Never Love a Scoundrel (27 page)

She arched her chest up, offering herself to his mouth, glorying in his attention. It was more than he’d allowed in his fantasy. And it was more than he should allow in reality.

Reluctantly, terribly, hesitatingly, he pulled away from her breast. “Lydia, we have to stop. If nothing else, you’re nearly out of time.”

She reached down and pulled the skirt of her gown up, revealing her stocking-clad leg. “Then you’d better hurry.”

Chapter Sixteen

LYDIA KNEW
it was brazen, knew she should refasten her dress and let him escort her downstairs. But she couldn’t. She’d never felt such sensations before. She’d never had anyone look at her like that before, let alone touch her in this manner. And maybe she never would again. She knew the beauty and singularity of this moment, probably better than she knew anything else in her life, and she’d be damned if she would let it go, even if it meant she was ruined.

“Please, Jason, don’t stop. I don’t want you to.”

He drew in a ragged breath and focused on her face, and she sensed instinctively that it took everything in his power not to continue with what he’d been doing. She felt a tremor in his hands as they cradled her breasts.

“I am many, many things, most of them horrid, but I am not a defiler of innocents.”

No, she wasn’t ready to let this moment go. A joy she’d never known was so close she could taste it. “I don’t feel the least
defiled
.” And because his eyes widened the barest bit and she could see that he was weighing her plea, she added, “As you said, we have very little time. There isn’t a moment to waste.” For some indefinable reason, she needed this. Needed
him
. “Please.”

He stared at her another long moment and then finally stood. Her heart clenched, and began to wither as he moved away from her. Tears stung her eyes—but why? She’d already decided they had no future together, that a marriage with him wouldn’t give her what she wanted. She tried to convince herself that he was doing the right thing, while she was the one behaving scandalously. She would’ve laughed at the paradox if she hadn’t felt so wretched.

The sound of the door closing was heavy in her ears. She sat up to refasten her dress, but his words froze her movements. “What are you doing?”

She blinked up at him and realized he’d only left her to close the door. “Did you change your mind?” Hope blossomed in her breast as the return of desire heated her veins.

“I didn’t change it—I made it up. But maybe I should—”

Grabbing his hand, she pulled him back down to the chaise, reclining back against the velvet. Then she tugged his head down and kissed him. She wouldn’t give him the chance to change his mind, not when she sensed happiness just beyond her grasp.

Copying some of the things he’d done to her, she used her tongue to lick his mouth and her teeth to tug at his lips. She angled her head and slid her tongue deeper into the hot recesses of his mouth. He tasted divine—like her favorite fresh-baked bread, like the warmest summer day, like how she imagined happiness should taste.

His hand slid down her ribcage and cradled her waist, his palm massaging her through the layers of her clothes. She wished they had more time. She’d demand to be naked against him.

Then his hand dipped lower, skimming over her hip and thigh to the hem of her gown where it lay just above her knee. He pushed the fabric up, exposing her bare thigh, and letting it bunch at her waist, while the skirt fell to the side of the chaise.

“Lydia,” he gasped, lifting his head. “There’s not enough time to do what I want. To make this right and good for you.”

“I assure you this is plenty right and outrageously good for me.” She pushed her breasts up against his chest, loving the feel of his strength, even though he was clothed, against her bare flesh.

He smiled down at her, a heart-stoppingly
erotic
—there was that word again—smile that flooded her core with heat and want. His hand came against her most intimate flesh. She flinched, surprised at the contact, but willed herself to relax even as he whispered, “Easy,” against her ear.

His tongue traced the outer edge of her ear while his fingers stroked between her legs. “You’re so soft and hot and wet.” His words enflamed her as powerfully as his touch. “There are so many things I want to do to you—
for
you. But I can’t today. You feel ready. Are you ready, love?”

She nodded, unable to find speech amidst all of the sensations rioting through her. His thumb teased the nub of flesh at the top of her core, swirling over her with expert precision. It was more than she could stand and not nearly enough all at once. Then his finger slid along her folds and pushed inside, giving succor to her need.

“Yes,” he said, his exhalation sending a shiver down her neck. “Open for me.” He withdrew his finger and then pumped it forward again, filling her with white-hot bliss. His thumb worked the nub while his finger moved in and out. “If I had time, I would put my mouth on you down there. I’d lick you here.” He glided his finger over the sensitive flesh. “And suck you here.” His thumb pressed against the nub and her hips bucked as pleasure flooded every part of her.

He pulled and pressed on her flesh, massaging it with frantic, enraptured caresses. The pleasure exploded into something hotter, brighter. It was magnificent. And then his fingers were inside her again, stroking her with a rhythm that sang straight to her soul. She lost control, let her head cascade back, her thighs fall apart, her heart swell.

His hands left her briefly, and she was vaguely aware of him working the buttons of his breeches. Fabric brushed against her thighs and then she felt hot flesh against hers.

His eyes fixed on hers, and she was entranced by how bright they seemed—like the sun shining behind a thin layer of gray clouds. “I will die if you tell me to stop, but I will. I’ll do anything for you.”

Briefly—very, very briefly—she wondered if she
should
stop him, if there was any point in preserving her virtue for a marriage that might never happen. And just as quickly, she rejected the idea. Nothing would ever feel as right and wonderful as this.
Nothing
. “You can’t really expect me to deny you when you say things like that. Jason, whatever you do,
don’t stop
.”

She moved her hand down to her thigh. “Show me what to do.”

He guided her hand between them and closed her fingers around his shaft. He was hot and hard, but his flesh was soft, too. She ran her palm along his length and wrapped her fingers around the head. He groaned. “More time.” The words were a curse and a plea.

