The Love Affair of an English Lord (17 page)

“Good evening, Chloe,” said the deep, familiar voice from the depths of her dressing closet.

She hesitated before closing the door carefully behind her. She had promised herself she would tell him to go to the devil if she saw him again, but at the mere sound of his voice, her composure begin to crumble. All the hours of anxiety, of waiting, of not knowing how he was. And he sounded in perfect health, the beast.

So many conflicting emotions cascaded through her, it was hard to control herself. She wanted to rail at him. Run into his arms. Demand what he thought he was doing in her room again and where he had been while she'd been half out of her mind with worry.

She did none of these. It took enough out of her to manage an answer in a normal manner at all. He was safe. He was here. “How nice of you to call, Lord Stratfield.”

He gave her a slow smile. “How nice of you to allow me.”

“I haven't allowed—” But she had. What was the point in pretending? She'd been dying for word of the devil for days. She kicked off her shoes and pushed them under the bed. Had she remembered to hide her journal? Yes. He knew enough about her as it was. A lady had to keep some secrets to herself. Especially from him.

He opened the closet door, his pose arrogant, intimidating. His gaze traveled slowly over her as if he were studying every detail of her appearance down to the seams of her yellow muslin dinner dress. Did he approve? Apparently, to judge by the gleam in his gunmetal-gray eyes. Heat swirled in her belly. Her breathing quickened.

“What were you doing downstairs for so long?” he demanded softly.

She frowned at him. Trust him to disappear for days while expecting her to sit here moping by the window. “My brother Devon came to say good-bye. Apparently all is forgiven and forgotten, and he has been called back to London. You cannot hold the threat of exposing him over my head.”

He studied her face. There were no more threats of that nature between them, and they both knew it. “Was Edgar there, too?”

She stared back at him, barely paying attention to what he had just asked. He was so devastatingly male, he took all her breath away. She was suddenly afraid of what might happen if she stopped being angry at him, of how easily he could make her forget everything else. “Why would Edgar be there?”

“He left the house earlier in the evening. Alone. I was concerned he may have come to call on you.”

Chloe's heart gave a nervous flutter. Had he been worried? Jealous? He who claimed to have no decent feelings? He was like her brothers who hated to show any weakness. But . . . was it possible that she had become a weakness for him?

“We met him on the road a little while ago. He claimed he was looking for your murderer.”

“Isn't he the essence of chivalry?” Dominic asked darkly. “I don't want the swine anywhere near you or your family.”

“I don't particularly care to be in his presence myself,” Chloe said in a subdued tone. Her anger was draining away. She could feel herself drawn by dangerous degrees to Dominic. She wanted to touch him, to lay her head on his chest and breathe his scent, to make him stay.

A plaintive voice floating up to the window from outside saved her from making a rash move. Chloe's mouth opened in shock. “Heavens, that sounds like Justin.”

Dominic sighed in irritation. “It is Justin.”

She swept around him into the dressing closet. “What does he think he's doing?”

Dominic pivoted slowly, an evil grin on his face. “The twit wanted to see me in a nightrail.”

“What?” It took several seconds to put two and two together. “You
are
trouble, Dominic Breckland, trouble from beginning to end. I cannot believe you would do such a thing. What a blackguard you are. I mean it.”

His devilish chuckle burned her ears as she hurried to the window and crossly pulled open the curtains. “Be quiet down there,” she whispered, peering through the branches.

Justin gazed up at her in unconcealed disappointment. “I thought you'd changed into your nightrail, Chloe. That looks like the dress you were wearing at supper. Were you only teasing me all this time?”

“Teasing you?” Chloe turned her head to glare at Dominic across the closet. He pantomimed a puzzled shrug. “Apparently I was, Justin. Everyone in London knows what a wicked tease I am.”

Justin threw up his hands in surrender. “You can tease me all you like, Chloe. I'm a good sport about that sort of thing.”

She shook her head. What was she supposed to do with two unruly men? “Not at this time of night, Justin,” she said firmly. “I'm closing the window now. Go home, please.”

