“Oh, you are…much too good at this,” she murmured as his lips brushed kisses over her cheek.
“At what? The compliments? Or the touching and kissing?”
“All of it.”
“Better than Morgan?” He nuzzled her ear.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, to provoke him.
She should have known better; he only took it as a challenge. His hand at her thigh slid over her drawers and then inside the slit. “Ah, but I’m not done, sweeting.” His thumb sank into her private nest of hair, searching out a secret place that he rubbed, making her jerk upright on the pedestal.
“Goodness gracious, Sebastian!” She’d never felt anything so shocking in all her life! She grabbed his forearm in a vain attempt to halt his caresses. “I may be naive, but I
know
you aren’t supposed to do
that.
”
The clever scoundrel had the audacity to smile, then thumb her again, wringing a sigh from her. “Tell me you want me, sweeting. Say the words, and I’ll stop.”
She didn’t want him to stop. Indeed, her hand dug into his forearm, keeping him there. Oh, she was wicked, so very wicked.
His smile widened. “You like that, don’t you. No point in denying it.”
As if she could. One hand teased her breast, the other
inside her drawers made her insane…what was there to deny? He stared down at her, his muscles taut as he searched her face. “Oh yes, you like it. I can feel that you do. You’re so warm and wet, my naughty goddess.”
Wet? How did he know about…Oh, of course he knew. His thumb pressed against the very intimate place where she felt slick and hot and eager. Then suddenly, it wasn’t just his thumb stroking her, but his finger, and it was sliding up inside her…
“Dear me…” she moaned. “What in creation do you think you’re doing?”
“You don’t like it?” He stroked deeply, making her quake and quiver.
Of course she liked it. “I
shouldn’t
like it.”
“I don’t know why the devil not,” he growled. “God knows I do.”
Then he was kissing her…long, drugging kisses. His finger delved inside her in the most astonishing manner, in and out, while his thumb played over some tight nodule of flesh she’d never even known was there. Certainly she’d never known that any part of her could feel like
that.
He dragged his lips from hers to murmur, “Am I reckless enough for you?”
“Yes, oh yes…”
His hand on her breast caressed her with a fine precision. He was working her, molding her, and shaping her with such exquisite care that she began to lose all sense of time and self. She knew only the reality of his finger inside her, of his hands awakening her skin to hitherto unknown delights.
“Is it Morgan you’re thinking of?” he demanded.
She couldn’t speak, could only shake her head no.
“Who is it you want, sweeting? Say it, damn you!”
She keened his name, low and urgent, over and over until he smothered her mouth triumphantly with a kiss.
Then he worked her in earnest, coaxing from her body
some hidden wildness she’d kept secret even from herself. Like a god, he breathed life into her body, an act of creation so delicious that she leaped to be clay in his hands. Soon her own hands crawled up his sleeves to clutch his shoulders, and her hips undulated against his fingers with a nameless wanting that was building, building…
“Yes,” he rasped, “reach for it, my Aphrodite…reach…”
That’s when she shattered, so utterly and delightfully that her cry echoed off the glass ceiling above and the brick walls surrounding them.
“Dear me, Sebastian…” she breathed as her body throbbed with the most luxurious enjoyment she’d ever known.
Then she sank into a blissful torpor, oblivious to everything but the lingering pleasure of his hands still touching her. What had he done to her? How he had done it? And when would he do it again?
That truly
was
a scandalous thought.
He withdrew his hand from between her legs and lowered her skirts, though the one fondling her breast continued the motion. Her breathing slowed, but his seemed to quicken as he feathered kisses along her cheekbone.
“You liked that, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes.” She could hardly deny it. He’d have to be blind and deaf not to know.
“And just so you won’t lie about it ever again, I want the words. Admit that I gave you pleasure, that I—not Morgan—managed it. I deserve to hear the words.”
It was such a typically arrogant statement, the kind that only Sebastian would make. “Why, so you can control me as you control everybody else in your dominion?”
