Chapter Two

The moment Giles Warrington Hale, Marquess of Ashcroft, had seen this exquisite creature across the ballroom, he’d gone hard. She was the sort of woman he lusted after. She was perfect, actually. A vision from his dreams. Everything about her was big.

She was tall, her bones were large, and she was so fleshy as to take up as much space as two or three average women at least. Those were the very least of his requirements for finding a female truly attractive. But her attributes didn’t stop there. She had a massive pile of elaborately arranged honey-gold hair.

Then there were her enormous breasts. If he wanted to off himself—which he most certainly did not, because there was far too much fucking to be done to bother with death—he would bury his face between them and taste heaven before his soul was banished to eternal damnation.

She was young, unmarried, and, by her own admission, significantly lower than him by birth. Not the sort with whom he usually dallied. He’d planned to leave her alone.

That was, until she’d smiled. Instantly, he’d known he couldn’t merely admire her from afar. Her sparkling eyes had set the depths of his crooked heart alight. What a surprise to discover that sensation to be jealousy. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, either. It was, however, strong and clear. Without doubt, her smile should have been for him and him alone.

Giles had to meet her. Not later. Now. Tonight. Had to coax that smile from her lips himself—a smile brighter than the sun.

He was under orders from his sire to find the host of tonight’s ball and request an introduction to Lord and Lady Munge and their daughter, Lady Sophie. Giles had only relented tonight in order to be able to tell his father he’d been nothing less than the shining example of a dutiful son. He had no intention of marrying a woman his father selected.

Then he’d seen this woman. Abasing himself to play the dutiful son had instantly lost all its dubious charm. Instinct had taken over. Unable to help himself, he’d followed her. He had to see her for himself. To see if she was as beautiful up close as she had been across the room.

He’d meant to ask her for nothing more shocking than a dance. But when she’d slipped onto the terrace, he’d paused. The unguarded expression she’d worn had been weary and defeated. It was the wrong time for an intrusion, and he’d set his selfish whim aside. Almost. He’d turned around, intending to leave the terrace and allow her privacy, when those three horrid little girls had appeared.

When Miss Patience Emery had unsheathed her tongue on them, Giles had known then and there he had to fuck her. Or die trying. Although it would hurt his pride if he had to beg his way into her bed. When a woman only spread her legs for a man because she pitied him…

Chilled by the thought, Giles shivered. Never before had he experienced such a nightmare. He prayed he would never have to.

For now, here he was on the terrace. Miss Emery glared at him. “How is somebody as depraved as you allowed to mix with decent Society? Marquess or no, you are outrageous.”

She was a vision. A creature without parallel. A woman he absolutely had to immortalize with every last stroke of paint he could find in all of England.

Giles rubbed his hands together, eager to begin. He might have to start toting paper and his drawing box about with him wherever he went again, like he did as a boy. It would either make him a curiosity or a colossal bore, but it mattered not. He’d only have to stop drawing to fuck, eat, and tend to the occasional nuisance. “They must invite me. They have no choice.”

“The question was rhetorical.”

“And yet it demanded an answer. How curious.”

She gave him a flat look. “They invite you because you’re a marquess.”

He smiled. He hadn’t failed to notice that when he did so, her cheeks went a rosy pink. If a flush of pique made her so lovely, imagine what a flush of pleasure would do. It was easy to imagine himself balls-deep inside her.

“No. Because in my younger days, I was quite indiscriminate. I fucked most of them.”

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes went enormous. “You’re boasting, aren’t you? And enjoying it, too, I daresay.”

“Exactly so.”

“Do their husbands know?”

“My dear, you are innocent, aren’t you?” And curious, too. She wanted to know and didn’t feign shock. Then again, a woman who talked about goat fucking wouldn’t, would she? He decided to push it a little—see if he could bump up against a boundary—and was honest with her. “Most of the time, their husbands were present. They don’t want that sort of thing aired around London. Oh, they’d deny it, of course. But once a story like that is circulating, the damage is done.”

“And would you? Expose them, that is?”

“Probably not. Tiresome business. Leverage once lost is lost forever. Much better to hold it indefinitely. Something my father taught me.”

“But you don’t mind the power you have over them, do you?”

“Not entirely.”

She went thoughtful. “But holding on to your leverage indefinitely rather does the opposite, doesn’t it? If you never make your play, the other person, in fact, has more power than they know. Because you’re not going to use what you have against them.”

He smiled his slow, dangerous smile. Clever woman. Oh, he did like her. Very much. “Just so, Miss Emery. Just so.”

“Well, I can’t possibly agree to your absurd scheme.”

She sounded firm. Funny, he didn’t believe her. Still, Giles held his tongue. Pushing people before they were ready never did any good.

He turned so his face would be half in the shadow of the night, half bathed in the ballroom’s bright candlelight.

She visibly wavered. “What?”

“Mmm?”

“You look…like you’re thinking something you oughtn’t and enjoying it rather too much.”

“Which is often the case with me.” He inhaled. “In this instance, I was pondering the ways in which you might allow me to convince you.”

