What an Earl Wants (8 page)

“That’s...that’s the stairs to the kitchens,” she managed, and
his short, pithy curse brought a tremulous smile to her lips as he turned
abruptly and headed, this time, toward her small, spinsterish bedchamber. Now
she noticed his breathing had become nearly as ragged as her own, and the first
stirrings of fear dragged at her arousal, slowing it to a near stop.

She’d been selfishly thinking of herself, only herself. She’d
forgotten the effect of passion on a man.

Hers had been a virginal bed for more than four years, since
James’s death, and she’d been glad of the respite, the sanctuary it held for
her. How could she be doing this? Willingly doing this? What on earth did she
think it could possibly prove? She was unnatural, James had told her so, time
and time again. She wasn’t a real woman.

Gideon would know, and he’d either turn away in disgust, or
he’d slake himself, anyway, pounding hurtfully inside her until he was done.

Either way, she lost.

“I don’t... I can’t...” she said as he stood her on her feet
beside the bed, turned her around and began expertly working open the line of
buttons from her neck to her waist, as he had done the previous evening. Only
tonight his mouth followed after his hands, his tongue licking at her skin,
sending shivers of what had to be pleasure rippling through her.

It was as if he hadn’t heard her. He took hold of her shoulders
and turned her back to him. In the light of the small candelabra burning at her
bedside, he locked his eyes with hers as he touched his hands to her long,
unbound hair, smoothing it back over her shoulders.

She was naked to the waist now, her gown snagging at her hips.
He lowered his head, taking her in his mouth, teasing her with his fingers,
destroying her now silent warnings of his imminent disappointment, her ultimate
disgrace. No matter how hopeful the beginning, when her own body tried to
believe this time it might somehow be different, there was always that same bad
ending.

Somehow, the coverlet had been stripped back, and she was on
the cool sheet. Somehow, her gown was gone, her only undergarment was gone; she
was lying there, eyes closed to reality, listening to the whisper of fabric as
Gideon rid himself of his evening clothes.

She’d been here before, in this position, brought low by the
mere fact of being female.

She had no maidenly shame about her naked body, experienced no
wild urge to try to cover herself. James had stripped her of that years ago. She
knew what her body was for—a man’s pleasure. The man wanted what the man wanted,
and now was as good a time as any to get it over with, so that they could move
on. Resistance only brought pain. She’d simply have to pretend, go along. He’d
soon learn the truth about her.

She didn’t dare look at him. She’d seen a fully aroused male
before and knew what that arousal meant. Jessica believed herself to be a strong
woman in most things, even an independent woman—a hard-earned independence. But
this had always defeated her; she couldn’t physically best a man, and she
couldn’t shoot him. Struggle was useless, embarrassing and often countered with
violence. She knew herself to be the weaker vessel. It wasn’t rape if she let
him take what he believed he wanted. It was simply easier.

The bed sagged slightly as he joined her, as he leaned over
her, as he brought his head close to hers once more. Good. At least it would
soon be over.

“You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he told her as he
slowly drew his hand down her body. “No flaw, anywhere. Perfect seduction. Last
night was an uncomfortably long night for me. Was it for you?”

Was what uncomfortable for her? She couldn’t think, couldn’t
concentrate on anything but the travels of his hand, knowing where he was
heading, to the juncture of her thighs.

Would he please just finish it, this
inevitable
he spoke of, the inevitable she’d stupidly goaded him to.
That would tell him more than she could ever hope to say. Then they could put
all of this behind them and move on to the subject of her father’s supposed
murder, the golden rose he’d worn in his cravat.

His hand slid over her lower belly, and she sighed, opened her
silk stocking-clad legs to him. Let him take what he believed he needed. This
meant nothing to her. It was only her body. A few more minutes, that’s all.
Just, please, quickly.

His kiss surprised her; she hadn’t expected any more coaxing
now that he had her where he wanted her. Not that James hadn’t tried this sort
of arousal in the beginning, until he’d realized he was only wasting his time,
delaying his pleasure. But, Lord, he had tried, each thing he’d attempted worse
than the last. The bites, the pinching fingers, the supposedly arousing slaps,
believing perhaps pain would turn to pleasure. And it had...for him.

