The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (12 page)

He fought to hold onto his temper. “I never said you were no good. I said you were no good
for Wick.
He needs a wife who can manage him.”

“For the last dashed time, Wick is my
friend
. Get it through your thick skull: I have no designs on your brother whatsoever. In fact, I don’t want to get married
at all
.”

“That’s inconvenient, isn’t it,” he said acidly, “since I’m offering for you.”

A heartbeat passed.

She glared at him. “That is not amusing, Carlisle.”

“I don’t think so either. Unfortunately, it must be done, given what happened between us in the Priest Hole.” He managed to adopt a pragmatic tone, despite the fact that his heart was beating like a fist against his ribs. “I am not in the habit of seducing innocents, Miss Kent, and my honor demands that I answer for my mistake.”

“Your…
mistake
?”

Her incredulity made his neck heat, yet he blundered on. “Obviously, I wasn’t in my right mind. If I had been, I wouldn’t have gone near you. You’re obviously not the type of female who would suit a man of my temperament.”

“
I
don’t suit
you
?”

“Well, yes,” he said impatiently. “It’s obvious that we are opposites in nature. As you yourself have said, I respect tradition. I envision a calm, orderly sort of life, one centered on my duty to my title and estate. Ideally, my wife would share my goals and views on marriage.” Finally, he was on stable ground; he could talk for days about duty. “She would understand the importance of abiding by rules of convention and propriety. She would not be prone to flights of fancy or the silliness which plagues most of your sex. Rather, she would strive to live up to the honor which I would bestow upon her.”

“What lottery did she enter to be so lucky?”

Ignoring the interjection, he said, “You, on the other hand, are a modern female, which means… well, I don’t know what it means exactly, other than you’re prone to scrapes, flirtations, and generally wreaking havoc wherever you go. In sum, you are nothing like the sort of wife I had imagined for myself. Nevertheless,” he said, holding up a hand when she made to speak, “I am willing to overlook those differences between us because of the weakness of a moment. It happened, there’s no going back, and thus, I must do the honorable thing. So will you?”

She was staring at him. “Will I… what?”

“Marry me,” he said.

~~~

Violet was not a girl prone to romantic delusions. Growing up, she hadn’t been one to dream of a knight in shining armor sweeping her off her feet because she’d wanted to be the one
riding
the steed—and not side saddle either. Knights, to her mind, received the better end of the bargain: they got to ride off on exciting quests while their poor wives were left to slave away in some drafty old castle.

So, no, she wasn’t a particularly sentimental girl. But that didn’t mean she expected her first and only marriage proposal to be slung at her like mud. Anger blasted through her.

“I’d sooner… eat a horse than marry you!” Her voice shook. “And I
adore
horses.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing Carlisle’s expression harden. “So your answer is no.”

“You have a screw loose if you think I’d say yes to such a proposal!”

Emotion smoldered in his eyes; it was quickly banked. “Then my duty is done.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the
last man on earth
.”

“Spare me the clichés,” he clipped out. “Your answer has been duly noted, and, I might add, with no little relief.”

Relief?
Her fury found fresh legs. “Your relief could not be possibly greater than mine. As wrong as I may be for you, you are
infinitely
more wrong for me. You’re nothing like the sort of man
I
would wish to marry.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your behavior in the Priest Hole would suggest otherwise.”

Heat scalded her cheeks. “It was dark. A moment of weakness.”

“Admit it, you little baggage. You wanted me,” he gritted out.

She refused to give him the satisfaction. “You could have been
any
man.”

A dark flame leapt in his eyes as he leaned over her. “So you would have allowed any man’s tongue between your lips? Any man’s hand down your bodice? You’d ride any man’s thigh and pant in his ear?”

“You… you’re no gentleman.” Not the strongest riposte, but it was difficult to think when she could scarcely breathe. His nearness made her feel lightheaded. More than a little crazed. Clinging to her last vestiges of rationality, she shot back, “Only a troglodyte would say such things.”

“Troglodyte? Impressive word.” His eyes glinted like raw ore. “But can you spell it?”

That does it.

Black lines exploded across her vision. Her hand raised to slap him.

He caught her wrist. Her other hand automatically came up, but he caught that one too. Before she knew what was happening, he’d driven her backward, her spine pressing up against the end of a bookshelf. He caged her, pinning her hands above her head with one big hand. Bosom heaving, staring into his dark impassioned eyes, she felt…
anticipation
.

“By Jove, you drive me mad, woman,” he growled.

Her heart hammered in her ears. “Not as mad as you drive me.”

Pure masculine triumph flashed in his eyes.

“Then let’s go to Bedlam together,” he rasped.

His mouth slammed onto hers.

