FROM ACROSS THE BALLROOM, Malvern saw her. He had lost sight of her for a good half hour, but when one was dressed as she was, one didn’t stay unnoticed for long. The crimson gown made her upswept hair glow like gold, her skin pale and lustrous against the blood-red rubies draped about her neck. From her ears, Murano glass winked, reminding him of Carnevale and gondolas and her body dappled by a hot Italian sun.
Only Elizabeth would combine ruby and glass, and only Elizabeth would get away with it.
A couple whirled past, obscuring her. Irritation rose within him. Too long they’d been at this tiresome ball. Upon their return from Italy, Elizabeth had thrown herself into society, dragging him along as she’d attended each function. Thankfully, she’d quickly grown bored of the social whirl, eventually preferring to limit most of her engagements to her close friends and family. Malvern had been glad of her dwindling interest, wanting to spend his time only with her.
He shouldn’t complain, he supposed. In Italy, they’d had over a year alone.
Wisps of scarlet taunted him as revellers whirled by. Malvern shifted, impatient to see her, even if from a distance. Three years ago, it had been unheard of for the Earl of Malvern to condescend to attend such an event. Even now, he received disbelieving looks, though most dared not approach him. Often he caught people in a whispered comment, and the amusement afforded when they realised his presence made up for some of the tediousness of the whole affair.
Wicked amusement thrummed through him. How Elizabeth chose to show her appreciation for his attendance made up for the rest.
She caught him observing her and bequeathed a smile. He looked away, feigning disinterest when in reality his heart began a pulsating rhythm, just as it always did.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile morph into amusement and she raised a brow in perfect imitation of him. Suppressing his own amusement, he maintained his expression, his demeanour as indifferent as usual.
Only she would read the humour in his stance.
She said something to those around her, mayhap excusing herself. Deliberately, she took the Venetian lace fan he’d purchased for her birthday in her right hand and raised it to obscure her features.
A faint smile touched his lips as he deciphered the message. Foolish woman. He would have followed her anyway. Had he not proven that by his very presence at this tedious ball?
As she departed, her fan rested lightly on her bare shoulder, and his fingers itched to stroke her ivory skin. His cock hardened as he imagined that skin beneath his palm, the curve of her lips as she glanced over her shoulder. He imagined his hand trailing down to her hips to grasp her tightly as he buried himself inside her. Blood pounding harshly through his veins, he saw her gasp and moan, her shoulders twisting as she braced herself against his thrusts, her hot core milking him until he had no choice but to follow her into release.
Shifting his stance, his expression betrayed nothing as scenarios, entanglements ran through his mind. She was on her knees, her silken hair twined around his fists as she licked at him, laughter in her wicked eyes as she took his cock in her mouth. Her tongue found every ridge and crease and he threw back his head, sweat pouring off him as he came.
Now she was on her back and he was holding her legs apart, his face buried in her core, her scent and taste on him, around him. She clawed at his back, her voice issuing guttural commands as she shattered beneath him.
Perspiration broke on his forehead and his hold on the façade of detachment slipped, his desire for her the only thing that could force such a reaction.
As she passed through the door, she glanced at him one final time. Her look promised all his fevered mind had imagined and more, the fan’s handle resting lightly on her lips. Burning with the need to kiss her as she had invited, he cursed himself for ever teaching her that damned fan language.
Slowly, deliberately, she again raised a brow, her tongue licking the corner of her mouth as she trailed the fan across her cheek. Her message delivered, she swept from the room, leaving a slavering wreck of a man behind her.
God. A shudder ran through him as he forced himself to composure. She did it to him, every single time. One would assume after three years he would be used to her seduction, but every damned time he reacted such, so much that he was in danger of showing the world how much she meant to him. Every damned time.
Glancing about, Malvern assessed the damage their exchange had caused. None, if he was reading those around him correctly. In fact, no one even glanced their way, the entirety of their exchange going without notice.