Jessica felt tears burning behind her eyes and forced her mind
to stop thinking about James. He was dead, he didn’t control her any longer. She
owed him nothing she hadn’t paid back tenfold in the nearly eight long months of
their bizarre marriage.

Now another man was touching her, taking what he wanted. What
would he do if he knew what she’d been thinking? No, he couldn’t know.

She raised her hips slightly, as she’d been taught.

Gideon’s response was to continue his travels across the
landscape of her lower body. His fingertips drew a route from her navel to
within a heartbeat of her center, then moved on to skim the inside of her
thighs. And still he kissed her, his tongue teasing, tasting, coaxing a response
that surprised her; that curl of desire returned, deep inside her.

She moved her hips again, this time without first thinking
about the action. Was he avoiding her? Did he have to be pointed in the correct
direction?

Hardly. The man kept four mistresses.

Jessica swallowed hard, barely given time to draw in a fresh
breath between kisses, barely wanting to waste time in doing so. Because
Gideon’s mouth was so provocatively enticing, she actually heard herself moan in
loss when he broke the last kiss and began moving his head lower, beginning a
new journey that led to her left breast and ended when he took the nipple into
his mouth.

She braced herself for the pain, but it didn’t come. He didn’t
take, he...
worshipped.
Yes, that was the word. He
tasted, he suckled, he drew the tip of his tongue around her, he
coaxed
rather than
commanded.

She opened her eyes, raised her head as best she could and
watched. Her arm seemed to rise, unbidden, so that she could run her fingers
through his dark thatch of hair. She felt a closeness, a communion with the man,
a feeling unexplainable yet perfectly understood. It was like nothing she’d ever
felt before.

When he finally slid his fingers between her legs, curiosity
overcame her fear, even though she held her breath, until the slow, nearly
circular strokes set off a curious sort of pleasure that showed every sign of
turning her limbs to water.

Oh, yes.
The words came unbidden to
her mind and repeated themselves.
Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, yes,
yes...
“Do that,” she moaned, not realizing she’d spoken.
“Please...there. Do that...”

She drew up her feet, bending her knees, allowing them to fall
open for him, lifting her hips as he seemed to somehow spread her and stroke her
at the same time, finding some previous hidden center of her that had to be
acknowledged, demanded some sort of satisfaction.

I’m real,
she rejoiced inside her
head.
This is real, this is happening, this is...
And then she didn’t think at all. Her body simply reacted to Gideon’s
touch, flowering, quivering, pulsating, flinging her out over some abyss as
pleasure held her aloft, in its thrall.

He filled her then, levering himself up and over her and then
plunging into her in one swift movement.

From some distant place, out over the abyss, she saw herself
wrap her limbs around him as if fearful he would leave her. She saw herself
kissing his heated skin, biting into the straining muscles of his strong neck
and shoulders, rocking with him, urging him on, almost grimly determined to give
pleasure for pleasure.

Gideon pushed himself up and looked down at her, as if to gauge
her response. “Now?” he asked, watching her closely. “Please God, woman, say
now.
”

“Now,” she responded, not quite certain what she’d just agreed
to, because nothing could be better than what she’d already felt. That was
impossible.

But it wasn’t. Gideon didn’t just move inside her now. He
plunged, he took, he pumped. Ground himself against her and then took up the
rhythmic movements again, each time faster, each time deeper, each time giving
more, demanding more, and all while watching her, watching her, watching
her.

“No,” she said at last, fear finally finding its way back
through the haze of passion. A new fear, one she’d never before had to face.
This felt too good, she might shatter with it, disappear inside the pleasure.
Her heart might burst, her mind explode. Too good. This was too dangerously
good.
“Oh, God...no.”

