Corey McFadden (31 page)

* * * *

Maude felt his nearness like a searing heat. It was impossible to remain angry and remote when he was this close, when his soft words tickled her ear and made her want to lean into his chest, to feel its hardness beneath her fingers. She felt his lips against her neck, her throat, soft, hot, and hungry. She would not turn to him. She would hold herself aloof. She would make him stop.

His hand slid slowly up her hip, coming to rest on her breast. A low moan escaped her. His breathing was ragged in her ear as he nibbled at her neck. She turned her head, just a fraction, and their lips met in a ravenous, insistent kiss. He brought his other arm around her and pulled her close, bending her head back, trailing his lips down her throat. His hand pushed against her breast, covered with the proper gray cotton. There were so many buttons down the front. He made short work of them with a simple pull that sent them scattering, unheeded, to the floor.

His hand was warm as it slid into her torn bodice, kneading her breast, gently squeezing the erect nipple. She hardly remembered to breathe as his tips followed, his tongue, hot and soft against her burning skin. She gasped with the shock of pleasure as his mouth found her breast. His hand moved down again to her ankles where he pulled at her dress, pulling it up, until he could reach the place she so needed him to touch. As if of its own volition, her hand moved down as well, coming to rest on the hard bulge in his breeches. He groaned deep in his throat and pushed against her, his thigh separating hers, the hardness of his manhood pressing against her.

He sat up swiftly, pulling her to him, as he swept his arm under her knees and lowered her gently to the soft carpet before the fire. He knelt over her, his breathing irregular as he drank his fill of the sight of her. Her bodice was torn open to the waist. Her creamy, round breasts, heaving with each breath, glowed in the low light of the flames. Her skirt and petticoats were in disarray, caught up around her hips, laying bare her sweet auburn secret, moist and ready for him. Her green eyes were heavy-lidded with passion, her lips reddened and full with his kisses.

“Oh, monkey, you are so beautiful,” he moaned as he pulled open the front of his breeches.

She could not help herself as she reached forward, mesmerized with the sight, helping him to pull his breeches away from his swollen member, eager now to feel him bury himself inside her. Pulling off his boots, he stretched out the length of her, his hand now probing her, his fingers seeking that sweet spot that so craved his touch. She was wet and hot and ready for him. Before she realized what had happened, he was on his back, pulling her over on top of him.

“Ride me,” he rasped as he guided her onto his shaft, now throbbing with his need.

The shock of pleasure as he entered her ripped through her. Kneeling astride him, moaning, she pushed herself up then down, again and again driven instinctively with the frenzy of her desire. Her breasts hung tantalizingly just out of reach of his tongue, but finally he pulled her down to him so he could suck at her hard nipples. Faster and faster she moved toward the peak she knew they both sought, until with a low cry, she felt the waves of pleasure break over her and she shuddered in relief.

He could not wait until she was done, the sight of her face, flushed in her climax, driving him to his release. At last, they lay still, wet with the sweat of passion, their breathing gradually slowing to a normal rate.

There was no sound in the room save the occasional popping of the fire. Softly, his fingertips caressed her back as she lay atop him. “Are you cold, monkey? We could sleep down here, but there are no blankets, and I don’t want to startle the parlormaid in the morning.”

A low giggle told him she had heard what he said.

“Let’s go upstairs, shall we, and see what we can find.” With a whack at her rear, he heaved her off him. Standing now, he held her by the shoulders to give her a thorough eye once again. He touched the bandage lightly, concern in his eyes. “I forgot entirely about your wound. Did I hurt you?”

He sounded so abashed she almost felt guilty for she, too, had forgotten it. “It hardly hurts at all now, my lord. It’s just a scratch after all, and it’s healing so well I don’t even think there will be much of a scar.” The instant she said the word she regretted it. She had no wish to increase his guilt.

“I pray you have no scar at all, but even if you do, you are so beautiful it won’t matter.” His eyes were warm as he swept her form again. “I do not think I shall ever have enough of looking at you like this. I am sure you will look charming in a pretty dress, but I think I shall always prefer you this way, naked and slippery wet.”