He’d wager his rotten reputation that she would beg him to convince her if she were bold enough. How he longed to tease that inherent audacity out of her. To see her come into the full measure of her powers. Use them and abuse them. Hopefully, on him.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Meet me in the library in a quarter of an hour. Don’t be late. Or I shall be very disappointed in you.”

She pursed her lips at him and narrowed her eyes as she shot off a tart reply. “We wouldn’t want that, would we, my lord?”

Giles smiled at her cheek. She wasn’t awed or afraid, two of the most common reactions to his proximity.

Inside, he pushed his way back through the crush. Along the way came blatant invitations from many a woman—and the occasional man. Fornicating with the eyes, he called it. They interested him not one whit. He had Miss Emery, and the anticipation of enjoying her was almost as good as the deed itself. To think he’d believed he’d be bored tonight. Lady Sophie or no Lady Sophie, he almost hadn’t come.

Thinking of coming, though—he wouldn’t. Not with her, not in this instance. He owed the fair woman the full share of the pleasure. It wasn’t completely selfless, though the plan made him feel holy enough. Her pleasure would heighten his.

Partway to the library, Giles came across Malachi Camden, the Duke of Holbrook, leaning rakishly against a wall with his arms crossed, observing the ball from a safe distance. Holbrook was Giles’s direct contrast in the intensity of his reserve, but his rival in the tastes and extent of his depravity. He was a great oak of a man, fastidiously groomed and conservatively dressed.

Giles nodded to his old friend. “I might have need of Glenrose for a few days.”

Holbrook looked stern. But he always looked stern. Had Giles not known the man so well, he might have thought it was because he took his damn dukeness oh so seriously. But Holbrook would have been the same had he been born banker, emperor, or John Coachman. “Anytime you please, of course.”

Giles patted his friend on the arm as he passed, continuing toward the library. “Behave yourself.”

“Here, yes. Later, no.”

“Thank God for that.”

The library was dim, empty of people, and smelled of old vellum. The books were the sort that had been forced down his throat during his school days. Full of stuffy ideas and old men’s dull blustering on and on about some subject they thought others should care about. Giles had hated it, and he’d fought his tutors at every turn.

Perhaps he owed those stodgy scholars an apology, for it wasn’t so bad to have studied them, now that the torture of doing so was safely in the past. Once in a while it was useful for conversation—though it was rare somebody’s analysis surprised him with new insights. Since he’d left school, if a book wasn’t either a biography of an artist or censored for its lascivious content, Giles hadn’t had time for it.

He lit a few more candles, setting the stage so everything would be perfect for her. It was too warm for a fire. Pity. There was nothing like a warm blaze to enhance the mood.

The door opened. At the sight of her, his cock flexed. An odd sensation floated in the center of his chest. Something akin to what the devil must have experienced when his sweet Eve had reached for the proffered apple.

But Miss Emery only stood there. For a moment, the silence was so profound, he fancied he could hear the flickering of the candle flames.

“Step into the room.”

She spoke hesitantly. “I don’t know if I should.”

There was something about how she lowered her eyes that made him pause. But briefly, because the realization struck him in short order. Lord, how had he not seen it before? “Are you a maid, Miss Emery?”

Hurriedly, she shut the door behind her and leaned against the panel. “Whether I’m a maid or not is none of your concern.”

“You’re entirely correct. It isn’t. But you are. Being a proper miss, you could hardly be anything else.” Divesting a virgin of her maidenhead wouldn’t be his first choice. To him, virginity represented a cult of oppression and control inflicted upon women by fearful men, but his opinion was not widely embraced. He would be unlikely to change her mind on the subject, and her opinion was the one that mattered. In fact, he would normally turn his back and walk away.

Miss Emery, however, wasn’t the sort from whom one walked away. She wasn’t simply any woman. And he should know. The only things he did were paint and fuck. Sleep and the rest of it was nothing more than nonsense to endure until he could do one or the other again.

“I’m here with you. How proper could I possibly be?”

“I daresay you’re here because you don’t want to be…a maid, that is.” And because she was under the same spell as he. The one that even now worked upon them, pulling them together toward a collision that could only end one way. “How say you to allowing me to do you the favor of relieving you of that particular burden? Believe me, life is much better on the other side.”

“The favor? How conceited are you?”

“Oh, terribly.” It was of no consequence, and he waved a careless hand. “But once you’ve had me, you’ll know why. I promise, I won’t disappoint.”

“I don’t think this is the time or place…”

“Why Miss Emery, what sort of thoughts are you thinking in that pretty head of yours? You naughty thing. I hadn’t the least intention of doing it here.”

She went scarlet.

Giles took pity on her. “But you’re not too far from the truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“For what I want to do, I need two things.”

“Two things that are here with us in the library?” Her brows knit as she glanced around warily. Imagining what, he could only guess. Pray let it be wicked.

“I do hope so. One, I need you to want it at least as much as I do. You can want it more, certainly, but you can’t want it less.”

“How is such a thing to be measured?” Tentatively, she moved deeper into the room. Coming toward him. Whether she admitted it or not, she wanted him.

