His Mistress by Morning (14 page)

Oh, heavens, what would Lottie do?

She closed her eyes. What Lottie would do wasn’t going to help her right now. The woman was a veritable scandal. And Charlotte was…too innocent for this game of cat and mouse.

And her innocence was about to be devoured, she realized, as Sebastian reached out and trailed his fingers over her bare shoulder, making her nearly jump out of her heels.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered. “Are you worried, my love?”

You have no idea,
she would have told him if she thought her lips could form the words.

“It isn’t that I won’t give you your reward,” he was saying as his fingers trailed over the edge of her bodice. “But it will come at a price.”

Her shoulders rolled with his touch, her skin tingling.

His lips nibbled at her neck, the back of her shoulders, her earlobe.

There was a price to all this? Whatever it was, she’d happily pay.

Tromler’s music still filled the room, moody and taunting, much like Sebastian. He spun her around so she faced him, and immediately caught her lips in a staggering, hungry kiss.

Before when he’d kissed her it had left her unsteady and off balance, shocked by the intimacy of it. Beneath his kiss there was a sense of possession, of marking, his unspoken declaration of his desire, his love.

This tantalizing torture made her thighs clench together, as if trying to stop the fire kindling there with each swipe of his tongue.

Images from Lottie’s memory assailed her as he kissed her.

His mouth on her breasts, sucking her nipple until it peaked, tight and hard. On her belly, blowing his hot breath over her skin. Going lower still and parting her nether lips, taking these same slow, dangerous swipes over her tight, throbbing nub.

“Oh,” she moaned softly, both at the memory and because his hands had moved to cup her breasts, to roll his thumbs over her nipples.

“This dress is gorgeous,” he said, casting barely a glance at it. “But I prefer you naked.”

Before she could say anything, even try to lodge a protest, he pulled the short sleeves down. Somehow he’d managed to loosen the laces in back already—how, she wasn’t quite sure, but it only proved her early realization that removing her clothes wasn’t going to be any problem for him.

All too quickly, her gown plummeted to the ground in an expensive puddle of blue velvet, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her corset and garters.

Charlotte tried to breathe.

She wasn’t the only one.

Sebastian gaped at her. “Lottie, you are perfect. Divine.” His eyes continued to devour her. “You were created to tempt me into this hell.”

Perfect? Divine?

Those two words went a long way toward sending her fears scurrying.

And the third one,
tempt,
gave them a boot over the hill.

She, Charlotte Wilmont, tempted him?

Unable to resist, she straightened, letting her breasts rise up and forward.

A dark, strangled look crossed his features. He groaned and pulled her to him again; this time his kiss plundered, ravished, left her breathless.

And then it happened. Without so much as a “by your leave,” or an “anon.”

He swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her room, traveling through the shadowy and dark house without any need for light.

She had to imagine he knew the way.

And now she was about to as well.

Sebastian dropped her on the bed, then left the room.

Charlotte scrambled to sit up, worried that part of her punishment was to be left in this terrible state.

Needy and tantalized, she wanted more. Everything.

And just as she was about to call out to him, beg him if she must, he returned with a taper from one of the
downstairs sconces. He kicked the door shut behind him and proceeded to light candles here and there throughout the room. Enough light to see, just enough to leave the far corners in shadows.

“So many?” she asked, wondering how she wouldn’t die of shame over all this.

“If I’m to torture you as you tortured me tonight, I want to see your face. See all of you.”

Her hands went to her hot cheeks. He wanted to see her? She glanced over at the shadowy portrait of Lottie and sought some self-assurance in the lady’s smug expression. When she peeked back at Sebastian, she found, much to her dismay, he was undressing hastily—most likely as he had the night before—his cravat flying across the way, his waistcoat going another, the orderly room quickly turning into a litter of discarded clothing.

“Flirting with Rockhurst, you wretched girl,” he said, as he tugged his shirt up and over his head.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she stared at his smooth, bare chest, her fingers fisting in the sheets with a desire to touch him.

