Mint, perhaps from her tooth powder. Fresh and crisp and everything he wanted more of. Her tongue teased his and her kisses grew into a frenzy. He was aching, desperate for her touch, for any part of her curves to align with his cockstand. Needing friction, if not release. In the darkness, her scent surrounded him, floral and exotic. Jasmine, he thought, with a hint of hyacinth.
Intoxicating, just as she was.
He should know better. He shouldbebetter. And yet, how could he tear his lips from hers? How could he deny himself her mouth, her tongue, her enticing curves wrapped around him?Just once, whispered a voice inside himself he’d thought he had silenced years ago. It was the voice of the self-indulgent prince, the man he had once been.
The careless man.
The one who hadn’t given a damn about anything of import until it had been too late.
These old reminders, remnants of the life he’d left behind, should have been pinpricks to his conscience. Should have stayed him or at least doused some of his ardor. But he couldn’t seem to get enough of her hungry kisses, the throaty sounds she made when he lingered over her nipple, the breathy sigh she gave into his mouth as his hand slid higher until he palmed a handful of her bare flesh.
Her bottom was as finely shaped as the rest of her. He ground his cock against the apex of her thighs, wishing he were inside her instead of separated by unwanted layers of clothing. So much heat radiated from her that he swore she’d scorch him like flame. And he’d happily burn in her fire, even if he wasn’t meant to.
Blinding need forced logic and reason from his mind. It didn’t matter that she’d been determined to brain him with a fire poker. That she had looked at him with icy disdain earlier in the salon. That she spoke to him with such cool hauteur, the likes of which he once would have visited upon others, a lifetime ago. She had come to life in his arms, like a carved marble statue of a deity suddenly turned into flesh and bone.
They engaged in a battle of supremacy, fighting over dominance in their kisses. She caught his lower lip in her teeth and bit, and he did the same. Their teeth clacked together, their tongues twined sinuously, demanding more. His cock was pulsing in his trousers, and he couldn’t recall ever being this hard, this desperate. Almost dizzied by his reaction to her, Theo tore his mouth from hers. Their breathing was well matched, equally ragged and rough, the only sounds in the stillness of the night.
Her head fell back against the wall with a thump, and he took it as an invitation, burying his face in her throat as he kneaded the soft flesh of her rump and teased her breast. He inhaled deeply, mystified by his body’s response, of having lost all control. His restraint had disappeared into the inky night just as the fire iron had. He found the place where her pulse galloped fast and kissed her there, in the hollow at the base of her neck.
Another sound emerged from her, part whimper, part plea. He raked his teeth along her throat, found his way to her ear and licked the hollow until she moaned softly. She had released her grip on his cravat, leaving her hands free to caress his chest and shoulders. He longed to tear away his coat and waistcoat, to strip off his shirt so that he could feel her smooth fingertips on his bare skin.
The urge was foreign, the suddenness of it alarming, for he hadn’t allowed anyone to see him thus, to witness the hideous scars that marred him. The inclination shocked Theo, reminded him of the reason for the marks covering his body beneath the trappings of gentility.
Memories returned with visceral vengeance. For a moment, the sweet floral scent of Lady Deering was replaced by the tang of sweat and blood. The husk of her dulcet voice was drowned out by the cruel lash of a whip and his own screams.
And that swiftly, Theo remembered who he was, why he was here. His cockstand withered and he jerked his lips from the silken benediction of the marchioness’s skin. He released her, disentangling himself so quickly that she made a sound of protest and stumbled to the side, sliding along the wall.
He wanted to catch her, to protect her, to keep her from falling, but the demons had rendered him immobile. Incapable of doing anything other than staying stoic and still and trying to drown them out with calm, measured breaths.
“Beast?”
Her hesitant voice cut through the night and his memories.
He swallowed hard against a rush of bile threatening to climb up his throat. Yes, Beast. That was who he was, who his past had made him. Not the soft-palmed prince, not the rake who had won over court and had his choice of any woman in the kingdom as his bedmate. Not the unscarred, undamaged, perfectly spoiled scion of the Boritanian king.
Just Beast. A mercenary. A scarred recluse. A dangerous man. One who couldn’t afford to allow himself to become distracted by the supple curves of a beautiful widow or the promise of burying himself inside her and forgetting all the ugliness which had blemished his once-promising life. A woman like her deserved so much better than the shell of a man he’d become.
What had he been thinking?
“Remain in your chamber where you belong, my lady,” he forced out, the words emerging as a growled warning, harsh and biting. “Fair warning: if I catch you wandering the halls with a fire iron again, I won’t be nearly as forgiving next time.”
With that, he hastened from her chamber, blotting out the temptation of her and returning himself to the darkness where he belonged.
CHAPTER4
Pamela did what she always did when she was overset.
She went shopping.
Ordinarily, a lengthy visit to Bellingham and Co. provided a temporary cure for what ailed her. But she’d purchased two lovely fans, an assortment of lace, and five pairs of kidskin gloves, and she still felt despicably overwrought.
Overwrought and overheated, her body awash with sensations that were a betrayal in every sense of the word. A betrayal to Bertie’s memory, a betrayal to herself, to her brother’s household. Heavens, even to Lady Virtue, who had accompanied her on this outing, and whom she was regularly offering stern advice on the necessity of firmly adhering to propriety, avoiding rakes, and never allowing herself to grow weak for the lures of a handsome, unscrupulous gentleman.
“Do you think we might return to Hunt House now?” Lady Virtue was grumbling at her side as Pamela examined a selection of furs she absolutely did not need.
Returning to Hunt House seemed most unwise at the moment. Because there was a man roaming about who had been in her chamber last night. A man she had kissed. A man who had cupped her bare derriere in his big, callused hand without a scrap of anything between them. A man whose anatomy had been thoroughly pressed against hers, informing her without words that he was largeeverywhere.
Pamela cleared her throat. “Not yet, my dear.”
