Invitation to Ruin (28 page)

His inner rake rejoiced. He was a fool.

   Anthony sat staring at the papers before him on his desk. His study at Bressington should be a bastion of serenity, but with Melissa under the same roof, even here he couldn’t hide from his all-consuming desire for her.

He knew tonight would be a night of reckoning. She’d held back her questions because he’d carefully planned for Theresa to ride in the carriage with them. Nothing would stop her from wanting to consummate their marriage tonight.

Her image blossomed in his mind—her gentle smile that was becoming increasingly strained as the nights passed and he did not come to her bedchamber. Yet every time that smile disappeared, he had to shackle an urge to kiss it back, to take her in his arms and …

Inwardly cursing, he jerked his mind off his wife. He would not risk Melissa getting with child. Unfortunately, ingrained habits were hard to break; Melissa simply being in his house, next to his bedchamber a couple of strides away, added to the already considerable strain of desisting. Resisting. But he would.

He knew his mood was darkening and that his craving for Melissa was the cause. Just how dark he’d only realized when he’d helped her down from the carriage. Denying his carnal needs amounted to self-flagellation with poison oak leaves. He could easily exploit her proximity to gain the ease his body longed for. Just how strong his desire for her had grown, he’d only then fully comprehended. He’d almost not care if any progeny resulted.

What was worse, she’d sensed his discomfort, sensed his growing need.

Eyes narrowing, he replayed yet again all she’d done as they’d ascended the stairs and entered the house.

She’d deliberately brushed against him, the swell of her bosom caressing his arm, one soft thigh bumping his, and she’d shot him a look so smoldering with desire he all but combusted on the step.

He trusted himself not one jot. He should leave immediately for Great Yarmouth.

A moment later, he grimaced and surreptitiously shifted in his chair. His body was trapped in the worst vise. If he were honest with himself, he was champing at the bit to have her, the woman who overnight had become a beaconing sensual siren. On the other hand, he was desperately reining back, fighting her allure. He still could not understand why he simply did not head directly to the nearest tavern and sate his lust between a pair of willing soft thighs that weren’t his wife’s.

How could he want Melissa so much when it could result in his worst nightmare—a child, his child?

A knock at the study door disturbed his musings, followed by Stubbs saying, “My lord?”

Relieved it wasn’t Melissa, he blew a sigh. “Enter.”

Stubbs did, bowed, and crossed the floor. “Lady Wickham requests your presence.”

“She will have to wait until I have seen to the correspondence.”

“I believe it is urgent. A small problem in relation to her maid.” Stubbs looked uncomfortable.

“Problem?”

Stubbs flushed. “I think it best her ladyship explains. She’s in her sitting room, my lord.”

His blood turned to ice in his veins. The sitting room next to her bedchamber. “Thank you, Stubbs. You may go.”

His inner instincts roared into life. He did not trust her. Melissa was all but virginal, yet if yesterday was anything to
go by, she was not totally inexperienced in seduction. She only had to look at him with her large, hazel eyes and he wanted her. Who was he fooling? It was him he could not trust.

Her room.

Stifling a sigh and inwardly knowing he was being a fool, he rose. Whatever was behind her summons? It was still late afternoon. Sending Stubbs to find him bore no resemblance to an illicit invitation. His wife was a lady and far too innocent to think of sex in broad daylight. It was only the Lord of Wicked, with temptation in his grasp, who had visions of spending the remainder of the afternoon making love to his wife.

He mounted the stairs to her apartments with trepidation. He stood for a few seconds in front of her door before lightly tapping.

He heard her call. “Come in.”

Steeling his impulses, he entered her sitting room. It was empty, but the door to her bedchamber stood ajar.

“Is that you, Anthony? I’m in here,” she called in a sweet voice.

Like a man facing the gallows, he entered her room. Sunlight still streamed in through two sets of windows, both with their curtains wide.

His pulse quickened and his body—every inch—hardened at the stimulating vision gloriously displayed before him.

Melissa lay completely naked upon her large four-poster bed. The late afternoon sunlight illuminated her pale skin in a worshipful glow. She looked like an angel fallen into sin.

