The Lady’s Guide to Marrying a Viscount (The Lady’s Guide to Love #8)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

As Mallon entered the corridor leading to Geneviève’s room, he happened upon her maid, loitering as if unsure of herself.

“ Excusez-moi , my lord.” She bobbed a curtsey, pressing herself to the wall as he drew near. She appeared unnerved, unwilling to meet his eyes. In her hand, quite clearly, she held a lilac envelope, and he could read the name upon it without difficulty—that of Hugo!

“A note from your mistress?” It was a statement more than a question.

The girl tried to hide the thing behind her back, but Mallon was not to be deflected.

“Permit me to take it for you.”

“ Mais, non! Je ne peux pas !”

She attempted to dart past, obliging him to clasp her arm and pull it from her grasp. Despite her desperate clutching, he wrenched it free. Pale with fright, she sobbed and scurried away .

It gave Mallon no pleasure to treat her so but, knowing the content of the last note Geneviève had written, he was determined to read this one.

It took but a moment to scan the message.

My Darling Hugo

We must speak privately. Come to my room with all haste.

Geneviève

Mallon’s fury rose on seeing the words. He’d been coming to her in good faith, wishing to apologize for having fled the night before. It was not the idea of love that terrified him but the power it would give another over his heart—the ability to betray and crush. He’d been willing to take that leap for Geneviève, letting her into the place he’d kept guarded.

Now, he saw she was up to her old tricks, undeterred from her goal. The profession of love she’d offered the night before meant nothing. This was her solution to having her hand forced. She intended to compromise Hugo by enticing him to her bedchamber, extracting his proposal as a consequence.

Mallon had been right to be wary. What a performance she’d given at the inn! She’d almost convinced him that she harbored true feelings.

It had all been a lie.

Reaching her door, he gave a cursory knock before pushing it open. She was upon the far side of the room, gazing into the fire, her long hair hanging loosely down her back.

He swallowed.

She wore nothing but a gossamer-light peignoir. With the firelight behind her, the gauzy fabric was utterly transparent. Despite his anger, Mallon was rendered mute by the swell of her bottom. There was no fighting the familiar ache in his groin.

“My love,” she whispered. “I knew you’d come.” As she turned, her face expressed surprise, then a flash of irritation, before her features settled into an audacious air.

The revealing gown was clearly for Hugo’s benefit. Facing Mallon, she gave him a tantalizing view of the curve of her breasts and the shadow of lush, dark curls between her legs.

Mallon’s blood ran hot. He’d teach her what it meant to trifle with a man’s passion. It would take no time to cover the distance between them and tear the delicate gown from her shoulders. If she screamed, he’d smother it with a kiss, but he knew she’d neither scream nor pull away. He’d only to grasp her firmly about those generous hips, and she’d be his, her warmth sheathing him as he drove full hilt.

While he fought the urge, she padded barefoot toward him, a look of challenge in her eye. “It seems you cannot keep away, Lord Wulverton.”

She was standing improperly close, as if daring him to lay hands upon her. “You seek something from me?” Her eyes lowered to the tailored fit of his trousers, the tightness of which permitted no concealment of his arousal.

Despite all her games, his craving for her was undeniable, but he could not abase himself. To declare his need for her or make any declaration of feeling, would be to place himself in her power.

“I do.” He gritted his teeth, unable to utter what had been in his heart. “I thought you’d see reason, but apparently not.” He held up the note, written in her hand, before tossing it away. “I demand you abandon your pursuit of Hugo.”

“After all my efforts?” she arched her brow. “I could only consider such a retreat if there were compensation...” She tilted back her head as she spoke, her lips tauntingly near, her fingers touching lightly upon his shirt.

The desire to bury his mouth upon hers and pull her ripeness into his arms threatened to overwhelm him, but to do so would bring him right back to where he’d begun. He thirsted for her, yes, but on his terms.

“I was unaware you were in need of funds, Madam,” he spoke coldly, fully cognizant that it wasn’t money she sought.

“You know what I want.” Her voice was low and husky. “And I know why you’re really here.”

Her fingers were inching down, and he had no will to stop her.

“You wish me for yourself.” Deftly, she opened the first two buttons of his trousers. A few more moments and her hand would release him. “Hugo has kissed me, nothing more. ”

At the mention of Hugo’s name, Mallon’s anger surged again. How easy it was for her! Had she no feeling!

He grabbed her wrist, twisting back her arm, and Geneviève gave a strangled cry. She struggled only for a moment before making herself limp. Then, she raised her face to him with eyes half closed, offering him the fullness of her lips.

“Go to blazes!” he hissed, pushing her away.

Rubbing her wrist, she gave a perverse smile. “If you wish to hold my hand so badly, my lord, I’ll save you a dance at tonight’s ball. Hugo shall want most of my time, naturally, but I may spare you one turn about the room.”

