Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (42 page)

"Men are lustful creatures," she said weakly. "Easily stirred."

"Some of us are more discriminating than others. My friend there doesn't dance for just anyone, you know."

Yes, my beautiful one. Dance for me, show me that you want the gift of Venus....

She felt him move beneath her hand and colored. But sinful woman that she was, she loved it. He moved her hand up and down the hardness. "See what you do to me. Since this will soon be your friend, too, perhaps you should christen it."

Portia jerked her hand away.
"Christen
it?"

"How else are we to talk of it in public?"

Portia stepped back. "Why ever would we want to talk of such a thing in public?"

"To prepare for what we intend to do as soon as we get home?" he suggested with a grin. "Or perhaps for what we are going to do in some quiet corner of our host's house." He captured her and pulled her hard against him. "I am inviting you to live a very wicked life, my Amazon. Do you accept?"

"You'll be disappointed," she protested. "I'm not wicked. Oh, Bryght, stop and think."

"You are wicked enough, and rash enough for me." He released her, but only to undo his buttons so his flap fell. He captured her hand again and pressed it to him, but to hot flesh now. "Name it," he whispered, and she felt the shudder that rippled through him.

It conquered her. This was not artifice. Perhaps he lied, perhaps he danced for anyone, but at this moment he danced for her.

"The Thames," she whispered.

He looked at her with bemusement. "I hope you don't think its flow can equal England's greatest river."

"No." She couldn't believe she was saying this. "I think it goes through Maidenhead."

He laughed and picked her up to swing her around and around until she was dizzy, then collapsed them both on the carpet to pleasure her.

It was like at Mirabelle's and yet unlike, for this time Portia was willing. More than willing, she was eager.

She made no protest when he pulled off her shift, her last barrier to him. He ran his hand over her in gentle exploration. "Delicate bones, skin like finest silk that shows the veins beneath... I'm afraid of hurting you." And indeed, his hand trembled. "You are so small. I know you're not fragile, but you are small. Did I bruise you last time?"

"No, of course not." But he insisted on inspecting every inch of her with laughter and kisses.

Portia discovered that to be naked with Bryght seemed natural, the most natural thing in the world. And that she wanted him naked too. With more teasing games they stripped him and she admired his splendor.

"Strong bones," she said, sliding an exploratory hand up his thigh, over his hip. "Skin like velvet over steel. You could model for David."

He shook his head. "Heaven forbid. But if I please you, I'm pleased. And I love your touch, Portia. Touch me where I please you...."

Blushing, Portia continued her exploration, running her hand over his chest, his shoulders, down over his muscular abdomen. She halted there, however, embarrassed to go further even though she wanted to, wanted to feel the heat and hardness of him again.

His hands wandered her at the same time—almost without conscious thought, it seemed, but summoning desire. "Your touch has such power over me, I am afraid. I want to be gentle, but I'm not sure I can be. Tell me if I hurt you."

She kissed his chest. "I expect it to hurt."

He tilted her chin and kissed her lips. "Perhaps we can exceed your expectations...."

Portia hesitated then, however. Talk of the breaching of her virginity forced her to face the fact that if she surrendered there would be no going back....

He seized her hair and kissed her, kissed her as if he sensed her doubts and wished to drive them out. Under the heat of his hands, his mouth, his body she couldn't think. She could only desire. Portia nipped and stroked, kissed and nibbled at every piece of his mobile body that became available, always wanting more and more.

When his sinuous movements brought the ultimate temptation in her way, she took it and put her lips over the head of the River Thames. He went rigid and twisted his head to look at her.

Portia came to her senses a little then. What in heaven's name had come over her? Something in his expression, however, filled her with a sense of gleeful power. Watching him carefully, she rubbed her tongue against him.

He shuddered and muttered, "Hades," like a dying man.

Portia stroked him with her tongue and saw him flush. She sucked a little and he gasped. He collapsed down on the carpet. "Go on, then, oh precocious one. Have your wicked way with me."

There was a sheen of sweat on his face and Portia didn't think it was from the fire. She felt extremely hot herself. Her rash impulsiveness had landed her in another situation completely beyond her competence, but she sensed that this one held only delight.

She settled to licking and sucking the novel item, enjoying the new sensation and a sweet musky taste she found there. To be so hard, the River Thames would have to be solid ice, but this one was hot and almost fluid in the way it danced to her touch.

She slid one hand over his rigid torso, and curled the other around him, then flared it downward to explore the smooth pouches beneath. How strange, how wonderful, how very interesting a man was.

From this angle she couldn't see his face, but she could see his hand on his thigh, his left hand with the large emerald signet. Suddenly it formed a fist, and she covered it with her own paler one, soothing it even as she tormented him. He grasped her hand almost to bruising point and she could hear each breath he took.

What now?

She was trapped in a spiral of heat and power. It was entrancing, but she felt as if something were about to explode....

Suddenly he moved. He freed the river from captivity, hauling her up to face him. "If you dice with the devil, Hippolyta, you must burn."