The diaphanous white curtains surrounding her bed were presently roped back, and the counterpane of sprigged ivory satin was rolled down and folded across the end of the bed, leaving silk sheets exposed. The purity of her lily-white skin was in complete contrast to the scarlet of the sheets she lay upon and emphasized her sensuous curves.

His mouth watered for a taste.

Her luscious midnight tresses, flowing like sable across the
sheets, shone in the lingering sunlight. His fingers itched to thread through the fine strands, and then roam over her silken skin until he knew every inch intimately.

Knowing it was his house, his bed, his wife—seeing her so provocatively displayed, and knowing she had done this to tempt only him, Anthony’s blood roared for possession.

“I’d close the door unless you want your servants to see me as God intended.”

He pushed the door closed with his boot, his eyes never leaving hers. He watched her lips move as if in a trance, dying for a taste.

He stepped toward the bed.

Not a good idea
.

The Lord of Wicked didn’t listen to him.

Take, plunder, sate
… his inner voice screamed. He briefly closed his eyes to still his rampaging desire.

Christ what was wrong with him?

This was his wife.
Think of all you could lose simply in pursuit of lust
.

He started—every muscle he possessed tightened as if he were being tortured on the rack.

Step back and escape, his brain begged him, but his body refused to obey. Give in, the devil on his shoulder said.

She lay flat on her back, smiling at him, and dropped her thighs open.

Lust slammed through him. His mouth dried. Her body drew his gaze like a river to a man dying of thirst. His senses, driven by instinct, had brutally focused. The sight of her open womanhood was enough to make his groin throb.

He could not drag his gaze from her. The delights of her body, embedded in his memory, were boldly and brazenly displayed.

For him.

He swallowed.

“I thought this the most likely way to capture and hold your interest—at least for this afternoon. Was I wrong?”

He felt the rein of his control quake; he managed to draw
enough breath to rasp, “No. You undoubtedly have my full consideration, madam.”

Her lips curved gently—that sweet, understanding smile now openly challenging. “My husband,” she whispered, the soft invitation making him hard and fit to burst.

Before he comprehended what he was doing, he was beside the bed. On his next breath, the heady scent of her, orange blossom mixed with arousal, filled him.

Sheer seduction … sheer torture.

She knew it—he saw the truth. She was fully aware of her power; her understanding was written clearly in her beautiful face, in the depth of her jade-brown eyes, in the inherently feminine set of her lips.

He felt his body surrender, a desire infinitely stronger than any that had come before, a passion immeasurably more compelling—she was his. She belonged to him and no other. Why shouldn’t he take her?

Consequences—that’s why
.

He made one last attempt to cling to reason, to deny his driving need to possess her, to take her, to enjoy her obvious delights.

The Lucifer on his shoulder pricked until he was thinking with only one part of his anatomy, the part that was rock hard and eager to enter her.
Surely they could enjoy pleasure without conception
.

He felt her heated gaze focus on his lips. Her succulent berry-ripe lips begged to be kissed. He dragged in another breath and leaned over her until his face was inches from the mouth he wanted to plunder.

She stretched up, drew his head down, brought her lips close to his, and murmured, “At least I know you do find me desirable.”

He could hardly deny it, for his erection was straining against his breeches.

Her other hand moved to fondle the bulge at his groin, and his last vestige of restraint evaporated at her innocent touch.

He covered her lips with his, kissing her voraciously, deliberately letting the chains he’d locked himself in break—rattling his very soul down to his bones. He couldn’t do anything else. Hands splayed, sliding over the fine silk of her skin, he pulled her roughly, half off the bed and into his arms, molding her urgently against him.

Any chance he’d had of escaping died the instant he’d seen her nakedness and immediately pictured the pleasure he’d find between her thighs. Naked in his arms, she clung and returned his kisses greedily, avidly—flagrantly encouraging him to seize, take, and conquer.

   Melissa’s whole body trembled as she felt Anthony’s arms lock tight, felt his lips bruising hers, hard and demanding, felt his surrender. He straightened, crushing her to him; without interrupting the kiss, he lifted her against him, sliding her down his body, his clothes rasping against her sensitized skin.

