Tonight or Never (29 page)

He stilled for a second, deep inside her. John knew exactly what she was insinuating. That she was no different from the rest to him. How wrong she was.

His breath heated the skin at her neck as he rasped in a sizzling, hoarse voice, "Chloe… if I could do nothing more than
feel
you like this"—he flexed deep inside her—"I'd know."

A small sigh escaped her as he pulsated within.

"If I could do nothing but
hear
you sigh like that," he continued, pressing in on her to rotate his hips, "I'd know."

"John," she whispered shakily.

"If I could do nothing more than
inhale
your scent"—he breathed in her flowery fragrance, his voice becoming huskier—"I'd know."

Chloe hugged him tight to her, wrapping her legs around his cloth-covered hips.

"And if I could do nothing but
taste
you, Chloe-cat"—his burning, open mouth slid down her throat and played about her collarbone before capturing her parted lips in a steaming siege—"I'd know, I'd know, I'd know," he chanted in a rough purr while stroking vigorously within her.

The dark, musty wardrobe became a sultry haven of passion.

John's expert movements, hot breaths, sensual words, impassioned caresses, served only to fire her desire for him higher and higher.

He took her in the dark.
In the bottom of an armoire.
While she begged for more.

Chloe Sexton forgot all about being put out with John Sexton.

She supposed that was why they were called rogues.

The upstairs maid walked into the master bedroom with several freshly laundered items of the
viscountess's
thrown over her arm. She opened her ladyship's armoire and stopped a moment, frowning at the pair of black men's top boots, which were sticking out upside down from under a pile of frilly lace
underthings
.

"Wonder how they got in her ladyship's closet?" the maid grumbled to herself. "Must've been that new girl—she's always
makin
a mess o' things."

The maid had bent down to retrieve them when they suddenly moved.

"
Jesus, Joseph, and Mary
!"
She let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

The viscount's tousled golden head popped through the clothing.

He was not overly surprised to see it was the same maid who had caught him running naked down the hallway that first night. This was his usual luck.

"Mercy me!"
She put her hand on her heart. "What-whatever are
ya
doin
' in there, my lord?"

"I, ah, I was just…" For once John was at a loss for words.

"I lost a button, Fiona; the viscount was helping, me find it," came a muffled voice from inside the armoire.

The maid recognized the voice as belonging to her mistress.
"A button, my lady?
Well, step aside, my lord. I'll be happy to find it
fer
ya
; there's no need
fer
ya
to—"

"No!" they both said at the same time.

The maid stepped back. "Are
ya
sure
? '
Tis
no trouble and—"

"We're sure." John smiled rather sickly at the woman. "Thank you anyway." He cleared his throat.

These titled folks are a mighty peculiar lot, the maid reasoned, not for the first time.

"Just put those clothes on the bed and you may leave, Fiona," Lord Sexton's deep voice directed.

Fiona did as instructed, closing the door to the room behind her with a dull thud.

Chloe giggled. "And you said no one would find us in here."

"I should've taken into account what household I was in." He grinned, "Button, my lady wife?"

Chloe chuckled.

"Must be this one here."
His two bent fingers captured the tip of her nose and tugged playfully. "Or perhaps these buttons?" he flicked the tips of her breasts with his fingers; the small nubs went pebble-hard.

Chloe giggled.

"Maybe it's this one." His finger tickled her belly button.

"No, I don't think so, my lord." Chloe grinned, wagging a finger at him.

"Then it must be…" He reached down between her legs to find a special, hidden button. He wiggled his finger teasingly.

"John!"

A masculine hand came out of the armoire, groped for the knob, and slammed the door shut again.

"John!"

"I'm simply helping you, madam, with your… buttons."

He did indeed.

Late in the day everyone decided to attend a horse race being held at a well-known track outside of
Brighton. At first John had been reluctant to go, but Chloe finally cajoled him into it.

It was a large party that descended upon the country gathering.

Many gentry from surrounding estates and towns, as well as
Prinny's
house guests from
Steyne
, were in attendance.

The Prince of Wales, although once an avid race enthusiast, would not be in attendance. He had withdrawn himself from racing in a pique back in ninety-one over a notorious scandal involving one of his horses, Escape, and a jockey named
Chifney
.

Escape, having lost a race on the day before, miraculously won the next day when the odds had been raised. Stories of race-fixing flew about the ton. In this instance,
Prinny
did seem blameless, but the
jockey club
had ruled against his jockey,
Chifney
, demanding that
Prinny
no longer utilize his services.

Reluctantly the prince agreed; however, he had not actively participated in racing since.
Although he did continue to wager on the sport.

The first race of the day was a three-year-old filly.

John baited Chloe. "Why don't you enter
Nettie
? All you have to do is put a dish of food at the finish and she's sure to win."

Chloe elbowed him smartly in the ribs.

He grinned, revealing two deep dimples. "She wouldn't even have to be jockeyed."

"John, that's not funny.
Nettie
happens to be a very sweet horse."

"Not as sweet as you,
carrottop
." He pulled her around, placing a kiss on her forehead.

Chloe blushed at this public display of affection. "John, everyone is looking at us!" She tried to wriggle away from him.

