Chapter Eleven


 

 

 

THE DEEP SCRATCH DOWN the left side of his blotter marred the perfection of the Firenze leather. Malvern couldn’t remember when it had happened, but it looked to be an old injury. He’d not used the study for the purpose intended for so long, it could very well have been there from his father’s time. Better men than he took care of the business of the earldom, and, after spending the day wading through said business in a misguided attempt at distraction, he was more than happy to leave them to it in the future.

The scar before him blurred. With measured breath, he attempted calm, devoting himself to the expansion and deflation of his chest. The leather bled into the polished surface of the desk as he focused on the rhythm, the pace, on the slowness of his deliberate breathing.

The process should have soothed him.

The rise and fall of his chest did nothing to slow his racing heart, or rid him of the tightness in his chest. Doubling his efforts, he slowed his breathing further, his brow creasing in concentration. He refused to succumb to this whatever-it-was. He would not allow his body to betray him, to completely disregard the dictates of his mind and wishes. He wouldn’t allow it life.

But, for all that he tried to combat it, the truth could not be denied. Tonight, Elizabeth would come.

Exhaling in disgust, Malvern gave up trying to establish calm. Never had he felt this level of anticipation before Elizabeth’s arrival, and he could see no cause why he should do so now. Maybe last time they’d organised a meet he’d somewhat looked forward to her arrival, but this was ludicrous.

Since early morning, Malvern had been ensconced in his study, ostensibly actioning the stack of letters his man of business had handed over upon his order. In actuality, the ploy had done little to distract him. As he’d stared at the letters, he had pictured her face, and once her image was evoked, he could not stop the flood that followed. Elizabeth, animated and lively as she asked question after question. The feel of her hands as she explored his back, her fingers tracing his musculature under his shirt. The mole under her shoulder blade he’d now had ample time to catalogue and explore. Her head thrown back as she moaned her pleasure, the pleasure he gave her.

Pulling at his shirt cuffs, he aligned them perfectly with his wrists. He refused to think about it. About her. Refocusing on the blotter and its scar, he again began the slow breathing that had been so spectacularly unsuccessful to this point.

Bloody hell, it still wasn’t working. The picnic. It had to be the picnic. The talking, the laughing, the lack of anything remotely sexual. Clearly, it was not beneficial for his peace of mind. Instead, he found himself recalling the way she had tilted her head, her smile as he’d talked about nothing, nothing for God’s sake, and she had not asked for anything, she’d simply listened and commented and fallen asleep in his arms.

This upset in their schedule could not happen again, though he knew it would. How could it not, with Elizabeth being who she was? She would suggest some action, something wholly separate to sexual pleasure and he, suffering from this unknown malady, would allow her anything.

The doorbell rang. His heart, unruly organ that it was, leaped. Straining to hear the muted voices outside his study, he managed to glean Cartwright’s voice, his words indistinct. Then he heard Elizabeth answer.

She was here.

He smoothed his hair, arranged his robe in casual folds, and contented himself with the knowledge that at least, to the world at large, he appeared unaffected.

Elizabeth rushed into the room, her skirts whirling about her. He rose from his chair in greeting, all polite attention, affecting the pretence that his blood didn’t thrum through his veins at the sight of her, that his heart didn’t pound when she appeared.

Goddamn it, every fucking time. Her effect on him should lessen, not grow with each meeting.

In a hurry, my dear?” The excitement had subsided somewhat with her presence, a small hum instead of a roar.

Don’t start.” Elizabeth collapsed into her chair. “I’ve had three of my sisters in my ear all day, and I’m liable to do someone serious and irreparable damage if that someone insists on being smart.” She waved a finger at him, her stern expression belied by the grin bubbling beneath the surface.

Indeed?” Calm, that elusive state he had chased all day, settled upon him. He came around his desk, leaning comfortably against it with Elizabeth less than an arm’s length away. Crossing his arms, he frowned as he took in her appearance. Faint shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and a drawn look pinched her features. Concern tightened his hands on his biceps. “What were they belabouring you about?”

Oh, I don’t know.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, her thumb digging into the corner of her eye. “I’m sure it was important, whatever it was.”

Hooking his foot beneath the hem of her skirt, he flipped the frothy fabric around. “I really must insist you pay strict and sole attention to me. I dislike this habit you have of becoming distracted by the most inconsequential of things.”

She looked at him from under her lashes. “Truly?”

Of course.” He allowed arrogance to colour his words.

A grin sneaked out, her face lighting with her fleeting smile. “Well, then, I do apologise.” And then she kicked him.

