He didn’t respond, but moved to the open French doors and stared out at the twilight. He was aware of the slow, burning lust that was smoldering between his thighs. His reactions to Jane were getting worse. What the hell was he going to do?
Marry her off quickly, his inner voice said.
Or, take off to London, leaving her here.
Relief swept him. The second solution somehow pleased him. There was, he told himself, a lot to do to arrange a marriage for her, and it couldn’t be rushed. He would go to London and leave her here. A perfect idea.
“Darling?” Amelia came close. “What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”
He looked at her. She wore a stunning black velvet gown, low cut and glittering with diamantes. Her lips were touched with rouge, lightly, as were her cheeks. She was a beautiful woman, but he mentally compared her artifice with Jane’s natural, wholesome appeal. There was no comparison. “Nothing is wrong.”
Amelia laughed. The sound was strained. The earl looked at her sharply. She smiled quickly. “Where is your little ward?”
“She is tired, upstairs.”
“Yes, well, no wonder after—” The earl’s look stopped her in her tracks. “I happened across her today, while I was taking a walk,” Amelia said, her eyes on his face. “Did she mention it?”
“No.”
“Oh, well.” Amelia turned away. Nick sensed her relief. He wondered what she was hiding, then dismissed the thought, for he did not really care.
She came back to him, sliding her hand up his white silk sleeve. “Darling.” Her voice was throaty. “I know what’s ailing you.”
He was annoyed. “Nothing ails me, Amelia.”
Her hand tightened on his massive forearm. “Never before have you turned me away from your bed,” she stated, low.
She was referring to last night. “I told you,” Nick said, equally low. There was warning in his voice. “I was not in the mood.”
Amelia did not drop her hand. Their gazes met, clashed. “You are always in the mood. You are a stud stallion. Iknow you.”
“Do you?” His tone was ironic. “Do not fool yourself,” he said, a dangerous purring.
Amelia actually stamped her foot, flushed now. “You want her!”
The earl whirled. “What?”
“I see the way you look at her!” Amelia cried. “You want that skinny little blonde!”
His jaw clamped. His eyes blazed. “I do not.”
She didn’t just sense the danger, that she was pushing him too far, she felt it. Amelia’s body was tight now, full, pulsing. “You want her,” she hissed. “You wanted her last night. That’s why you rejected me!”
“No.”
“No?” She grabbed his arm and yanked his hand to her breast. “Prove it.” “Amelia,” he warned. “Prove it!”
He hauled her up against his body by her arms, hard. She did not whimper, but her breath escaped. “You want me to prove it?” he asked harshly, crushing her breast against the steel of his chest. He jammed his hard thigh between hers, and she gasped. “You accuse me of being depraved, Amelia, of lusting after a schoolgirl.”
She saw the fury in his eyes. “I know what I saw.”
“You saw nothing,” he ground out, grabbing her hair, carefully coiffed, by her nape and wrenching her head back. She cried out. Her hair spilled free. He ground his mouth on hers brutally. Amelia opened for him, and he thrust his tongue savagely inside her.
She clasped his powerful buttocks, pulling him closer, harder, against her. He was hard, but not like a rock, not like usual. She felt a searing frustration. He grabbed her breasts, lifting them from her bodice and taking one distended nipple between his teeth. It hurt—yet it also inflamed her.
She slid her hand from his buttocks to his thigh, then between them. She caressed the heavy sack hanging there. He did not make a sound, but she felt his response, the steel hardness thrusting against her hip. She ground her plump groin against him, then slid her hand around to the front of his breeches and began stroking the long, solid length of him. He bit her hard in response, and she gasped in both pleasure and pain.
She freed his thick, straining phallus expertly. She dropped to her knees, clasped his hips, and took the big, slick tip into her mouth. He still did not make a sound. Damn you, Nick Bragg, she thought. She had been with him enough to know she was losing the little power she had had over him.