Her slide of pleasure stopped when her knees touched the bed. She knelt on the edge of the bed, her arms around his neck. His hands cupped her bottom, pressing her so she’d feel his need for her, while his tongue plundered her mouth, wreaking havoc with her senses. Within her, heat bloomed, burgeoned, grew—

Melissa was scared to break the kiss and destroy the moment, but she wanted him naked, his body displayed for her gaze, her touch. Hands on his granite chest, she pushed his jacket wide, trapping his arms. “Your clothes … I want to see you.”

With a curse of impatience, he let her go and stepped back, wrenching the jacket off and flinging it aside.

The violence of his desire thrilled her. His eyes, dark and burning, narrowed on hers. He reached for her, palm curving about her jaw, tipped her face, and drew her close. He studied her; she poured everything into her gaze, all her desire, all her uncertainty, all her need.

He bent his head, murmured, “Yes, I want you, too.”

That’s all she needed. She acted on his words, grappling
with the buttons of his waistcoat and then shirt. Yanking the two halves apart until she found skin. Melissa touched, searched, and grasped the smooth marble. The sensation was just as she’d remembered it. She purred with satisfaction. The muscles beneath her palms flexed, hot satin, and alive. His chest was a wonder of rasping black hair and male hardness. She filled her hands with the hard contours of his chest and soaked her senses in his maleness.

She would win this battle. He yielded to her questing fingers, eager for her touch. She felt the evidence of his need pressed against her stomach.

He gasped, “You have driven me to the brink of madness these last few days.”

His words fed her confidence, and she met his lips brazenly, hoping he’d let her glimpse, conquer, and tame the part of him she’d always known was there, lurking behind his false apathy.

She sensed the warmth hidden within him, felt the battle he fought to constantly force it back into his soul, as if he’d become a puddle of melted ice if he let it escape. She pressed her lips to his nipple and licked, hoping to send flames of desire ricocheting around his body. But the heat engulfed her, too. The fire spread, capturing her in its scorching blaze.

Yet her boldness had the desired effect. He hastily stripped off his shirt and waistcoat before he captured her mouth in a devouring kiss. Her arms wrapped around his back to hold him to her, for his escape was out of the question. She needn’t have worried; his hands moved down to cup and provocatively knead the globes of her bottom. She felt the thick muscle framing his back flex like steel beneath her searching hands. She ran them down his back, marveling; then with more bravery than she ever thought she owned, she slid one finger over his ribcage and forward to caress the rippling bands decorating his abdomen. They quivered at her touch; he sucked in a breath as she sent her fingers questing lower. The breath exhaled as she lightly traced the line of his erection.

He did not stop her.

He stilled and broke the kiss, his eyes revealing his inner turmoil. She tentatively reached for the buttons at the waistband of his breeches. This time it was her holding her breath—would he submit?

The only sign of doubt was that he’d closed his eyes.

Like approaching a rose bush with prickly thorns, she slid one hand inside the open flap and, undoing the drawstring on his drawers, touched the silky length of him. Rigid, as she expected, yet so hot, and with skin so smooth …

She gripped him tightly, and his groan filled the bedchamber. His eyes flashed to her face, taking her lips in an urgent, unrelenting kiss, tongue plunging deep within her mouth. Her fingers continued to explore him. He was large; he more than filled her hand.

“God, you make me feel so big.” His words came in short pants.

Closing her fingers as far around him as she could, she moved her hand slowly up and down the length of him, and felt him shudder.

She wasn’t exactly sure what to do now. She experimented, hoping she could drive him over the edge, ignite his heated passion until he forgot that he did not want her, forgot that she was not the woman he truly desired, forgot everything except taking her.

To her growing frustration he ruthlessly held it back. Soon, please soon, let the dam break.

He was proving stronger than she expected, her continuing ministrations not having the desired effect, until without warning, he pushed her back on the bed. Within moments he had stripped off his boots and trousers and was lying naked beside her, his large hand guiding her back to his rampant member.