Drawing back, he gave a wry laugh. “I only wish I could. But I can’t even control myself when I’m around you—how in God’s name do you think I could control
you
?” He grabbed her hand and flattened it on the fall of his trousers.
The firm bulge inside leaped under her touch, making her gaze at him wide-eyed.
“You see?” he said hoarsely. “My poor John Thomas has been uncontrollable ever since you showed up here.”
“Your…John Thomas?”
“This, sweeting, this.” His hand pressed her fingers around the hard ridge. “The sign that a man wants you.”
He released her, but curiosity kept her from taking back her hand. So this was a man’s “thing.” She would never have guessed that mere flesh could get so firm. And it seemed awfully large for something meant to lie between a man’s legs.
When she swept her fingers along it, exploring him as he’d done to her, he groaned and pushed himself into her hand. “Yes, like that…yes. Touch me. I’ve imagined you touching me for years.”
“Have you?” she said coyly and stroked him again. It was nice to have power over
him
for once.
Then slowly his words sank in. Her heart began to pound. “For years?” she prodded, though she continued to stroke him. “
Years,
Sebastian?”
His eyes were shut, his expression rapt. “Since the day I…first saw you in that theater.”
The first time they’d met had been at the theater in Stratford.
As victory swelled through her blood, she broke into a smile. “Oh, Sebastian, I’ve got you at last.”
A guilty conscience needs no accuser.
English proverb written on a list once mounted on the Templemore schoolroom wall
S
ebastian’s eyes shot open when he heard the peculiar note of triumph in Juliet’s voice. His cock was still in her hand, and at first he thought that’s what she meant.
Then the fever in his blood cooled, he saw her exultant look, and it dawned on him what he’d said. About the theater.
“You can’t deny it now,” she said. Drawing back her hand, she smiled with feminine glee. “You can’t.”
A cold reality washed over him that froze his ardor as surely as if she’d doused him in snow. She knew. She really
knew.
And he’d accused her
family
of being oblivious to her abilities! She was far more sly and disarming than he’d given her credit for. All these little games and lessons…
they hadn’t been about attraction, not for her. The devious baggage had been setting traps, waiting for him to step into one and hang himself.
And he’d played right into her hands. Why hadn’t he seen what she was about until now? What had blinded him?
His own hubris, that’s what. And the needs of his deuced John Thomas, the same thing that had proved his father’s downfall. By thunder, it would not prove his.
“What are you talking about?” he said to buy himself time while he searched for how to cover his blunder. “Deny what?”
Her eyes gleamed. “You can’t play dumb this time, you rogue. You
know
what. You’ve only seen me in a theater once in your life.”
Her mention of the theater sparked the solution to his blunder. He nearly sagged against the table with relief. “Yes, that’s true. But I didn’t know you saw me.”
Her giddy smile faded. “What? Of course I saw you. That’s when we met, when we talked about the play and—”
“Talked about the play?” He forced himself to speak the words he knew would infuriate her. “We never spoke. I saw you from afar two years ago when we were both in London. We didn’t meet, but I saw you from my box. You wouldn’t remember it, of course, and indeed I hadn’t remembered it either until today but—”
“You…you…” she sputtered. “How dare you?” She shoved him hard, and instinctively he backed away to let her leap down from the pedestal. With alarming frenzy, she fastened her chemise, then began struggling with the buttons of her gown. “You don’t intend to claim…surely after this you can’t still—” She glanced up at him, eyes bleak with hurt. “How could you? How could you stand here kissing me and touching me, then turn around and lie to my face when…”
She trailed off, her breath coming in great tearful gasps
that drove out all his own anger. He could handle her fury at being thwarted in her aims.
But to see her wounded feelings—oh Christ, that cut him to the soul.
Still, he couldn’t take back the words. He didn’t dare bring out into the open the reality of what they’d been to each other before. Because once he did, everything would change, and he couldn’t predict how.
The likelihood that knowing the truth would provoke her to vengeance seemed more real now than it had scant moments ago. He’d thought she was warming to him. Now he knew this had been a ploy to make him lower his guard and reveal himself. She could have only one reason for such measures—revenge.