She laughed, a low chuckle, but gave it right back to him, her eyes roaming appreciatively over his form. “And I prefer you, my lord, rock-hard and standing at attention in my presence.”

With a great guffaw, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down again, burying his face in her curls. “None of the ladies of my acquaintance have the effrontery to talk to me the way you do, monkey. Perhaps that is why I like you so much.”

“Someone needs to take you down a peg or two, my lord. You are in serious danger of becoming a pompous prig.”

“I suppose that will not happen while I have you to tell me what a stupid, bumbling—what else?—oh, yes, mutton-headed lout I am. I am much obliged, miss.” He sat up, holding her close, then stood, pulling her up and setting her on her feet. He laughed as the last remnants of her prim maid’s outfit fell to the floor and she stood clad in nothing but her boots.

“Fetching, very fetching. It might start a new fashion trend among the
ton
.”

Laughing together, they bent to pick up the worst of the debris, leaving the tiny buttons to the curiosity of the parlormaid.

Maude stood, clutching the dress to her. “Who else is in this house? This dress is beyond hope and I cannot go upstairs like this.”

“Why not? Everyone is asleep. There are only the servants, anyway, and they are several floors up at the back of the house.”

In his arm he held a bundle of his clothes and boots and her small bag. He held out his other arm to her. He was utterly without a stitch. “Miss?” he asked, with a perfectly straight face.

With a great laugh, she took his arm, and they made their stately progress up the grand central staircase, naked as newborn babes.

* * * *

The master bedroom was sumptuous, large and dark paneled, with velvet draperies and a vast mahogany bed, made up with silk sheets and thick down pillows, and folded back invitingly. It was very masculine, having been the bedroom to the elderly, long-widowed baronet for many years. Radford made a vague mental note to himself to have the room redone in pastels, satins, and laces to suit his lovely lady. She was so wonderful, this impish creature, who inflamed his senses and who showed him no more respect than he got from his own brother. It was, indeed, a breath of fresh air, after years of toadying and kowtowing, and ‘yes, m’lords’.

He closed the big door behind him, then, dropping his belongings in the middle of the floor, turned to her with a grin. “You’ll at least remove your boots before you climb into bed? I’d hate to rip the sheets.”

She dropped her own bundle at her feet and stood before him. She felt so deliciously free, so utterly without care, naked in this strange house with this man, as if, for this brief interlude, all the rules were suspended and she could do as she pleased. The house was silent as a tomb, as he had promised. She looked about her now with interest. This was no doubt the home of some gentleman friend of his, away in the country for now, she supposed. She was grateful to be here, away from the hubbub of the earl’s house, where she teetered on the brink of exposure every minute and where she felt so keenly the tenuousness of her position.

She was aware that he approached her. The firelight danced on his luscious body, muscular and firm. He pushed her gently back into a chair and knelt before her, picking up her foot.

“You have removed my boots any number of times, haven’t you? Allow me to return the favor.” He pulled off the low boot, then reached for her other foot and removed the second one. “You have a lovely foot, monkey,” he said, caressing her trim ankle. “I will put satin slippers on you to match your beautiful gowns, like a fairy-tale princess.”

Maude had laid her head back against the cushion of the chair, drowsy now from the warmth of the fire in the closed room, feeling the tickle of his soft touch on her foot. What was that he was talking about, fairy tales and slippers, such nonsense, beautiful nonsense. He would dress her in satins....How lovely....

Suddenly her eyes flew open. “What do you mean, my lo—Edward?” she asked, a gnawing apprehension growing inside her.

“I’ll show you just what I mean,” he answered, his voice low, like a velvet caress.

He stood and walked behind her chair to the large armoire standing against the wall. Pulling it open, he found just what he sought, several peignoirs, ordered today for immediate delivery, each looking like the frosting on a cake, all lace and silk and spun nothingness. He smiled to himself. She would look delectable in these—and out of them. Grabbing them up into his arms, he walked back to her. He tossed them like frothy clouds into her lap.