Assured of anonymity, Malvern followed her. As he always did.
A door had conveniently been left ajar, eradicating the need to search each room. As he entered, Elizabeth whirled around, all fluttering hands and shocked eyes. Amused by her patent overacting, a smile touched his lips, the expression natural because he was with her.
“Oh, you startled me!” Feigned agitation made her words breathless. Placing a bewildered hand against her throat, she ruined the effect by trailing her fingers over the flesh exposed by her low bodice, her breasts swelling above the neckline with every breath.
“Did I?” Lips quirking, he did exactly what she intended, imagined his own fingers stroking her flesh, imagined pushing down her bodice and cupping her in his hand. A lazy smile stretched his mouth as he thought of all the things he would do to her.
Her eyes widened and a flush lit her pale skin. The fluttering of her fan increased. “I thought to be alone for a few minutes before my husband arrives. You didn’t happen to encounter him, did you, my lord?”
So that was her game. Affecting lazy boredom, Malvern fought with his amusement. She did so love to play these games. “Was he the short, fat, balding man scurrying along the corridor, hissing ‘love peanut’ into each room?”
“That—” Elizabeth’s voice broke on a strangled laugh. Recovering, she said, “That would be him, sir. Pray, do not say he is lost once again.”
“I fear that may be so, madam.” Amusement and lust ran through him, lightening his heart, thickening his cock. Never would he have imagined the two combined before her. “Is there any way I can be of service?”
Elizabeth’s gaze wandered over him. Maintaining his composure was a struggle as she studied him, as she took in the strength of his shoulders behind the black evening wear, the breadth of his chest. Even more of a struggle when she walked toward him, circling him as she trailed a finger over the shoulders she’d just admired, smoothing her hand over the chest she’d scrutinised. Her touch ran down his arm, circled his gloved hand with her own, and then she measured her palm against his. A quick look up captured his gaze and, with a wicked grin, she then glanced at his groin.
Stifling a groan, he forced himself to stillness, determined to play out her game. He would not grab her, would not take her, would not get inside her before he expired of lust. Calm, Malvern. Control.
Dropping his hand, she trailed her fingers over his stomach. Clenching his hands against the need coursing through him, he barely maintained his impassive stance, the illusion he was unaffected.
Elizabeth, of course, saw right though him. She peeked at his hands, a slight smile playing about her lips at the proof of her effect on him. Bloody woman was pleased with herself, was she? Well, just wait until she was under him, and he had her screaming his name.
She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes filled with mischief, desire, lust. A wave of hunger roared through him, and he saw her through the haze, saw that she was affected too, skin flushed, her chest rising and falling with erratic breath.
Blood thrummed heavily and his gaze dropped to her lips, her soft full red lips. Remembering what he had imagined, he saw her taking him deep with those lips stretched around him, her tongue playing with his cock until he came harder than he ever had before. Remembered kissing her, her lips doing wicked things to his, and he had taught her that, all of that. Only he knew the pleasure of kissing her so well that she came, that she made him come, kissing her as he fucked her, his cock slamming into her core, her head thrown back, her breasts covered with sweat as she moaned his name.
Only him.
Satisfaction wound through him as she swallowed harshly, her lips parting as she read his thoughts in his gaze. So now she knew how she affected him. Now, she would bear the consequences.
A slow smile twisted her lips. “Can you be of service…? I don’t know. Is there anything you can do?”
Taking a step closer, he raised a hand to cup her neck, his other rising to cover her breast. Wide green eyes became unfocused as his hand shaped the soft flesh, the hardness of her nipple pressing against his palm even through the layers of fabric.
“Let me demonstrate.” And then, he claimed her mouth with his own.
***
Heat burned fiercely as James kissed her, his tongue parting her lips to tangle with hers. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth gripped his waist, pulling him into her, relishing the hardness of his body against the softness of hers.
