Seducing the Beast (13 page)

Now it made perfect sense and, of course, if she knew who he was, it completely excused his own behavior. His conscience was assuaged. The woman was incapable of fidelity and it was his brotherly duty to save poor Gabriel from her immoral clutches. Griff thought only briefly of his own morals, but decided they were not his first concern today.

* * * *

His scent was all-consuming, villainously distracting. Her hands, pressed to his leather jerkin, were insignificant before his broad shoulders and the hard planes of his chest.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not for rabbit pie,”

“Then for what?”

“For you.” Little gold flecks pulsed amid the lush brown of his covetous, mutable gaze. His eyes were always more expressive than his tongue, she realized, liquid anticipation rippling through her. He bent his head another inch, his lips brushing the tip of her nose. She felt how hard he breathed, like a man running uphill in a hurry. “I have a curious appetite, Lady Shelton, and only you can satisfy it. I must know what makes an otherwise sane man like Gabriel lose his head.”

“He has not lost his head, only his heart.”

“The power you hold, madam, is not over a man’s heart.” His mouth found her top lip and waited, poised above her trembling breath. It was unbearable. Oh, she wanted that kiss. If he denied her, she would simply melt away in a vast puddle on the stone floor of that little cottage. It already felt as if her skin beaded and dripped like wax down a lit candle. She was itching intolerably inside that corset.

Attempting patience, she failed. Her impertinent mouth lifted to his, not because she allowed it, but because having tasted him before, it no longer cared a pip for Maddie Carver’s dignity.

“Do you forget Gabriel already?” he murmured, his lips caressing hers with each word, each tersely granted breath.

“Yes,” she sighed, helpless.

“Then this is far enough, proof enough of your inconstancy.”

“No!” She reached up around his neck, clinging to him. “Kiss me.”

He closed his eyes briefly, cursing.

Imperious, bold and fiery passionate, she commanded him again. At last he relented. His mouth covered her impatient lips, making short work of his previous reluctance. It was a spark in a tinder box. Nothing would halt the blaze now. They were lost.

He lifted her and she clung to him, locked her fingers at the nape of his neck and returned his kiss with a frenzied, greedy desire for more. But as his mouth left a damp trail down her neck, his hands shifting her more securely against the door, she whimpered, “There’s a matter you should know.”

He grunted. “Talk later. Been too long for me. By Christ!” His arm cradled her weight in precarious balance against the door and she marveled at his strength, letting her hands stray across his tensing shoulders. His eyes were shut, his brow damp, one hand reaching between them.

Suddenly, she felt him. Every inch. Dear God! She was shocked speechless.

Here? Like this? She didn’t know it was possible.

Groaning, he lifted her higher against the door, her skirts rapidly bunched aside. She was beyond speech, he was beyond listening. Calling her a wicked temptress, he wanted her to look at what she did to him with her witchcraft, urging her admiration of his rampant shaft, dark and erect in juxtaposition to her pale thighs.

“I should disappoint you now,” he whispered, “and leave you wanting this.”

The shocking sight of his manhood combined with the warm, damp caress of his words, threatening to leave her unsatisfied, turned her into a woman without shame.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she cried.

She felt laughter shuddering through him as she wound her legs around his waist, tangled her fingers in his hair and peppered his face with pleading kisses.

She’d been told before she was a persuasive wench, although not quite so convincingly as when he cast his doubts aside, hitched her up onto his rock hard erection and entered her at last, like a battering ram, thrusting her back against the door.

Once, when she was young, Maddie was almost killed by lightning.Caught in a storm that came out of nowhere, she had foolishly sought shelter under a tree and her body had hummed for three days after.

Madolyn Carver relived the thrilling, terrifying moment again on that day, in his arms, the arms of a man she barely knew.

There was a moment of pain, sharp and sudden. Her eyes flew open to find him staring at her, confused. Afraid he might withdraw, she buried her face in his neck, hiding her blushes. She could not feel his breath now and thought he must be holding it. He was inside her, filling her sheath, stretching it slowly, igniting her passion, inch by inch. His muscles were tense, damp with sweat. He groaned, a helpless curse or else a plea for mercy.