“Because you’ll be begging me.” He left off appending “of course” to his statement because if she had never been with a man—or woman, in all likelihood—how was she to know?

“And two?”

“Two.” He smiled. This is where it started to get good. “I need your permission to lift your skirts so I can taste your sweet quim.”

His cock throbbed with longing at his words. He had to part her thighs and see her cunt for himself. He wanted to see her dark and glistening with wetness—wetness he caused. He wanted to smell her. Taste her. Suck on her clit until she couldn’t stand it anymore and orgasmed in his face.

Her color heightened. “You…what?”

“I like it—I like it very much.” Giles licked his lips, eager to begin sampling the wares. How would she taste? Strong or mild? Sweet or salty? His nerves buzzed with eager anticipation to explore her rich delights. “I promise you.”

She looked alarmed. “People do that?”

“Not enough, I regret to report.”

He stepped closer, staring deeply into her brandy-colored eyes. The light perfume of her skin made him want to reach for her. To run his lips over her skin as he inhaled her. Caressed her. Until she could stand it no more and she parted her legs and told him he must fuck her or she would die.

But he wouldn’t move a finger to touch her until he secured her permission. There must be no question. His nefarious pleasures didn’t include seducing the innocent. The innocent must want to be debauched. Must want to make memories with him they could cherish for a lifetime.

And not want it in the way one wakes of a morning and has a taste for a well-fried kipper. But want it the way a swimmer underwater too long is desperate for air.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t want her to agree to his scheme. He wanted to paint her very nearly as much as he wanted to fuck her. And he wanted to fuck her a great deal. “I said I want your permission to lift your skirts and put my mouth on your quim.”

“Are you quite certain you’re serious? You want to…to do that to me?”

“More than you’ll ever know, Miss Emery.” He offered his hand. She took it without question. Excellent. A promising first step.

He brought her to the settee. “Sit here, if you would.”

She complied, arranging the muslin of her skirts prettily. Wait until she discovered just what sort of woman she was when he pushed the fabric up around her waist and parted her knees. Different than she’d ever believed. In eager anticipation, his cock pulsed again. Giles had long ago given up ever expecting patience from the thing. So to speak.

“Now what?”

“You tell me. Would you like me to proceed? Or would you like to return to the ball?”

“I…I don’t think I can return to the ball just yet.”

“You have to say it, Miss Emery.” The tone of his voice fell. “You have to be specific.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Her eyes were huge. And if he weren’t mistaken—and he was never mistaken in these matters—full of desire. “Those words…”

“Use your own, if you wish.”

“I think I’d like you to…”

“Yes?”

She licked her lips. Pretty little pink tongue wetting the bow of her mouth. It put something to mind as to what he might find between her legs. “What if someone comes in?”

He smiled. “The door is locked.”

“Somebody could have a key.”

“Yes. And isn’t it all the more exciting taking that risk?”

“So like a man to dismiss my concerns.”

She had a point. He inclined his head, dropping his playfulness a moment to assuage her worries. “I promise you, Miss Emery, that while you are far from safe with me, your reputation will be guarded with the utmost care.”

“You haven’t answered my question. What if someone comes in?”

“I’m the Marquess of Ashcroft.” He waved. “Now tell me what it is you want me to do.”

“I think I might like it if you…” She cleared her throat. “If you put your mouth on my…”

Holy hell, he was going to come right then and there just listening to her work up the courage to be bold and make her desires known.

It took all his control not to demand she speak and speak now. She must go at her own pace. She could not be hurried or coerced. Patience, she’d said her Christian name was. He would do well to keep it in the forefront of his mind. It wasn’t a virtue he had much use for, except in situations like these, and he’d do well to utilize it.

She bit her lip. “I think, my lord, I would like if you put your mouth…on me. There.”

He bowed. “Your servant, madam.”

Then he sank to his knee before her and looked up. “You’re ready?”

Not blinking, she nodded, her breath coming in shaky little huffs. Oh, yes. She wanted this.

Good.

He started at her hem of her skirts, pushing the fabric up over the curves of her stockinged legs until he found the bend of her knees. “Open for me, my sweet.”

She swallowed and did.

Giles pushed her skirts up the rest of the way, exposing the cream of her fleshy thighs and the thick thatch of hair over her sex. His mouth watered.

The scent of her pussy strained his already aching cock. She was all woman. It was unlike anything else, that perfume. A little bit earthy. A little bit musky. A little bit sweet.

He could only stare in awe. No matter how many he saw, they never failed to turn him into a holy man. He had to remember to thank the benevolent creator for the best part of all living things at church this Sunday. “You’re so beautiful.”

Made for him to grind into, thrusting harder and harder until they both shattered into oblivion.

She was dark, plump, and glistening with the wetness of arousal. Her outer lips splayed open to reveal a high clit and generous labia protecting the best place a man could ever be.

Sinking his fingers into her thighs, he leaned forward and started with his tongue just below her swollen clitoris. She tasted like heaven.

Miss Patience Emery was going to be the death of him, and he’d revel in every moment.