His cock ground into her as his hand shaped her breast, his fingers tracing and teasing her nipple. Breath trapped, she pushed herself into his touch, wanting him inside her, filling her, his hands on her bare breasts as she licked his throat, as they fucked each other into oblivion.
From across the ballroom she’d seen him, looking dark and dangerous in his severe evening clothes, his expression set in its usual impassive lines. Concealed by the crush, she’d watched as he’d searched for her, his features smooth though she could see his restlessness as his efforts yielded no result. With a smile she’d hid from him, delighting in being able to observe him just for the pleasure of it.
Her vantage point afforded a view of his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the hint of his throat above his cravat. Of a sudden, she had wanted to lick that small piece of flesh. Lust had overcome her as she’d imagined standing behind him, nuzzling the place between his shoulder and neck. Her hands played over his bare chest, playing down and down to cup him and he shuddered with passion, leashed only by her desire that he allow her to do as she pleased.
With effort, she’d torn herself from her thoughts, telling herself they would be home soon enough. The platitude had placated her, enough that she’d felt up to socializing, though arousal burned deep.
That had been when James had finally found her. His lips had softened, just for a moment, and his eyes had warmed as they’d lit upon her.
There was no way on earth then she could have waited until they were in their own bed.
Desire hit forcefully, and she’d wanted to take his full lower lip between her teeth, wanted to suck on it as she meant to suck on every part of him. She’d wanted to feel the play of his shoulders beneath her palms, his skin bare and warm and resilient. She’d wanted him naked while she was clothed, straddling him and taking him deep, his cock pulsing inside her as she thrust and ground herself on him, harder and harder, until they both came, until they screamed with their lust.
Raising a trembling hand to her forehead, she’d gotten herself under control—as much as was possible—and then set about her seduction.
Thank God it hadn’t taken long.
His hand gripped her back as his lips trailed down her neck. Beneath her gown, his other hand cupped her bare flesh, his fingers pulling at her nipple, the pleasure-pain making her gasp, making her blind with need.
Wanting to touch him, needing to feel his skin under her palms, she grasped at his shirt, pulling at the fabric wildly, cursing when the stubborn material wouldn’t budge from his trousers.
He chuckled against her neck, the brush of breath and lips caressing her as his thumb swept over her nipple. “Feeling desperate, are we?”
She ignored his laughter. “Just help me.”
Capturing her ineffectual hands, he brought them to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her fingers. Then, he drew her index finger into his mouth.
His gaze burning into hers, he drew slowly on her finger, his cheeks hollowing with every suck. Enthralled, she watched him, giving no protest when he kept her hands prisoner. Taking one, he led her to trail down his chest, to trace the contours of his musculature through his shirt. She watched as he pushed her hand over his stomach, her lip caught between her teeth as he lowered her over his navel, down his abdomen. Her fingers brushed the closure of his trousers and he halted. His eyes smouldered as he released her finger from his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm before holding her to his cheek.
Together they ventured behind his waistband, his fingers splayed over hers, her palm absorbing the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb flicked at the first button on his trousers and then the second, dragging her hand down with his. They undid the third button, and then the fourth. Then he released her.
“Do you think you can handle the rest?” A small smile played about his mouth, more of a lifting of lips than a true expression.
He probably thought he was being impenetrable, but she could see the smugness beneath. Moving closer, her mouth a breath from his, she tapped her fingers lightly. “I think so. Do you want to let me?”
As if daring her to continue, he took his hand from hers and spread his palms wide. Ah, her beloved James, always so certain she would do as he expected.
Hand motionless low on his abdomen, Elizabeth buried her face in the curve between his shoulder and neck, inhaling his scent. Licking the cord of his neck, she noted the tensing of the muscles of his abdomen and smiled to herself. Slowly, she drew her hand up, under his shirt, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat with her other hand. Harsh breath rasped above her as she played the skin behind his ear with lip and teeth and tongue, her thumbs just grazing his nipples.
The muscles of his throat worked beneath her mouth. “Take off your gown.”