The kick didn’t hurt, hampered as it was by her skirts. “I must insist you do not do that.”

Really?”

She kicked him again.

He assumed his coldest expression, his haughtiest mien. “You will not like the consequences.”

Indeed?” she mimicked, her inflection almost a perfect copy of his and drew back her foot to kick him again.

It never landed.

With a speed he’d not thought himself capable, Malvern lifted Elizabeth from her chair. She shrieked and struggled and pushed against him ineffectually.

What are you doing?” Laughter coloured her words.

You thought to defy me.”

She snorted at that, a decidedly unladylike sound. Wanting to grin, he instead shifted his hands, concerned he may hurt her with his grip.

Unfortunately, in order to do that he had to set her down. A patent mistake, as she took the opportunity to escape, scrambling across the room and grinning at him as she used the chaise as a barrier.

Suddenly, she dodged to one side and he blocked her escape. Her gaze never leaving his, her chest heaved as her breath came in excited bursts, and he could see her weighing her options, deciding best how she could avoid him. He moved to block her on the right, but she pivoted and dodged left, running around the edge of the lounge to crouch behind the protection of his desk.

Adrenalin rushing through him, he leaped over the desk, unmindful of the items that fell to the floor with a protesting crash. She gasped, more of a splutter really, and ran from him, the material of her skirt threading through his fingers as he came close to catching her.

His heart beating wildly, a crazy laugh built inside him. Never had he had done this. Never had he chased a woman around a room, for no other reason than it was fun. God, he was playing.

His arm wrapped around her waist. Unfortunately, his move threw them both off balance and she tripped, her fall triggering his as they both tumbled to the ground. Twisting, he took the brunt of the fall, grunting at the impact. His shoulder burned, and his hip ached, but he didn’t care. Elizabeth was unhurt.

Her face alive with laughter, still she struggled, trying to tug her wrists from his grip. A smile crept across his face as he restrained her easily, rolling her to her back and pinning her wrists on either side of her head, trapping her struggling legs with one of his.

Then, with little warning, everything changed. They both stilled. Her wrists felt tiny in his hands, the bones fragile. The realization she was helpless beneath him crashed through him. He could do anything he wanted to her, anything at all, and she would struggle even as they both knew it was but a game, that she would let him do whatever he wanted because it was what she wanted, too.

Dark green eyes watched him, her tongue flicking at her lip, and he wanted it, wanted it on him. Her eyes narrowed, and he knew she was planning something, something that would make both of them burn.

Raising her head, she licked his nose.

Malvern blinked. “Did you just lick my nose?”

Elizabeth nodded, her grin stretching wide.

My nose?” he repeated, incredulous.

She shrugged. “It was there.”

Really?” He leaned down and licked her chin. “It was there,” he mimicked.

She bit his earlobe. “That was there, too.” Her grin was infectious.

His gaze focused on her mouth and just like that, playfulness vanished.

It was there,” he said hoarsely, and then he covered her mouth with his.

God, the taste of her, sweet and spice and salt and a hundred other contradictions that spelt out Elizabeth. She made a little sound, her lips eagerly following his lead as he nibbled, stroked, licked. Trailing kisses over her cheek, he placed one on her nose, measured her brow with his mouth, kissed each eye closed. Returning to her mouth, he plundered her, his hands tight on her wrists as he stole her breath and replaced it with his own.

The encumbrance of her gown prevented him from lying against her as he wanted. Her leg rubbed against his, but it wasn’t enough. He needed her wrapped around him, his hips wedged against hers, his cock against her heat.

He pulled up her skirts, bunching the fabric around her thighs, and he thanked God she had not worn undergarments. She immediately wrapped her legs around him, as if she knew his thoughts, as if she wanted this as much as he. Running his hand under her thigh, he cupped the back of her knee, pulling her closer to him as he rocked against her, groaning at the feel of her against his rapidly hardening cock. The removal of the barrier between them allowed him free reign to move against her as he wanted, to tease her with the thrust of his body against hers.

He left her mouth to trail his lips down her neck, over her breastbone, his fingers working frantically at the bodice of her gown to push it aside. Her corset easily went the same way and then she was bared to his gaze.

The sight of her stole his breath. God, she was so beautiful. He ran his hand over her, down her throat, to the mess he had made of her bodice. To her breasts. He cupped her flesh, his thumb sweeping over the pink tip, staring in fascination as her nipple darkened, puckered.

