If the Viscount Falls (21 page)

“Good,” she said, rather gratified that he saw her as such a siren.

“You like that, don't you? You enjoy tempting me into madness.” His breath beat hot against her cheek as he thumbed her nipple.

It instantly hardened, the traitorous thing. He'd taken control yet again, turning her to putty just by touching her.

All right, then. While it might be beyond her power to stop desiring him entirely, she didn't have to let him control the attraction. In her years of dreaming of him—the admittedly chaste dreams of a virgin—
she
had been in control, making him burn and yearn, making him regret that he'd ever put her aside.

Perhaps it was time to fulfill those dreams.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with a heavy-lidded gaze that promised all manner of sensual pleasures if she would just give herself over to him. She would make him keep that promise . . . but without giving up herself.

Edwin would undoubtedly disapprove of this dalliance, but just now she didn't care. Dom was about to learn that she wouldn't be ruled by him or any other man.

Looping her arms about his neck, she rose up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. This time she was the one to instigate the duel of tongues and lips that sent her senses reeling. This time she was the one in control.

Until Dom pulled down her bodice and corset and shift to bare her breasts. Oh, sweet Lord in heaven. He was more wicked—and more wonderful at this—than even she could have imagined.

But she could be wicked, too. Remembering what Nancy had told her about men, she reached down between them to cup the hard length of him through his trousers.

He jerked back. “What are you doing?”

How wonderful to be the one to shock
him!
Though she noticed he didn't step away or pull her hand off him. And his flesh seemed to grow beneath her very fingers. “Don't you like it?” she said in what she hoped was a sultry-sounding voice.

“Good God, yes.” He practically groaned the words. “But where the blazes did you learn to do it?”

“Nancy said men like to be touched . . . down there.”

“Wonderful. Now the sinner is instructing the saint,” he muttered before he took her mouth again, giving her no chance to protest that she wasn't as saintly as he assumed.

But clearly he'd guessed because he leaned into her hand, letting her fully explore the male appendage that Nancy had only described in furtive whispers.

To Jane's delight, the more she rubbed him through his trousers, the more his kiss changed, grew bolder, hotter, fiercer. How delicious! They had certainly never done anything like
this
in their youth. Perhaps if they had, he wouldn't have been so content to toss her aside.

It was definitely making her ignite. Or perhaps it was his hands roaming her body doing that. Whichever the case, an unfamiliar ache began between her legs that made her want to squirm. So she focused on caressing him with renewed vigor, hoping to regain control over this . . . insanity.

He grabbed her hand to still it.

She tore her mouth from his. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“If you do it any more right, I will embarrass myself.” He fixed her with a dark stare. “Or perhaps that's what you want. Another way to torture me.”

“I don't know what you mean. Am I doing it right or am I torturing you? Which is it?”

He searched her face, then, apparently satisfied with
what he saw there, smiled faintly. “Both.” Taking her by surprise, he dropped onto the pianoforte bench and tugged her across his lap. “Here, I'll show you.”

As he drew her skirts up to her knees, she froze. “I don't know if this is . . . such a good idea, Dom.”

“Oh, trust me, it's a fine idea.” He smoothed his hands up her stockings and past her garters until he came to her drawers. “Before you go running off to seal your ‘arrangement' with Blakeborough, you should at least have a
taste
of passion. Just so you'll know how important it really is.” Pressing his mouth to her ear, he added, “Men aren't the only ones who like to be touched there, sweeting.”

That remark
really
made her want to squirm, but before she could ask about it, he kissed her mouth again and she gave herself up to the kiss. And then he was stroking her between her legs, right where she ached.

Her legs fell open, she wasn't even sure how. Then his clever fingers were inside her drawers and finding the delicate flesh beneath her curls and doing outrageous things to it that made her shimmy and wriggle on his lap.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” he rasped against her lips.

“Yes. Is it . . . too very wicked?”

He gave a strained laugh. “Not too very wicked.” He delved inside her with one finger.

“Dom!” she squeaked, but he continued the caress, and her heart felt as if it might leap from her chest, it raced so hard. “
Dom
 . . . That's . . . oh . . .”

“God, sweeting,” he said as he slid his finger in and
out, driving her insane, “don't ever tell me again that passion means nothing to you. You're so warm and wet. Perfect. So beautifully perfect.”

Seizing her mouth again, he stroked her with slow, sensuous movements that melted all her insides. Then he kissed his way down her chin to her neck and farther as he bent her back so he could reach her breast.

She made no attempt to halt him. She wanted his kiss there, as it had been this morning through her gown, wanted his tongue on her nipple. With a growl of pure satisfaction he took her breast in his mouth.

“Oh, sweet Lord,” she whispered.

His fingers fondled her oh so cleverly below, and his mouth sucked her oh so cleverly above, and all she could do was clutch his neck and hang on for dear life as a rush of feeling swept up her body.

So
this
was passion, these intense sensations centered below her belly that made her feel boneless as satin and . . . and hot as . . .

Faith, she couldn't think what. Her knees were open and her bosom bare, and she just wanted more.
More.
More heat, more stroking, more . . .

A keening began low in her throat that matched the building intensity between her legs. His fingers inside her fell into a provocative, rushing rhythm that was like . . . like . . .

