The Naked Viscount (18 page)

“Stubble it and just leave me be, all right?”

“Yes, my lord. Of course.” Eldon's voice had just the perfect mix of subservience and wounded feelings as he gathered Motton's soiled clothes and shut the door behind him.

Damn. It wasn't his valet's fault he was so edgy. Motton stared at the closed corridor door and then glanced at the other—the door connecting his room with Jane's.

Was Jane already asleep? Should he peek in to see?

Not dressed—Ha! Exactly—as he was or, more to the point, wasn't.

He stretched. Faugh, he
did
stink.

He padded over to the tub and climbed in. Ah! It felt wonderful. He slouched down, laying his head against the back of the tub, and let the wet heat loosen his muscles. He wasn't worried that he'd hurt his back this afternoon, but his body did feel tight—and not just due to fighting runaway horses. One particular body part was aching for an entirely different reason.

Jane.

What was he going to do about Jane? Satan obviously had him—and therefore her—in his sights.

Bloody hell, how could he keep her safe? Satan had his eyes and ears everywhere. At a minimum he should forbid her looking for the last piece of Clarence's puzzle.

He snorted, sending a small ripple spreading out across the tub. He could imagine her reaction. Jane would not care to be told “no.”

He dunked his head and started lathering his hair.

It wasn't just Satan's interest he'd brought on her, though; it was society's as well. She'd managed to spend seven Seasons in London without getting her name on every gossip's tongue, and now? Their sudden and marked interest in each other had the old gabble-grinders flapping their lips fast enough to generate a small wind storm. The aunts had definitely noticed. They were probably mentally decorating the chapel at his country estate—unless they planned for him to marry in London.

And if society knew exactly what he and Jane had been doing…He must have compromised her several times over.

How
had
he overlooked her all these years? Well, he'd been in no hurry to marry—why would he want to repeat his parents' disaster?—so he hadn't been looking, at least not for a wife. And he couldn't very well look to John and Stephen's sister for dalliance.

But once this puzzle and the Satan problem were solved…

He dunked his head again to rinse the soap out. He surfaced, wiped the water from his eyes, and—Was that a cough?

He spun around, rapidly checking every corner of the room. Nothing. Was he starting at shadows now?

This was Motton House. He had men guarding all the entrances. It would be hard for anyone to sneak in here…hard, but not impossible.

He held his breath, listening.

Silence.

It must have been his imagination.

He rubbed the soap cake into a lather and scrubbed his arms.

He didn't usually have an overactive imagination, but he didn't usually have a female involved in his business. He'd always worked alone. But now…

He blew out a long breath and moved on to rub his feet and legs. It wasn't just having Jane involved that was putting him on edge; it was being near Jane. It was her scent and her figure; her smile, her eyes, her independent streak, the way she tasted…

Was she interested in him or was she only interested in Clarence's puzzle? Surely she wouldn't have let him kiss her—and she wouldn't have kissed him back—if she didn't care for him. Or maybe she was just curious…but if that was all it was, she'd best be careful. The aunts could be very determined when they'd got the bit between their teeth. And Jane's mama seemed inclined to fall in with them. If Jane didn't keep her wits about her, she was liable to find herself swept up the church aisle—and then into his bed.

His cock poked its head out of the water at that thought. He would definitely like to have Jane hot and naked in his bed. Mmm. He'd been imagining that scene in exquisite detail these last two nights while she'd been sleeping soundly in the viscountess's room.

He put his head back against the tub and ran his soapy hand down his poor, aching cock. He'd start with her spread out on his sheets, on her back, her small sweet breasts with their delicate nipples crying for his touch, her legs open, her—

His hips bucked up, sending a small wave of water splashing over the sides of the tub. Damn, just one stroke of his hand and the image of Jane had almost caused him to spill his seed.

His cock throbbed, begging for release. If he ever did have Jane in his bed, he would have to go much more slowly. Women needed time, careful tending, whereas men—he, at this particular moment—could—

“A—Achoo.”

Bloody hell. He was out of the tub in one motion, hunched over slightly as his cock struggled to resume more appropriate dimensions. That sneeze had come from under his bed. Who would have thought Satan would have one of his minions hide there? Was he waiting till he slept to slip out and kill him? And then go next door and kill Jane?