“Good for you,” Dominic said behind her, pretending to applaud. “That's the spirit. Put him in his place.”

“It's you I'm putting in your place,” she retorted, turning to confront him.

“Dear me,” he said with a mocking grin before he pulled her into his arms. “But I do believe it's going to be the other way around.”

Her startled gaze lifted to his. He was holding her so tightly she could not lift her arms, and she didn't really try. “What do you mean?”

“Let's go back into the bedroom, Chloe. I'll show you what I mean.”

 

He carried her to the bed and, between long, hungry kisses, removed every article of her clothing. Her yellow gown, her petticoats, her garters, her lace-trimmed chemise.

When he had rolled off her last stocking, he caressed and studied her nude body as if she were a work of art to admire.

Chloe smoldered under his dark scrutiny. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen, the tips aching for his touch. He'd never looked more intense, more dangerous, not even on the night she had found him in this room.

“I should leave,” he said quietly as he ran one hand up her thigh to the soft curve of her hip.

“No, Dominic.”

His eyes searched her face. The tension deep within her mounted. She bit the inside of her lip. His hot gaze traveled over her body again. How exposed she felt, how vulnerable. Yet deep inside her she found her very helplessness exciting.

“If I stay,” he said, “we both know what will happen. You will never belong to anyone but me until the day I die.”

“Take me,” she whispered.

He leaned over her and claimed her mouth in a kiss that sealed the pact she had made. It was a kiss of possession, deep and intoxicating. The wicked pleasure of it left her without a single defense.

She could not think. He dominated her mind, her senses anyway. The taut-muscled strength of his body. His virile magnetism. In the deepest part of her, she already belonged to him, ached to be his lover.

She sat up slowly to kiss him back, whispering against his bruising mouth, “Touch me all over. Take me now. I need you as badly as you need me.”

“Do you?” His voice was rough, but his hands felt gentle as he held her face. “Do you need me, Chloe?”

He drew her into his lap so that she straddled him like a wanton. “You know I do,” she whispered, her breasts crushed to his chest.

He shifted position, lifting her with his powerful thighs. He wrapped one arm around her waist to anchor her. She might have fallen back onto the bed otherwise. His free hand caressed the curve of her backbone, the globes of her bottom. She arched her neck and shivered in unbearable anticipation.

Ever so subtly he moved his hand across the sensuous angle of her hips, to the sleek front of her thigh. She tensed, throbbing deep inside. She was embarrassed he would discover how damp she was in the aching hollow of her womanhood.

When his fingers found her, it was as if a flame caressed her. Her flesh burned; she melted into him. In that moment he could have done anything to her he desired.

He was aroused. She could feel his thick member as he repositioned his thighs to open her wider. He groaned into her hair, stroking the damp curls above her cleft, slipping his fingers slowly inside her.

“Sweet Chloe,” he whispered. “You are so soft in there. Put your hands on my shoulders.”

She obeyed and felt his iron-corded muscles tighten under her fingers. The pleasure of his probing touch took her breath away. She sank into his caress, boneless, silently pleading for more. Yes, more. She wanted to follow this. Completion.

“Is this what you need?” he asked softly, lust glittering in the smoky depths of his eyes as he lowered his head.

More than anything, yes, she needed him. There was a rightness to their mating. An inevitability that she had felt from the start. He would possess her. And then she would possess him.

“Are you going to undress?” she whispered.

He smiled and brought his mouth to her breast. “In a moment. I'm a little preoccupied right now.”

He drew her nipple between his teeth, and she gasped as sweet pleasure seared her. Her head fell back as he began to suck her breast into his hot, wet mouth. Within moments she sagged against the support of his arm. The suction of his lips tied her nerves into straining knots. It was too much. Not enough.

“Chloe.”

She stared up into his dark, hungry face. “Don't you dare leave me like this, Dominic,” she whispered in a husky voice.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't.”

He leaned back and pulled his white linen shirt over his muscular shoulders, then unbuttoned his snug black pantaloons. As he bent to remove his black leather boots, she studied his shadowed form in wonder.