“On the contrary. Oh, God...
yes,
”
Gideon said, and then buried himself inside her one last time, their bodies
fitting so tightly together they may have merged into one. She felt her own body
clench and unclench again and again, even as his did the same, on and on, until
at last he collapsed against her, chest to chest, and they both lay still,
perhaps he as well as she in order to assess whether or not they’d just
died.

A single tear escaped Jessica’s eye and ran down the side of
her head, into her ear. It tickled. All right, she was still alive.

Gideon finally stirred, and she moved her hands over his
sweat-slick back, reluctant to let him go as he made to leave her.

“Insatiable, are you, madam? I’m devastated to admit I’m of no
further use to you for at least an hour,” he said in a joking voice as he turned
onto his back, his forearm over his eyes. “I should have taken you up on your
offer last night, although it’s possible the anticipation increased the
pleasure. Clearly you were born for this, Jessica Linden. And at least I know
now how your late husband died. Undoubtedly in bed, and with a smile on his
face.”

As more tears threatened, Jessica quickly turned her head and
surreptitiously wiped at her eyes with a corner of the sheet. “He wasn’t
smiling, no,” she said, and then quickly shut her mouth so she could say no
more. She wanted to rest her head on Gideon’s shoulder, to curl her arm about
his waist and simply...cuddle. “Could...would you please gather your clothing
and give me my privacy? I’ll join you in the sitting room. There’s wine in the
decanter.”

“Suddenly I feel this strong urge toward leaving a purse on
your bedside table,” Gideon said, his tone having returned to the careless
sarcasm he seemed so adept with most times. He left the bed, most probably to
gather his clothing from the floor. “Very well. But ten minutes, no more. I’ll
help you with those bloody buttons, as it wouldn’t do to return to the gaming
floor in another ensemble.”

“And not before you tell me more of what you hinted at earlier.
You do remember that, don’t you?”

If he noticed she was speaking to him with her back turned to
avoid seeing his nakedness, he didn’t call her on it. “I’ve rethought the
matter. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of your concern.”

Now Jessica did turn toward him, making certain the coverlet
she’d reached for earlier covered her breasts. He’d already donned his breeches,
thank the Lord. She didn’t think she could continue this conversation if they
both were naked. “None of my concern? You all but guaranteed me my father and
stepmother were murdered. I have a right to know why you think that.”

“Why would that be? You hated your father, fled from hearth and
home many years ago. That was the way of it, you said.”

“Oh, and that means I shouldn’t care if he and his wife were
murdered? Perhaps you think I should be doing a jig? No, don’t answer that!
Besides, you wanted to talk to me about the Society, remember? Your father’s
Society?”

“My mistresses don’t plague me with talk. I prefer my pleasure
without prattle.”

“I’m not one of your mistresses and I’ll speak when I wish,”
Jessica countered, at last far enough removed from the revelations of the past
half hour that her mind had begun to function once more. “Must I add, Gideon,
that you’re not my lover? You said the word
inevitable.
Perhaps it was. But now we move on.”

He looked at her blandly, as if what she’d said meant nothing.
“Just get dressed,” he said, and then—finally—quit the room.

Leaving Jessica to wonder what on earth had happened, why it
had happened so easily with this infuriating, totally exasperating man, if it
was the man or something else that had changed inside her to make what had
happened possible.

And, having happened once, was it possible for it to happen
again? Surely not with the insufferable Gideon Redgrave, but he wasn’t the only
man in the world. It very well could have been James who had been the
aberration. Not that she was now about to go the route of Mildred or her ilk in
order to satisfy her curiosity. She simply couldn’t allow what had happened with
Gideon to happen with Gideon again. He was an earl and thoroughly unlikable, and
she was a widow running a gaming house. He was not for her, and she definitely
was not for him.

Although she could, being at heart an honest person, feel some
gratitude toward the man.

“Not that he can ever know what he did, or else he’d be more
than insufferable. Much better to allow him to continue to think of me as
nothing more than one of a probably endless list of casual liaisons. Yes, this
all is going to take some concentrated thinking,” she told herself as she held
up her gown and frowned at the wrinkles, her hard-won practical nature finally
coming to her aid. “And perhaps a pressing iron...”