Ice filled his veins and the last wisps of lust cleared from his brain like hoarfrost in the sun. The creature under his bed would rue the day he was born.

He swiped his hand over his desk. The sand he'd left there to alert him to an intruder was not merely disturbed, it was gone. Had he a tidy villain? Odd, but he'd seen stranger things. His sword cane was still where he'd propped it, however. He jerked the sword free and directed its point toward the bed. “I know you're under there. Come out slowly.”

Jane bit her lip. Damn it. If only she'd been able to muffle that sneeze. What was she going to do now? The glance she'd stolen of Edmund told her he was very angry—and very naked.

Watching him bathe had been shocking. And well, yes, she had inched over to the edge of the bed to get a better look. He was so lean, yet had such muscles in his upper arms and chest and such broad shoulders. And how could she have guessed he had a dusting of light brown hair over his chest, down his flat belly to…

She'd seen her brothers naked, of course, but when they'd been children, before they'd had muscles and hair and such an impressive…Mmm.

Edmund quite put Pan to shame.

She'd wanted to touch him. And when he'd had his hand around his shaft, she'd wanted it to be
her
hand.

The place between her legs felt swollen and damp. It ached for something—and she had a very good idea exactly what it ached for.

“Come out now.” Edmund sounded very angry. She should move. He had a sword. He might do something drastic if she didn't show herself soon, but her nightgown was all tangled up.

“In a moment.” She tugged on her gown.

“Good God!”

She swiveled her head around. His voice sounded very close…

It was. He'd squatted down and was now peering at her. “What are you doing under there, Jane?”

He had his sword on the floor, pointing in her direction. As she watched, something else of his rose to point at her.

Would his penis be hard like Pan's if she touched it?

She would find out. Edmund would think she was shameless—a complete light skirt—but Lily was right, she wasn't getting any younger. She did not want to die a virgin.

“I'm hiding.” She'd wager her chances of persuading the man to relieve her of her virginity would increase if she were naked, too, but how could she free herself of her nightgown?

“Who are you hiding from?” His voice was hard, as if he were ready to skewer whoever was to blame. She smiled.

“You. I'm hiding from you.” But she wasn't going to hide any longer. Oh, no. She was going to show him everything.

Was she being foolish? Perhaps. He might reject her, though she had little fear of that. Men were not too choosy when offered bed sport. Look at John. He went regularly to visit Mrs. Haddon in the village, and she bore a striking resemblance to a goat. An attractive, pleasant goat, but a goat nonetheless.

“Why?” He sounded quite taken aback. “Surely you aren't afraid of me?”

“No.” She wasn't. He was much larger than she and much stronger, but she knew he would never hurt her. “I was merely startled. I didn't want to be found out. I'm not supposed to be in your room.”

She was not worried she'd become enceinte. Women did not conceive every time they shared a bed with a man. It often took months of dedicated effort—and probably took some practice as well. Her womb must need to become accustomed to the procedure before it could produce a child. Edmund's parents had been the exception.

Her womb—and other nether organs—shivered at the thought and produced more dampness. Her lower body was certainly in favor of seduction.

“That's true.” His voice sharpened again. “Why are you here?”

And what of her mind—and her heart? Did it matter that she loved Edmund and he only lusted after her?

No.

“Jane, why are you here?”

She would rather he loved her, of course, but she was not going to wait for love or marriage. She could have been killed today. If she'd gone headfirst into a stone wall instead of a bush, or gone flying out of his curricle and under the horse hooves and carriage wheels on Oxford Street…“I was…I wanted to, ah…” She could have died.

She started to shake.

“Are you stuck?”

“N—no.” She bit her lip. She couldn't cry. Edmund would never take a weeping woman to bed. And she would look terrible, as well, with red eyes and a dripping nose. Not seductive at all.

He was down on his hands and knees now, sword shoved aside, squinting, obviously trying to see her in the dim light under the bed. “Are you crying?”

Thank God she was hidden in the shadows. She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “W—Why would I be crying?”

She took a deep breath. Better to concentrate on clothing removal. He was already perfectly dressed—undressed—but she…she would just have to slip the nightgown off when she got the opportunity. There was no way she could manage the feat underneath a bed.

