Becoming Lady Thomas (Becoming Her Book 1) (4 page)

I hurry from the room to catch up with my sisters only to find they are already greeting our unwanted guest.

“Where is your sister?” he asks Edith in a deep timbre. The depth of his gravelly voice sends a quiver of fear pulsating through me.

“I’m here,” I blurt out as I defiantly lift my chin to meet the eyes of him.

Him.

Lord Thomas.

Chocolate-colored eyes meet mine and my lips part open in surprise. I didn’t expect him to be so . . . so achingly handsome. His overgrown, dark hair is styled on top of his head in such a way that I wonder if he even fixed it at all. My fingers twitch at my sides with a sick longing to touch it. When his eyes fall to my lips, they narrow. In a nervous move, my tongue darts out to moisten them.

The room spins, and I suddenly wish I’d had a moment to eat something before he’d arrived.

“You must be the precious Elisabeth,” he greets, his voice a grumble that makes its way into my bloodstream.

I don’t like that it feels as if he’s infecting me.

With what?

Him.

It makes me dizzy and lightheaded, and the room tilts again as I reach for anything to steady myself on. He takes a step toward me, and in a desperate move, I grab his arm as if it’s an anchor in a turbulent sea.

“Yes, but if you’ll excuse me, I should go lie down. I’m not feeling well at all,” I whisper, ignoring the warmth radiating from his arm.

He leans in, and I close my eyes as his scent takes its turn invading me against my will. Unlike William, who smells sweet, this man smells different. His scent is dangerous. Intriguing. Decadent. The way my mouth waters in his presence is further proof of my being ill.

When my knees buckle, he slips an arm around my back and pulls me against him, and I’m completely lost in him. His chest is hard through his suit.

“Where is her bed?” he demands.

Ella answers first, because maybe my father and Edith are shocked at my sudden sickness. “This way.”

I gasp when he scoops me into his arms and strides effortlessly down the hallway. Once he makes it into the room I share with Ella, he kicks the door closed before striding over to my bed. How he knows that it’s mine is beyond me.

“I’m sorry to ruin your afternoon, sir, but please rejoin my family. I’ll stay here,” I tell him breathlessly.

When he releases me, I push away the shudder my body threatens to take at the loss of his touch. Then his gaze finds mine and it’s one of interest, much like how a cat would paw at a dazed mouse. I don’t like that I feel as if I’m his prey.

“Lord Thomas, please join us for some tea,” Edith chirps as she pokes her head inside the door.

His attention snaps to her, and I watch as his eyes run down her perfect body before waving her off dismissively. I should feel horrified that he’s turning her away to focus on me, but I can’t help the thrill that surges through me.

“Go on without me. I’m going to take care of her,” he declares.

The declaration scares me because I don’t miss the double entendre. Edith nods curtly before closing the door again, leaving me alone with this man. Then his eyes find mine and he grins at me.

My chest seizes with some unexplainable feeling, and it’s as if I cannot breathe.

“Elisabeth, what is this you’re wearing? Did you have intentions on fooling me as to not choose you?” he questions with a smirk on his full lips.

I can’t help but regard them as he says his words. It takes a moment to clear my head before I unwillingly drag my vision away from them to stare at him.

“I’m wearing a dress. And we both know Edith is the perfect choice,” I assure him.

He skims his gaze along the naked flesh of my neck and down toward my breasts, which are heaving wildly. I feel as if I’m an animal trapped under his claws and my only way of escape will be if I say the proper words. One false move and I’ll be doomed.

“I beg to differ.”

Our eyes meet once again. His look is sharp and unyielding.

“But she’s so beautiful, and with her education—”

He interrupts me. “She’s not you.”

My eyes widen at his words and I sit up on my elbows to glare at him. Anger floods through me. Here I’ve done everything in my power to appear the less favorable choice and he wants me anyway. It’s as if he’s doing it just for the sport of it.

“Excuse me?” My lips form a firm line as I glower at him.

“You heard me properly, Elisabeth. It’s you who I want. I made my decision weeks ago. And now—now that I’m in your presence—I’m one hundred percent certain you will be mine.”

I gape at him in horror. What about William? Our future?

“No,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

His features become furious. And while they should terrify me, something sinister coils from deep within me. He is even more handsome while angry.

“No isn’t a word I’m accustomed to hearing. No isn’t a word that even registers in my brain. You will be my wife and you will be coming back to London with me this evening.”

This evening?
“Absolutely not. Please, sir, take Edith. She’s more than ready to banish my father’s debt by becoming your wife. You’re a fool for not realizing how beautiful she is. Besides,” I tell him with a pout, “I am already taken.”

Whereas he was furious earlier, he seems outraged now. “What is this you speak of? Who do you think you belong to?” he hisses out angrily.

“His name is William Benedict. I have loved him since I was a small girl. Now that he’s back from university, I’m set to marry him. Not you—not some man I’ve only met today,” I snap.

His arm flinches, and from the dangerous look in his eye, I suddenly fear he’ll hit me. As he raises his hand, I close my eyes and wait for the impending blow. But he doesn’t hit me. Instead, his hand curls around the back of my neck. With surprising strength, he hauls me to him. And I’m shocked when his lips smash against mine hard enough to nick my bottom lip.

I go to slap at him, but his free hand steals my wrist as he lowers me back down onto my bed, never losing the connection of our lips. My mind refuses to kiss him back, but my lips respond by parting and allowing him further access. The growl he empties into my mouth sends a shiver through me that gets lodged in my pelvic area. His kiss is rough and unrelenting, so different from William’s soft, worshipping ones.