Rough and full of gravel, his voice demanded and yet she ignored him, continuing to work his skin, her hands wandering his chest, wandering down his stomach, wandering….
He grabbed her arms, spinning her around and pushing her against the door. Her vision went black as a wave of lust hit her, and she gasped at the intensity of her reaction. Arms pulled roughly behind her, breasts crushed to the door, she shuddered as his lips moved against her ear.
“Do you want me to rip your gown from you? Everyone will know then what we’ve done, Elizabeth. They’ll know I fucked you, they’ll know that you came for me, that I took you so deep and so hard you screamed my name. Do you want that, Elizabeth?” His voice roughened further, as if he aroused himself with his words. “Do you?”
Overwhelmed, she panted against the wood, the grain smooth against her cheek. She couldn’t answer, she could only squirm against him and hope to God he would do something, hope he would just touch her.
He ground his cock against her bottom, the hard shape of him seeking out her core through their layers of clothing. She pushed back, wanting him inside her, her body wet and swollen and oh so ready. Transferring his grip on her to one hand, he trailed the other over her hip, bunching up the fabric of her skirt.
“Maybe you don’t want me to take off your gown. Maybe you want me to fuck you where you stand. Here, against the door, your skirt bunched between us, your breasts pressed to the wood. My cock ramming into you, hard, deep, hitting you just right until you come. Would you bite your lip to hold in your cry, hoping that your husband doesn’t catch us? Is that what you want?” Pulling up her skirt, his hand slipped under the hem to stroke her inner thigh, so close but not close enough. “Is it, Elizabeth?”
A moan tore from her. “James, just do it.”
“But your husband, Elizabeth. He’s roaming the halls, searching for you. What if you’re caught? What if he sees you with another man, his cock buried inside you? What then?”
Lust pulsated inside her, and she almost cried with her need. “James, please.”
“I don’t know if I can overcome my scruples.” His fingers trailed over her damp flesh, and he found the small bundle of nerves. His thumb brushed over it gently, forcing a strangled scream from her that he didn’t press harder, deeper. “The sanctity of marriage should never be violated.”
Body on fire, she swallowed a moan as his fingers kept up their play between her legs. “Bloody hell, James, would you just stop talking? If you respect the sanctity of marriage so much, quit talking and do your bloody husbandly duty!”
“No.” And with that unequivocal response, he released her.
She almost fell when his support disappeared. Whirling to face him, all her frustrated lust spiralled into anger. Standing in the middle of the room, straightening his cuffs, he appeared the picture of bored elegance. Well, if the picture of bored elegance included rumpled clothes and a raging erection.
Impassively he watched her, his arms crossed as she stalked toward him, only the slight flexing of the fingers on his biceps betraying his need to touch her. Stopping just short of him, she slowly, deliberately, slipped her arms from her gown. Trailing her hands up her sides, she knew he watched, his gaze burning like a caress as she smoothed the fabric of her bodice to her waist. The pretty corset she’d bought in Florence pushed her breasts up and together, her nipples peeking over the edge.
He swallowed harshly at the sight, but maintained his impassive expression, his hands now digging into his biceps, his stance braced as if to prevent himself from launching at her.
Well, now, that would never do.
Lifting her arms above her head, she bent them so she could grasp her elbows and then—she stretched. Her breasts lifted free of the corset and she gasped as the stiff material scraped along her nipples. Tilting her head to the side, she lowered her hands to her breasts, cupping the flesh. Imagining his mouth on her, she closed her eyes, rolling her nipples between thumb and finger. In her mind, his tongue flicked at her, getting her wet, on her skin, between her legs. Increasing the pressure, she moaned at the sensation, licking the corner of her mouth as she opened her eyes.
A muscle ticked in James’s jaw as he watched her, ruddy skin pulled tight over his cheekbones. His eyes burned with bridled lust. Tightly satisfied with his response, one hand abandoned her breast to snake down her stomach, gathering her skirts before her. Easing her hand under her skirt, her fingers brushed wetness and heat, a telling indictment of how much she wanted him. Head falling back, her eyes half-closed, she bit her lip as she ran her fingers over herself.