“I don't know.” He frowned—he was in the light; she could see him perfectly well. Oh, not perfectly. He was too scrunched down to be viewed in all his glory. “
Will
you come out of there? Carrying on a conversation like this is completely ridiculous. I've got my naked arse in the—damn.”

He stood up. She watched his feet move away. Damn, indeed. He'd finally remembered he was naked.

She scooted out from under the bed. Yes, he'd gone back to the bathtub and was reaching for a towel. This was her opportunity. If she pulled off her nightgown now, when he wasn't looking, he couldn't deter her. It would be a fait accompli.

She grabbed her hem and pulled it up and over her head in one motion. Then she dropped the nightgown on the floor and kicked it under the bed.

She wouldn't have thought the thin cloth provided any warmth, but the sudden touch of cool air on her bare skin turned it to gooseflesh—and caused other things to pebble as well.

Should she try to cover her womanly bits with her fingers? That felt overly coy. But where
did
a naked woman put her hands? She had no skirts to hide them in, and placing them on her hips felt too bold.

She should not have removed her nightgown, but it was too late to rectify that. Edmund had picked up the towel now and was turning.

She clasped her hands together at her waist and smiled.

Good God.
The towel he'd just picked up slipped to the floor from his nerveless fingers. Miss Parker-Roth was standing by his bed stark naked.

Had he died in the curricle crash this afternoon? He must have, since he was now in heaven.

She was exquisite. Her lovely warm brown hair tumbled over her delicate shoulders, begging his fingers to comb through its silky length; her perfect small breasts made his palms itch to feel their soft weight. He wanted to run his hands over her graceful waist and flaring hips and part her beautiful milky thighs to find the treasure he knew was nestled in the thatch of curls there.

All the blood left his head and rushed to his cock. Damn. He grabbed the towel back off the floor and held it in front of him.

“Oh, don't be shy,” Jane said. She giggled and held out her arms. “I'm not.”

He heard the nerves in her voice, the mix of excitement, defiance, and fear, and his heart turned over.

She'd had a hard day, full of shocks and upheavals. She'd seen that damn painting of her father, hidden from her mother on the floor of a closet, and been thrown out of a runaway curricle. Finally, to add insult to injury, she'd had to endure Mrs. Hornsley, her mother, and his aunts. She must be worn to a thread. “You should go back to your own room, Jane.”

“No.” He watched the candlelight shimmer over her hair as she shook her head. “I don't want to.”

He should insist. He should take her arm and escort her to her door.

If he took her arm at this moment, he would escort her to his bed.

At least he should put on a dressing gown or nightshirt or breeches or something to bring a little sanity back to his overheated brain, but all he could do was hold the damn towel in front of his cock and stare at Jane like a lust-crazed noddy.

“I don't want to go to my room, Edmund.”

He knew it was mad, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. “Then what do you want, Jane?”

She wet her lips. “Y—you.” Her voice shivered.

God. The word when straight to his cock. It jumped with eagerness to present itself to her.

He grasped the towel more tightly and tried to grasp his suddenly elusive self-control. She was tired. She was upset. She was not in any state to make life-altering decisions. He should put her in bed—her
own
bed. She was a virgin, for God's sake. She had no idea what she was asking for.

But he was not a virgin. He had a painfully detailed picture of exactly what she was requesting, and he would so like to give it to her, again and again, slow and gentle, soft and teasing, hard and fast, any and every way she'd like it.

She had—they both had—narrowly escaped death this afternoon. They should celebrate life in the most elemental way possible. Skin to skin, breath mingled with breath, his body deep in hers.

She was compromised past saving; they would have to marry. Did it matter so much if they anticipated their vows?

She was coming toward him. He could see fear and uncertainty in her eyes, but under that, determination.

“I could have died today, Edmund, and, if you are correct about Satan, I might die tomorrow.”

He had not meant to give her that much fear. “I'll keep you safe, Jane. Satan won't hurt you.”

She shook her head, ignoring his words. “I always thought I had the future, but this afternoon, when I was thrown from your curricle and had that sick, helpless moment of being tossed through the air, I realized I don't. The future is just a dream. Nothing but this very moment—this
now
—is real.”

She was close enough to touch, but he kept his hands on the towel. He knew if he touched her, the faint voice of propriety, the whisper of his conscience, would be shouted down by far more urgent exhortations.

