Submitting to the Marquess Read online

  And spend it did. She jerked against the post as her wave crested, rolling her beneath it, into the glorious turbulence of release. It flared deep in her groin, shot down her legs. A wrenching cry tore from her throat. When at last she surfaced for air, she felt weak and ragged. Her legs collapsed beneath her just as he swept her into his arms and undid the cord that bound her one arm to the bedpost. He tossed aside the bodice of her gown and laid her across the bed.

  With her eyes closed to contain the intensity of sensations that had just assaulted her, she breathed in the relief of her accomplishment, her body satisfied and content. He caressed her thighs, her hips, her waist.

  “Well done, Heloise.”

  “Mmmmm,” she acknowledged, relishing the sound of her name upon his tongue.

  She thought he might now put his triumph into words, and she would not have cared much if he did. Lord Blythe had known somehow that she had wanted this. To attempt denials now would prove a futile exercise. But he said nothing. Instead of proclaiming victory—she expected some level of smugness from a man as arrogant as he—he had praised her. His gentle touch lulled into her a state of peaceful bliss but a gradual arousal also began to build. She could feel the curve of his body behind hers. She was becoming sensitized to him in the most alarming and thrilling ways. How was it he could awaken her body with the simplest of caresses? Wetness pooled between her legs once again, desire welling in her veins. She hoped that he would touch her more intimately.

  Just as she was about to beg ask, his hand circled around her thigh, grazed the soft curls at her mons, and reached for the supple folds below. She could hardly wait to see what he would do next.

  * * * * *

  Sebastian was not surprised at how well Miss Merrill had spent. Wild thoughts ran through his head at the possibilities. There was so much he could do to her. So much he wanted to do to her besides fondle her against the bedpost. Containing the force of his lust had been like pushing a coach and four up a steep slope, but after she had finished convulsing against the bedpost, when he knew the soreness in her arm would come alive with a vengeance, a flood of tenderness had filled him. The sense of satisfaction as he cradled her in his arms was greater than he could ever remember it being. He knew not why he felt such a strong desire to protect her.

  And claim her as his.

  Marguerite had been surprised by Miss Merrill, but no more surprised than he. He had taken dozens of women far comelier and more practiced than Miss Merrill. How was it then that he felt driven to madness by her? A cautionary bell rang in his head, one that questioned the wisdom of pursuing anything further.

  Her coiffure had mostly come undone, and tendrils of hair curled about her face and down her neck. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her nose. He liked her look of disarray. Liked that he was the one who had placed her in such a state. The flush in her rounded cheeks added to her loveliness. His hand wound its way to her mons, brushing her curls and feeling for the dampness between her thighs. A soft moan escaped her lips when he brushed past her clitoris.

  He nibbled her ear. “Tell me now, Heloise, how you enjoyed your surrender.”

  “I suppose rather well,” she murmured.

  Impudent chit, Sebastian thought to himself. He plunged his fingers into her wet folds and jarred them against a raised area of nerves.

  “Ahhh,” she gasped.

  “Only ‘rather well’?”

  “Extremely well—much—I much enjoyed it.”

  That is better. He pressed his groin against her buttocks as his fingers continued their assault. She arched herself into his hands.

  “Do you desire more, Miss Merrill?”

  Without pause, she nodded. “Say it.”

  “I wish for more.”

  “More what?”

  “More of what you would do to me, my lord.”

  “Do you wish me to fondle you with my fingers?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Take you fully?”

  Her eyes flew open. Lust smoldered in her countenance.

  “Yes, ” she answered in no uncertain terms.

  This time it was he who groaned. With one hand still trapped between her thighs, he tore the buttons of his fall loose with the other. His erection sprang out, famished for contact. Too impatient to pull his pants down, he glided his cock between her legs from behind, then slid an arm beneath her.

  He reminded her, “If you are uncertain, you have but to say—”

  “Yes, yes,” she interrupted. “Be a gentleman and pray do not keep a lady waiting.”

  He ought to reprove her for her audacity, but he hungered too much for her at the moment. Without ceremony, he plunged himself into her. She cried out in shock as most, but not all, of his length filled her. Sebastian closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, longing to push himself deeper but wanting her to adjust to the sudden invasion. He knew not how long it had been since last she had been filled. His fingers played her clitoris while the other hand grabbed a breast.

  She flexed against his hardness. He sank himself deeper into her wet and glorious heat. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough for him to be pulsing deep inside of her. An insatiable desire to have his body completely merged with hers took hold. He grabbed her chin and turned her mouth toward his, then clamped his lips to hers. At last. How supple, how yielding her lips felt. And he plumbed the depths of her mouth as vigorously as he would plumb the depths of her quim.

  She attempted to return his kiss, but he was too busy tasting her, feeling her with his tongue, taking in her air, breathing in her essence. His mouth worked her over, and he felt a rush of her hot liquid encasing his cock. When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, her breath was heavy and she looked dazed. Perhaps he had been a little too fierce in his kiss. He knew not the source of this unexpected ferocity, but he had to sample her mouth once more.