~~~

All thoughts of honor and duty were washed away by a flood of red—anger and desire so intertwined that there was no hope of separating them. Together, they lashed at him, whipping him into an animal frenzy. Control slipped from his grip, replaced by the burning, driving need to tame and claim the recalcitrant goddess in his arms.

He ravaged her soft lips, shuddering when they parted on a breathy moan. When she licked his invading tongue, he felt that lush swipe all the way down in his groin. His balls swelled, his engorged cockhead butting against his trousers.

Her sweet, hot flavor wiped reason from his brain. He was driven by one imperative.

Make her mine.

He released her wrists, growling with satisfaction when her fingers speared his hair, pulled him closer. He loosened the tie of her wrapper, his palms roaming over her night rail. Cupping one sweetly rounded breast, he found the stiff peak, working it between finger and thumb, swallowing her sensual little gasp. He dragged up the voluminous fabric of her shift, bunching it between them.

His hand closed around one sleek, soft thigh and moved upward.
Goddamn—yes.
She was drenched for him, her plump petals soaked with dew.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She looked dazed. “You can’t, shouldn’t…
ohh, by Golly…
”

He stroked her leisurely. “Shouldn’t what? Touch your pearl? Tickle it like this—or like this?”

She whimpered; her thighs clamped with erotic insistence around his hand.

“Work yourself against me,” he said thickly. “There you go, lass. Exactly so.”

Eyes glazed, she wriggled against his hand, her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. Her wanton innocence undid him: no woman had ever responded to him with such unschooled passion, such pure feminine desire.

His cock had risen fully, the blunt dome nudging past his waistband. He spurted a little as he petted her, diddling her pearl, coating it with her own cream. Maddened by her moans, he went lower, delving deep into her slick folds. As his thumb rocked over her nubbin of pleasure, his middle finger circled her quivering hole.

“Do you feel empty here?” he rasped. “Does this little mouth wish to be fed?”

Her hips lifted, her eyes passionate and needy. “Carlisle,
please
…”

His name on her lips and her breathless plea—a siren’s song.

Triumph blasting through him, he nudged his finger deeper, groaning at the exquisite restriction. Her shiver coursed through him, his cock straining desperately toward the virginal paradise flowering around his digit. Mindful of the snug fit, he touched her carefully, raging lust tempered by tenderness he’d never felt with any woman before. He plunged and withdrew in measured increments, shuddering when she finally took him to the knuckle.

When she chanted his name, he claimed her mouth once more, screwing his finger in deeply, his thumb working her pearl. She stiffened in surprise when her climax broke, her sweet cries of release vibrating down his throat. As her cunny massaged his finger with mind-obliterating spasms, sweat misted his brow. His erection pulsed, more pre-spend leaking. By God, to feel that tight little sheath stretched around his shaft. One flick and he could release the fall of his trousers, could bury himself to the balls—

Faint voices jerked him from feverish temptation. He tensed, ears straining. A man and a woman… out in the hallway?

The peril of the situation struck him like an icy wave. Violet’s reputation would be ruined if they were caught like this. With fathomless regret, he pulled away. He yanked her nightclothes down, grabbed her hand.

“We have to go,” he said.

“Hmm?”

Despite the looming disaster, his lips twitched at her dreamy response. Well… damn. If he’d known he could get her acquiescence this way, he’d have seduced her weeks ago.

In low tones, he said, “People are out in the corridor.”

He saw reality return, her eyes widening. “Crumpets, what are we going to do?”