It was the first time she had seen him completely naked. His body was even more breathtaking than she'd imagined—lean, sculptured sinew and graceful bone. She remembered the chiseled musculature of his chest and shoulders from the night she'd found him, the athletic strength. The healing scar did not disfigure him as much as it marked him a survivor.

He glanced around, his eyes narrowing. She did not avert her gaze, but looked her fill, showing him her desire, her approval. Hard angles and firm muscles defined his lower torso and legs. She worked to control the rhythm of her breathing. It was all she could manage not to moan in pleasure as he moved toward her.

She reached out to him. She needed to feel him again. He caught her fingers as she touched the hard plane of his abdomen. She could tell that he was struggling with himself. That he desired her and did not wish to do the wrong thing.

She leaned back against the pillows, disentangling her fingers from his, her body arranged in a pose of age-old feminine invitation.

“Dominic,” she said in a whisper, “this is what I want.”

 

He could not satisfy his senses fast enough with the offering before him. The sound of her beguiling voice. The velvet softness of her skin. The secret hollows of her body. He wanted to experience it all at once, to submerge himself in pure Chloe and yet to take her slowly, savoring every moment they had together.

There was not enough time to sate his craving for her. There would never be enough time.

He knew they dared not disturb the sleeping household. Their sense of caution seemed only to enhance the sexual mood, to heighten the sharp pleasure of every touch. She was a woman worth whatever risk he must take to have her. Strong, beautiful, and caring.

He stretched out alongside her on the bed. The anticipation in her lovely blue eyes intensified his desire for her.

“You drive me mad, Chloe,” he said with a rueful shake of his head.

Her smile tantalized him. “You were mad when I met you.”

He gathered her soft, warm body in his arms. “Well, I'm a raving lunatic now.”

She caressed the powerful line of his shoulder with her fingertips. “What does that make me?”

He forced her back down onto the pillows. “Mine.” She was liquid fire beneath his hard, aroused body. Soft and fierce. He wanted to explore, to exploit her sexual weaknesses to bring her pleasures she had never known.

“I cannot take another moment of this,” she murmured. “You're a cruel man, Dominic.”

He blew the lightest breath across her taut belly. He meant to show her just how cruel and kind a lover he could be. Of course it was a game that could all too easily backfire. “Be patient,” he whispered against her soft flesh, when he wasn't sure that he could hold out much longer himself. His sex strained against the inside of her sleek thigh, heavy and engorged with blood.

Loving Chloe reminded him just how desperately human he really was. His desire for her brought out not so much his strengths as his vulnerabilities. How could he explain, without sounding like an utter fool, that being with her gave him the courage to return to his dark prison? Without his fantasies of her to fill in his bleakest hours, he would lose his mind. Could she possibly understand that she alone had proven the antidote for the hatred and despair that threatened to destroy him?

He was ravenous for her.

She had the body of a siren, plush pink-tipped breasts and rounded hips that invited thoughts of sex. The fragrance of her inflamed his senses. Soap, fresh air, and musky sweet arousal. He wanted to bury his face between her thighs and breathe her perfume into his lungs.

“Dominic?” she whispered, her sexy blue eyes mirroring his hunger and confusion.

He stared at her. She was so ready, so lush for the taking. He wanted to make love to her with a desire that made his body burn like a torch, but he hated the thought of not being able to stay with her afterward, of being denied the privilege of holding her through the night. He wanted all of her. He wanted an intimacy that went beyond a sexual act.

“Why do you look at me like that, Dominic?” she asked in an undertone.

He drew a breath, parting the soaked curls between her thighs with his thumb. She went perfectly still as he pressed up against the tender bud of her sex. She was already sensitive to his touch. Pleased at her response, he slipped his fingers into the swollen folds of her labia. Her eyes drifted shut in drugged enjoyment.

He bent his head to kiss her, tasted the pleased gasp she gave as his fingers quickened their movements. She was the sweetest thing he had ever touched. Tight. Creamy wet. He shuddered at the thought of being gloved inside her tight woman's body, of sinking into her heated depths. By the time he brought her to a climax, he was so desperate for relief that he was practically rubbing himself against the bed. She was made for passion.