Holding her to his body, her legs wrapped around him, he carried her swiftly to the table and with one arm, swept it clean. There, he laid her down, his eyes fierce, lit with primordial fire. She made no protest at the roughness of the table or the ruthless treatment of Eustacia’s gown; instead she whispered his name as if she’d waited all her life to say it. As he leaned over her, his thrusts increasing rapidly, each one deeper than the one before, she thought of a stallion covering a mare. She slid her legs up his back, desperate and wanton, her hands under his leather jerkin, spread over the taut muscle of his chest and when her exploring fingers touched his hard nipples, he expelled a low, shuddering breath. His pace slowed. Eyes closed, he leaned back, making each stroke of withdrawal so long and teasing she thought he deliberately tormented her. Yet in equal measure came the blissful, forward-thrusting parry she felt along her entire spine. She could almost taste him in the back of her throat. Sliding his hands under her hips, he arched over her again, his loose leather jerkin catching on the beading of Eustacia’s bodice, and then he went rigid. It lasted a breath, perhaps two, before he took the last distance at a hard gallop, hot and slick, and she wound her thighs around his back, riding him home.

By the last groaning thrust she was no longer whispering his name, and the birds down in the bay, pecking in the sands, must surely have taken flight at the sound of their joined cries.

* * * *

He swore. Again. Shoulders trembling, he redressed himself with his back to her and strode out, slamming the door in his wake. She couldn’t think why he was in such a dudgeon, especially since she was the one with blood on her skirt. But infuriated to this intense degree, he took himself out of her reach.

At least now she wouldn’t die a maid. She knew nothing about the man, yet perhaps that was for the best. This was lust, nothing more. A simple need, blissfully unfettered by rules and foolish emotions. Men did this sort of thing all the time; only women made silken bows around it, causing themselves undue pain and torment. So she would be like a man. She was quite convinced her heart needn’t be involved. In any case, she thought with a sigh, look what love had done for Grace.

She returned to her chair and the dull book. While it was a relief to sit, for her legs were weak, her mind was too scattered to read, so eventually she set the book aside again. She tried to amuse herself, exploring the pantry and the long shelves of preserves, vinegars, wines, smoked meats and pickles. Cheering herself up to a false sort of giddiness, she pretended they were an old married couple. He worked in the field and would come home to her fine repast. She lit candles as the sun set, and only then did she think to check outside in the yard.

The door was locked. Now she was truly a captive.

She’d given herself to a complete stranger. He might commit some violence against her and no one even knew she was there. She’d let lust and passion run away with her and now she was at his mercy.

Alone at the table, she watched the candles burn down, her belly rumbling in hunger, yet she was too wretched to eat. Finally, she heard hooves. Hands clenched in her lap, she waited. Footsteps. He was unlocking the door. Ha! Now he came back. She would not speak a word. No, indeed. Let him be the first.

The door opened. She leapt to her feet. “Where have you been?”

Closing the door slowly behind him, he looked at the table.

“Supper’s ready,” she added, faltering. “Your favorite.”

He looked rather pale, standing there, scratching his head.

“Rabbit pie--the one the steward’s wife brought,” she reminded him. He walked to the table and she followed, hands clenched so tightly they were numb.

“So.” He paused, took a knife from the table and raised it. “Would you mind telling me now who the hell you are?”

“I think I might know a maid when I encounter one,” he said dryly, “not that it happens oft.” He cut into the rabbit pie and passed a slice onto her plate as if they discussed the weather, or the state of this year’s harvest, or the fate of a lame horse. She stared at him, confused, whereupon he set down his knife, the blade rattling against his platter. “I know now
what
you are,” he clarified, “but I know not
who
you are.”

“I don’t care to tell,” she said hotly. Under no circumstances must her family learn the details of this little adventure and when she met the earl--if she ever did--he couldn’t know anything about her.

“What you
care
to do no longer matters.” Cutting another slice of pie, he shook his head and marveled, “I’ve never known a maid so ready and willing to abandon herself. What did they pay you?”

“What did who pay me?”