“
Another
time,” she said, guiding him instinctively forward.

His hand covered hers as he pushed against her folds. He nudged once, twice, rubbing against her in exquisite torture. “Look at me, Lydia. This will sting, I think.”

Then he plunged into her, swiftly, but with great care. She gasped—yes, it stung—as her flesh stretched around him. She moved her hand to his hip and gripped him tensely, waiting to feel the pleasure he’d given her moments before. That couldn’t be all.

He rested within her a moment, his breathing coming in ragged pants against her ear. Then his thumb was on her again, teasing her, tormenting her, stirring her passion. Moist heat welled in her core and he moved, creating a delicious friction.

His movements were slow at first, but then they picked up momentum. He withdrew further and then surged forward, filling her each time with blinding pleasure. “Wrap your legs around me, love,” he said, his voice low and rough with desire.

She followed his instruction and he sheathed himself even deeper. She groaned low and loud as need built within her again. She wanted him to move. Needed him to move. “Move.”

He rotated his hips against hers, grinding against her, but only barely withdrawing. She craved the friction of his cock sliding in and out of her and tried to pull her hips back, but she was flush against the chaise.

Desperate to reach her climax again, she pushed at his hip, urging him to give her what she wanted. He withdrew sharply, leaving her empty and starved. Then he plowed forward, filling her again until ecstasy threatened. Again, he drew back, and again he filled her. She moved her hand to his backside and guided him as he thrust forward and back.

“Lydia, hold on to me, love, because I have to let go.”

It took her a moment to understand what he meant, but then she knew. He thrust into her with fast and frenzied movements, his breathing frantic as he gave her pleasure upon pleasure. She met every one of his thrusts with one of his own. The hunger inside of her built until he pushed her to the very top of her ascent. Then his mouth covered hers in a blistering kiss, and she toppled from heaven, savoring every blissful moment of her fall.

With a groan that sounded as if it also carried a curse, he left her. Her climax slowly dissipated and when she opened her eyes, he was kneeling beside the chaise, his head bowed.

She reached out and touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

His gaze found hers and he nodded mutely before standing up and going to a small dresser. He turned from her, and from his movements seemed to be tidying himself.

When he came back to her, his breeches were fastened. His eyes were dark and held a tumult of emotion. He didn’t look pleased or satisfied, and Lydia inwardly cringed. She sat up quickly and readjusted her skirts to cover herself.

“It doesn’t usually end so abruptly.” His tone was flat and she couldn’t tell what he might be feeling, though he looked . . . penitent. “I withdrew to prevent a child.”

Oh.
“Very thoughtful of you, thank you.” She wondered if he’d even enjoyed it.

“I don’t mean to be a brute, particularly after sharing such a heavenly occasion,” her heart warmed at his words, “but you really are running out of time.”

She nodded and quickly refastened her dress, then stood. With broad strokes of her palms, she tried to smooth the creases in her skirt. Then she went to a wide mirror positioned on the wall opposite the chaise to tidy her hair. As she tucked a few errant strands back into place, she caught Jason’s reflection near the chaise. She spun about, her eyes wide. “Do people use this to watch too?”

His gaze was dark, wolfish and utterly personified the scoundrel he was supposed to be. She knew in that instant that he’d not only watched their coupling—he’d enjoyed every single moment.

A sharp rap on the door terminated all thought and kindled sharp beads of apprehension. She froze in place, petrified that her ruin was at hand.

Jason went to the door and opened it just a crack. He spoke in low tones and then turned back to Lydia. “It’s time for you to go.”

Relief, though subtle and incomplete, coaxed her into motion. “Just a moment.” She hurried back to the bed and plucked her gloves from the purple coverlet, quickly donning them as she made her way to the door.

He ushered her from the room and as they neared the stairs, she saw his butler descending the last few steps. Presumably he’d been the one at the door.

By the time they reached the foyer, North met them with her bonnet in his hand. His attitude and expression were deferential as he delivered her hat into her care. If he was aware of what had transpired upstairs—and surely he must be—he didn’t show it.

“Thank you.” She set the bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin with quaking fingers.

“You look lovely,” Jason murmured close to her ear.

She nodded imperceptibly and then gave the butler a broad smile. “And thank you also for taking care of the arrangements for the party. I’ll send a list of decorations to procure.”

“Certainly, my lady. I await your direction. You’ll be pleased to hear the positive responses are coming back by the dozens.”

“Of course they are. This is to be the party of the Little Season. No one will want to miss it. In fact, we should make sure people don’t try to sneak in.”

“I think we can be prepared for such an occurrence, my lady.” If his tone was a bit ironic, Lydia didn’t blame him. Of course—they managed people trying to sneak in all the time.

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s maid entered the foyer. North opened the front door, and with a final, uncertain glance at Jason, Lydia left Lockwood House with the maid trailing behind her.

When she and the maid were settled in the coach, Lydia forced herself to draw even breaths to calm the frantic beating of her heart. What had just happened?

She’d behaved like a complete wanton. With Jason Lockwood!

She was beyond ruined, or would be if anyone knew. But no one did. And she had to hope they never would. She glanced at the maid seated across from her. If she was aware that anything untoward had occurred, she didn’t reflect it either. However, as with North, Lydia had to assume the worst.

“How was your tea?” Lydia asked, grateful that she didn’t sound as if she’d just surrendered her virtue to London’s blackest scoundrel. But then, really, what did that sound like?

Heavenly.

That she couldn’t even summon the tiniest twinge of remorse should have been alarming, but it was instead comforting. She couldn’t feel regretful. She
wouldn’t
. Not when a life of uncertainty stretched before her. Not when she could treasure and relive this memory for the rest of her days.