Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (4 page)

She
smiled back, but she was pale, there was something strained in the curve of her
mouth.

How
intimidating this ceremony must be for her. He had not given that enough
thought. But of course he had noticed Jon practically glowering at her and
meeting the slightly sinister and always enigmatic Baron Drake for the first
time must be disconcerting.

Adrian
turned his attention to the minister. “Let us begin.”

****

Miranda
sat at her dressing table, naked but for an emerald green silk wrapper. Adrian
had untied the belt and it gaped open exposing her belly and legs. His large,
warm hand splayed over her breast.

She
couldn’t stop staring at the ring on her left hand. A heavy gold band upon
which a ruby had been mounted.

The
precious stone seemed huge, glittering with depth and fire. The finest, most
expensive kind.

Adrian
had assured her that he had not spent all his money on it. It was a family
heirloom. Wearing such a relic made her feel as though she were the most scheming
impostor.

“Lady
Danvers,” he said, his voice rich with passion, adoration and a touch of
wonderment.

Certainly
she
felt wonderment.

She was
a countess.

A
countess.

She had
not previously realized her desire to achieve marriage to a nobleman.

She had
kept such a foolish aspiration buried deep inside. Hidden even from herself.

But the
sense of relief, joy, accomplishment and
—
yes,
admit it
—
triumph that sang in her blood
would not allow her to deny it any longer.

The
self-knowledge rested on her uneasily.

All this
time, she’d had no right to chastise him for desiring to possess her beauty.
She had been driven by desires no less base than his.

Dear
God, the sense of utter security of her new title was heady.

“I gave
you my name, my title, and made you my wife to protect you.” He whispered the
words against her neck.

With
those words, she melted inside.

Yes, she
was a countess. Adrian’s countess.

He’d
done that to protect her against Winterton. And she loved him all the more
dearly for that. For the sacrifice. She turned to him and put her hand to his
cheek. His skin was smooth and the scent of his shaving soap, smelling of green
woods and delicious masculinity intoxicated her.

“I like
being a countess,” she dared to admit.

“Good.”
His tone was so resolute that she laughed softly, a little surprised.

He gave
her breast a squeeze. “It is good that you like being a countess because you
are most definitely my countess now.”

He bent
towards her breasts, his eyes glittering with lust.

“Maybe I
like the idea of being called Lady Danvers too much.”

He
lifted his head and stared at her quizzically.

She
chewed her lip.

“Second
thoughts now? Already, my love?”

“Not
second thoughts, not exactly.”

“What
then?”

“Disquiet.”

His hold
on her breast slackened a bit. “At me?”

“No,
myself. I feel a sense of… I don’t quite know how to put it.” She drew her
brows together. “Triumph.” She sucked in her breath at her confession. “Oh
dear, what a horrid thing to feel. What an even more horrid thing to admit.”

He
stroked her breast, sending darts of pure pleasurable anticipation through her.
“No, my love, it is exactly what I should expect a woman in your position to
feel. It is human.” He paused, still cupping her. “Shall I bring Winterton
here? Or better yet to my seat, my estate and you can flaunt your title in his
face and he can do nothing to retaliate for I will be there?”

Tears
pricked the corners of her eyes and she swallowed hard against the sudden lump
in her throat. “All these years…”

“What?”
he asked, his voice full of tenderness.

“So
alone. Always alone.” She had trouble speaking in whole sentences, so great was
the sudden welling of emotion. “Mama was there.”

“But she
was not there for you.”

“No, she
wasn’t.” Miranda swallowed harder. “Cassandra wanted… wanted… she demanded a
high price to be there, for me. Almost too high a price for my sanity.” Her
voice broke and she continued hoarsely. “I was so very alone.”

She
couldn’t keep the stridency out of the last word; it carried all the pain she’d
kept pent up too long.

“You will
never be alone again, Miranda,” he said, with equal stridency.

He had
changed her life. Forever.

He moved
and put his sensual, warm mouth to hers.

She
accepted his kiss and opened to him, putting all her gratefulness, all her love
into her response. She put her hand to his chest and met the texture of his
wool coat then slid over the satin of his waistcoat and felt the low buzz of
frustration within herself that he was wearing too much.

He took
the edges of her wrapper and pushed them down her shoulders so that now she was
sitting on the silken garment, no longer wearing it. He cupped both her
breasts, gently, but she sensed the tension of his holding back. For several
moments, he caressed them, drew circles over her nipples with the pads of his
thumbs.

Desire
built within her. Desire she knew she’d never be able to feel for anyone but
him.

He bent
again and put his lips near her ear. “I married you to protect you, to give you
the shelter of my title,” he repeated himself. “But more than that, Miranda, I
married you to possess you.” His hot breath blew over her neck. “You’re mine.”
He nipped her earlobe, a sudden sharp pain that sent shivers of both heat and
cold through her. “Mine,” he said, more harshly as he placed his palm flat to
her belly.

Wild
surges excitement shot through her, centering deep in her pelvis, growing
stronger as he slid his hand lower. She wriggled with the energy pulsing
through her and wetness flowed between her legs.

He
reached her mons, his fingers straying between her lips, touching her wet,
tingling flesh. “This pretty little cunny is mine.” He put his lips to her
breast, his warm breath teasing her erect nipple. “Mine forever.”

“Yes,
yes,” she said, writhing in her seat and spreading her legs to give his
questing fingers better access.

