Beauty Tempts the Beast (21 page)

Her soft, feathery strokes sent tremors to his toes. His hips lifted from the chair.

Moist heat.

He snapped his head up. Looking down he saw the top of Vivian’s hair. Oh God! His flesh jerked, his head buzzed.

And his stomach twisted, anticipating the visions. He tried to push her off but she only sank deeper.

Ashworth groaned.

“Vivian, no…”

But then her tongue swirled up and around, flicking the tip. He could not stop her now. No, not yet.

Sinking his hands into her mass of dark hair, he clenched his muscles, watching her take him in fully then pull back. She licked, suckled, kissed. He’d not…not since that one time…he would lose himself in her luscious mouth.

Her tongue darted and tasted, dampened and pressed.

The tell-tale shiver burst from the base of his spine. His sac tightened.

Ashworth pulled her head up and away, then grabbed his staff. He moaned, shuddered, as hot fluid spurted and landed on her nightdress.

She lifted her gaze to him, smiling. The sight of her hungry eyes sent him plunging forth.

He cupped her jaw with both hands and yanked her face to his. Capturing her warm mouth, he thrust his tongue between her lips the way he ached to thrust his shaft between her legs. He tasted himself on her, stirring the passion brewing once again at his groin.

Ashworth pushed at the fabric still on her shoulders and the gown slid down to the floor. He cupped her breasts, weighed them, massaged them, flicked the point with his thumb.

She sighed, still on her knees.

He pulled back, bracing himself for haunting vision of dripping blood. But there was nothing but the beautiful sight of this naked beauty. No marks, nothing to mar the perfection of her skin.

Relieved, Ashworth flicked his tongue over the pink nubs. Her whimper mingled with the frantic beat of his heart.

How he wanted her. How he wanted to do things to her, make her cry out in ecstasy, make her burn for his fulfillment.

Again, he moved back, waiting for horrible noises and images to destroy the moment.

“What is it?” her quiet, husky voice sent tingles down his spine.

“I…” He could not tell her of the visions. Not yet. She would think him mad.

She touched his knee. “Do not believe I feel horror or shame. Yes, I’d questioned my reactions to you, wondering how I could yearn for your touch when I was repulsed by another man’s.”

“I do not repulse you?”

“No, you do not. I have known true monsters, my lord.”

How was she so certain he wasn’t one?

Ashworth pulled her up and gathered her into his arms. He didn’t know what compelled him to offer her such comfort, but nothing had ever felt more right.

She curled up into a ball, her warm body pressing up against his hips and chest. Eddies of contentment swirled through his bloodstream.

Other than cuddling Harry, Ashworth had never held anyone like this. He’d never enjoyed a woman’s silky hair spread across his shoulders, the curve of her hip against his waist, the gentle swell of her breast upon his chest. Her honeysuckle scent soothed him more than any nightly potion, her warm breaths heated him more than any fire.

Almost without thought, he kissed the top of her head.

She sighed and angled her face up to him. Eyes, lost like a moonless night, beckoned to him. Desire still burned within their depths, but something else struck a knife through his heart.

Something resembling love.

Vivian sighed. She could stay here all night, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. Lord Ashworth—no, after all this, he was now Charles to her—held her with such power, such tenderness, that all unpleasant thoughts were erased from her mind. He was her cocoon. She was sheltered, protected.

He glanced away from her, breaking the connection which had lifted her heart.

She stared at the scar which had marked him a monster. It ran from his eyebrow to the top of his lip.

He was lucky his eye had not been damaged in the attack.

But what was the attack? What happened to cause such mark on his face? Would he ever trust her enough to tell her?

Vivian reached her fingers to it. Touching his marked cheek reminded her of caressing her mother’s, the bumpy skin of healed burns. Both her mother and Lord Ashworth carried the horror of another’s soul, lived each day with the reminder of anguish and confusion.

He slackened as her finger stroked the line. This mark had a connection to his soul, something that gave him life, yet kept him hidden in his self-made prison.