Elizabeth’s fingers curled his hair around his ear, and Malvern tore himself away from his fascinated perusal of her breasts to meet her gaze. Her eyes dark with desire and the remnants of laughter, her fingers trailed over his cheek. Turning his head, Malvern pressed a kiss to her palm, his tongue lightly touching her flesh.

Am I paying attention to you now?” Even with desire darkening her voice, her eyes laughed at him.

Not enough.” And, to really make sure he had her attention, he took her breast in his mouth.

She moaned at the touch of his mouth, her hands tugging painfully on his hair to pull him closer. Triumph surged as he traced the under curve of her breast, curling his hand around her breast to present it for him. Her taste sweet against his tongue, he teased her nipple, grasping her with his teeth. Her moans were music to his ears and he did it again, over and over, just to hear her sing for him.

Pulling back to study his handiwork, he ignored her protest. Her nipple tightened further, becoming harder under his gaze.

You have such pretty breasts, Elizabeth.” His voice a harsh rasp, the words betrayed the depth of his arousal. He didn’t even try to hide it. “Look at them, begging for my touch. So full, so ripe, so ready for my tongue.” Encasing her nipple in his mouth, he groaned at her taste, her texture, hard and sweet.

With a harsh intake of breath, she arched her back, driving him wild with her abandoned response. He almost didn’t notice her hand trailing over his back, didn’t really notice her cupping his buttock.

He sure as hell noticed, though, when she placed her hand on his cock.

Startled, he lifted his head. She smiled sweetly, deceptively, tracing his shape through his trousers as she looked at him so innocently. Blood thundered in his ears and breath strangled in his chest as her hand moved on him, his vision filled with that wickedly innocent smile. Then her hand was cradling his cock, his buttons somehow undone. She stroked his length and he cursed.

I love how you feel.” Her voice, throaty, seductive, found an answering lust in him, and he wanted inside her now, wanted to feel her hot and wet and gloving him, squeezing him as he fucked her until she screamed his name.

Her eyes flared. “I love the way you feel in my hand.” Her thumb swirled over the head of his cock. God, she was driving him insane. “I love the way you taste and most of all….” Her breath whispered across his skin. “I love it when you come.”

He stared at her, at the look on her face, at the desire in her eyes, at Elizabeth. And something snapped.

He shoved her skirts out of his way, and he put his hand on her, testing her readiness and she was exactly as he imagined, hot and wet and so close to coming. Wanting to give her pleasure, needing to, he thrust his fingers inside her, his thumb circling her clit, and she bit her lip, whimpers coming from her as her hand stilled against him, pleasure flushing her skin. His own response rigidly controlled, he gauged her reaction. She was going to come, he could see it and so…he stopped.

She moaned, her hand grabbing his wrist, trying to force him to move. Nothing she did swayed him, nothing would force him from his intent to tease her, even as his own arousal burned through him. He pulled back, ever the tormentor, but she foiled him.

Grasping his arms, she pulled him forward, his groin solidly wedged against her. Grunting at the unexpected move, he braced himself, his arms falling next to her to protect her from his full weight. She didn’t notice, curling her hands around his biceps as she wrapped her legs about his hips, her heels digging into his buttocks. He sucked in air, the feel of his cock against her overwhelming. She moaned, the most glorious sound he had ever heard, and then she shifted, his cock sliding against her. Trying to regain some measure of control, he dug his hands into the floor, but it was near impossible to control the movement, the intoxicating feel of her beneath him beckoning him to thrust, to take, to push inside her. He heard himself muttering, something about how he wouldn’t come inside her, how he would tease her, he would restrain himself, he swore it.

She didn’t answer, her lip caught between her teeth as her hands ran up his arms, her hips pushing against his. Fuck, he wanted inside her. He clenched his hands against the feel of her hot and wet against the head of his cock, and he told himself he could go inside, just one thrust, what sense was it to deny them? Gritting his teeth, he forced himself still, knowing he was justifying it to himself even as the thought of it terrified him. He couldn’t be inside her. He couldn’t.

Her eyes opened, and he drowned in their depths. Thrusting against her slowly, he devoted himself to her pleasure, denying himself while he drove her wild with the feel, the shape of his cock. He kissed her, using the play of his mouth against hers to tease and torment, to distract her. Restlessly, her hands moved over his back, clutching the fabric of his shirt, pulling at it, and then her hands were against his skin, hot and hungry, as her mouth mated with his. Fuck, she was so near, so close, wet and hot and open, so open to him and it would take nothing, less than nothing. Mindlessly he thrust against her, control shattered, sliding back and forth, back and forth and she was panting beneath him, telling him yes and yes and yes and then he was inside her.

