Trust Me (11 page)

He tugged on her
hand. “Come Anne.”

She pointed to the
object of her fascination. “You-you keep your crop here, on your night table?”

He chuckled softly,
the sound was somehow wicked, wicked as sin.

It sent shivers
through her.

The most delightful
kind.

And she was getting
quite wet between her legs.

“That’s not the same
crop I use on my horses.”

“It is not?”

“No, just so you
know, I bought that special.”

“Special?”

“Yes, just for you.”

Oh goodness.

She was breathing
faster now. Her nipples had pulled into such tight points that they hurt a
little. “You will want to…”

He placed his hand at
her throat. Gripped her collarbone lightly.

She looked up at him,
through her lashes.

“I will mark you
sometimes, Nan.” He caressed upwards along her neck.

Shudders of
pleasurable apprehension chased through her. Making her nipples tighter than
ever. Her wetness began to trickle down the inside her thighs. “Mark me?”

“My marks of
possession.”

“Oh…” The word was
more a moan than an acknowledgement of what he’d said. Her nub was erect,
throbbing, her pulse beat there with a ferocity that startled her.

She was almost ready
to ask him to mark her now.

Almost.

He dropped his hand
from her neck. “Come, with me, let me show you to your own chamber.

With one last,
lingering, trepid glance at the crop, she allowed him to lead her back through
the sitting chamber to the other bedchamber.

“This your domain,
Anne, your sanctuary. You have the right to ask me to leave at any time and to
have your privacy.”

With desire still
pulsing between her legs, she glanced around at the walls covered in ivory
silk, the elegant walnut writing desk, two wingchairs and a large, comfortable-looking
bed hung with crimson curtains. An ample walnut storage chest rested at the
foot.

“If you don’t like
the decor, we can change it.”

Didn’t like the
décor? Was he jesting? This was the only chamber in this house that didn’t make
her feel cold inside. It was absolutely perfect.

She turned to him and
smiled from deep within her heart that was practically singing with love for
him. “I adore it.”

He grinned back, his
eyes, oh his eyes so brilliant blue, so warm with affection.

Feeling as though she
might burst with the intensity of the joy within her, she hugged her shoulders
then she laughed as she slowly twirled and took in the entire space.

The hearth was framed
in rich walnut with a sturdy mantelpiece. Two empty bookshelves with ornate
glass doors stood on one side of the wall.

“You can keep your
most cherished books in here. We shall find the best shops and acquire the
finest copies made of leather and gilt.” He went to the other open door and she
followed him into a sizable dressing room. “What we shall work on first,
however, is filling your wardrobe.”

She walked around a
large brass tub to examine the tall, wide mirror that hung on the wall. The
curtains were open and moonlight illuminated his hair like sunlight shining
through winter wheat.

He stood behind her
and she met his eyes in the mirror.

They were dilated
with the same hunger that yet burned within her.

She fluttered her
lashes at him. “You really expect me to wear those opera dancer’s drawers?”

The fine lines around
his eyes crinkled. “Don’t you want to wear them for me, sweeting?”

Her nipples tightened
and her face burned with a flush. “Only if you command it.”

“You’ll wear them,
wench, but not just yet. To bed with you.”

She turned to face
him. “Are you—”

“Am I… what, my
lady?” He glanced down.

She followed his gaze
and saw tenting of his trousers. Another surge of hunger went twisting through
her belly and into her sex. A painful pulse of desire, so strong, that she
caught her breath. Quite audibly, in fact.

He chuckled, a
sensual, rich sound.

She licked her lips,
unable to tear her gaze away from that beautiful, magnificent evidence of his
arousal.

“It’s all for you, my
love,” he said.

She felt her face go
up in flames. Oh, to be caught in her little fascinations.

But his body was so
gorgeously, spectacularly male. How could she not stare at him?

He chuckled again.
Then he lunched at her.

Caught her about the
waist.

Lifted her off her
feet and spun her in his arms.

She shrieked. From
the shock of the sudden move.

He swept her up into
his arms, carried her back into her chamber and deposited her on her bed.

She sank into the
featherbed, a plush, glorious featherbed.

He put his mouth to
her neck. He bit her, lightly and he growled, the vibrations went deep, deep
into her chest. Her nipples went so hard, so painfully, delectably hard.

“Oh, oh, oh!” The
sounds were torn from her, each word a forceful, convulsive exhalation from her
lower belly.

Had she come?

No.

But almost. Goodness,
almost.

Wetness gushed
between her legs, dripping now.

He turned her on her
side then placed his hand on her arse, wedging it softly into crevasse between
her buttocks. “I shall be joining you here in your bed, my love. But we do need
to try and catch
some
sleep. We have an appointment at the dressmaker’s
early tomorrow.”

Her mouth dropped
open. “Can’t she come here?”

He put his hand on
the back of her neck and gripped her.

“No, she can’t come
here. I want to take you to the dressmaker’s.”

She laughed at the
silliness of his notion. “I think you have been with your opera dancers too
long—Ah!”

He had just bent and
put his mouth to one of her nipples. The warm wet of his tongue circled her
straining peak. Then he sucked firmly, tugging upon it.

She moaned, then
shook herself and refocused her mind on what they had been discussing, “Tell
her who I am. Whatever else I am known for in Mayfair, I am known to pay my
bills on time. She’ll come here.”