He
traced his tongue over her straining nipple. Waves of delight raced down deep,
deep, deep into her stomach. He teased her nub with his fingers, teased her
until wave after wave of pulsing, pleasurable anticipation made her shiver and
shudder, teased her until her need became like pain and she grew wetter than
ever.

She
clutched his head, tugging on his hair. “Adrian, please, please, take me—” She
sucked in her breath as he entered her with two fingers. She moaned at the
sense of being filled. “Take me to the bed.”

He
groaned, the sound seeming to vibrate into her bones. He withdrew his fingers
and raised his head. Passion dazed eyes met her own then he lifted her from the
chair, stopping to yank the sleeves of the wrapper the remainder of the way down
her arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her upon the velvet bedspread. The
silken nap felt wonderful against her naked, stimulated body and she writhed
both in need and the pleasure of feeling the decadent sensation beneath her.

He knelt
by the bed, and grasped her thighs, pulling her body until her buttocks rested
on the very edge of the mattress. He pulled her legs even further apart then he
spread her intimate lips wide open to his hungry gaze. He brushed his index
finger over her erect, straining nub.

A jolt
of fire flashed through her. She cried out and lifted her hips.

“This
shall be the first time I have tasted my own countess.” He bent his head close,
so close that his hot breath teased her. “Lady Danvers,” he said, turning the
title into a breathy, sensual torture of heated air, brushing her, caressing
her.

Wild
shivers of anticipation made her writhe like a mad woman.

Or was
that a woman
driven
mad by desire?

He
touched the tip of his tongue to her nub.

One
soft, slow lick. The feather-soft stroke sent another series of wild shudders
through her.

Then he
gave her a whole series of those soft, slow licks.

“Adrian!
Adrian!” She gasped, closing her legs, hugging his shoulders with her legs. His
wool coat felt harsh against the insides of her thighs, scrapping her,
heightening all her sensations.

He
continued to give her those leisurely licks. “You are so wet, so deliciously
sweet, I could taste you like this all night.”

Need
shot through her belly, a deep knife like sensation of pained lust. She
whimpered.

He
continued to torment her.

“Adrian,
please…” She arched herself into those sensual, velvety warm lips and clutched
his hair in her hands, trying to press his face closer.

He
resisted and lifted his head. “Now my love, there will be none of that.” He
traced his fingertip lightly over her nub. “You know that naughty girls have to
wait longer.”

She
moaned, a sound of aching frustration, holding back on the urge to grip his
shoulders more tightly with her legs. If she tried to press him too much, when
he was in a teasing mood like this, he did indeed make her wait. And wait.

All the
while he gave her exquisite sensual torture.

“Are you
going to be a good girl for me?” he asked, softly, letting his breath blow over
her heated, throbbing flesh.

“Yes,
yes, yes,” she said, closing her eyes and trying not to writhe. Trying to
please his vanity enough that he would please
her
.

He rose
and kissed her belly.

She
moaned, a soft sound of defeat. “Adrian…”

“Hush,”
he said, tersely, pressing a line of kisses to her taut flesh. “I can be your
lover or your tormentor. I shall be husband and protector and all things to
you.”

“You
are…” She took a panting breath. “You are.”

“I think
you need a further demonstration.” He had kissed his way up her stomach and was
now kissing the underside of her breast. He shifted and the heat of his
erection burned her through his clothing, his wool trousers just as maddeningly
scratchy as his coat. He shifted again and she sensed him unbuttoning his fall.
“You say you like the idea of being Lady Danvers?”

“Yes,”
she admitted in a sigh.

“And you
like being a countess?” She heard the slight rasp in his voice and knew that he
had freed himself. That he was stroking himself.

Her
empty, aching flesh clenched. And clenched.

God.

It drove
her insane when he did that. When he made her wait while he did that.

“I
do
like being a countess,” she managed to say, albeit breathlessly.

“Some
ladies think the title of countess bestows some special license upon them. A
license to betray their wedding vows.”

The edge
in his voice made her catch her breath. The late Jane Sutherland, his first
countess had lain with other gentlemen. Had done so with his grudging approval
for she had made it clear she would do so with or without his consent. His
marriage to Jane had been one of convenience. What gentleman could possibly
have the poor taste to deny his late wife’s request?

But he
had still been hurt by Jane’s turning him out of their marriage bed. This much
Miranda knew without Adrian having to tell her in explicit terms.

And if
she hadn’t guessed as much before, she certainly knew it now.

“No
other man can give what I will give you,” he said as he rubbed the head of his
cock against her stomach.

Warm,
wet, silken flesh sliding against her.

Teasing
her mercilessly.

Rendering
her breathless, speechless with desire.

“I give
you my title, my body, my cock.” He rubbed himself in circles against her.

Her
intimate flesh clenched in hunger. She moaned his name and arched her hips.

“I give
you my heart, my very soul.”

“Oh my
love,” she said, in a hoarse tone, unable to form words to say more.

“I
expect your full fidelity in return.”

“Yes…
yes.” She panted as she watched him move back down her body and take her by the
legs.

“I would
challenge any man who dared touch you.”

She went
rag doll limp and allowed him to push her body, to center her on the bed. He
knelt between her widely spread legs, poised to enter her. “I would face him
and kill him. Know that, Miranda. You have obsessed me for far too long. I
ached for you for what seemed an eternity. Now that you are mine, I will never
let you go. Never.”