They both stilled. Her eyes slumberous, she stared up at him, her legs tight around his hips. God. He was buried so deep inside her. Her core gloved him, tight, hot, wet silk surrounding him. He fought the urge to thrust, to pound, to fuck her until he came.

Panic wound with lust, one becoming the other as he realised he was inside her. He was inside her and nothing good would come of it. She was beneath him, so beautiful in her passion, and he couldn’t be here with her, he couldn’t. Things would change, everything would change and fuck, he needed to move. He shook his head, trying to force rational thought into a body that was screaming at him to thrust, to pound, to make her dissolve beneath him. This was happening, God Jesus, it was happening, and he couldn’t prevent it. He was weak, and it terrified him.

Her hand cupped his neck, trailing down his chest. Panicked thoughts silenced as, with dazed eyes, he followed the progress of her hand, her fingers light on his skin. Leaning forward, she licked a bead of sweat from his throat, and then she began to move, little circles of her hips. Her other hand beat a rhythm against the small of his back and he followed it, hypnotised by her, rocking in concert with her movements, withdrawing a little, coming back, gentle and slow, finding the right angle so she gasped and moaned, his terror forgotten as she showed him how to make love to her.

He concentrated on her, determined that his pleasure would wait until he had satisfied hers. She tensed, and he could see it was upon her, so close, and he reached down to where they were joined, willing her to come and then she did, breaking over him, her body rigid as she screamed her pleasure.

He did all that he could to prolong it. Then, when she was lying lax in his arms, he grasped her hips and pulled her into him, thrusting heavy and deep, and she was tight and hot and wet and heaven, and he wanted to fuck her harder, deeper. He was close, and she was moving with him now, she was doing something with her muscles, and oh God, she was making it so fucking good and then he came, a strangled groan exploding from deep in his chest as he released inside her.

He collapsed, his chest pushing against hers as he struggled to take in air. Wrapping her arms around him, she murmured in his ear, smoothing his hair, her legs still around his hips and he still inside her.

Eventually, he came back to himself and with the return of his senses came reality. He buried his head in her shoulder, avoiding her gaze and with it, the inevitable. What could he say? What would she say? He had been so damned insistent they avoid penetration and, well, that was shot to hell. He had no notion what he had been so bloody worried about anyway. Looking back, it was patently ridiculous. He had denied both himself and Elizabeth mind-numbing pleasure and for what? Because he had been apprehensive?

He’d performed the act countless times and he knew, he knew there was nothing to be apprehensive of. Ever since his father had facilitated his initiation into the erotic arts, he’d had no cause for fear. After the first few times, he had even become good at it. More than good. Sublime. He was a fool. A bloody fool. She would be right to rail at him, to deride him, to call him a fool for his idiotic behaviour. He deserved it. More than deserved it, he welcomed it.

The tension was horrible, the silence worse.

Well, that was certainly unexpected,” she finally said.

Is that all you have to say?”

She flinched, and he cursed himself. What had happened to his finesse, his delicacy? Not half a minute ago, he had been lauding his damned sublimeness.

Turning, he lifted her so she sat in his lap, muffling an oath as he slipped from her. Running his hands through her disordered hair, he removed the pins, allowing the mass freedom, using his touch to gentle her, to woo her.

Are you well?” He kept his gaze trained on the motions of his hand in her hair.

Yes.” She was silent a moment, and he risked a glance at her. A soft smile lit her face, her eyes closed as she tilted her head into his hand. He stilled and her eyes opened, that brilliant green ensnaring him as easily as strands of blonde did. “I do have a question, though.”

Of course you do,” he said, attempting levity. “When do you not?”

A wicked grin flashed across her face. “When can we do it again?”

Something inside him lightened, something that had been closed, buried. Protected.

This would change everything. He shook himself but he couldn’t rid himself of the fear. And it had nothing to do with sex. Somehow, it had been…more.

So instead, he focused on the feel of her in his arms and on the fact that he wanted to fuck her again, as many times as she would let him.

You have only to wish it, madam.” He thrust lightly against her, half-hard already. “Shall we take this to a more comfortable locale?”

I shall bow to the greater knowledge of my tutor.” The last ended on a moan when he thrust against her again.

As he carried her from the room, as he laid her on his bed, as he brought her screaming to pleasure, as he made sure not to spill inside her again, he told himself over and over—not afraid…I’m not afraid.