  Muffling whatever she was about to say, he pressed his mouth hard to hers. He kissed and sucked her until her lips swelled with lust and the lines of her mouth flushed from the attention. It was maddening, this dueling desire between his mouth and his cock. But the grinding of her hips against him recalled the arousal between his legs. Slowly, he pulled his cock out. She moaned as his shaft grazed her engorged nub of desire. He plunged back into her and closed his eyes to concentrate. His sac boiled, greedy for release. A tremor threatened the control of his legs.

  She let out a delicious cry as he plunged himself back in. He returned a hand between her legs and began a rhythmic thrusting.

  “Oh, God,” she pleaded, circling her arms behind her and wrapping them about his neck.

  A mirror strategically placed opposite them showed two bodies, one darker than the other, writhing in unison, their purpose common. The light of the candles flickered a warm inviting glow upon her milky skin. Her tousled hair was damp about her face from perspiration. He saw his hand fondling her breast. Despite the hardness of her nipples, her areolas remained large, dark discs. He captured the vision of her, of them, in his mind. The image fueled the rage in his cock, and he began to pound her as his fingers plied her with increasing energy and speed.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she cried before a scream split their grunting sounds and her body spasmed violently against him.

  He continued to piston in and out of her until he had wrung the last of her orgasm out of her. And then he succumbed to the needs of his own body. The scalding desire roiling in his abdomen exploded out his cock, blending into her wetness. With a roar he pumped himself into her. Her body was his. Meant to serve his desires now.

  Tremors shot down his legs as his climax peaked. He did not realize how hard he was squeezing her breast until she cried out. He let go and wrapped her in his arms as his lust finished draining into her. The blood pounded relentlessly in his head, but he managed to kiss her gently on the temple. She nestled closer to him. This too was glorious.

  And as he cradled her in his arms, he found himself wishing that what she had said was true. He wished he was indeed de
void of morals.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HELOISE AWOKE TO FIND Lord Blythe gone. At first his disappearance did not trouble her. The pleasure of her experience still lingered and as she stretched her arms overhead, she recalled as much as she could, not wanting her memory to forget the smallest detail. Strange as it seemed, it was not merely the havoc he had wreaked upon her body—she had never thought her body could react as intensely as it had—that she cherished the most. The overwhelming sense of freedom, of trust, was what had elevated her experience to the heavens.

  She also recalled with fondness their dialogue. That was how he had seduced her. Despite her belief that his philosophy was self-serving—it had to be, for how could someone genuinely believe such radical liberalism?—she had found their conversation stimulating. And he seemed perfectly at ease having such a discussion with her when others would have scoffed at her as some blue stocking. Thus, she did not mind that he might have proved her a hypocrite. She would be more than content to have him prove the point over and over again.

  Annabelle appeared at the door with a tray. “His lordship asked me to bring some victuals.”

  Eying the thinly sliced ham and colorful sweetmeats, Heloise realized she was famished. Annabelle set the tray upon the bed and poured a glass of wine.

  “Your gown is being ironed, madam,” Annabelle said, “and I shall return shortly to attend to your toilette.”

  “Thank you.”

  After a quick bob, the maid left. As Heloise buttered her bread, she wondered why she should bother getting dressed if she would end up naked again. Oh, but the process of undressing was delightful. She wondered if she would have the opportunity to see him completely naked. The thought made her salivate more than the food.

  “The berries are fresh from the garden.”

  She glanced quickly to the door. The Earl of Blythe stood on the threshold, dressed magnificently in gray. She had never found gray to be an appealing color, but he wore it well. The hue would have made a pale man look ashen but did nothing to tarnish the bronze in Lord Blythe’s complexion. He wore his riding hat and riding boots and a light cloak was draped about his shoulders.

  “Are you headed out?” she asked. She glanced out the windows to see that the sun had just begun to emerge from the horizon.

  “If you leave within the hour, you will be home not long after dawn,” he informed her.

  Her brows lifted in reaction—she had not even been here a day—but the tone of his voice suggested he had no interest in prolonging her stay. What had happened? Had she done something to offend? She had thought he approved of her performance. Was that not so?

  “You’re letting me go?” she asked.

  “It was never my intention to keep you prisoner. I may be devoid of morals, but I am no tyrant.”

  Never his intention or not his desire? Would he have felt differently if she were Josephine?

  “What of Josephine?” she inquired when he touched his hat to her and prepared to take his leave.

  “You may rest easy, Miss Merrill. I will not be extending another invitation to your cousin.”

  Because he might end up with her instead? She watched him depart in stunned silence. Was this how he was with the other women? Did he bring them ecstasy, show them a bit of affection, then cast them aside as quickly as possible?

  Of course. What a fool she had been to think that he might have taken a fancy to her. Apparently she did not merit even a full weekend with him. He had proved his point and shown her for a charlatan. Did she expect anything else from entangling herself with a rake like Sebastian Cadwell?

  The bread, though freshly baked, suddenly tasted stale to her. With a sigh, she pushed away the tray and rose from the bed to prepare for a long and lonely journey home.

  * * * * *

  “Surely you are not leaving so soon, mon cheri?” Lady Follet asked from the settee where she lounged in a stola.