He was not gentle. He drove her like a chariot into passion and entered her suddenly, violently, then froze, holding her there, knees looped high over his arms.

Portia stared into his dark eyes, drowning in intense sensation, shocked by their position, but immensely satisfied to be filled by him at last. He saw it and released her legs, swooping down to kiss her. Portia met the kiss fiercely, locking her legs around him as he drove her onward to destruction.

Portia tried to keep her eyes open, to see him in his passion, but the power became too strong. It denied all sensations except the one, the new one, the one she could hardly believe was part of the body she had inhabited for twenty-five years.

Chapter 20

Portia came back to reality lying in his arms, sweaty and sticky, nerves still humming and twitching from his onslaught. She ached in places, burned a little between her legs, and suddenly her whole body shuddered with an after-tremor of that passion.

He threaded his hand into her hair and turned her to face him. "Too much for you?" His expression reminded her of the first time—when he'd tackled her to the floor in Maidenhead and seemed so concerned. She realized that all along, even at their worst times, that concern had formed a reassurance in her mind.

She shook her head. "But I didn't expect..."

He smiled ruefully, "I'd have been a little more restrained if you'd not tried to drain the River Thames."

She felt herself flame. "I don't know what came over me."

"I do and I don't mind," he said, stroking her gently. "I liked it. But it broke my control. If you play with fire you will be burned. Or at least, get singed. As long as you understand that."

Portia snuggled against him, needing him in so many ways that it bewildered her. And now they would have to marry. All escape was gone. At least she could soothe her conscience with the knowledge that it was his doing, and that she'd tried to save him from himself.

She couldn't help it. She smiled with delight.

Those who dice with the devil must indeed burn. They were not supposed to find the flames so pleasant, though. Portia snuggled closer to his sweat-damp body and played with fire. He captured her hand. "You do like living dangerously, don't you?"

"Alas," she murmured into his chest, "I fear I do."

He chuckled. "I look forward to the future with great anticipation but for now, love, I'm going to protect you from yourself." He disentangled them and helped her to her feet. "Assess your hurts and be cautious."

Portia did so and winced. "Rather more in some muscles than from the attack on Maidenhead." She glanced at him mischievously. "Well, my lord, was it worth six hundred guineas?"

He immediately swung her up, sat in the chair, and laid her across his knees for spanking. Shocked, Portia writhed madly. "Don't you
dare!"

His hand rested on her buttocks. "Then stop calling me my lord."

She twisted to glare at him. He raised his brows and hand. The wretch would do it, too. "Well, Bryght," she bit out, "was it worth six hundred guineas?"

"Every penny," he said and turned her to sit on his lap.

Portia glared at him. "If you ever spank me, I'll tie you down and flog you!"

"That sounds like fun."

She gasped and pulled away from him.

"I said we would be wicked," he reminded her.

"I will not be beaten!" she protested.

He shook his head. "Hush, love, I'm teasing. If we ever do that sort of thing it will be for fun, and you will be able to stop whenever you want."

"For
fun
?"

He waggled his brows. "Confess. Before today, would you ever have thought to have such fun playing with the River Thames?"

And Portia hid her flaming face against his chest.

He laughed but separated them again. "It's quite possible that Rothgar will be back soon, perhaps even with Fort in tow. I don't insist on it, but perhaps we should have some clothes on."

Portia leaped from his arms and began to scramble into her garments, half an eye on the door. He watched her, grinning, but at her entreaties he laced up her stays and then began to dress himself.

Portia was struggling with the fastenings of her gown when she detected footsteps. "Someone's coming," she hissed.

He laughed again and came to close the last two hooks.

"Your shirt!" Portia grabbed for him and was fastening the buttons at his neck as the lock turned. He detached her fingers so they were facing the door when it opened.

Rothgar came in and closed the door behind him. He glanced around. Portia saw her stockings and garters strewn across the floor and could have died. She looked despairingly at Bryght and he put his arm around her and held her close.

The marquess merely said, "I suspected it would be better to leave Walgrave downstairs. He merely wishes to know that the wedding will go forward as planned. I assume that is the case."

Bryght said, "Of course, though it doesn't please me to marry under the Trelyns' auspices."

"It will silence gossip, however."

"But people will still believe those horrible lies," Portia protested. "It isn't fair."

"Life is rarely fair," said Rothgar, "but sometimes it can be adjusted. After tonight, most voices will be silenced."

Portia wondered how their passionate love-making could silence gossip.

The marquess must be able to read her like a book. "I was thinking more of your
public
adventures, Miss St. Claire. We are going to dine in twenty minutes, then we are going to the Willoughbys', where the lady is having yet another of her delightful entertainments."

"But—"

He ignored her. "Bryght will be by your side. Walgrave and the Trelyns will also accompany us. Lady Willoughby will gush over you. The whole world will see it has been the victim of at least an error."

It sounded like an evening of torture. Portia grasped at an excuse. "I have nothing suitable to wear."

"Lady Trelyn has sent one of your gowns. I believe my sister's rooms should provide anything else you need and it would be quite in order for you to wear some of the lesser family jewels."