

Barbara chuckled. “Brooding is good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“What should I do now?”

“Just what you’ve been doing. We’ll keep attiring you in provocative gowns and jewels, and we’ll keep shoving you in his face until he can’t bear it anymore.”

“I believe he’s already at that point, but I have no idea how to push him beyond it.”

“His ego and temper will drag him where we need him to be. You won’t have to push him anywhere.”

“You’re not upset, are you?” Amelia asked.