  Sebastian bowed. “I have no reason to stay, and came only to bid you adieu.”

  “Adieu? But why?” Marguerite persisted as she plucked a grape off its stem.

  He eyed the two brawny men, dressed in togas, who had been servicing her. “I have no wish to trouble you with more than a goodbye, seeing as you are occupied, my lady.”

  She waved her pair of Adonises away. “I am now unoccupied.”

  “Nevertheless, I intend a brief farewell.”

  Marguerite pursed her lips in a pout. He could not help but compare her wide and thin lips with those of Miss Merrill’s. Parting from Miss Merrill had proved more difficult than he had anticipated—especially as she sat naked in that bed. He had considered taking her one last time, but that would only have delayed the inevitable awkwardness. And he had had a hard enough time looking into her eyes after what had transpired between them.

  “Ah, you offended your lady friend in some manner and she is leaving in a huff,” Marguerite noted. “You will, of course, give chase, prove that she cannot resist you, and ravish her madly in your carriage.”

  He swallowed hard, trying not to imagine the scene being played out with Heloise—Miss Merrill.

  “I am sending her away,” he explained.

  “But why?”

  “Because she came in error. She is not suited for Château Follet.”

  “Her cries would indicate otherwise. She was enjoying herself—my servants told me they could hear her from down the hall. And, regardless of what Anne Wesley would say, no woman has been known to be dissatisfied in your hands.”

  Sebastian let out an impatient breath through his nose. He had little desire to discuss the matter with Marguerite, but she was the hostess, and his manners would not allow him to dismiss her easily.

  “The misgivings lie with me.”

  “She displeased you.”

  He wished that were the case. He wished that he had not found her courage and attempts at boldness endearing. Nor her vulnerability so alluring. Her body so intoxicating.

  “She pleased me well enough.”

  Marguerite arched her brows. “Pray tell you are not developing a conscience, mon cheri?”

  Women. They could be damnably clever at the most inconvenient times.

  “She would not think it possible,” he replied wryly, “having denounced me as a libertine devoid of morals.”

  “But why would she…? Strange words for a woman who came here to experience the pleasures of the flesh.”

  Sebastian could see Marguerite would not relent until she understood the situation. Only women had such propensities.

  “She did not come here to indulge her carnal desires,” he divulged, “but to rescue her cousin from ruin at my hands. Her cousin was my intended guest.”

  “Mon dieu. She took her cousin’s place? What a peculiar mademoiselle.”

  He took this opportunity to raise her hand to his lips. “And now, my dear, I bid you a fond farewell, until next we meet.”

  She pulled her hand away before he could kiss it. “But you—you seduced her?”

  He felt a muscle ripple along his jaw. “My dear, I see no purpose in furthering this tête-à-tête. My horse has been saddled.”

  He turned to leave but was stopped again by her words.

  “But why stop now? Why send her away? Does she want to leave?”

  “Why so many questions about her?” he retorted. “Why, of the many women who have been through Château Follet, does she merit such curiosity?”

  “Because she’s not like the many women who have been here. At least not the ones you have brought.”

  “I did not bring her. She came uninvited.”

  “Nonetheless, you enjoyed her, did you not?”

  Hostess or no, Lady Follet was about to have a rude guest on her hands, he thought to himself.

  “It makes little sense that you are sending her away so soon,” Marguerite continued, “lest it be an act of conscience, of some form of chivalry. And so, my dear Sebastian, I may ask of you—why her?”

  “She is
no jezebel. She deserves better.”

  She stared blankly at him, and he thought that he might finally have put an end to the conversation, but then she began to laugh. Containing his irritation, he waited patiently for her to be done with the hilarity.

  “Forgive me,” she said at last, wiping away a tear. “I never would have thought to hear you utter such things, but I rather suspected that the day would come when a woman would stir the tender part of you.”

  The choice of weapon for women was words, and Marguerite, like Miss Merrill, would have done as well had she kicked him in the groin.

  “I am pleased to be a source of humor for you, my dear, but I fail to see where this dialogue is headed.”

  “Mon dieu, I have never seen you this cross. This mademoiselle must be très special, indeed. I must meet her.”

  He took a step toward her. “You will not.”

  Her brows shot up. “How protective we are. Tell me, she did not ask for you to send her away?”

  “It matters not.”

  “Of course it does. You said she deserved better. What if she doesn’t want better—at the least, not your patronizing definition of what is better for her.”

  He considered Marguerite’s words and tried to recall Miss Merrill’s reaction upon hearing that she was to return home. He had been so immersed in his own objective that he had not paid much attention to what she might have been thinking.

  “It is better that she go,” he said at last.

  “Coward.”

  Of all the things Marguerite could have said, he did not expect that. Rather, he had thought she might praise him for his rare display of chivalry with Miss Merrill or chastise him for being a chivalrous prude. Being called a coward was worse than anything Anne Wesley might have said.

  “My dear, you are deliberately trying to provoke my ire,” he said, taking off his gloves as if he meant to slap her across the face and challenge her to a duel.

  She eyed the gloves warily. “Only because I adore you, Sebastian, and only the friendship between us stays the jealousy I feel towards your mademoiselle.”