William.

I slip my fingers into the man’s hair and yank him from my lips. “Stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. No, he pushes toward me again, unfazed by the way I pull at his hair, and kisses me harder. The way his soul attempts to climb inside me through our kiss both frightens and thrills me. Every hair on my body stands on end, and I can’t help but realize how alive I feel.

So wanted.

So desired.

My body squirms in a needy way that embarrasses me. I’m William’s, yet here I am, enjoying—yes,
enjoying
—the way this man is kissing me so powerfully. It’s as if his kiss somehow consumes my soul.

“Are you wet for me, dear Elisabeth?” he murmurs when he breaks our kiss for a moment.

“What do you mean?” I gasp. My words are innocent, but I know exactly what he means. Between my legs, I’m throbbing for this handsome man to touch me. The very thought is a betrayal toward William, and that sickens me.

“Coy is a very sexy look on you,” he grumbles before he briefly takes my lips. “But I’m not stupid. I can see that my proximity affects you. Your tight cunt is wet, isn’t it?”

I shake my head in disagreement even though the act is a lie. My knickers are damp because of him. Though William and I have had plenty of steamy kisses, never has one made me borderline insane like the one I’ve shared with Lord Thomas.

“Lies,” he chides playfully. “If that is the truth, I’ll leave you now. Let you run along to your peasant boy.”

I frown at him.

“Your father has a terrible poker face as well. I bet”—he grins—“you’re as wet as you’ve ever been in your entire existence.”

My blood boils with rage because he’s right. “Wrong. Now, please, let me be. I don’t want you. This isn’t my debt to repay. Surely there’s another way for you to negotiate with my father.”

He rests a palm on my belly and I swear my dress nearly catches fire from the heat of it. I’m frozen in fear when he slides it lower and lower. I want to shout for my father. I want to hit him and make him stop. But something inside me quietens the voice. Something inside me wants to be touched by him.

“Ah,” he growls, “I bet I could make you scream my name just by touching you here.”

The moment his finger connects with a certain part of my body through my clothes, I nearly buck off the bed. While I’ve always been curious, my fingers have only probed within me—not on the outside. The place he touches me now seems so magical as it pulsates pleasure through every nerve ending in my body.

“W-what are you doing to me?” I whimper. My breathing has become fast and erratic as his finger owns that part of me.

“I’m doing whatever I want,” he answers simply.

I know I should stop him from the way he is touching me with practiced efficiency, but my mind is blank of all instruction. All I can think about is how his finger causes stars to blink behind my now closed eyes. Why is my body betraying me?

“Stop,” I beg, my voice nothing but a whisper. But as I raise my hips to chase his moving finger, we both know that my plea is a lie.

“I won’t stop until you find your release,” he murmurs back.

His voice washes over my skin, and the out-of-reach sensation finally obliterates my senses. I want to cry out, but instead, I bite down on my lip as insane, never-before-felt pleasure rages through me. My body shudders wildly out of my control as I ride the waves pulsating through me. When he removes his finger, I hate the feeling of loss.

What have I done?

I’m too confounded to open my eyes. What he just did to me feels so dirty yet so right. I hate that I feel so relaxed and content now. My thoughts begin to clear when I feel his warm hand slip under my dress, I pop my eyes open.

He watches me fiercely as his fingers skim up my bare thigh.

“What are you doing?” I demand angrily. And even though I loathe the fact that his hand is under my dress, I can’t help but want him to touch me more—to give me another gift like the one he just gave me.

“Was I right? I think I was,” he tells me smoothly when his index finger slides over my knickers. “You have drenched your poor undergarments.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment at his words. This man just says whatever is on his mind. He’s horrible. When he pushes my knickers aside, I gape at him, my mouth wide open.

One finger.

He owns me again with one finger as he breaches my wet opening. The way he enters is slow but demanding. His finger stretches and fills me more so than my own ever did.

“Goddammit, Elisabeth. You’re absolutely dripping with want for me.”

I wait eagerly for him to work more of his magic, but he slips it out of me before I can protest. Then he raises the offending hand in front of me and I see that his finger glistens. When he opens his mouth, I watch in fascination as he darts his tongue out and tastes my essence. I want to be shocked, but I’m quickly learning that this man is bold and daring. He doesn’t have the boundaries normal people have.

“You taste like a honeysuckle,” he reveals. “Such a sweet flower with a delicious center. My tongue is jealous of my finger.”

I’m powerless against his unusual words as I stare hopelessly at him.

“Fifteen minutes. That’s all you need to gather your personal things. We’re leaving. I cannot wait another second to claim you as mine.”

As he stands abruptly, the haze he brought upon me lifts along with him.

“Wait!” I call out, “You can’t do this. You cannot just claim me. I’m not yours to claim!”

His tall frame stiffens as he hears my words. Because of the way his suit fits so perfectly, my mind wonders what he looks like underneath. But I don’t have any time to examine the thought further because he stalks over to me and places a palm on either side of my head on the bed. Once again, I freeze up and all thoughts turn into unimportant bubbles that float away.

I try not to inhale his masculine scent that is now mixed with what must be mine. Together, it smells too good. Sinful. His lips press against mine again, and this time, I don’t hesitate to let him kiss me. I get a taste of something different, which I realize must be me.

I taste good. Just like he said.