“Won’t stand for it, Lottie. Not any longer. You’re a wicked, wretched tease and it’s about time some man brought you to heel.”

The dangerous promise behind his words left her shivering.

Oh, if only she were a wicked tease. Then she’d have the nerve and skill to give into this unholy desire to run her palms over the muscles of his chest.

To kiss him, as he’d kissed her, everywhere and anywhere. To taste him.

Taste him?
She chewed at her lower lip and wondered if that notion was Lottie’s or hers.

Does it really matter?
she thought as his boots came off, and then his pants.

“But now it is time for us to get one thing straight—” He stretched his arms out, his manhood thrusting into view.

Too many times to count during the day, she’d thought perhaps she’d imagined what she’d seen when she’d awoken in his arms. But no, there he was, as magnificently endowed and masculine as she’d recalled.

“—I won’t be toyed with, Mrs. Townsend. You are mine.”

Mine.
The very word sent shivers down her spine.

He stalked toward the bed and instinctively she backed away from him, unwittingly tangling in the sheets and falling on her back, exposing herself to him.

He caught her by an ankle and retrieved her, tugging her within easy reach. Sebastian towered over her, devouring her with his gaze, as if he was planning his own manifest destiny, how best to conquer her.

Oh, whatever was she to do?

Charlotte needn’t have worried; her body responded before her Mayfair sensibilities had a chance to interfere, her hips rolling upward, her thighs opening ever so slightly in an unspoken invitation.

Touch me, Sebastian. Touch me here.

He slowly raised one of her ankles up and began to kiss her calf, his tongue plying a slow, easy trail toward her knee.

She didn’t know much about waging war, but Charlotte now considered herself an expert on the terms of surrender.
Just give him anything he wants.

Again, he pulled her closer yet, then knelt before the bed, catching her by her hips and bringing her toward him.

Warm, hot breath assailed her thighs, sent tremulous waves through her.

Kiss me, Sebastian,
she would have begged if she could have said a word.

And he did, his thumbs slowly parting her flesh, his fingers brushing over the curls there.

Charlotte shivered again, but this time it was from something very different.

Desire.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said, a wicked grin on his lips even as he bent his head down to taste her.

And the moment his mouth touched her, his tongue dipped to swirl over her very core, a sense of delicious wonder spread through her. She shuddered and her hips rose up to meet him.

Not deserve this? Oh, she did. She’d be as wicked as he wanted her, over and over, if just to gain this boon.

She’d flirt with Rockhurst, she’d wear a bodice that defied decency, she’d let Arbuckle paint her stark naked in the middle of Hyde Park.

Just to drive Sebastian wild, to spark his ire. To bring him to her bed in this dangerous, passionate state.

His mouth covered her, his tongue darted over her, left her breathless and gasping for air.

“Aaah,” she moaned, her hands letting go of the sheets and twining in his hair, holding him in place. Her greatest fear no longer was that she was undressed but that he would stop.

Over and over, his tongue continued to dance across her, lapping at her and driving her onward, upward in a spiral of desire. Her head swung back and forth, the shadows and candlelight flitting in the distance. She stretched down toward him, seeking more, wanting more.

Oh, heavens, what was he doing to her?

Her body began to tighten, to thrum with a wild music, her hips rising up, her back arching, her every nerve reaching out for something, something so ethereal, so elusive.

And then just as she thought she was about to find the answers she sought, she needed, he stopped. Tugged his head back and eyed her.

Charlotte knew she must look a state. She’d tossed all the pins from her hair, and the once-perfect curls now lay in a damp wild halo about her. Her body glistened with sweat, while her breasts rose and fell. She couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t help but reach out to him.

“Please, Sebastian, please don’t stop,” she whispered.
No, she begged.
“Please.”

He rose up, still watching her, that wicked, terrible grin on his lips. His erection, so thick and rampant, standing so proud out in front of him, no longer left her scared.

Trembling, yes. Trembling with need.

