He took a fortifying sip of his wine, turning his mind to happier thoughts. Such as Virtue in his bed, naked. Her soft thighs wrapped around his head as he licked her cunny until she spent. The perfect pink of her nipples and how deliciously sensitive they were. He wondered if she was wearing stays this evening and slanted a glance in the direction of her gorgeous breasts, hidden from view by her bodice and a godawful fichu.
“Will you please stop doing that?” she demanded, voice low and irritated.
Caught.
He lifted his gaze to hers, feigning innocence, and raised his glass in a toast. “Stop doing what, o future wife?”
She made a huff of annoyance, but her cheeks were flushed, and he didn’t miss the little wriggle she made in her chair, telling him she was not as unmoved as she pretended. The attraction between them was palpable. His cock had been half-hard through the entirety of the first course.
“Pretending as if we are getting married, for one thing,” she said. “We decidedly are not. And ogling me as if I am yet another dish on the menu, here for you to devour, for another.”
Devouring her sounded utterly splendid. Nothing could be better.
He grinned, for she had led herself into an excellent trap. “But wearegoing to be married, and Idointend to devour you when you are my wife. Every day, if practicable. At least once, if not twice.”
“Ridgely.”
Was it wrong that her chastisement made his prick leap to attention? He suddenly wondered how far he could push Virtue. Wouldn’t it be amusing to try his best to scandalize her?
“Have I shocked you?” he asked, holding her stare as he toyed with the stem of his wine goblet. “Of course I haven’t, have I? It isn’t as if I told you I wanted to sweep away all these dishes, lift you onto the table before me, lift your skirts, and make a feast of you instead.”
Her pupils had bloomed in her gold-brown eyes, the flush in her cheeks deepening to a fetching hue, and her lips had parted. “You are despicable.”
“You have no idea how very despicable. I can show you now, if you ask nicely.”
Her nostrils flared and her chin tipped up in defiance. “I’ll not be asking you for anything.”
God, he loved her rebellious spirit. The hurt in her eyes earlier, when he had told her that the sale of Greycote Abbey had been completed, had haunted him all day long. He’d never seen Virtue weep before, and the knowledge that he was the cause of her upset had been akin to a dagger between his rib blades.
Her fire was returning. He intended to keep it there, burning. Ready to scorch him.
“Don’t be so certain, darling.” He winked. “We both know you cannot resist me.”
“Your arrogance never ceases to astound me.”
And nettle her. Good. He wanted her to fight him. And then he wanted to win. To hear those soft, lush lips admit defeat.
“It is universally acknowledged that I am quite irresistible to the fairer sex,” he said, goading her. “You are certainly not impervious. Do not dare to suggest otherwise.”
The truth of it was that he didn’t give a damn about the rest of the women in the world wanting him. All he desired was the one before him. Every wench in London could come crashing into the dining hall and fall at his feet, begging him to bed them, and he wouldn’t be moved in the slightest. Nor tempted. No, for reasons he refused to contemplate and could not begin to understand, it had to beher, or no one else.
Lady Virtue Walcot had mesmerized him. Yet another sign she had been sent by Beelzebub himself to orchestrate Trevor’s downfall. And yet, what better way to be led to his demise than in this woman’s arms? He could think of no superior fashion.
“I am impervious now,” she informed him coolly, “after what you’ve done to Greycote Abbey. Where are all the belongings I left behind?”
“Arrangements were made with the steward and domestics there and my man of business and the steward at Ridgely Hall. Anything belonging to you is awaiting you at my country seat. When we are married, you can attend to your belongings there at your leisure.”
“How efficient you are.” There was bitterness in her voice rather than praise. “You have managed to pack away my entire life and sell everything that was left, all without me ever knowing.”
“You didn’t ask,” he pointed out, guilt slicing him like a knife. He hadn’t wanted to carry out his obligations, to cause her pain, but the clause in Pemberton’s will had left him without choice. He cleared his throat, tamping down emotion, and continued. “As I said, I thought you understood the terms of your father’s will. The clause concerning unentailed property was quite clear on the matter. Greycote Abbey was a failing estate. You are fortunate to receive the tidy sum it brought rather than the headache and debts of its management. And you needn’t fear I will seek to claim your inheritance. Your funds shall remain your own, even after we are wed. You have my vow.”
“My funds will also remain mine if I don’t marry you,” she said tartly.
They could continue to speak in circles, or he could be blunt. Trevor opted for the latter.
“Not marrying me is no longer a choice for you now that my tongue has been inside you,” he reminded her.
She looked away, giving him her profile. “Must you speak of it?”