On impulse, Vivian straightened her back and pressed her lips to his face. Her tongue traced the groove down his cheekbone, slowly, as if she wanted to taste each nuance of his skin.

Charles shivered, groaned. Instantly his flesh hardened against her thigh.

When she reached his lip, he opened his mouth, devouring her. Vivian closed her eyes, surrendered to the swirling sensations in her veins. Heat pooled between her legs, nipples tightened then sprang to life.

Uncomfortable, she lifted her leg and straddled him on the chair. His arousal pressed insistently on the swollen nub of her desire. Instinctively, she rubbed against it.

Charles tore his lips away from her. “Vivian, do you know what you are doing to me?”

Fire blazed through her blood, edging her onward. She pressed, lifted, stroked. Tingles shot from her groin down to her toes.

“Please…” Her eyes drifted half closed. Flames danced behind him, creating a demonic halo about his head. It didn’t frighten her. No. No man from hell could create such an intoxicating rush at her core.

Gasping, she leaned forward, her nipples scraping across his chest. A surge of wetness flooded between her legs, dampened his hard flesh.

Charles groaned, his lungs rumbled with the primal sound. He gripped her hips, pulled her harder against him. He rose up to meet her thrusts, massaged her in just the right spot. A band constricted across her lower belly. Any moment she would burst.

Her breath caught as his tongue lapped the curve of her neck, swirled upward to her ear. “I want…I have to be in you.
Now,
Vivian. Do you understand?”

But she couldn’t stop.

Gripping his powerful shoulders, she slid herself up and down the edge of his erection, nearing the peak of intense pleasure. She moved herself over him, ready to find completion with his fulfillment.

Then strong hands grabbed her bottom, lifted her, and pulled her away from the sweetness of release.

“No!” Her cry rang out in the room.

Charles held her shoulders, forcing her to stare at him. She saw stark hunger in his eyes, the barest thread of restraint. And something else. Fear.

“You—you don’t want it to be this way.” His breathing was labored, erratic.

Vivian shook her head. “How it happens matters not. I just want you inside me.”

For the briefest moment, he closed his eyes. Trembling, she stared at his hard jaw, sensual lips, his scar. “You are afraid.” The whispered words escaped her lips.

Instead of denying it, Charles nodded. His silver eyes opened, anguish burning in their center. “You do not know what I see each time I touch you. Whenever you make my blood burn.”

She brushed the damp hair from his forehead. “Tell me, my lord, so that I can help to heal you.”

He sighed. “I don’t know that you can.”

“I can but try. But you must let me in first.”

His lips thinned but he did not answer. He kept his secrets so close to his heart, so dark within the depths of his soul that it was no wonder he could not break free of them.

He must learn to trust someone, to break his silence.

Despite the rampant heat coiling in her blood, Vivian slid off of him.

“Where are you going?”

The vulnerability in his voice made her pause. But then she continued over to his bed, where she pulled off the blankets and dragged them over to the fire.

Vivian could feel him watching her as she bent and spread the blankets out, clearing away stools and books to give them enough room. When it was ready, she laid upon it and tapped the space next to her.

“Come join me.”

The muscles in his chest and arms rippled as he stood from the chair. Her gaze lowered to his flat stomach and the trail of hair that led to his arousal. It poked through the undone buttons of his trousers, magnificent and breathtaking.

Charles pushed the remainder of his clothing off and stood naked before her. The flames glistened along the fine hair covering his skin. Long, powerful legs lowered to the blanket. Then he was beside her. It took every degree of willpower she possessed not to caress him.

“Why are we here?” He asked the question as if he truly didn’t know the answer.

“I want you to take me. Here, by the fire. But first…” She rose up on one elbow, forcing a lusty gaze away from desire’s salvation. “First, we will exchange secrets.”

A mighty war raged within his blood.

Ashworth wanted nothing more than to enfold this naked woman against his skin, sink his swollen flesh inside her willing heat. An explosion waited impatiently.

And yet foreboding seized every nerve ending. The screams, the blood, the nightmare that possessed him each time he grew aroused. Was he a murderer? Would he kill another lover?

“Well?” Vivian raised her eyebrows.

