Darius: Lord of Pleasures (10 page)

“Come.” He slid his arm over her shoulders. “It’s nice and cozy. I’ve languished in there at my bath for most of the evening.”

Interesting. Vivian had drawn hers out until the water was cold too.

“I don’t get to keep my lawn tent tonight, do I?”

“We can worry about that later.”

“I want to worry about it now.”

He opened the door to his bedroom and let her pass through before him. Vivian put aside their argument to take in his most personal surroundings. She was relieved to see the bedroom wasn’t a monk’s cell, which she could have easily seen him inflicting on himself. The room was comfortably masculine, with odd little touches.

“Flowers?”

“They’re made of silk and paper,” he said. “A curiosity, but pretty enough to fool the eye for the months when I can’t afford hothouse flowers.”

“You don’t have a hothouse?”

“I do, but it’s taken up with growing food,” he said, letting her amble around as she chose.

“Why does it smell good in here?”

“There’s cinnamon in that little pot by the hearth.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Occasionally, I’ll burn a scented candle. Then too, I make lavender and rosemary sachets to sell in Town, and my linens and wardrobe are scented with both.”

“You’re very enterprising,” Vivian said, studying the room rather than the man removing his clothes so casually. The bed was huge, as it would have to be for a fellow of his dimensions, and raised up one step, for warmth. The bed hangings were a rich green velvet, the linens snowy white, and the entire thing looked far too comfy for what was going to happen there.

“If I’m to have any comforts at all”—Darius was pulling his shirt over his head—“then enterprise is necessary. What did you decide about the lawn tent?”

“It’s up to me?”

“It’s up to you.” He sat on the raised hearth to tug off his boots.

“Why are you so casual about disrobing?”

“I don’t think of it as disrobing.” His stockings followed. “I think of it as getting into my livery. The fit is superb.”

She did not want to smack him,
never
that. “That’s awful.”

“It’s honest.” He rose, wearing only his breeches. “In truth, Vivvie, I want to be naked for you. I want you to desire what you see. I want to please you.”

He was slipping further into his role as seducer, and Vivian wanted to howl at the shift. His eyes became slumberous, the pitch of his voice dropped, and his spine curved a bit, to let him strut rather than walk toward her.

“Stop this immediately.”

He halted his progress toward her, holding her gaze. “Stop what?”

What words could she use? “I don’t want to be a job, a task, an obligation.”

His expression darkened. “You’ve known me for a week, Vivian. This is business. Pleasurable business, one hopes, but business. I
am
being paid for what happens here, and you are being compensated too, with a lifetime of motherhood.”

“I know.” She sat on the bed, disgruntled, impatient, and not at all willing to be seduced. “But sometimes people can be friends when they’ve business to transact. William is friends with his cronies from the Lords. They argue, fight, and scheme against one another, but they’re friends.”

“Interesting form of friendship.” Darius lowered himself beside her. “I can’t have you getting silly notions, Vivvie. When you leave here, we’re done.”

“You’ve said as much.”

“It has to be that way, for the sake of the child.” He took her hand, which was some consolation. “You cannot have this child raised with rumors regarding paternity. Whispers like that haunt a person. I know, because they’ve haunted my sister Leah her entire life and excused all manner of poor behavior on my father’s part.”

“That is dreadful.”

“More dreadful for her, but you comprehend that when we’re done with this little winter idyll, Vivian, we’re strangers again. Worse than strangers, because a man of my reputation would seldom cross your social orbit unless I’m escorting my sister.”

“I don’t believe that.” She leaned against him, resenting his insistence on this discussion. He was an earl’s spare, and they often became MPs, and she entertained MPs in quantity at William’s table.

“Believe it.” He petted her hand. “The people I keep company with late at night would make you cringe, Vivvie. They’ve turned being mean into a hobby. You don’t want them getting wind we were connected.”

She stayed silent—she could hardly argue this point—until he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “This is not lighthearted conversation, and flirtation should be lighthearted, my lady.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“I honestly don’t know what to call it.” He rose, his tone both impatient and amused. “I intend to pleasure you tonight, Vivvie. So make your decision about the lawn tent.”

He stepped out of his breeches, folding them over a chair with the rest of his clothes, then got the warmer, filled it with coals, and ran it over the sheets. Something about the matter-of-fact, any-night-of-the-week nature of the activity gave Vivian courage. If he could consider this a passing romp, so could she. She dragged the lawn tent over her head and stood by the side of the bed, clutching it to her chest.

Because then again, she had no notion of what a romp,
any
romp, entailed.

“Brave Vivvie.” He set the warmer aside. “Your courage will be rewarded.”

His smile told her how much he approved as he crossed the room in a few slow, easy strides. He stood right next to her, naked, reminding her of how tall and muscular he truly was, but thank Jesus and the angels, he didn’t tug the nightgown away.

