Wicked And Wild: Spencers in Love Book Two (8 page)

Chapter 17

            Lucien was in his study, the door was open and
he was reading a letter. Mirabelle stood on the last step in the hall, content
just to watch him. The early afternoon sun streamed in and the particles in the
air sparkled around him. His lips curved in a relaxed smile as he sat back, his
boot resting on his knee. Lucien had unbuttoned his coat and his hair was
ruffled. A glass of scotch waited by the hand that rested on his desk. He was so
beautiful. Mirabelle leaned against the banister and her heart swelled and
pulled her towards him. She ignored it.

            She craved Lucien. Mirabelle wanted to find some
way to open herself to him completely, to let him see and touch everything inside
of her. She wanted to feel him against every inch of her flesh. She wanted to
know every part of his body and to crawl inside of him. Instead, she felt like
she knew Lucien less as her husband than she did when they were friends. They
shared beautiful moments and just when intimacy was upon them, he retreated.

            So, Mirabelle didn't walk into the study to ask
Lucien how his day was or what he had planned. She didn't want to get carried
away with a moment and reach for him, only to have him step away or leave. She
stepped off the step and walked past his study.

            Mirabelle considered the music room but was too
restless. She wandered further down the hall and stopped at the ballroom. She hadn't
been in there since the ball Lucien and his mother held for Gilles and Elise.
The door was heavy but Mirabelle pushed it open. The furnishings were under
Holland covers but most of the floor was clear.

            Silently, the opening strains of a waltz played.
Mirabelle extended her hand to her imaginary dance partner and let him lead her
to the middle of the floor. She curtsied and he placed his hand on her waste
and began to pull her in time with the music. He led her through a turn and
Mirabelle saw Lucien in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, watching
her. Still not ready to reach out to him, she continued her imaginary waltz.

            “May I join you?” Lucien asked from a few feet
away. Mirabelle couldn't stop her lips from tilting.

            “As you can see, I'm dancing with Lord What’shisname.
You'll have to wait your turn.” She responded regally. His brows pulled
together and he stepped back. When Mirabelle went through the turn, she saw him
lounging against the wall. His arms were crossed and he was frowning. “You’ll
have to excuse my husband, Lord What’shisname. There's no accounting for his
manners. He acts as if he owns the place.”

            Lucien's mouth opened to object but he closed it
and narrowed his eyes at Mirabelle. She continued her revolutions for a few
more minutes before she swept to an elegant halt and curtsied. Lucien pushed
from the wall and approached Mirabelle.

“I'm sorry. I promised this dance
to Mr. Someoneorother, Your Grace.” She said impishly as she curtsied once
more.

            “You're choosing to dance with a mere Mister
instead of me?” He asked incredulously.

            “I’ll remind you that my father and brothers
were mere Misters. If Alastair hadn't been knighted and Gilles hadn't
inherited, they would still be.” Mirabelle scolded as she revolved.

            “My apologies. There are many Misters that are
perfectly admirable but your Mr. Someoneorother, I find lacking.”

            “Pray excuse his deplorable manners, Mr.
Someoneorother. I think you're a remarkable dancer. In fact, you might be the
best dancer I've ever had the pleasure of waltzing with.” Mirabelle barely
suppressed her smile as she went into a turn. Lucien was a masterful dancer but
she was enjoying teasing him. He was, in her opinion the best of the many waltz
partners she'd had. Mirabelle noted that her and Lucien hadn't danced since
they married.
Would it be different?
She wondered. She'd heard countless
times that waltzing with him was as close as a woman could get to making love
to him without taking her gown off. Her smile turned wry. Their waltzes had
always been enjoyable but completely proper. Lucien would probably hold her
further from him now. “You're holding me a bit too close, Mr. Someoneorother.
I'm afraid that won't improve my husband’s opinion of you.”

            “Your Mr. Someoneorother is fat and balding. I
think you'd enjoy waltzing with me more.”

            “Nonsense. I’m sure you're imagining that. I
think he's quite charming.”

            Lucien stepped away from the wall and strode
towards Mirabelle again. She decided to sweep to a halt and turned towards him.
He bowed low.

            “May I have this waltz?” His expression was
utterly charming, flirtatious and confidant. Mirabelle rolled her eyes. It
would amount to nothing, she knew.

            “I'm afraid I've promised all of my dances for
the evening, Your Grace.” She said haughtily. When he stood, his mouth hung
open in shock.