He lifted his head.
His hair was mussed. His face was flushed. “Duke’s daughters do not condescend
themselves to visit the dressmaker, eh?”

“Generally, yes.”

He caressed her
stomach in a circular pattern. “But going to the dressmaker can be so
enjoyable. I shall show you how much fun we can have in London.”

“Fun at a
dressmaker’s?”

“Aye, wench. Now
hush, and let me do my will upon you.”

She laughed and gave
herself over to him.

But there was no way
in Hades that she was going to visit the dressmaker like any common chit.

****

Anne sighed. There was
nothing so tedious or embarrassing in the whole world than being measured by a
dressmaker. Only today, she had stood not in the privacy of her own dressing
room with her faithful Nellie standing by.

No, she had stood in
a common dressmaker’s backroom, in her shift, with her husband watching while
the two slender assistants seemed to touch her all over with their cold hands.

Normally, she would
have donned a haughty demeanour and hidden behind it.

But how could she
possibly be haughty, or be allowed any dignity? Those silly chits had been so
distracted by the Earl of Ruel that they had been continually giving him
sideways glances. They had become so clumsy, they had poked her with pins.

Humiliating!

She did whatever she
could to avoid situations where she felt one down or humiliated. But Jon had
insisted on bringing her here. She’d had no control over it. Jon had remained
adamant about going out. He ultimately had made it an order.

Without her prideful
exterior, she didn’t know how to act. She was lost.

Finally dressed once
again and seated on the chaise lounge with Jon, she remained just as lost. They
were looking through pattern books. She knew nothing of fashion.

Truthfully, all she
needed were a dozen or so gowns. Two dozen chemises and petticoats and twice as
many pairs of gloves and stockings. None of them needed to be anything
spectacular.

But when she had
pointed out several plain, practical gowns, he had taken the book from her and
quickly turned through the pages. Now, he had already ordered several
shockingly low-cut, strikingly stylish evening gowns. But he was obviously
still searching for something.

Oh, her stomach
tensed with each page he turned.

“This one.” Jon
tapped the page. “In crimson velvet. But it must be a rich shade, nothing
tawdry.” He motioned to the ruffles and bows on the bodice and hem. “And leave
off all that frippery. Just a single row of lace and ribbon.”

Crimson
?

She grasped Jon’s arm
and leant close enough to whisper. “No, Jon, make it dark blue or purple.”

He turned to look at
her, a smile playing about his hard mouth. “You’re not in mourning any longer.”

“But it is such a
bold colour.”

“Yes, bold enough for
a countess.”

“No, too bold for
me.”

“Leave us for a
moment,” he said without glancing back at Madame Dubois
 
and her assistants.

They all left in a
rustle of skirts. Alone with her husband, Anne opened her mouth to protest
further.

Jon held up a
forestalling hand. “I desired you first for your beauty. I wanted it for my
own.”

“It is—I am yours.
You know that.”

He caressed her
cheek. At the feather-light touch, a shiver raced through her. He studied her
intently. “What pleasure is there in having an exquisite possession if one must
hide it away? Perhaps I wish to show your beauty off, to gain the envy of my
peers.”

“But everyone will be
staring at me!”

“Of course they will.
With your dark hair and skin, in that shade of red, you will be a stunning
vision beyond what most women could ever dare—or even hope to achieve.”

“I should die inside
to be the object of such scrutiny!”

A muscle flexed in
his jaw. His blue eyes flashed brilliant blue fire.

Her every muscle
tensed and she held her breath, transfixed.

He came down upon her
like a cat pouncing on its prey. With the dressmaker and her assistants on the
other side of the velvet curtains! His powerful thighs clutched either side of
hers, his powerful body weighed on her. Pinioning her to the divan. Her heart
thudding against her chest wall, she stared up at him.

His fierce gaze
burned into her for several moments. Her mouth went dry and she licked her
lips.

He reached behind her
head and gripped her hair tight. “You said you were mine. Completely.”

His tone chided her.

“I am.
I am
.”

He tightened his
hold. “Give me this. Be what I want.”

Her nipples tightened
and strained against her stays, making them itch. Her breasts swelled and
ached. Desire pounded through her. Desire to give him whatever he wanted.

She had accepted her
love for him. Agreed to submit to him. But sometimes, like now, the urge to
give in to his slightest whim made her afraid. It felt like losing herself.

She swallowed, trying
to ease her dry throat so she could speak. She attempted to reason with him.
“Y-you said we would negotiate everything.”

“I didn’t lie, Anne.”
A slow, sensual grin softened his expression. “This is how I negotiate.”

He released her
abruptly, so she fell back against the softness of the divan. He arose and
turned his attention to the doorway.

He looked so calm, so
collected. Not a hair out of place.

Anne could feel her
face flaming. Her gown was surely wrinkled and she couldn’t control the pace of
her breathing. She was possessed of the most maddening urge to caress her
aching breasts.

But he had gone to
pull the cord.

She sat up quickly,
brushing her hands over her hair, panicked, sure that she looked like she’d
just been tumbled.

Here. In a Mayfair
dressmaker’s shop.

The notion weakened
her limbs. She glanced at the muscular perfection of his body in his tan
trousers and dark blue cutaway jacket. As though noticing for the first time
that day. Heat poured over her.