He leaned down and ran his nose along the curve of her shoulder. Because her hands were full of nightgown, she could only stand there and let him inspect her naked person with his nose.

“Relax, Vivvie.” She felt him tugging on the nightgown gently. “The bed is nice and warm, we have all night, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

She nodded, but his nose tickled where he ran it over her shoulder. Then his lips settled at that spot where her shoulder joined her neck, and Vivian comprehended what it meant when a woman’s knees went weak.

“Hold on to me, Vivvie,” he coaxed, and she did, with one hand on his bicep and the other clutching her nightgown to her chest. He pushed her with his chest until she was sitting on the bed, him looming over her, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her temple, and sending heat cascading out along her limbs. He stood between her legs, denying her his mouth on hers until Vivian let the nightgown go and used both hands in his hair to hold him still so she could kiss him properly.

Improperly, she corrected herself, opening her mouth immediately under his. But still, he was damnably coy, only teasing her with his tongue before skating away to press a kiss to her cheek or take her earlobe into his mouth.

She flinched. “That tickles.”

“Behold.” He held her gaze with amused solemnity. “She drops the nightgown.” He went to his knees between her legs and wrapped his arms around her waist before Vivian could recover her shield. “You’re as lovely as I imagined you’d be, and your nipples are the exact right shade of pink.”

“Hush,” she managed, but he was pressing his cheek to her exposed breast, ignoring the nightgown pooled in her lap. “I want the candles out.”

“You won’t, later,” he promised, taking one nipple in his mouth. And just when Vivian’s back arched into the heat of that mouth, he rose abruptly and began blowing out candles. “Though I’ve no doubt we’ll both be too weak to leave the bed, so maybe blowing the candles out now is a good idea.” He paused between candles to give her a brooding look. “Safer.”

But it did not help, not one bit, to see his lean, naked flanks gilded by firelight, to see the red highlights in his sable hair, to see the night shadows on the handsome planes of his face.

He came back to the bed and considered her. “How about if we fold this”—he raveled up her nightgown—“at the foot of the bed?”

She let him have it, one handful at a time, knowing her blush was obvious even in subdued light. She turned her face away when he had the entire garment, and sat naked before a man for the first time in her life. He took an eternity to drape the nightgown across the bottom of the bed, and when he turned back to her, Vivian could see the beginnings of arousal stirring his…

She nodded at his parts. “What does one call this?”

“I’ll tell you later. Touch me, Vivvie.”

She knew it was probably not what came next, but she put her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his flat stomach. Yes, she could feel him, feel the soft mass of his genitals against the rise of her breast, but she hadn’t the courage to do more than hold him, hiding her face against his ribs.

His hand came down on her hair, starting a slow massage at the back of her head, and she realized he’d give her all the time she needed to find her way through this.

She realized something else: All night wasn’t going to be nearly long enough.

***

She was throwing him completely off stride, with her modesty, and her… inexperience. For a lady married five years, Vivian had no sense of herself as a woman, and Darius felt a passing irritation for her. Older men might lack resilience, but they were experienced, for God’s sake. William should have been considerate enough out of sheer gratitude to have given Vivian some confidence.

But here she was, twined around his waist in an embrace so odd and dear he didn’t know quite what to make of it.

And having her wrapped around him was arousing. Usually, his degree of arousal was completely within his control, a matter of willing a response to occur, or willing it not to occur. Some men could throw darts with deadly accuracy, others sang beautifully even when sober; Darius could muster a cock stand on command.

Or not.

He bent over her and tugged on her hair to bring her face to where he could kiss her on the mouth. She slid her arms around his neck, urging him closer, and the shy command in her behavior made him smile against her lips.

“Get into bed, Vivvie,” he whispered, “where you can have your way with me.”

He pressed his cheek against hers for an instant, wanting to feel her blush heat his skin. She scooted back and was under the covers before he could peek at much of anything, but he’d seen enough already to have his cock on the rise.

And for once, he hadn’t had to think his way to an erection. It was just there, along with a growing sense of happy anticipation.

Until he recalled: he was being
paid
for this.

“Now what, Mr. Lindsey?”

“Whatever you please.” Darius followed her onto the bed. “The kissing was just getting started.”

“You like to kiss?”

“Hmm.” He kissed her again, lingeringly, loving the way her arms came around him of their own accord and her fingers got tangled in his hair to tug him this way and that for her delectation. “I might.”

With her, he did, and there was a small shock in that. He used his mouth on Lucy, frequently, and occasionally on Blanche, and they certainly put their mouths on his body and each other’s, but he didn’t kiss them on the mouth. An unspoken rule, one he hadn’t understood at the time he’d made it.

He understood it now. Kisses were to be given, not bought.