“Please, Sebastian,” she whispered again.

And then he was atop her, covering her. He reached beneath her and tugged her corset strings loose, then whisked it over her head and sent it flying across the room.

“Tell me you were wrong,” he said, dipping his head down to suckle one of her nipples.

It went tight and taut immediately, her thighs clenched against this renewed passion.

“I was wrong,” she gasped. “So very wrong.”

His hand ran up her thighs and her legs fell open, only too willing to acknowledge defeat before the battle began. “Tell me I’m the only man for you.”

“You are,” she ceded, breathlessly. If only he knew how much so.

You’ve always been the only man for me.

His fingers teased and toyed with her, bringing her right back to that endless brink that his tongue had driven her toward.

She moaned again, this time without any hesitation.

“Tell me you want me,” Sebastian whispered into her ear, even as his fingers slid inside her, spreading the wet, slick evidence of her desire.

“I do,” she gasped, her body starting to quake.

Sebastian’s green eyes glittered, and in one quick, hard motion, he caught her by the hips and thrust himself inside her. And then just as quickly, thrust again.

“Ohhh,” she gasped, her hands catching hold of his shoulders and hanging on for dear life. He was so thick, so hard, she felt every bit of him as he stroked her, stretched her, made himself as much a part of her as a man could.

Charlotte looked up to find him watching her, even as he stroked her again, her hips rising up to meet him. His head tipped slightly as if he wasn’t too sure as to what he was seeing—as if he knew—that she wasn’t the Lottie he loved.

Her breath caught in her throat and they lay there for a moment, joined together, their bodies thrumming with desire, clamoring for completion, and yet he paused and looked at her, into her eyes, searching for something.

“Lottie?” he whispered.

“Yes?” She reached up and touched his face, wondering at the intimacy of it. Her fingers grazed over the hint of stubble there, marveled at the warmth of his skin, the solid strength of his jawline, her finger tracing the cleft in his chin.

Her other hand clung to his shoulders, unwilling to let go…at least just yet.

He knows. He knows I’m not her.
Charlotte closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest. Oh, whatever was she to do?

Let him love you,
came a whispery bit of reassurance.
Let him love you.

“Oh, please, Sebastian,” she whispered. “I’m begging you.” And he moved again, quickly falling back into that gloriously sensual rhythm. Her fingers, still clinging to his shoulders, as if unwilling to let go, to fall free into the passion he brought out in her, finally uncurled.

And she fell. Tumbled really, adrift and afloat into a sea of ecstasy. Her hands grasped and reached for something to hold onto and came to rest on his hips, pulling him closer to her, urging him to continue.

As she arched her back, rose up to meet him, his head dipped down and he caught her mouth in a kiss.

Instead of the hungry, jealously fueled kisses from a few moments ago, this time his lips caught hers with a tenderness, a desire that spoke of something else.

A soulful chorus, like the violin’s sweet chords, his kiss held all those things and something else.

Love.

If Charlotte thought she’d fallen before, now she toppled, pushed by her own awareness.

He loved her, thoroughly, tenderly, from the depth of his heart, and as he continued to make love to her, the length of his manhood stroking a blaze of desire within her, Charlotte rose with him, kissed him back, hungrily, full of desire.

Her body growing tenser yet, her need narrowing her thoughts, her vision, until everything was centered in one place, in their joining.

Over her, Sebastian’s breathing became more ragged, his body tightening, his movements more frantic, pushing her along, driving her upward.

At first she didn’t know what was happening, her mind going blank as an entirely new world of passion exploded within her, her body trembling in a wild surf of release.

Charlotte gasped and clung to Sebastian even as he gave out a mighty groan—a roar filled with triumph—and he drove himself into her, hard and fast, thrusting over and over until he too lay trembling atop her, his body shuddering with the last throes of his release.

“Lottie, oh, my darling girl,” he whispered, as he pulled her close and held her so they were still joined, still connected so very intimately. “I love you, Lottie.”