“Fuck.” The harsh word ground past his clenched jaw and, in a burst of movement, he grabbed her, falling back onto the lounge behind him, shoving up her skirts. Bringing her over to straddle him, he grasped the back of her thighs, forcing her groin against his as he wrenched at his trousers, cursing the stubborn material. Rubbing her lips over his neck, she moaned at the bump of his knuckles against her aching flesh.
They both groaned when he drove into her, his cock deep inside, filling her, and she was blind to everything but him, his length hard and delicious and hers.
His eyes burned into hers as she lifted herself slowly, biting her lip as his cock caressed her. God, she could feel every inch of him, so strong inside her. His hands gripped hers as she lowered herself just as slowly, watching him as he watched her, for the movement that made him grit his teeth, for the one that made him groan. He changed the angle slightly and with her next thrust he rubbed against her, sending sensation streaking through her. The sound of their breathing harsh in her ears, the scent of their lovemaking around them, she moved faster, heat rising in her, gathering closer, swelling.
Letting go of his hands, she braced herself on his shoulders as she slammed down on him, his hands cupping her hips to help her, gripping her through her clothes, his facade of impassivity gone. Instead his face reflected the harshness of his desire, the intense need he had for her, only her, and he was beautiful, so very precious, her James, her love.
Climax stormed through her and she went over the edge, opening her mouth on a silent scream, fire racing through her blood. James didn’t stop. He didn’t stop, thrusting into her, his cock reaching deep, and he cursed and swore, his voice hoarse as he pleaded with her, just a little harder, a little deeper. Over and over he said her name and then he came, his hands gripping tight on her hips, his throat arched as he obtained his release.
Shuddering, he swore weakly, his eyes drifting shut as his grip loosened. Leaning forward, her own strength stolen by the force of her climax, she rested her forehead against his and wrapped her arms around him, their breathing harsh in the silence of the room.
As she counted the beats of his still erratic heart, her own fell into step, their breath mingling as they calmed. Outside, the faint strains of a waltz drifted on the night air, conversation and laughter following in its wake.
After a time, James reached up and took her left hand from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips to kiss her wedding ring. “Hello.”
“Hello.” In possession of her hand, his thumb traced the delicate bones, his eyes warm upon her. An answering warmth swelled inside her, and she gave it expression in a small smile. “Are you enjoying this evening?”
His lips quirked. “I am now.”
She laughed. In the three years of their marriage, those rare flashes of humour had become more frequent and he seemed more at ease, even displaying outright mirth on some occasions. Few saw him thus, however. In fact, she would venture to say she alone was allowed to see him as he was now—relaxed, happy, and smiling. At moments like these, her love for him swelled, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Never could she have imagined when they had met that they would be here together now, like this.
In Italy, these moments of unguarded humour had come more often. It had been fascinating to see him like that, almost effusive at times, the Italian penchant for exaggeration slowly bleeding into his every day expression. In truth, while she’d enjoyed their trip, she’d had not understood his overwhelming attraction to the place. Too much she had missed England, missed her family, and found herself at odd times wondering what Bella was doing, or how Henrietta’s children were faring. She’d even missed the English weather.
Seeing James so happy, though, had been worth the odd moment of homesickness. Those moments, though, may have contributed to her overreaction at their homecoming, throwing herself into society with abandon. Poor James had followed in her footsteps, no doubt bewildered by the suddenly social wife he seemed to have acquired. Eventually, she’d quieted and been more than happy to relegate their social engagements to the occasional ball.
Smile fading, he trailed his fingers over her belly. His hand came to rest on her abdomen and a faint frown furrowed his brow. “How are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly well.” Laying her hand over his, she squeezed gently. “It’s definitely called morning sickness for a reason.”