            Lucien dove for Mirabelle but she skipped backwards,
out of his reach and laughed. She danced further out of his reach and he
charged towards her. She gasped and twirled away just as his fingers tried to wrap
around her arm. If it hadn't been for a partition, she would have dodged him
again. Lucien’s hands closed about her waist and he hauled Mirabelle against
him. If Mr. Someoneorother had held her a bit too close, Lucien was holding her
a lot too close. His arm locked around her, pressing her against him from chest
to thigh. The fingers of his other hand curled around hers. He turned and led them
to the center of the floor, Mirabelle’s toes hovered above the parquet and he
maneuvered her like she was made of air.

            Her eyes were trapped by Lucien’s and her breath
came in little pants. She was mesmerized as he moved them through the room. The
smell of him, sandalwood and citrus, surrounded her and she closed her eyes and
let her head fall forward as she let it fill her. Lucien's breath huffed softly
against her ear, causing her to shiver. He steered her through a turn, his
thighs parted hers and she was sure his lips brushed her ear; she gasped and
squeezed his shoulder. Mirabelle almost moaned out loud when she felt the hand
at her back stroke her spine. She opened her eyes and let her cheek drag
against his as she looked up, into his eyes. Their lips were so close;
Mirabelle could feel his breath upon them. She licked them and Lucien angled
his head, she felt his lips brush hers as his hand drifted downwards. His palm
glided over her bottom and he pressed her against him as they went through
another turn. Mirabelle felt him, rigid and hard, pressing into the apex of her
thighs. She felt heavy and so hot between her legs, slick and wet as his tongue
traced the line between her lips. She trembled and opened for Lucien. His
tongue caressed hers and the moan she’d suppressed moments earlier escaped her
as he pulled her harder against him.

            Abruptly, Mirabelle felt cool air surround her
and realized she was no longer moving. Lucien had her at arms distance and he
was looking away from her. His breathing was labored and his jaw twitched.

            “Lucien?” Mirabelle was shaking, her legs felt
like water. He cleared his throat and looked at her.

            “I'm sorry.” He released her hand and let go of
her waist as he stepped back.

            “You're sorry?” She whispered, completely confused.
Lucien cleared his throat again and nodded.

            “If you’ll excuse me, there's something that
requires my attention.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode quickly
from the room.

            For a moment, Mirabelle wanted to scream that
she
required his attention but she was so stunned and surprisingly hurt that she
could only sink to the floor and stare at his back as he fled the room. She was
completely at a loss. It was as if she'd been allowed a peek at the Lucien she
was desperate for only to have the strange, tense Lucien slam the door.

Chapter 18

            A few hours later, Lucien found Mirabelle in the
sitting room off the garden. She was asleep on a day bed, curled on her side
with her cheek resting on her hand. He was overwhelmed by her beauty, he felt
his eyes water and his chest tighten. How had he survived this all of his life?
It amazed him that she'd always been there, lovely and irresistible and his
heart and mind never let him see it.

            Mirabelle's skin had always been like cream and
luminous. He remembered being a child and seeing her run through a field at
Winthorpe as the sun was setting and thinking she glowed. Lucien recalled how
it saddened him to see that she'd started putting up her hair the year before
she made her debut. And her eyes had always fascinated him. When the days at
Winthorpe were hot, they would climb their tree and recline in the branches. As
they'd talk and laugh he used to imagine she was a forest sprite, her eyes were
so vivid and green, like the foliage and grass around them. When Mirabelle
would smile, it always felt as if someone had lit a candle within his chest,
her laugh felt like the sun. He knew all these things but he'd never connected
them or examined how they affected him. He could read and speak Ancient Greek, excelled
at mathematics and could recite almost anything by Shakespeare from memory. But
he'd been a fool his entire life.

            Lucien pulled a chair close and angled it so
that he could see all of Mirabelle. He relaxed and let the sight of her sooth him.
He'd sought her out to apologize for ruining what had been a beautiful moment
in the ballroom. If he had controlled himself, they could have danced and
teased each other for hours. Lucien couldn't understand, let alone explain what
touching Mirabelle did to him. It was like slipping into the safest, most
comfortable place one could find and being wrapped in serenity and joy. Then,
her maddening lips would curve or her eyes would darken and he'd be overcome
with lust. The libertine within him would reach for her, voracious and wicked,
intent on corrupting what had been gentle and precious moments before.