“Believe me, Madam, I will prevent this match.” Mallon’s voice held a threatening growl. “I shall stop you, by whatever means. You may remain here until Twelfth Night, after which you may carry yourself to London and screw the entire male population of the capital, from frill-shirted footmen to the hammer-fisted butchers of Smithfields, but I will have your promise to cease pursuit of my nephew.”

She appeared to flinch, but quickly regained her composure, and merely mouthed the words, knowing his eyes were fixed upon her lips. Make me!

In one great stride, he reached her, lifting her in a single sweep, one arm beneath the crook of her knee and the other about her back. Even before they arrived at the bed, his mouth was ravaging her. She gasped his name, but he swallowed it in the ferociousness of his kiss.

Throwing her down onto the soft mattress, he towered above, his heart hammering wildly. She bit her lips where he’d kissed her, licking where she could still taste him. She smiled wickedly, then quivered as he grasped her breast through the sheer fabric of her gown. Three buttons on his trousers remained closed, constraining his girth. Despite the discomfort, he left them fastened; he was still in possession of himself, albeit by a thread.

Tipping back her chin, she invited his mouth, pulling his tongue inside, sucking on the tip, drawing him down to her, sighing with the weight of his body on hers.

God! It would be so easy!

He was straining for her, aching at the thought of what he might do. She wriggled beneath him while taking his kiss deeper.

She tasted of sin.

Kissing her prevented him from thinking properly. He wanted to slide into her and keep thrusting until they were both lost, clinging together, sweated and gasping.

It required all his self-control to peel himself away.

“Do you accept my terms, Madam?”

“I might,” she conceded, her mouth curving in a feline smile. “But I need more persuading…as to my compensation.”

“You might, or you will?”

“Tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll behave impeccably.” She pressed herself to him. “I want to hear how much you desire me. That you cannot bear the thought of another having me. You cannot admit it, but you’ll ache for me when I’m gone! You need love, Mallon, as much as any man! Even though you fear love will be snatched away as soon as it’s given, you cannot live without belief in a kindred soul to tarry with you through this life.”

In response, he grasped a handful of her hair, tumbled loose, wrapping its length about this fist. How dare she assume to know him, or the hidden yearnings of his heart! How dare she tell him what he felt!

Except that she was right on every count. She’d seen through his blood and bone to the fear clutched cold about his heart. Looking into the depths of her eyes, he saw no hint of taunting—only the sincerity of one whose own happiness lay in the answer he would give.

He relaxed his hold upon her hair—so soft and luxuriant—but kept her beneath him. He needed to maintain the upper hand, yet a tendril of hope unfurled within him.

“Your ring on my finger, Lord Wulverton…” Her voice was a whisper. “Your jousting lance, wherever you choose to put it…”

He suppressed a groan at hearing her offer herself so crudely.

Her lips curled in a knowing smile. “And my promise I’ll let Hugo down gently.”

She arched against him, the chiffon pulling tight against her breasts. Unable to resist, he kissed down her neck, pushing aside the fabric until he found her flesh. Brusquely, he took the nipple between his teeth, pulling it hard into the warmth of his mouth. She was trembling, fervent, willing—a voluptuous, scarlet vixen. Never before had a woman’s sounds of pleasure stirred him so profoundly.

“We may put the former on account,” she gasped, breathless, “and deal with the second and third on the list this very evening.”

His manhood, summoned by her oath, reminded him that it had already decided to accept, but his head told him not to trust her.

Whatever promises she made, he wouldn’t rely upon them this evening. Hugo was far too caught up in romantic ideas to hear her rejection tonight. He’d be inclined to think her charmingly modest—for weren’t all virtuous women supposed to refuse a first proposal and require further pursuit. The outcome of such games was too uncertain.

There was only one thing for it.

Slowly, he drew out the ivory ribbon gathering the yoke of her gown then, raising her arm, wrapped the satin around her wrist.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think I like it,” she murmured, lying still as he stretched out her other slender limb, securing both together, above her head. Kneeling above her, he freed the long sash from her waist and looped it through the bindings on her wrists before fastening it to the wolf’s head carved into the center of the headboard.

“Helpless and at your mercy,” she purred.

Bound as she was, she could not escape. The desire to treat her roughly again surged within him. His cock was straining for her, throbbing against the buttons at the thought of what he might do. She wriggled beneath him, rubbing provocatively against the bulge in his trousers.

All in good time…

He rose from the bed, adjusting himself and straightening his jacket.

She looked at him in some alarm. “Shouldn’t those things be coming off?” Then, “Where are you going?”

“We’ll see about those terms later, my love. The last of them, I think, may be best put off until tomorrow.”

Reaching for the quilt, he pulled it over her. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

As he locked the door, he heard her sneeze, then curse him—in English and French, and in the most exquisite detail.