“Are you sure?” His frown deepened. “We were quite…active.”
“We were active before we knew I was with child. If anything were to have happened, well, it would have already. Besides….” She kissed his neck. “I love how active we are.”
He grunted, his brow still furrowed.
It had come as a delightful surprise when she had first suspected that she may have been pregnant. Actually, she would venture to say it erred more into the realm of shock. But as the weeks had passed, it had become glaringly obvious that she was indeed with child, and she’d been consumed with a fierce joy at the prospect of holding their baby in her arms.
Also surprising had been the unexpected relief that, in fact, nothing was wrong with her. She hadn’t even realised she’d harboured those fears, had thought she’d long ago accepted that she was barren. Only in their absence had she realised how affected she’d been by her conviction that she would never conceive.
She’d worried about telling James she was pregnant. She could think of no earthly reason why that should be, but not knowing the reason had not rid her of her anxiety. He, however, had taken the news with little comment, only establishing she was well, and re-establishing that state constantly.
They hadn’t mentioned children since his proposal, but neither had they taken any precautions. At least, not since they’d married. On their wedding night, Elizabeth had tried to undertake her usual measures, but James had tugged her back into bed, making love to her again and again. Every night had been the same since. And most mornings. Not to mention at random times throughout the day.
Looking at him now, one would never suspect he was the same remote man who eschewed all company save hers, who deemed himself a failure if seen with one hair out of place. He sat with ruined cravat and disordered hair, a creased shirt and a flush on his cheeks.
Amusement crept over her as she pushed a fallen lock of his hair back into place, though he was almost beyond repair. “You’ve come askew.”
“Have I?” His attention was still on her belly, his hand a warm weight on her abdomen. He looked up sharply. “I have?”
Nodding, she hid her smile at his consternation. So very vital to him, his façade of impenetrability. “Don’t worry,” she said solemnly. “I won’t tell anyone.”
At her words, his irritation disappeared and an intense expression she’d seen but a few times replaced it. His hands rose to cup her face. “I love you.”
Her heart stopped. Simply stopped.
He had never said the words to her. Never. Each day, he had shown his love in a hundred different ways, and she’d never felt the lack of the words. Of more import was the way he contrived to spend most of his time with her, of how he always found some way to touch her, no matter how small it might be. In the inconsequential gifts he gave, in the way he satisfied her curiosity, to this very day. In the way he let himself simply be himself with her.
Never had she been in doubt of his love…but never had the actual words passed his lips.
“I love you, too.” Damnation, she was crying. She hated crying.
Wiping away her tears with his thumb, he followed the movement of the digit. “I should have said it before.”
“Yes, you should have.” She punched him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you?”
“Ow.” Rubbing his shoulder, he raised a brow. “Maybe it’s because you hit me.”
“A likely excuse.” Mirth bubbled inside her, drying her tears. “I love you so much.”
A smile lit his face, shocking in its brilliance. “I had an inkling. Mainly from you telling me all the bloody time.”
“Yes, well, what can I say? You’re irresistible.”
He preened at that and she laughed, happiness filling her to bursting. Warm blue eyes traced her features and, slowly, mirth faded. Gently, he pushed her hair behind her ear. “Let’s go home.”
Nodding, she bit her lip as they separated. They righted their clothing as best they could, his hands gentle as he helped with her dress, hers brisk as she re-tied his cravat. Smoothing the fabric of her gown over her belly, he stilled.
“Thank you.” His gaze lingered on his hand, resting protectively over their child. “This…I could not have imagined this was missing from my life. You…our child….” He looked at her, and those bloody tears threatened anew at what she saw in his eyes. “Thank you.”
Refusing to succumb, she said, “It has been my pleasure. Is there anything else that I should know?” Tossing her head insouciantly, she pretended not to notice his sudden grin. “After three and a half years of intense tutelage, surely we have come to the end?”
“I don’t know.” His grin turned wicked. “Shall we consult the curriculum?”