“What?”
He didn’t clarify his statement. How could he, when it had taken him by surprise, too? But it was the truth. For whatever reason, the claiming of her body had claimed him, as well. His insistence on marriage had little to do with his reputation or hers, and everything to do with the sight of her blood on him and the knowledge he would never allow another man to get even half so close to her.
Even the comfort she found in her brother’s embrace had shaken him, and he wanted her now with a gnawing hunger that stirred him to madness. The man who all his adult life had been cold and unfeeling had just been vanquished by a woman—but she didn’t need to know it.
If he could only keep from telling her.
He pushed the chair back, then urged, “Sit.”
She was watching him guardedly, and did as he told her. The chair’s tall arms reached almost to her armpits, and its high back dwarfed her. The desk before her was elevated, so she looked like a child sitting at the dinner table.
“That won’t do,” he said decidedly, and picked her up by her waist. Her legs, she kept at a right angle, not knowing what he intended, so he commanded, “Stand.”
She did. Right on the seat of the chair.
“There.” He kept his hand lightly on her. “That’s better.”
She didn’t seem to think so. She stood unsteadily, her shoes sinking into the purple cushion her grandfather had used to ease his noble ass, and Sebastian half expected her to topple off in a faint. But Mary was made of sterner stuff, and he held her firmly until she gained her balance.
“What do you see?” he prompted.
She looked out over the desk. “The study.”
“And out the window?”
“The estate.”
“You control it all.” He knew this, and he informed her so with pitiless enjoyment. “Make your wishes clear, and the Fairchilds would cower before you.”
She looked down at him in astonishment. “I don’t want to do that!”
“But you could. That’s power—power your grandfather no longer has. He was a tyrant, easily replaced by another tyrant, should you choose to be one. He’s truly dead.” And she looked beautiful in the moonlight, like a fairy who had discovered her wings for the first time. His loins ached with need, and his voice thickened as he said, “But you are alive.”
Now she looked around her with poise and a heightened interest. “That’s true. No one mourns my grandfather. For all the fear he inspired in life, he’s left nothing behind but bad memories.” She gave a little bounce on the cushion. “It would be agreeable to be in authority here. I’m good at it, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“When I was the housekeeper, my servants were well trained and efficient, and I kept a firm hand on the helm.”
She was gaining confidence, was his wife, and he liked that.
Then she frowned. “But there’s the taint in the blood. I would find power addictive, and abuse it to the others’ detriment.”
“Did you find power addictive in your stint as housekeeper?”
“I found,” she said gently, “it preferable to being powerless. But there is no pleasure in hurting those less fortunate.”
He didn’t say anything. She was intelligent enough to comprehend her own words.
He saw when she did, for she looked down at him with a half smile. “But it seems such a shame to discard this power without using it on some sniveling beast who needs correction.”
She offered him an opportunity to redress his injustices to her, and he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. Slowly he lowered himself to one knee and touched his chest with one hand. “Not a sniveling beast, but a beast nonetheless. Do your worst, madam. I deserve your punishments, and more.”
She frowned and clutched the chair as if his gallantry alarmed her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I abused you most dreadfully when last I visited your bedchamber.”
She blanched at his plain speaking.
“I unfairly accused you of dishonor,” he continued, “and took you roughly even though I knew the truth of your purity. You can take your revenge now. I vow to allow any liberty.”
She stared at him strangely, and he supposed he must appear silly—a sinister figure, dressed all in dark colors, kneeling before his wife. But he didn’t care how he appeared, he only cared that Mary, his new wife, knew herself safe from harm at his hands.
“A housekeeper doesn’t take revenge.” She sounded prim, all Mary, no Guinevere.
“You are not a housekeeper anymore. You are an heiress and my wife.”
She slid down on the chair, her spine against the back, her feet on the cushion, and her knees akimbo. She examined him curiously. “Why do I have the distinct feeling you have something in mind?”
The hem of her skirt fluttered as she settled more comfortably, and her ankle peeked out. He looked at it, and at her lap, then into her face. “It would pleasure me to pleasure you.”
“We can’t have that,” she said decisively. “I would like to make you suffer, Sebastian Durant. I would like to torment you heartlessly.”
Visions of an imperious Mary struggled to life in his mind, and he mocked himself for his own magnanimity.
“Take off your shirt,” she said. “I will pleasure you.”
He almost overbalanced. He couldn’t have heard right.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Stand up and take off your shirt.” She paused. “Slowly.”
He stood, numb with delight, and stripped off the studs that held his shirtfront over his chest.
She watched intently. “I’ve never seen a bare-chested man before.”
Of course she hadn’t. He’d been in too much of a hurry last time to undress her, and the brief glimpse he’d allowed her in their bedchamber could scarcely have whetted her appetite.
Now he didn’t make the mistake of thinking she was excited by his appearance. She watched him clinically, comparing him to that horse statue, perhaps, or a favorite dog. But he thought perhaps he could excite her. Certainly he wanted to try. “I’ll light a candle.”