"Everyone?
Here I thought they were watching the race," he teased.

"Heard you got yourself hitched, Sexton," a pompous-sounding voice spoke from behind them. "
Couldn't hardly
believe it."

They both looked over. Lord
Snellsdon
was standing there, surrounded by his usual group of cronies.

John had never much cared for Lord
Snellsdon
. The man was a mean-spirited braggart who took pleasure in berating others not as fortunate as the favored son of an earl.

He surrounded himself with an obnoxious circle of men who shared his nasty disposition. Lord Crandall, Lord
Howardsby
, Lord
Lakeston
… They had no regard for anyone save themselves.

Many a time John had seem them purposely run people into the streets by walking four abreast on the sidewalk; sometimes these poor unfortunates got hurt.

Of course, they had all been to
Eton together.

John had not attended
Eton. At the time, the young viscount was living a hand-to-mouth existence, trying to survive in the rural countryside of
England. When he found him, Maurice—never a supporter of the cruelty of the English public school—had elected to acquire tutors for his nephew.

John's independent nature and carefree spirit would not have made him a good candidate for
Eton.

Besides that, the marquis believed the boy had suffered enough in his youth; he would not subject him to the deprivations to be found in that "noble" establishment.

In later years, John had always applauded his uncle's decision. From what he had heard about the place, he would never send a member of his family there. Strength of character, he believed, was fostered in other ways.

The proof of his theory was these offensive, hateful men standing before him, who most likely started their ways thrown together in the deplorable hellhole known as
Eton. Because John had not been one of their
group
, they always went out of their way to put him in his place. Or at least they tried. With Lord Sexton's carefree, amused attitude, such behavior never seemed to strike its mark. Insults appeared to roll off the viscount's broad back.

His success with women irritated them further, their envy often prodding them into trying to goad him more.

Naturally, all of this was thinly cloaked within the civility of English manners.

Chloe fumed silently. She knew exactly what these scapegraces were about. The compassion she felt for her husband rose to the surface. John was too good a person to be subjected to this. She slipped her hand into his.

He squeezed it briefly before answering Lord
Snellsdon
. "Yes, pity you couldn't make the wedding,
Snellsdon
; half the ton was there."

Good for you, John
. Chloe mentally patted her husband's back as his mark hit. Lord
Snellsdon
had missed the most talked-about event of the season.

Snellsdon
bristled. "Happened in a hurry, what? Shocked everyone, I must say." He stared pointedly at Chloe's middle.

That barb did hit. Not to him, but John wouldn't allow anyone to insult Chloe. His green eyes kindled. He made to step forward, but Chloe held him back.

She smiled prettily at the group. "It might have seemed that way to everyone else, but John and I had always planned to wed. He was only waiting for me to grow up; weren't you, John?"

He looked down at her, a contemplative shadow cloaking his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "That is exactly right."

"Ah, it is so romantic!"
Adrien
Cyndreac
came up to them, slapping John on the back. "Hard to believe he is not French!" The count speared the motley group, expecting them to answer at once.
Especially since he outranked everyone present.

They all immediately assented, agreeing that it was most romantic, indeed.

Adrien
winked covertly at Chloe. She smiled back at him.

Lord
Snellsdon
was not so easily put off, however. "Got much blunt on the big race, Sexton?"

Except in jest, John never wagered.
Never.
The entire ton knew that. It was often remarked that it was quite strange that the viscount could be such a profligate in one area, while declining to waste
himself
in the other.

Only Chloe knew the truth.

After what his father had done to him and his mother, John could never bring himself to engage in the poisonous pastime. He would never risk anything of meaning in his life to the turn of a card.

His convictions were even stronger now that others were depending on him to safeguard the estate.

"I don't gamble." His response was clipped and cold.

"Don't
got
the stomach for it, eh," Lord
Snellsdon
ribbed him. These men put great store in a man's willingness to dare all on a baize table. John had always been amused by the ridiculous assertion. One thing he had always been secure in was his masculinity.

The Lord of Sex looked down at the shorter man through veiled eyes. "I do not need to validate my manhood in such a way."

The insult was barely concealed. Lord
Snellsdon
turned bright red. Everyone knew he had never been lucky with women. "If you'll excuse us, Lord Sexton; I see the Marquis of
Langton
and I must speak with him."

John nodded curtly and the group moved off.

"Is that why you didn't want to come, John? If so, I'm sorry I talked you into it." Chloe's face mirrored her regret.

John smiled, kissing the tip of her nose.
"No, sweet.
That has nothing to do with it. I do not approve of the way they treat the horses."

Her nose wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"They are subjected to severe sweats and purges. Their stables are overheated and they are never allowed to enjoy fresh air except when they run. I sometimes wonder how they manage to walk onto the course."

Chloe blanched. "I hadn't known that."

"I don't subscribe to such a regimen."

"Nor I," a heavily accented voice said next to them. Chloe and John were surprised to see an Arab man. He was covered head to foot in flowing robes, a burnoose shading the top of his face partially from view. Beside him stood the most magnificent horse they had ever seen. The animal was pure black, with exquisite lines.