“I don't want my life to end before I've lived it. I don't want to die a virgin, Edmund.” She put her hands on his shoulders; her fingers burned like a brand. Her breasts taunted him. They were so close.

“We'll have to marry.” He waited for the heavy knot of dread to twist his gut. It didn't. The hot tide of lust washing through him must have drowned it, and his already weakened notions of propriety were sinking fast.

And it wasn't just lust he was feeling. There were other currents in the flood—protectiveness, tenderness, admiration. He'd never felt this way before.

Of course, he'd never felt as though his cock were literally going to explode, either.

“That's the future,” Jane said. “I can't think about the future.” She started moving her hands from his shoulders down his arms.

He was having a damn hard time thinking about the future as well, or anything besides the soft slide of her touch over the muscles of his upper arms and her lovely naked breasts just inches in front of him. He drew in a deep breath, and the musky scent of her need wafted up from the hot place between her thighs…

Hell, his cock
was
going to explode. Her hands had slipped down his forearms, over his wrists to his fingers, which still clutched the towel.

“Please, Edmund? Will you please show me what I've been missing?”

“Ah.” God! Her fingers bypassed the towel and wrapped around his cock, just like she'd wrapped them around Pan's prodigious member. He thought his eyes would roll back in his head and he'd pass out with pleasure. He dropped the towel and put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself.

Normally he took the lead in the bedroom. Hell, normally he paid for what he was getting, so his partner did what he wished when he wished as he wished. He had one specific goal; once that was achieved, he took his leave, forgetting the woman as soon as the door shut behind him—if not sooner. It was a physical and a financial transaction, nothing more. He'd never had a long-term mistress; he'd never wanted one. He didn't want to live a life anything like his father's.

But this was different, so different that he felt almost the virgin Jane was.

“You are hard like Pan,” she murmured, “but soft, too, and warm.”

Warm? Hot, more like. His temperature must have just shot up a hundred degrees with her words. Her hand moved, sliding up and down his length. Her touch was soft, tentative—teasing. He sucked in his breath.

“Do you like that?” He'd leaked a drop of fluid; she found it and spread it over his tip, slipping her finger around his sensitive skin.

“Y—yes.” He couldn't manage more words—he could barely manage that one.

She stepped closer, cradling his aching cock against her belly. Her nipples teased his chest. He slid his hands from her shoulders to her back, but didn't pull her against him. Soon, but not yet. He'd let her keep the lead for a little while longer—she was going in so many interesting directions.

Her hands moved down to his arse while her mouth moved up his chest. She laved a nipple, then trailed her lips over his skin to his collarbone, his neck, his jaw. As she stretched, her body rubbed against his.

Sweat trickled down his back. Letting Jane do what she wished was torture—wonderful torture. Rational thought fled—lust clouded his poor brain.

He needed her as he needed food and water and air.

And then her lips reached his mouth and he couldn't hold back any longer. He pulled her tight against him, leaving no breath of a gap between them.

She was his now. They might not have spoken vows before a minister; they hadn't even made promises to each other—in words. But their bodies were promising everything.

This was not just the need to erase their brush with death; it was the need to affirm life. To begin a life together…

And a new life? A child?

Good God.

He expected a flood of dread, but felt only anticipation. He
wanted
a child. A son—or a daughter—with Jane. He wanted a family, a future, with her.

That cleared the lust from his brain. He needed to slow down. Jane was a virgin, after all.

Damn. He'd never taken a virgin to bed.

He ended the kiss and lifted his head so he could see Jane's eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Huh?” She looked so beautiful, her mouth soft and open, her gaze unfocused. Her tongue touched her lips; she blinked. “Y—yes.”

His heart sank. “You don't sound sure.” He relaxed his hold, and stepped back. The air on his damp body chilled him—or was it the disappointment? He couldn't take her to bed if she was uncertain.

Jane swallowed. Damn it, why did Edmund suddenly have to have an attack of scruples? She didn't want to think or talk—she just wanted to
do
. Yes, she was nervous; of course she was nervous—she'd never done this before—but that didn't mean she didn't want to do it. “I
am
sure. Very sure.”

“No, you're not.”