She frowned as he fumbled for his coat and the flint that resided therein. “No, that would attract attention.”
He didn’t care. He’d locked them in her bedchamber twice and ignored those who sought to interrupt. Did she think he couldn’t ignore them again?
Looking at her, he saw the way her chin jutted. He remembered his vow to do as she wished, and he cursed himself for a fool. A completely aroused, slightly desperate fool. He dropped his coat.
She rewarded him with a smile. “What do you normally take off next?”
It depends on how desperate I am to free myself from restraint. But no, such a reply might frighten her. “My shoes and stockings.” He tried to sound meek, and not at all as if he were swelling so big, the trousers would soon remove themselves.
She nodded regally. “Do so.”
He didn’t care to hop around, nor did he relish sitting on the floor like a child. Her grandfather’s big desk was almost clear of clutter, so Sebastian patted the surface. “Do you mind?”
She waved a hand in invitation. “Please.”
He eased himself onto the smooth wood and removed his shoes. He jerked his stockings free of his garters and dropped them on the floor, and all the while he wondered if she knew he was almost naked. One more item, only one more item—
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Remove them.”
“Them?”
“Don’t be coy.” God, she sounded like him. “Take off your trousers.”
He hadn’t envisioned this, nor imagined she would turn the tables on him and satisfy her curiosity in so blatant a manner, or even that her gaze on him would create such turmoil.
He slid off the desk and slowly unbuttoned his trousers, and when his privy member sprang free, she gasped.
Very flattering.
Then she slowly reached out a hand.
Touch it
, touch it, touch it…She touched it. Tentatively, brushing it with her fingertips as delicately as an artist would use a paintbrush. Heat rushed through him, making him so hot, his skin surely blistered, and he reached down and enfolded her hand in his own. “Like that.” His voice was guttural, broken.
“Firmly.” She stroked him. “Like that?”
He couldn’t even nod. If he moved, he would break into big chunks.
“Yes.” She sounded pleased. “Like that.” Abruptly she withdrew her hand. “What else can you show me?”
Closing his eyes, he regained control. Her pleasure. He had offered her pleasure.
He stroked his breeches down his hips and stepped out of them. Again she reached out, this time to cup his ballocks, rolling them in her fingers.
“Fascinating,” she said.
He heartily agreed. “Mary.” He’d be on his knees if she didn’t stop. “Don’t stop.”
She sat back and gripped the arms of the chair.
He sucked in air, trying to regain his balance, trying to retain poise. Trying to keep his promise. “To show you more,” he said craftily, “I would have to remove your clothing.”
“Not yet.”
Spreading his arms, he turned in a half circle. “There’s nothing else to see on me.”
Then he stopped. Her hands followed a muscular cord from his back down over his buttocks.
“You are constructed very differently from me.” She caressed his other cheek. “I like it.”
“Good.” It was nothing more than a grunt.
“Am I tormenting you?”
“Yes.”
“How gratifying,” she purred. “Would removing my clothing also torment you?”
He gripped the edge of the desk so hard, the imprint of the carving dug into his palm. “Yes.” He saw no need to inform her that the torment would be unbearably exquisite.
“Then you may do so.”
He turned quickly, and her hand fell away. Taking her arm, he helped her to stand, and he saw the quick flare of alarm in her eyes when she realized how close she stood to a naked man. He wondered briefly if she would change her mind, but she didn’t.
He unlaced her gown as quickly as he could and pulled it over her head. He untied the tapes of her petticoats and helped her step out of them, and while he was bent down performing that service, he stared at her silk-clad calves. The chemise she wore, unlike the gown, was fine linen, light and soft, long enough to cover her knees, but short enough to tease.
“I don’t want to remove any more clothing,” Mary said abruptly. “This is enough.”
Her courage had evaporated. For some reason—perhaps his intent stare or the heat of his hands on her waist—she wanted to stop now.
“There is more pleasure you can give me,” he said craftily.
She was startled into laughter. “Oh, yes, I know that.” Taking him by the shoulders, she urged him around until the seat was behind him, and the desk behind her. “Now you sit.”
With prudent care, he did as instructed, and waited.
She seemed unsure, and he said, “I would like to see you.”
“I think you’ve seen enough.”
“All of you. You could take it off as slowly as you wished. I wouldn’t complain.”
She leaned against the desk, then with her hands on the edge, she lifted herself onto the surface. She swung her feet back and forth and considered.
He considered, too. He considered that heaven hovered not two feet from him, and with the proper urging, heaven would sit with him.
“I have an idea.” He scooted the chair closer between her knees. “I would like to taste you again.”
She tried to close her legs. She couldn’t. “I don’t know what you mean.”
With a hand on each ankle, he opened her wider and slid her closer on the wood surface. “I’ll show you.”
She started to struggle as he pushed back the hem of the chemise and bent his head.
The flavor of her burst onto his tongue. Ah, yes. Mary-flavored cream, indeed. Vaguely he heard a whimper. She struggled to move away, but he wrapped his hands around her. She arched backward, but the action thrust her toward him. He could taste shock and reluctant pleasure, and when he heard a groan, he knew the pleasure was winning.
