“To the contrary, pet, I dare most anything,” he purred. “Now you saw quite the variety of punishments at Andromeda’s; I wonder which you would most prefer? For instance, would you enjoy being bound and helpless as I took my pleasure? As I touched and kissed you however, wherever, I wanted to?”
A choked breath left her. Beneath her cloak, her bosom surged.
“Perhaps you’d like to pleasure me,” he said thoughtfully. “On your knees, taking everything I give you.” His cockstand, already turgid, pulsed at the idea—and even more so when her teeth sank into her lower lip. Sweat dampened his collar; he forced himself to finish what he’d begun. “But I think you’d most like being turned over on my knee. Raising your pretty bottom up for me.”
His senses flooded with the beauty of that image: her supple, white skin beneath his palm, her beauty entirely in his hands. He knew she was not a miss of half-measures; when Emma Kent submitted, she would give... everything. Heat sizzled through his veins, and he burned to know the generosity of her ardor, to show her ecstasy that she’d never known before.
In a hoarse voice, he continued, “You could let go of fear and worry, Emma. Put yourself into my keeping.” He cupped her downy cheek, her quiver travelling straight to his prick. “You could trust me to give you everything you need.”
She made a strangled sound, and he saw his own dark desire mirrored in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal rather than disgust. She swayed toward him, her breath panting through her lips, her passion like a seed poised to sprout through virginal inhibitions...
Virgin—a trap.
His mind sounded the alarm over his roaring lust.Laura seemed sweet and passionate, and she played you for a fool.His gut clenched as her betrayals flooded him, the humiliating memories. The loss...
Never again.
Control is everything.
Somehow, he mastered himself. Pushing away from the wingchair, he straightened and lifted a brow. “Well, pet? Are you unaffected now? In complete control?”
She blinked, paling as the words struck home. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered.
“I’m honest,” he corrected coolly. “This is what will happen if you play games with me. Now this is your last warning: stop meddling or face the consequences.”
She shot to her feet. “Fine.If you wind up dead, see if I give a farthing!”
Phobos and Deimos leapt up, ready to give chase to her departing figure.
“Stay,” Alaric commanded.
The deerhounds came over to him, whining at the loss of a visitor.
“Trust me, lads,” he said darkly. “It has to be this way.”
***
Despite his victory over the indomitable chit, Alaric felt bedeviled with restlessness. The dark fantasies he’d used to warn off Miss Kent continued to plague his lustful imagination. Visions of her kneeling in front of him, her lips parting so sweetly as he fed her every inch of his throbbing shaft...
He paced the library like a damned prisoner in his own house. Either he could go upstairs and frig himself like a blasted greenling or he could find some distraction. His club—that was the ticket. He hadn’t gone to White’s since Clara’s death, and his continued absence would add fuel to the gossip.
Best to nip it in the bud. He had naught to hide.
Summoning his carriage, he made the short trip over to St. James Street.
As Alaric entered White’s, that bastion of male comfort, all eyes turned to him. The scent of leather and cigar smoke curled in his nostrils as he returned cold stares and polite greetings in equal measure. Nothing like strife to separate friends from foes. He made mental note of who fell on which side: the Scot in him valued loyalty above all else.
“Strathaven, I am surprised to see you here.”
At the pompous drawl, Alaric turned to see the Earl of Mercer approaching, accompanied by his usual pack of dandies. With his wheat-colored hair immaculately pomaded and his trim figure clad in embroidered velvet, Mercer was a handsome Pink of Fashion. He was also a snob, the kind of fellow whose sole purpose in life appeared to be flaunting his wealth and position—neither of which he’d earned—and spewing “wit” with his viper’s tongue.
“Why would you be surprised?” Alaric said in even tones.
“The passing of Lady Osgood—so very shocking to the sensibilities.” Mercer shuddered. “It appears you’ve managed to escape unscathed. Must be thosehardyScottish sensibilities of yours.”
Mercer’s cronies tittered.
“I had nothing to do with Lady Osgood’s death. Anyone who claims the contrary can meet me at dawn,” Alaric said coldly.