Oh, dear God, he was going to prose on and on and then convince himself to do the right—the noble—thing and return her to her room. She would never get to sleep if he did—she was
aching
for him. Desperate for whatever he would do to her. And she would never find the courage to do this again. How could she persuade him?

There had been that very odd part of Clarence's sketch. It had looked rather disgusting, but Clarence had drawn an extremely happy expression on the man's face. Perhaps Edmund would like it, too, and be moved to stop talking and proceed to his bed with all due haste.

She dropped to her knees and fastened her lips around his male member. The poor organ had shriveled to a limp shadow of its former self, but it perked up nicely the moment her lips touched it.

“Jane!”

Was he appalled? He sounded…she couldn't decide how he sounded. His fingers buried themselves in her hair, but he didn't pull her away.

If his morals were horrified, his body was not. She smiled and ran her tongue over the bit of him between her lips. She heard him suck in his breath. His hands clenched in her hair, and his hips flexed toward her. His penis grew even thicker. She leaned back slightly to admire its sturdy length. Another drop of moisture glistened on its tip. She licked it.

Edmund made an odd sound, a combination of sigh and moan and laugh. He tugged gently on her hair. He clearly wanted her to stop playing and stand up. She wasn't about to do so. “I'm not done.” She licked him again and watched his organ almost jump in response. “I think you like it.”

“Of course I like it. I like it so much my knees are about to give out.”

“Really?” She could bring this strong man to his knees? She rather liked that thought. She licked him once more. What would happen if she took him in her mouth again and sucked? She would see…

He wasn't letting her. He held her head immobile and moved his hips back, taking her prize beyond her reach. “Enough,” he said. “It's my turn.”

She'd thought he
was
having his turn. Well, at least he wasn't trying to send her back to her room. This time when he tugged on her, she stood up. He pulled her against him, hugging her so tightly she could barely breathe. Then he stooped slightly, put an arm behind her legs, and scooped her up.

“Ack!” She threw her arms around his neck. She wasn't certain she cared for this new position. The floor looked much too far away. What if he dropped her? She wasn't large, but she wasn't light, either. Stephen had tried to pick her up once, and had made a great show of groaning and complaining before giving up. Of course, they had been children then…

Edmund's arms felt very strong, but she was used to standing on her own two feet. Giving her body into his complete control was distinctly unsettling…though that would be what happened anyway when he laid her in his bed.

No, she would have some control there. She'd just demonstrated that.

“Are you all right?” A slight frown formed a line between his brows. Oh, damn. She didn't want to get him thinking again.

“I'll be better when you put me down on your bed.”

He grinned. “I couldn't agree more.”

Thank God. Finally she would get what she wanted.

Was
this all she wanted?

No. She wasn't going to think, either. She was just going to feel. She'd deal with tomorrow tomorrow. Life was too uncertain—and she was certain she didn't want to wait another moment to learn what Edmund could teach her.

He lowered her to the sheets; they were soft against her skin. His mattress was large and firm. Had generations of viscounts been conceived here?

She wouldn't think of the past either. The present was all she had; all she wanted.

Edmund followed her onto the bed, covering half her body with his. She felt the length of his erection heavy along the inside of her thigh. She was so damp, aching for him.

His mouth explored hers, his tongue stroking, soothing, promising mysterious delights, while his hand cupped her breast and his thumb rubbed back and forth, back and forth, teasing her nipple to a hard, tight peak. She arched up, but all she could do was press against him. His body was as unyielding as a stone wall, trapping her close to the mattress.

Did she feel trapped—or protected? Whichever, she did not want to escape.

His mouth left hers and trailed over her cheek to her jaw, while his fingers kept playing with her nipple.

“Ohh.” She spread her legs farther apart. She was so hot, all of her, but especially there, between her legs.

“Do you like that, Jane?” His words tickled her ear.

“Mmm. Yes.”

He chuckled. “Good. Perhaps you'll like this as well.”

His lips moved to her collarbone and then down to her breasts. Wonderful—but his clever fingers had abandoned their play. She frowned. His mouth and hands teased, touching everything else. Her poor nipples pouted at the neglect, tightening into hard, aching points. She arched and moaned, but Edmund refused to take the hint. Could she thread her fingers through his hair and pull him to where she needed him? She was desperate enough to attempt it.