Then she grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back. Glaring into his eyes, she said, “I was going to pleasure you.”
She slid into his lap, her legs over the arm of the chair, and somehow his inexperienced almost-virgin lifted herself, positioned him, and slid down on his shaft.
The word he used described the act precisely.
“Sebastian!”
“You’re shocked?” He held her in place, trying desperately to retain enough mastery to make her happy. “When we’re like this?”
“I’ve never heard the word used”—she struggled to explain—“in the correct context.”
He didn’t laugh. He couldn’t. Not now. But later…With her hands still on the desk behind her and her legs over the chair arms, she lifted herself.
He groaned.
“Pleasure?” she asked.
“Yes. Mary…”
She lifted herself again, and again, setting the rhythm she wished, finding her own delight while seeking his. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, totally out of his power, magnificent and savage and the first time he’d ever been made love to in his life.
He trembled and panted, watched her face and exulted. She wasn’t afraid. She liked this. She looked at him, at his bare chest, at his arms, at the shadowy place where they were joined. She gazed as if the sight gratified her. She made him feel like a king, like a god, like the best lover in the world.
Mary’s lover.
Her soft buttocks pressed against him with each stroke. Her breasts bobbed beneath the chemise, and he brushed them repeatedly with his fingertips.
She closed her eyes and opened them, moaned softly and bit her lip, and moved ever faster.
Inside she was warm, tight, slick. Inside her, he was growing, straining, almost ready to burst.
Soon, please, soon…
He touched her knees, caressed her inner thighs, felt each muscle flex as she worked to rise and fall. She was strong, his Mary, strong and tender. His palms followed the path to the place where they were joined, and carefully he explored her. Found the place that would give her the most pleasure.
An expression of mingled elation and amazement swept her face. She tightened around him yet further. She would climax now, now!
Her spasms brought on his own orgasm, and her inner contractions milked him until he thought he would expire from joy.
She came to rest in his lap, and he took her head and pressed it to his chest. “Relax. You’ve worked hard.”
She gasped softly for air as her roughly used muscles relaxed.
He let his own head fall against the back of the chair. “If that’s the result I get for letting you abuse this sniveling beast, then I shall be a beast more often.”
“Can’t happen.” Her breath touched his bare chest, her voice was muffled. “You’re a beast all the time.”
He smoothed the hair off her neck. “Your beast, my dear beauty.”
She chuckled and groaned.
“Have we vanquished your grandfather?”
“Grand…? Oh, him.” She flexed her shoulders. “Yes, I would say his ghost is defeated.”
“I hope he’s spinning in his grave.” Stroking her spine, he realized he still hadn’t removed her chemise. As stealthily as the Bond Street Burglar, he slid the soft material up, but she caught at his hands.
“I still haven’t seen you.” He tugged at the gown. “Perhaps you have an anomaly, such as too many bubbies or a misplaced navel.”
“Well, you’re stuck with me now, aren’t you?” she snipped.
But she sat up to let him remove the chemise.
She was as beautiful as he had imagined. Polished skin, a taut body. Breasts the exact size to fit
in his hands. Long legs and between them, a golden nest. “Perfect,” he said hoarsely, and smoothed his palms over her belly.
“No anomalies?”
“Perfect,” he repeated, and with a tug untied her garter.
She said, “Sebastian, we have a duty to perform.”
He rolled her stocking down and kissed her bare thigh. “Soon.”
“The ton is still celebrating our marriage.” A particularly raucous burst of laughter punctuated her admonishment.
He faltered, then sighed and rolled her stocking back up.
“Are all men like you?”
“No.” He put his forehead on hers. “I’m better than every other man.”
“I mean, do all men want to…to mate to the exclusion of all else?”
Sitting back, he shook his head. “I’m not even like that. Only with you, my dear Mary.”
She smiled and squirmed in his lap.
He groaned at the sensation. “If you wiggle again, we’re never getting the safe opened.” Moving the chair back, he gently helped her to rise. “If we hurry, we can go upstairs and investigate my interest in mating.”
“As you wish.” She sounded prim, Miss Mary Housekeeper, but her nudity revealed the lie.
With the proper tutoring, his wife could easily be a wanton. He’d never bothered to be a good tutor before, but with this incentive he could easily learn.
He helped her into her clothing first, caressing her only when he couldn’t bear not to. Then while he dressed she went to the safe. By the time he knelt at her side, fully clothed and holding a lit candle, she gave an exclamation of triumph. “The lock is undone,” she said. “Would you do the honors?”
“I thank you.” She was a generous woman. “I would.” He reached out and swung open the sturdy iron door.
The safe was empty.
Chapter 21
He was drowning. Son of a Selkie, and he was drowning with his feet on dry land. Ian thrashed his arms and kicked, but his attacker was relentless. He held his head down in the water, lifted it, thrust it back. At last, as Ian gulped in fresh air in one of his brief returns to the surface, he gave in and roared, “I’m better! B’God, I’m better! Now, let me up.”