            Marriage was supposed to be trying because a man
always wanted to escape his wife’s presence and because he had to give up all
the things he'd enjoyed before he settled down. For Lucien, it was trying
because he wanted to escape the man he'd been before he married. All he wanted
was his wife. He loved everything about her. The way her hands moved when she
changed a page in a book, the way she smelled when he buried his face in her
hair after they made love, how she chewed on the edge of her thumb when she was
indecisive, when she cursed if she played the wrong note, that she put way too
much jam on her toast or too much sugar in her coffee… Lucien couldn't get
enough of Mirabelle.

            Their lovemaking was not exciting and didn't
satisfy his lust for her but it was fulfilling in a way that he'd never
experienced with a woman before. Sex had always been about overwhelming his
partner and extracting every ounce of pleasure he could from her body. He took
pride in giving great pleasure in return but it was for his own selfish
reasons. In the end it was always about him. Every time he left a woman’s bed,
he was sated to his toes and once she regained consciousness and her wits, she
knew he was the best she'd ever had and would never find better. Lucien
secretly took satisfaction in the idea that he had ruined sex for legions of
women and made his peers look like dolts. With Mirabelle, it was so much more
than a physical act. He felt his soul moving within him, driving into her. When
he climaxed, it was almost spiritual, as if he'd saturated himself with her
until something burst within him. While he was rarely physically satisfied, the
emotional glow within him was magnificent.

            He must have watched Mirabelle sleep for at
least an hour. Lucien could have stayed for days, happy to watch her hair change
color as the sun moved through the sky. Every moment he witnessed made her
softer and less mortal. His adoration remained pure and reverent until she
stretched and twisted. A faint moan escaped her lips and she settled on her
back with her arms over her head. Mirabelle's breasts rose and fell and Lucien
became fixated. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate their perfection
before he stood and carefully draped a blanket over her and left the sitting
room.

            A week later, Lucien sat at his desk, staring at
Mirabelle as she stretched out on the couch in his study. The morning after
he'd vowed to stop acting like a little pervert she wandered in with a book and
made herself comfortable. Earlier, she'd cried off going to breakfast with the family
but had agreed to dine with him downstairs. Lucien questioned her again with
only a little more success.

            "Our engagement was so draining. Would you
mind if we just stayed in for a week or two?" Mirabelle smiled weakly
before turning her gaze to the window.

            He agreed, of course. Lucien wished he'd known
what it was going to cost him. Unable to focus on his work but not wanting to
be caught staring at his wife like a starving puppy, he picked up his pen and
began to write. Unfortunately, the only thing he could think to write about was
Mirabelle's body. In what could only be considered a violent act of masochism,
Lucien would write all of the things he'd wished he could say to her about the
various parts of her body and what he'd like to do to her. All in very graphic
detail. The first day, he'd written about Mirabelle's breasts. The next day her
derrière, then her mouth, the tight perfection of her womanhood, her hair, her
thighs, her hands... Each time he'd written until his need was so strong his
hands shook too much to continue. Then, he politely excused himself and ran as
quickly as he could to his dressing room. It didn't matter that he'd slipped
away from Mirabelle's bed and locked himself in just a few hours prior or that
he'd probably do it again after staring at her mouth through lunch. Being shut
in with her was slowly driving Lucien insane.

            The dreams weren't helping matters either.
During the day he could keep her at arm's length. In bed, he could hold the
reins of his desire and keep himself in check for Mirabelle. But when he
slipped into unconsciousness, Lucien turned into a lust driven beast. He
devoured her, his mouth and hands voraciously claiming every inch of her
luscious body. He mounted her ruthlessly, writhing and rutting. Their bodies
tangled and fought as they screamed and moaned. Lucien spoke the wickedest
words to Mirabelle, urging her to perform the most illicit deeds.

            The dream Mirabelle was wanton and demanding.
She teased and pouted, touching herself and rubbing against him. She could
never get enough, greedily sucking the seed from his cock and purring in
delight when he spilled himself deep within her. Dream Mirabelle straddled his
face and pinched her nipples as she used Lucien to seek her own release. She
set him aflame with outrageous suggestions and her domineering behavior.

            Lucien would wake in the middle of the night or
in the early hours, his hand already wrapped around his raging erection. He'd
stumble blindly into his dressing room to purge the visions from his fevered
mind. After, he usually crawled between the cold sheets of his empty bed and
berated himself for being weak and unworthy until he fell asleep.