Yes, there was his wanton wife.
So wicked for him.
He would take great pleasure in making her come this way.
She whimpered something indistinguishable. Perhaps it was his name. He could not be certain over the rushing of blood in his own ears. She was closer now, he could sense it, the need in her building to a towering crescendo.
Damnation, she was slick, her heat bathing him, her muscles gripping him. She came on a deep, husky moan, her release pouring from her. For a moment, he reveled in it, glorying in her complete helplessness to her pleasure. He felt her splinter into pieces, and he knew how delirious she must feel, as if the brilliance of the sun shone within her. He had made her body tremble and sing for him. And he felt a thrilling surge of triumph, as if he had just conquered his enemy upon the field of battle. Followed swiftly by a crippling bolt of lust. He had to be inside her.
Now.
Morgan rose over her as the last of her tremors subsided, taking in the decadent sight of her, at his mercy and wearing nothing save the gold and ruby necklace around her throat. Here was his revenge, and how delicious it was. How intoxicatingshewas.
He positioned himself at her entrance and then sank home in one full thrust. She cried out at the suddenness of his invasion, and for a moment, he feared he had hurt her, but then she moved, rolling her hips, urging him onward. Morgan kissed her as he surged inside her again and again, making her taste herself on his lips and tongue.
How good it felt to debauch her. To introduce her to all the sinful pleasures of the flesh. He would enjoy having her as his prize. He would make her come a thousand different ways. Surely this—she—was the relief granted him after the suffering he had endured in captivity, all the days when he had wished he would die rather than to endure one more minute of degradation.
But he would not think of those dark times now. Not when he was here, Leonora beneath him. Not when he had come so far to where he stood on the precipice of gaining everything he wanted.
He reached between their bodies, finding her pearl and working it until she came again, tightening on him so violently, he could not keep his own release at bay any longer. He spent inside her, his lips never leaving hers, and he knew in that instant not even vengeance would be more satisfying than making this woman his.
Chapter Nine
“You certainly looka great deal happier than when last you paid me a call,” Freddy observed with a teasing smile, as Leonora settled herself on the settee in her friend’s gold salon.
Leonora’s face was surely as scarlet as the color of Freddy’s bold day gown. Even with child and suffering from wretched bouts of sickness each morning as she had confided to Leonora in her daily missives, Freddy was as beautiful and bold as a butterfly. Nothing could detract from her loveliness, even if she did appear a trifle pale.
“I am…” she paused, searching for the correct word to describe the feelings that had burst forth within her over the sennight since she had last seen her.Happyseemed too mundane, woefully inadequate. Surely there was a word more apt, more precise?
“Besotted,” Freddy concluded for her, clapping her hands with girlish delight. “Oh, my darling. You must tell me everything.”
“I am not besotted,” she denied, her flush growing hotter still, even though it was true. Shewasbesotted with Searle. That had been precisely the word she was searching for.
“Your countenance suggests otherwise,” her friend noted wisely. “You have been wearing the smile of a woman who has newly fallen in love ever since you crossed the threshold. Even now, though you try to dispel it, the smile remains.”
Drat her observant friend. Of course, Leonora might have guessed that someone as adept at conveying the emotions of her fictional characters would also be gifted at observing them in those around her. Freddy, in addition to being blindingly lovely, steadfast of heart, giving and caring and all things wonderful, was also a talented author. Her novel,The Silent Duke, had recently been published to a whirlwind of praise and clamor.
“I am sure you must know such a smile better than I,” she said then, hoping to deflect Freddy’s attention from herself. “After all, each time I see you, you appear even more overjoyed than the last. If Mr. Kirkwood is such a commendable husband, perhaps you ought to consider hiring him to train all the gentlemen in town.”
Freddy grinned. “Mr. Kirkwood is an incredibly ideal husband, but I dare not share my time with him in such a fashion. I am not nearly generous enough. Need I remind you, however, that we were discussing you and not myself? I daresay you are attempting to distract me from my course.”
Because her course was making Leonora distinctly uncomfortable.
Because she was afraid her friend’s assertions were true.
She had spent the days since she had last visited Freddy with Searle never far from her side. He took her to the opera, escorted her to a ball. They spent drowsy evenings sharing brandy from a snifter, his head in her lap and Caesar cuddled up to them both whilst she read him poetry. Their nights were devoted to blazing passion, and sometimes their mornings and even their afternoons, too. Only yesterday, he had caught her in the music room whilst she played on the pianoforte. He had sunk to his knees and lifted her skirts, pleasuring her with his mouth as she sat upon the bench.
It is my fondest wish to make love to you in every chamber of this house, he had said afterward.
Even now, the memory of his frank, wicked statement sent a trill down her spine, and a fresh spark of want lit within her.
“Leonora, darling?” Freddy’s voice cut through her musings once more. “You look as if you need a chocolate biscuit. Tea, as well?”
“I fear no chocolate biscuit, regardless of how decadent, can cure what ails me,” she said, comprehension hitting her like a stone.
“And now your silly smile has fled at last, but you look quite pale. Do I need to send for hartshorn?” Freddy quipped.
If the weight upon her chest had not been so heavy, she would have laughed. But this—her heart—was no laughing matter. And she feared it was very much in grave peril.