“We’ll wait in here until they pass.” He tugged her into the dark labyrinth of bookshelves. Positioning her behind him, he stood on guard at the mouth of the aisle, peering around the shelf to monitor the entrance to the library. His senses strained to catch what was going on outside.

“
Carlisle.
” Her urgent whisper came from behind him.

“It’ll be all right.” His eyes were trained on the door. “They’ve passed us by—”

“Never mind them. There’s someone else in here.
With us.
”

He swung around, saw her pointing shakily toward the far end of the aisle. Squinting, he made out a form in the gloom… someone sitting on the floor against the shelves? The back of his neck prickled.

“Stay here,” he said tersely.

He went to grab the taper she’d set on the table earlier and headed back down the aisle. She ignored his instruction—of course—and followed right on his heels.

The flame cast an eerie mix of light and shadows over the aged spines, and as he neared his destination, the form on the ground took the shape of a woman. Crouching, he held out the candle: Madame Monique. His gut iced over. She was slumped like a ragdoll against the shelf, eyes staring out of her bloodless face, hands balled at her sides.

He heard Violet’s sharp intake of breath. “Dear Lord, is sh-she…?”

He placed his fingers on the acrobat’s throat. Cool skin, the flatness of nothing.

“She’s dead,” he said grimly.

“H-how did this happen?”

He raised the flame higher, saw blood streaking from a wound on her right temple. He ran the light over the rest of her; something glinted within her furled fingers.

“Hold this.” He handed the taper to Violet. “I see something…”

Reaching down, he gingerly removed the object from the dead woman’s grasp. His breath rammed into his throat as he lifted the distinctive signet ring, the ornate initials gleaming.

No, it can’t be...

“
Gadzooks.
” Violet sounded as shocked as he felt. “That ring… it belongs to Wick.”

Chapter Eleven

Ambrose Kent didn’t take vacations often, and now he wondered why. The verdant meadow was paradise. He was having a picnic with his wife, the scent of honey wafting on the summer breeze, birdsong echoing in the blue skies. And that wasn’t even the best part of it.

With his back against the sun-warmed blanket, he stared up into his spouse’s gorgeous face. The two of them were as naked as Adam and Eve. Marianne’s pale blond tresses streamed over her shoulders, one end curling around a lovely coral nipple.

His hands tightened on her soft hips.

“Ride me, my selkie,” he urged.

Emerald eyes heavy-lidded, she obeyed, rolling her hips, teasing him by rising until her pussy clamped just the tip of his cock… and then sinking down slowly. She took his turgid shaft all the way, her swollen lips smacking wetly against his bollocks.

God, yes.

“Faster, you little tease,” he growled.

With a sensual smile, she obeyed. Her rhythm was exquisite, mind-blowing, nearly drawing his fire. But he wouldn’t come—not until she did. Gripping her hips, he slammed upward as she came down, the intensity of the penetration wringing moans from them both. Seed swelled in his balls, his climax building. The breeze grew stronger, and the birds began to squawk, some damned woodpecker knocking with distracting insistence…

He blinked, chest heaving, disoriented by the dimness. He was lying on his side, his wife’s plush backside tucked up against him. Groggily, he took in the strange bedchamber… then it returned to him. The damned house party.

Being a man of simple tastes, he preferred hearth and home. Marianne enjoyed doing the social rounds, however, and for her sake, he would make any sacrifice. Lifting the blanket, he peered down and saw his fiercely erect cock wedged against her bare buttocks.

Maybe this won’t be a wash after all.

Of late, they’d dealt with constant interruptions at home. Between the antics of their nine-year-old son Edward, the theatrics of their eighteen-year-old daughter Rosie, and the adventures of the rest of the family, he and Marianne had hardly had a moment alone. Now that they did have some blessed privacy, he wasn’t going to waste it.

He nuzzled his wife’s neck, his palm sliding forward to cup her full breast. She made a sleepy, sensual sound, all the encouragement he needed—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Darling?” his wife said drowsily. “Is someone at the door?”

“Ignore them.” He nipped at her earlobe, tweaking her nipple lightly. “They’ll go away.”

KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Ambrose? Marianne?” It was Violet’s voice. “Are you awake?”