“That's it, my lovely Jane,” Dom whispered against her breast. “Give yourself to the dance.”

Ah, yes, like dancing. Only better. Because the music rising inside her came from her pounding heart and
beating blood, from Dom's devilish playing upon her privates, from the crescendo . . . of her own . . . quickening . . . gasps . . .

Someone screamed. Her, apparently, for Dom uttered an oath seconds before he swallowed her cry with his kiss.

And just like that, she vaulted out of the dance into heaven. Her body shook and her hand gripped his neck hard enough to leave marks, and it was
marvelous
. Every inch of her felt alive, from bones to flesh to skin.

She wanted to shout, but Dom's mouth wouldn't leave hers. His tongue slid silkily in and out, slowing, softening, bringing her down from wherever it was she'd been.

After a while, his kiss gentled to a tender sweetness that made her ache in a different way.

In her heart. Her stupid, foolish heart.

Regretfully, she drew her lips from his, and he let her, though his gaze didn't leave her face. He drew up her bodice, pulled down her skirts, and lifted her until she was sitting straight up on his lap.

His
thing
felt like a rod of iron beneath her bottom, but he made no move to have her touch it again. Which was good because at the moment, she could only sit there, limp and panting.

He briefly kissed her forehead. “That, sweeting, is passion,” he said in a throttled voice.

She nodded. It was all she could manage.

“And if you wish to leave this room an innocent, you'd best go without delay.”

That startled her. But she was grateful for the warning. Because now that their encounter was done, and she was returning to reality, she realized how mad this was. If she still meant to marry Edwin . . .

No, she couldn't think about that. Not right now, when she had Dom's taste in her mouth and his scent engulfing her senses.

Blushing, she rose from his lap and straightened her clothes, sure that if she came across anyone in the halls, they would guess at once what she'd been doing. Thank heaven the servants had probably already retired to their quarters. She would die if any of them saw her and guessed she'd been playing the wanton.

“Dom . . .” she began, not sure what to say.
Thank you?
That was lovely? When may we do it again?

Not that. If they ever did
this
again, she wouldn't rest until he made her his. And she still wasn't sure she wanted that.

“It's all right, Jane,” he said tightly, as if he could read the conflict inside her. “Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow.”

She bobbed her head and fled. But an errant and disturbing thought hit her as she climbed the stairs.

If I, as a maiden, can so readily give in to Dom's charms, how much more readily will an experienced widow like Nancy give in to Samuel's?

12

D
OM SAT THERE
in a state of acute arousal long after Jane left. He was out of control. He
hated
that. Most of the time he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it in the most efficient manner. But when it came to Jane . . .

Damn the wench, but she destroyed his control whenever she entered a room. Seeing her at dinner in that crimson dress, with garnets sparkling at her throat, had made it impossible for him not to touch her when she'd shown up outside the dining room alone.

Though he didn't regret it. The feel of Jane coming apart in his hands was like nothing he'd ever known. Just remembering it had him fully aroused again. Blast.

Then he heard a noise in the hall. Was that Jane, come back to finish their encounter? But no, when a figure appeared in the doorway, it proved to be Tristan.

Good God. “How long have you been here?” Dom remained seated, hoping that the position would make
it easier to keep his brother from noticing the arousal emblazoned on his trousers.

Tristan thrust his hands in his coat pockets. “Long enough to see Jane leave looking rather . . . disheveled.” His voice had an edge to it. “Take care, Dom. She's toying with you.”

I know.
“What makes you say that?”

“For one thing, she seems none too fond of you. For another, she's engaged to someone else.” Tristan came into the room. “Yet every time the two of you get the chance to be alone, we find you . . . well . . .”

“Talking? That's all we're doing, you know.”

Tristan snorted. “Right. Because you're on such good terms.”

Dom tensed. They could be. If he could manage to melt the glacier of a past that lay between them. “We get along well enough, under the circumstances.”

“Yes, and what are those circumstances, exactly?” Tristan walked closer. “She's behaving rather like a woman scorned, which is odd when one considers that
she
jilted
you
. She did, didn't she?”

Dom avoided his brother's speculative gaze. “It's a bit more . . . complicated than that.”

“I thought it might be.” Tristan dropped into a chair before the fire. “But she really
is
engaged to Blakeborough, is she not?”

A sigh escaped Dom. “That's complicated, too.” Especially now that Dom had learned she wasn't in love with the chap.

Love is too dangerous.

She certainly was right about that.

“Leave it to you to complicate a simple situation,” Tristan said.

With his arousal effectively banished, Dom rose. “You and Zoe did the same,” he said irritably.

Tristan shrugged. “Not really. I got her into my bed as soon as I could manage it, and all our complications vanished after that.” He watched as Dom paced the room. “Though I wouldn't attempt that with Jane if I were you.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Yet he
was
dreaming of it, of having her right where he wanted her, where he could tease and taste and touch every fragrant inch of her to his heart's content. Where he could have her beneath him, where he could be inside her. After all, if he compromised her, she'd
have
to marry him.

But if he did that, she would never forgive him. It would be hard enough to get her to forgive him as it was. She seemed to think he'd been dictatorial in his decision to force their parting. And though he knew he'd done the right thing, there was no point in adding more ice to the glacier by arguing the matter.

“Are you still in love with her?” Tristan asked.