He regarded her sternly. “I won’t be made a fool.” He stabbed the pie with his knife. “Aren’t you hungry? Sally’s cooking is excellent.” So expertly and speedily he hid his anger, as if he’d suddenly become another man. She looked at his long, sun-bronzed fingers. Wielding that knife they oozed menace, reminding her again of the danger she courted in the company of this stranger.

“Where did you go for so long?” she asked, angry with herself for sounding childish.

“For a long ride to clear my head and try to make sense of this. Of you.”

She sank in her chair, feeling naive and stupid. The masquerade tossed aside, her chance of meeting the earl now was slim to say the least. He might have listened to Lady Shelton, who had a bargaining chip. He would never listen to plain Maddie Carver, who had nothing to give now. Disgusted with herself, she could hardly raise enthusiasm for rabbit pie.

Now he lectured her. “You’re an astonishingly foolish and reckless woman. Whoever you are.”

“I suppose you’ll tell the wretched, stinking earl now.”

Reaching quickly for his ale, he drank it in one gulp, watching her with wary eyes, as if she might suddenly lunge at him and bite. His fingers drummed against the empty tankard. “Give me a reason not to tell.”

“When he finds out, you’ll be in trouble too.”

“I think I already am.”

“He’ll have you whipped for taking the wrong woman. He may dismiss you from his service.” Resting her hand on his arm, she added anxiously, “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

He looked down at her fingers. “Why would you care what happens to me?”

“You’re ten times the man he is, for sure. He’s not fit to lick your boots, I daresay.”

“Would you tell him that to his face?”

“Certainly. I’m not afraid of that pompous, arrogant fool.”

Apparently in danger of choking again on the pie, he wiped his mouth with one hand. “I doubt he would take kindly to being called such by a scrap of a maid.”

“A scrap indeed!” she exclaimed. “And no more a maid, thanks to you.”

He looked up sharply. “How old are you? The truth now.” She felt his arm tense under her fingers. “I must know.”

“One and twenty.”

Groaning, he threw his weight back into the hapless chair.

“A great deal old enough to know my own mind!” She leapt up and began to pace. “I suppose you’ll accuse me of deliberately deceiving you. Always the fault is laid at my door, when things go wrong.”

“I suspect it often
is
your fault.” But his frown relented. “Sit down and eat, woman, or I might feel inclined to beat the truth out of you, especially in my current mood.”

Incapable of doing either thing he asked, she resumed a restless circuit, chewing her fingernails. When he held out his empty tankard, she exclaimed curtly he could pour his own ale. She had too much else to consider and no time now to wait on him hand and foot. He slammed his tankard down, pushed back his chair and came to stand in her way, halting her progress. She thought he would slap her; instead he picked her up, swung her legs over his arm, and carried her back to the chair, where he sat her like an errant child, tucking her in and returning to his own seat.

“I still don’t know what to call you, so unless you prefer me to whistle when I require your presence, I suggest you tell me your name.”

“Indeed you may whistle,” she replied. “Whether or not I come to it is another matter.”

He opened his mouth, but shut it again quickly, once more holding in his anger. With a long sigh he took possession of the entire remaining rabbit pie and calmly devoured it.

* * * *

Moving his chair over to the fire, he sprawled in the comforting glow, stretching out his legs, patting his stomach. He was pleasantly replete, satisfied in more ways than one that night. “Let’s discuss the matter of you and I then.”

“What matter?”

Raising his arms over his head, he expelled a great contented sigh. “What happened today, between us, and what ought to be done about it.” He let his eyelids drift to half-mast, but still watched her intently. Couldn’t afford to take his eyes off her too long, there was no predicting what she might do next.

“No one will find out, rest assured. It can be forgotten.”

That’s what she thought. He was not in the habit of ruining maidens. “Something troubles me. I think it might be…surely not...could it be, after so long, my conscience?”

“For sure your
conscience
will recover.”

She was a disheveled creature now, her scarf abandoned, hair tumbling loose and wild in a thick black mane. When he looked at her, his chest tightened as it did when he spied a particularly fine creature at auction. Just as his eager stud horses flared their nostrils and grew restless when they sensed a new filly nearby, tonight he felt a keening, rampant desire obscuring any other thought. She fascinated him like no other woman ever did and he lost control with her in a way that almost frightened him.