Her dark hair curled around a breast, encircling it like a moat surrounding a mighty castle. He resisted the urge to brush it away.

“Shall I go first?”

First? Hadn’t she already brought him to release with her succulent mouth on his body?

“I’ll tell you my secret, then you tell me yours.”

Ashworth swallowed. The fire heated his back, made him thirst for drink. Brandy would do especially well about now.

“Why?” the word came out as a croak. “Why must we talk about secrets now?”

Vivian grinned. “I realize you may have other things upon your mind.” A quick glance at his erection made her blush. “But I also do not want these moments to be destroyed by your actions, by whatever it is that comes over you when we touch.”

He tensed. “You think by me telling you about it, that it will disappear?”

“It’s possible.”

No. He’d not tell her of the horror he remembered, of what he feared he did not remember. Perhaps this was his punishment for such heinous crimes, to be forever restricted from a woman’s love.

Ashworth rolled over onto his stomach, his arousal pressing painfully against the blanketed floor. He stared across the room to the long curtains fluttering with the evening drafts.

“I may have done something monstrous, something too horrible to detail. That’s all I will tell you on it.”

Vivian sighed. “Very well. I have many of my own secrets to share, ones that are too painful to speak of and bring into the daylight.”

Throat suddenly tight, he glanced over at her. “You mentioned punishment for your birth. You could explain that.”

“I could, but I will save that for another time. A time when you will be willing to give me more of yourself.”

More of himself. What did she want of him? To give his heart? He was felled by love once. But that woman did not believe in him enough to trust him. She did not love him enough to see past the physical imperfections.

Nay, he was given Harry to raise as a son because God knew he would never have his own. Love, marriage, blood heirs—none were a part of his future. Vivian must understand this.

“What we may do here tonight will not change anything. I still will not marry you.”

She blinked and for the briefest moment he thought he saw a shadow of sadness, but it may have only been the reflection of the fire. “I understand that.”

She lifted her chin. “The secret I will tell you is why I originally came into your bedchamber tonight.”

Ashworth turned back to the curtains again. There were small holes in the fabric and the bottom edges were frayed. Threads swirled about as if they were knotted strands of hair gusting in the wind.

Vivian scooted closer to him where her warm breath fanned over his arm. “I’ve met Harry.”

His heart stopped. He must not have heard her correctly.

Ashworth sucked in a deep breath, forcing calm through his bloodstream. He went to great lengths to keep Harry hidden, to protect him from outside influences and prying eyes. Even the boy’s clothes came in packages all the way from London.

Vivian’s fingers brushed his shoulder. “Did you hear me? I have met your son.”

His throat closed in, stomach pitched. He tried to fight it, but he could not keep the rage from rising up and exploding.

“He was to stay from you!”

“Yes, he told me that.” Her voice was soft. Steady. Damn her.

Ashworth turned to glare at her. A dark curtain of hair fell across her face, covering one of her eyes.

“Then why did he not obey?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Curiosity?”

His heart pounded, mouth dried. “He knew what could happen if he spoke to a stranger. He would not have come to you on his own.”

“What, my lord? What would happen? What do you fear? Why is the poor boy forced to endure his life within these walls?”

“He would be outside if you had not come here!”

Vivian blinked. Her face paled. The firelight caught a shimmer in her eyes, but no tears fell. “I am glad to hear that he does have the opportunity to be in the sunshine. However, that does not explain what you fear will happen if a stranger meets him.”

He could lose his son. And he couldn’t allow that.

Someone out in that outside world might know the identity of Harry’s real father, someone could believe Ashworth murdered the boy’s mother. They might take him away. A new wife may not accept Harry as her own son. He must keep him hidden.

Ashworth swallowed, but his throat burned. It was as if a blow had been delivered to his gut. “I have my reasons, Miss Suttley.”

She sighed. “Well, he is delightful, intelligent and desperate for a mother.”

He sprang up to his feet, blood churning in an angry frenzy. “I know my son.”

“The egg I brought from the lake has hatched. Harry named the duckling Mary, after his mother.”