“I like kissing you,” he admitted, seaming her lips with his tongue. “I like it a lot.”

“Mmm.” Which, he supposed translated to “As do I” when considered in conjunction with the way she was sighing into his mouth. He angled his body half over hers, half along it, and slipped an arm under her neck. She paused in her kissing and turned her face into his shoulder.

“Now what?”

“Do you think there’s a list somewhere, Vivvie?” He slid a hand down her thigh and tugged her leg over his hip. “Kiss three to five minutes, fondle at least two minutes. Mount, thrust, spend, wait nine months, name baby?”

She blinked up at him in the firelight, and he could see her trying to think. The way passion slowed her busy brain and softened her eyes was lovely.

“Here’s my list.” He nudged at her belly with his cock. “Kiss her until she’s mindless with it, feast my hands on the glory of her body until she’s begging for my cock, swive her until she explodes with pleasure more times than she can count, repeat steps one through three until she lies sleeping and sated in my arms.”

“Begging?”

“Begging.” He kissed her temple, more than a little surprised that all this blather was the honest truth. “Pleading, demanding, praying for me to give her what she craves.”

“Gracious, everlasting God.”

“Kiss me, Vivvie,” he whispered in her ear then drew her earlobe between his teeth. He shifted so he was over her, but kept his cock off of her lest she become too… rushed.

Hell, lest
he
become too rushed.

And, by God, she’d gotten the knack of kissing him. Her tongue was bold and teasing, and just when he thought maybe it was time to slide down her body and show her what else a mouth could do, she bit his earlobe, and then his neck, and he had to retaliate by slipping a hand over her breast and tugging at one ruched nipple.

“Darius.” She whispered his name on such an exhalation of longing that Darius heard it in the throbbing tip of his cock. She laid her hand over his and closed her fingers. “More, please.”

Please was not begging, but it was importuning of a sort. He obliged, experimenting with the pressure and grip she liked, until she was arching her back and rolling her hips against him.

“Tell me what you want, Vivvie.” He levered up and twisted to get his mouth on that nipple.

“More, please, Darius… God.” He suckled the one and kept his fingers busy at the other, and she shifted restlessly beneath him, her hands trailing along the muscles of his back, into his hair, over his face, over
his
nipples.

He’d wanted to make her come a few times before they joined, out of pride, some, but also out of consideration for her. She’d been hesitant, and nothing overcame hesitance like pleasure, except his first plan didn’t seem quite… necessary.

“Darius?” She’d arched up against his cock and gone still, then he felt her hand, carefully shaping him.

The expedited approach was going to have to serve, pride be damned. He moved over her, nudging at her damp sex with his shaft.

“Kiss me.” He lowered his head, but she’d turned her face, so he concentrated on finding the entrance to her body.

“I’m not sure…” she began when he’d settled his mouth on the side of her neck, a spot he already knew made her melt, and her words trailed off until he’d found his target.

“Just relax, Vivvie,” he said, because she’d gone abruptly tense and silent. “Relax so I can bring you pleasure.” He pushed against her gently, feeling the sweet, wet warmth of impending bliss. The urge to thrust hard, to go
home
in her body was strong, but she tugged stoutly on his hair.

“I don’t think…” She inhaled again and held her breath, waiting.

He wasn’t hearing “no,” so Darius pushed again, more gently, and she stiffened even more.

“Darius, wait. I can’t…”

“Vivvie?” He rested his forehead against hers, his intellect telling him very clearly the lady was having second thoughts, while his body shouted with equal certainty this was no time for
thoughts
of any kind
.

“I can’t do this.”

Well, of course. Last minute nerves, conscience, whatever. This was Vivvie, and nothing was simple with her.

“Am I hurting you?”

“You’re going to.”

“You’re not comfortable?”

“I’m very uncomfortable.”

“Here?” He gave a small but productive thrust, gaining him the first real increment of penetration. She yelped, and her body closed against him.

And not in passion.

“You see?” she muttered, teeth clenched.

He realized as he stayed poised just inside Vivian’s body that William’s disservice to her went deeper than he’d thought. In his infirmity or inconsideration or pure blind devotion to a dead woman, William Longstreet hadn’t shown Vivian even the barest consideration due between any two people sharing intimacies—on those few and distant occasions when he’d availed himself of his marital privileges at all.

“I won’t hurt you.” He smoothed a hand down her hair but could see even by the firelight she didn’t believe him.

“This won’t work,” she insisted, her expression miserable. “I’m sorry.”

“Vivian.” His tone came out more harsh than he’d intended, but the control he’d bragged of so easily was costing him. “Vivvie, don’t you want a baby? A child to hold, to love, to treasure?”

“I want a baby,” she said, near tears, “but I’m not suited to this… I just… I can’t…”