He’d underestimated her before. He wouldn’t do it again. “I don’t…know what you’re talking about.” Every word was wrenched from somewhere inside his gut.
The most painful irony was that he was telling the truth about the theater. He
had
seen her in London two years ago, after the kidnapping, wanting to assure himself that she was well. Or so he’d told himself. What he’d wanted was a glimpse of her, any glimpse at all, no matter how imperfect.
Filled with regret for what might have been, he’d lurked in a private box and watched a succession of young idiots approach her seeking introductions, all of whom he’d wanted to strangle for being able to speak to her and flirt with her when he couldn’t, when he dared not.
“Truly, Juliet, the only time I ever saw you in a theater—” he began.
“No, don’t,” she said in a small, heart-ripping voice as she returned to struggling with her buttons.
“Here, let me.” He needed something to distract him from the pain on her face. And the uneasy sense that he was blundering somehow. Turning her around, he fastened her buttons. “I saw you in London, you know. I did.”
“Stop it! I can’t bear to hear your lies when I
know
the truth. When we both know the truth. It was hard enough before, but I can’t pretend anymore.”
She started to walk away, but her words had rekindled his own feelings of betrayal. He caught her arm to stay her. “So all your coy games and flirtations and response to my kisses were merely your attempt to prove that I’m Morgan, weren’t they?”
“No!”
“All you wanted from me was some heedless statement that would prove your point. And for that you were willing to let me—” He tamped down the bitterness souring his soul. “You’re more heartless than I realized, Juliet.”
Lifting her face, she showed him a countenance etched with hurt. “No more than you. Don’t you think I know why you practiced your seductions on me?”
He blinked. Had she guessed that he’d been courting her? “What do you mean?”
“I’m not an idiot. I quickly figured out that you wanted to distract me from my purpose, to…to wrap me so thoroughly in your spell again that I’d forget what I came here for. But I didn’t care. Not when you were kissing me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re a clever rogue, Sebastian. You always were. And you know too well how to make a woman want you. I was so affected that if you’d acknowledged the truth just now, I might have forgiven all.”
She shook her head blindly. “But I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.” Turning away, she darted up the steps for the door.
All he could do was stand there, fists clenching, while she fled into the hall.
I didn’t care. Not when you were kissing me.
Devil take her for that. She’d been practicing her own seductions, and she tried to make him feel guilty for his? At least he’d had marriage in mind. All she’d had was vengeance.
Though he couldn’t blame her; God knew she had good reason. And it wasn’t as if he’d told her he wanted to marry her. He’d been so busy trying to keep from scaring her off that he hadn’t considered how she’d regard his advances. Especially since she’d never stopped knowing he was her kidnapper.
The worst of it was, if he had it to do all over again, he would in a heartbeat, just to see her face alight with pleasure, feel her flesh warm and soft beneath his fingers, have her tremble in his arms.
By thunder, she’d truly gotten to him. Spearing his hands through his hair, he paced a circle around the pedestal. What was he to do now?
The door to the conservatory slammed shut, and he jerked his head up to find that his uncle had entered the room.
“What’s going on, Sebastian?” Uncle Lew demanded. “Lady Juliet just nearly knocked me over in the hall in her eagerness to leave. She was so shaken I was afraid to let her return to Charnwood Hall in the sleigh without an escort, but she insisted. I thought you’d both left long ago, but apparently I misjudged your character. What the hell did you do to her?”
“Nothing.” He refused to discuss Juliet with Uncle Lew.
“Women do not generally flee my house in tears for ‘nothing.’”
His head shot up. “She was crying?”
“I believe that’s what they call it when water courses down one’s cheeks and the nose turns a bright red,” his uncle snapped as he stalked down the marble steps.
“Very funny,” Sebastian growled.
I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.
He tried—and failed—to ignore the guilt trammeling his conscience.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when a nephew of mine drove a lady to tears.”