She stared at them, at a loss to understand. “What are these? Whose bedroom is this? Edward, if these belong to some lady friend of yours, you can get them off me right now. This is not funny...” she broke off, confused, when he began to laugh.

“They certainly do belong to my lady friend. I bought them for you.”

She stared at him in consternation. “But what are they doing here? Whose house is this?” She looked around, as if expecting some gentleman to materialize and bid her good evening.

“Actually, it belongs to an elderly gentleman who has retired to the country. His agents let it to me this morning, and so now it belongs to you. And tomorrow, first thing, the dressmaker is coming to measure you for a new wardrobe, silks and satins. No more servant’s gray for my lovely lady.” He smiled, waiting for the light of joy and relief to dawn in her splendid green eyes.

She stared at him, letting it all sink in—the house, leased for her, the peignoirs, a dressmaker. Now she understood. “You expect me to be your mistress.” Her voice was flat, expressionless.

“My mistress, my love, my pampered darling. Monkey, you are mine to protect now. You need not fear for your future from now on.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she flinched, as if he had slapped her. It was his turn to look confused. Pushing the frothy bits of stuff from her lap, she stood abruptly and stepped to the side, away from him. She knelt down and picked up her discarded gray gown, stepping into it and holding the pieces of it together in front of her like a shield.

“I realize you are not to be blamed for this, my lord,” she began, the snapping anger in her eyes giving the lie to her words. “It is I who have behaved in such a wanton manner as to make you feel I would be receptive to the idea of being a kept woman.” She spoke in a low voice, trying to contain her fury. The shame that she felt at this moment was overwhelming. She had besmirched the Romney name. Not even Cousin John was such a blot on the family honor. Thank God her parents had not lived to see this moment.

Radford stood by the chair and raked his fingers through his hair, willing himself to be patient. Feeling a bit foolish trying to reason with her while he stood naked, he leaned down to pick up his breeches and stepped into them. Of course, the girl was young and raised as a servant in the country household of a gentleman, such as it was. She did not understand that he meant not to shame her but to honor her with his attentions. Any woman of her status should jump at the chance to be his paramour. Only a young lady of the
ton
would flinch at such an arrangement and he doubted if she had ever even met, much less conversed, with such a creature.

“This is not a dishonorable arrangement,” he began in a reasonable tone, fastening his breeches. “You will have security, spending money, your own household, servants. You’ll be a lady in your own house. No one will offer you offense about the situation. It is done all the time—”

“Not by me!” she snapped. “I’d sooner starve than live as your mistress, my food in exchange for my favors!”

“You make it sound so seamy. That is not what I mean at all. I mean to take care of you, to indulge your every whim—”

“Until someone new strikes your eye? Until you marry? Then what? Will Lady Radford let you out one night a week to satisfy your cruder needs with your fancy piece?” She was furious now. How dare he try to reason her with her about such an issue!

He was nonplussed. This was not the usual course such a conversation took. Moreover, these arrangements always concluded the same way, with the gentleman making a handsome settlement on his former lover and the ties severed amicably. But it was not discussed ahead of time. That would, indeed, turn it into a seamy sort of financial arrangement. And a wife should never enter into the matter at all!

“Frankly, I have no intention of marrying,” he began. “I see no need to answer to anyone except myself, and my brother can fetch an heir to the title. And, naturally, when we tire of each other, I will see to your financial independence—”

“So I won’t have to move on to be someone else’s whore?” she asked, rage in her voice. “How magnanimous you are, my lord!”

“That is precisely correct!” he snapped back. “So that you will have no need of anyone else’s protection.” He was angry now, too. As angry as she was. Why was it this girl could always make him feel like such a fool? “I fail to see what you are so worked up over. I make you a handsome offer, one that any number of young women would jump at and you—

“Any number of women?” she cried. “What kind of woman do you consort with that this would be an acceptable arrangement? And why don’t you go and ask one of them instead of insulting me?” She paused only to draw her breath. “I deeply regret my behavior over the last twenty-four hours,” she continued, “but I will be no man’s doxy!”