The Wicked House of Rohan (4 page)

“Well,” he said after a long moment. “Then what are we going to do about this, Miss Strong?”

She reached up and cupped his face between her hands. Bad things had happened to him since she'd once fallen in love with him, turning him cynical, but in truth she was a constant soul. When she fell in love it was forever, and in fifteen years the one thing that hadn't changed were her feelings for him. If this was the only way she could have him then she'd take him this way. “I think we are going to render me unusable for tonight's ceremony.”

For a moment he didn't move. And then he leaned over and kissed her softly at first, and she wanted to cry from the sweetness of it. And then he deepened the kiss, his mouth open, and he used his tongue, shocking her, arousing her. Her hands were clutching his shoulders, and she touched his tongue with hers, shivering in response. Her breasts felt swollen, sensitive, and she was wet between her legs. She didn't know why, all she knew was that she wanted his hands on her, all over her. He touched her breasts, his thumbs rubbing against her nipples, and the heat inside her began to build. He slid her shift down, so that her breasts were exposed in the cool night air, and then he bent down, his tongue dancing across one breast, and she heard a quiet moan, one that had to have come from her.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, untying the corset and pulling it from her. “But I need to feed you more.”

“I like to eat,” she murmured.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” he said with a soft laugh, then moved to her other breast, sucking it into his mouth, and her moan was louder this time. “But we'll save that for another time. Tonight we'll concentrate on you.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but whatever it was sounded wicked and wonderful. The petticoat was off her now, and all that was left was her shift and her drawers. And then they were gone as well, and she was naked beneath him, as he moved his mouth down her body, letting his tongue dip into her navel. “You taste like roses,” he murmured. “I like that.”

“Good,” she said in a strangled voice, as he slid his fingers into the curls between her legs. Of course he was going to touch her there—that was how it was done. But she knew she was wet, and she suddenly felt very shy.

But he'd already slid his hand lower, and she felt his fingers lightly touching the most secret parts of her, and it was too late. “You're wet,” he said, rubbing his face against her stomach. “I
love
it.”

All right, she thought. Then maybe the wetness wasn't a bad thing. He slid one finger into her, and she arched up, understanding why. He brought it out and put two in, spreading the moisture around, touching her, stretching her, getting her used to the feel of his hand, before she got used to the feel of his penis.

His thumb brushed against something, and she cried out in surprise as a rush of pleasure surged through her. She reached for him then, pulling at his shirt. She heard his chuckle, and he pulled it over his head and tossed it, then rolled over on top of her, still wearing his breeches, settling between her legs. She could feel that part of him, that thick, insistent bulge against her, and she shivered in reaction, arching up for him, wanting him, needing him.

He bumped against her, gently, and she cried out, trying to pull him closer. “Slow down, my angel. I want to make this last.”

“I don't,” she said in a choked voice. “I want you now. I need you.”

He laughed against her throat, and his fingers moved between her legs again, three now, moving deep into the dampness, stretching her as he stroked her. “I know you do. And I could take you this minute and lose myself in you. But you need to know the pleasure if you're going to take the pain.” His fingers trailed upward, touching that secret place that made her shiver and cry out. “I want you to unfasten my breeches,” he whispered, as he slid, and then rubbed, and slid, and rubbed, until she thought she'd go mad with it, and she fumbled with his breeches, practically ripping them off him, releasing him.

She was afraid to touch him, but he took her hand and placed it on his erection, and for a moment she was terrified. That would never fit inside her, it would rip her apart. But he moved her hand on him, cupping her fingers, sliding her fist up and down the way her body would grip him, and the excitement built again, wiping out her fear. This had been happening since the dawn of time, and the parts were made to fit together, even if it seemed unlikely. She ran her fingers over the head, and felt his dampness as well, and she wanted more.

“Please,” she said, stroking him, pulling gently at him, marveling at the hardness beneath the silken skin, and he muttered a low curse.

“You're being difficult,” he chided her. “And if you keep doing that I won't be able to hold out.”

“I don't want you to hold out. I want you…”

“Where do you want me, Miss Strong?” he whispered in her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and biting lightly.

She groaned in unexpected pleasure. “Inside me,” she said.

“Then let's get this virginity done with, shall we?” he said with a laugh, and he pushed her legs apart, settling down, the head of him resting against her. He pushed in, just a little bit, and she knew a slight burning along with exquisite pleasure. Yes, this was what she wanted. This was where he belonged, the joining that would stay forever in her heart. He pushed deeper, and the pain increased, as well as the joy. She put her arms around him, sliding her hands up his sleek, beautiful back, and then she tugged at him, lifting her hips.

“More,” she said.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, and thrust deep, breaking through the barrier and coming up hard against her.

It hurt. She couldn't help it, she cried out, and for a moment the pain was searing. And then as quickly as it came it began to recede, not completely, but to a point where it was simply a reminder that this was part of the price.

He was holding very still, looking down at her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no,” she said, holding him tight against her. There was more, she knew it, and it was just out of reach, but already she was feeling waves of pleasure, the feeling of rightness. “It feels…wonderful.”

He began to move then, a slow, gentle withdrawal and surge to get her used to the feel of him. He did it again, and it felt better. “More,” she said, and he laughed, thrusting deeper, and she took it without pain, glorying in the feel of him tight inside her, filling her, joined so tightly they might never be truly apart again.

She felt her body begin to loosen, adapting to his, and she caught the rhythm, moving in answer to his thrusts. He made a guttural sound, deeper still, and she felt a shudder run across her body.

“More,” she whispered, and he moved faster, harder, and he took her hands and wrapped his own around them, his mouth on hers.

Strange feelings were rippling through her body, and she fought it, afraid. “Let go,” he whispered in her ear, arching over her, staring down at her as his hips pumped, his thick, hard penis sliding deeper and deeper. “Just…let…go.”

She shook her head, distressed, unable to speak as something dark and terrifying seemed ready to sweep over her. She didn't want it, she wanted safety, she wanted…

“Let…go…” he said. “Don't fight it. Let…go.”

“Don't…want…” she gasped, and then it was too late. She seemed to explode, as her body went rigid and darkness shut down around her. Wave after wave shook her, and as each one died another took its place. Then he slid his hand between their joined bodies, touching her, and she cried out, as she felt him fill her with his seed. When she fell back, weeping, he collapsed on top of her, panting, unable to catch his breath.

Reality came back, slowly. He pulled away from her, getting up, and she was afraid he was leaving her, but he was back in a moment, a wet cloth in his hand, and he lay back down beside her and began to clean her, with gentle, loving hands.

And then he gathered her into his arms, holding her against him. His heart was still racing, his hold on her tight and protective. “I think,” he said after a few minutes, “that we should get the hell out of here. Marblethorpe is not a pretty sight when he's thwarted, and I really don't feel like killing him.”

She rubbed her face against his chest like a kitten. “Aren't we locked in?” she murmured sleepily. “I don't know if I can climb across the balconies like you did.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you? I should have known you weren't really asleep. The thing is, I'm a very resourceful man. Marcello may have taken possession of the household keys, but I have one tucked away in here just in case I wanted to keep people out. I never thought anyone would be trying to keep me in.” He sat up, reaching for his discarded clothes. “Simpson has already packed and taken enough of my clothes with him to tide us over until we reach England, and if I know my valet he'll have been able to provide something suitable for you as well. Simpson's a most excellent valet.”

She sat up in the bed, her hair covering her, and watched him. “Am I going to leave in my underwear then?” she asked, pulling on her shift as he tossed it to her.

He glanced at her. “I think you're going to need to be totally indecent and wear some of my clothes.”

“I'm not going to look like a boy—my hair is too long.”

“This is Venice, my love. No one will care.”

My love. It was a casual endearment—surely he didn't mean it. “And what about your organization of degenerates? What will happen to them?”

“Clearly there'll be no midnight ritual deflowering of a virgin, unless Marblethorpe can find another. In Venice it's unlikely,” he said with a grin. “As for the Heavenly Host, I bequeath them to Wesley and his friends. Whether I like the idea or not, I expect to be quite busy enough with you.” He tossed her a pair of blue satin breeches and a loose white shirt.

She looked at him. “You don't like the idea? You certainly don't need to feel obligated….”

He moved back to her and pulled her off the bed, into his arms. “The only obligation I ever listen to are my own desires. I realized something when I was deep inside you.”

His words made the heat start forming again inside her, and she wanted to touch him again, go to him. Instead she reached for the breeches, pulling them up and over her shift. They were tight on her, but then, men had no hips. She pulled the shirt over her head, emerging with enough calm to say, “And what was that?”

“If you lust after someone and have an absurd and overwhelming need to protect them, then the best way to deal with the situation is to marry the person.”

She froze, looking at him. “Besides,” he said with a rueful smile, “Jack would have killed me if he knew I'd despoiled his beautiful baby sister with the huge crush on me.”

She felt the color flood her face. She swallowed. “How long have you known?” Of course he'd insist on marrying her. He was basically decent beneath it all. And she had no choice but to refuse.

“About halfway through the whole process. If I had even a shred of honor I would have stopped, but I'm afraid I'm quite impossible. You're going to have your hands full with me.”

“I won't marry you.”

“Of course you will,” he said. “Why wouldn't you? You followed me around like a puppy dog all those years ago, which was pure misery, because I wanted nothing more than to toss you down in the straw and despoil you, and you were too damned young. Back then I had scruples. Fortunately, nowadays I have none.”

“Then why do you want to marry me?” she said, shoving her hair away from her face.

“I have no idea,” he said idly. “I expect I love you. Nothing else could account for such bizarre behavior on my part. I imagine the captain of the packet ship can perform the ceremony. Are you ready?”

She didn't move. She couldn't marry him, and she needed shoes, and she wasn't sure which was the more important to argue about.

“Oh, shoes,” he said, noting the obvious. “I have a pair of boots that will do. If you have trouble navigating, I'll carry you.”

“Through the streets?” she said, aghast and amused.

“It's Venice,” he said. He reached over the bed and produced a key. “Shall we go, my love?” He held out his arm for her.

She hesitated for just a moment. “Oh, what the hell,” she said, and ran into his arms, feeling them wrap tightly around her. He kissed her again, kissed her until she was breathless, and then unlocked the door.

“We'll live in Ireland, I think,” he mused as they left the palazzo, wandering down one of the back alleyways. “You'll like it.”

She looked up at him. “I still love you,” she said.

“I know you do,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “I think we'll have horses.” And they strolled down the narrow alley, across St. Mark's Square, heading for the docks, and no one looked twice.

After all, it was Venice.

If you liked this story, be sure to read more scandalous stories about the Heavenly Host in the House of Rohan trilogy by Anne Stuart!

Ruthless

(August 2010)

Reckless

(September 2010)

Breathless

(October 2010)

“Anne Stuart proves once again why she is one of the most beloved and reliably entertaining authors in the genre. Every book she writes is witty, inventive, dark and sexy—a wild adventure for the mind…and the heart.”
—#1
New York Times
bestselling author Susan Wiggs on the House of Rohan series

Turn the page for an excerpt from
Ruthless
….