How the Scoundrel Seduces (34 page)

He felt her gaze on him, and her father’s. They were waiting for him to say something, but what could he possibly say that would be adequate?

“Nice place you have here,” he quipped. “A bit small for my tastes, but I suppose I could get used to it.”

To his relief, his lordship laughed. “It does get a bit crowded,” Lord Olivier said, “but we manage.”

Tristan glanced at the man, carefully avoiding Zoe’s gaze. “I can see how it would be difficult when you have only, what, fifty rooms to choose from? Seventy-five?”

“A hundred and three,” Zoe said in a small voice.

He looked at her at last, his heart sinking to see the anxiousness on her face. For once, he must refrain from cowering behind a wall of wit. This was her whole world.
And the damned fool woman meant to share it with
him,
God help her. So the least he could do was be honest.

“It’s a lovely estate, sweetheart,” he said. “Exactly right for a princess like you. And obviously very well managed.”

She blinked. “Do you really think so? Papa and I work very hard at it.”

“It shows.”

Her smile blazed so bright that it tightened a fist about his heart. “Oh, but you simply must see it in full light in the autumn,” she exclaimed, “when the fields are heavy with grain, the sheep are fat and saucy, and the leaves are turning. It’s glorious.”

The thickness in his throat grew painful. “I’m sure it is.” Glorious . . . and too rich for his blood.

He scowled. Damn it, he had as much right to be here as any man. She’d chosen him, and he would make sure she didn’t regret it.

He still wasn’t sure
why
she’d chosen him, though. She hadn’t mentioned love; was it just because he’d compromised her?

That possibility had nagged him ever since they’d been found together, especially because they’d had no more than a few minutes alone. He didn’t want her to take him by default. Which was ludicrous. He ought to rejoice that an heiress wished to marry him. That he’d soon have a home, a place in the world.

Yet he couldn’t, until he knew why. As he’d told Keane, he wanted to be the only rogue in her life. But he didn’t want
only
to be the rogue in her life.

Having reached the entrance, they were greeted by a veritable regiment of servants. The male ones, especially, looked more like soldiers in livery than like actual servants. They behaved as if they were reporting to their commanding officer, and Lord Olivier certainly spoke to them in such a fashion.

Zoe leaned over to Tristan. “Papa hired most of our male staff from among the men who served under him during the war. He said it was a crime how soldiers were treated once they were no longer of any use.”

“It is,” Tristan agreed. But he’d never met an earl who cared.

And when Lord Olivier smoothly introduced him as Zoe’s fiancé, Tristan was forced to revise his opinion of his lordship even further. Especially when the servants accepted the pronouncement without a murmur, and Tristan was instantly accorded a respect he wasn’t used to from the servants of anyone but Max and Lisette.

Dom came inside only long enough to drink some brandy to warm him. Then, at his lordship’s insistence, he headed back out in the earl’s curricle, which could afford him some protection from the weather while he waited by the road.

Within moments, Tristan was shown to an elegantly appointed bedchamber with a roaring fire. A bath was swiftly provided, and he was more than happy to soak off the grime of the road. The warm water soon lulled him to sleep in the copper tub.

He awoke to the feel of cold water lapping against his chin. Shivering, he left the tub and dried off, then
dressed in the spare set of clothes he’d packed for the trip. He wanted to be ready at a moment’s notice to deal with whatever arose.

A glance at the clock showed that they’d barely been at Winborough an hour. Since his little nap would hardly make up for the past two sleepless nights, he ought to sleep.

But how could he, with what was hanging over his head? What if they’d missed Milosh? What if the man was even now demanding answers of Hucker and jeopardizing Zoe’s future? Milosh might have the good sense to be discreet . . . or he might not.

Unable to keep still, he headed downstairs. Out of habit, he’d memorized the layout of the parts of the mansion he’d been through, and having done so stood him in good stead now. Within a few minutes he’d made his way to the impressive entrance hall.

There wasn’t even a footman around at this hour, nearly 1:00
A.M
. He paused to assess his choices. Should he ride out to relieve Dom at his post? No point in them both losing sleep. But that would mean summoning a footman to call for a horse. Perhaps he should just head out to the stables, explain the situation, and gain a mount.

As he hesitated, he heard a curse from down the hall that sounded decidedly feminine. Curious, he followed the faint sounds of someone moving about until he happened upon an open door and a light showing through it.

He entered the room and instantly took in what appeared
to be a very feminine drawing room, much like one Lisette had at the Lyons town house. There was a sewing table in one corner, a semicircle of richly upholstered chairs across from a long sofa, and—

Well, well, wasn’t
that
a fetching sight. In the corner partially blocked from sight by the open door, Zoe, dressed only in her night rail and wrapper, stood atop a chair. She’d dragged it up to a massive eight-foot-tall japanned piece of furniture that looked like a bureau with a cabinet on top.

The bureau stuck out a few inches farther than the cabinet, so Zoe had one knee on the bureau, one foot on the chair, and the upper doors of the cabinet open as she stretched up, apparently trying to reach a box in one of the larger pigeonholes on top.

Careful not to disturb her, Tristan closed the drawing room door and locked it, then simply stood there enjoying the sight of her with her hair tumbling to her waist and every curve of her lush buttocks molded in fine linen as she strained for the box.

Suppressing a chuckle, he came as near as he dared and said, “Need help with that, princess?”

With a little squeal, she whirled and teetered atop the chair. Laughing, he caught her by the waist to steady her.

She grabbed for his shoulder with one hand while she swatted his arm with the other. “You scared the tar out of me, Tristan Bonnaud!”

“Sorry,” he said, utterly unrepentant. “I was too mesmerized by your exceedingly fine arse to think straight.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Worried about me, princess?” He loved that she worried about him. Surely that meant she wanted him for more than just a bedfellow.

“Someone has to. You won’t worry about yourself.”

Her breasts were right before him, and he seized one in his mouth, tonguing the nipple through the linen.

With a heartfelt sigh, she dug her fingers into his shoulders. “We shouldn’t. You need to sleep . . .”

“Can’t,” he muttered.

“Me neither.” She buried her hands in his hair as he slid her night rail and wrapper slowly up her legs. “I . . . I . . . what are you doing?”

Taking his bride-to-be once again. Finding out how deeply her feelings ran. Assuring himself that she still wanted him, that two days in a carriage with him hadn’t given her second thoughts.

“I’m getting a good look at you.” Yes. That too.

Her calves gleamed golden in the firelight, rousing his cock.

“But . . . but someone might come in.”

“Unlikely. I locked the door.”

Her breath quickened as he slid the hem of her garments up past her knees, then her lovely thighs.

“It was locked last time . . .”

“Yes, but your father is undoubtedly passed out in his bedchamber tonight. And he expects us to be the same.”

At last he unveiled her pretty little triangle of reddish-brown curls, and his mouth went dry. “No drawers. Aren’t you the naughty girl?”

“There’s nothing wrong with not wearing drawers to bed,” she said primly.

“I wholeheartedly agree.” He shoved the bunched-up night rail and wrapper into her hand. “Hold this.”

A tiny frown formed between her eyebrows, though she did his bidding. “Why?”

He spread her curls open to expose the tender folds he yearned to taste. “Because, sweetheart, I want to make a meal of you.” He crouched to lick her delicate flesh.

“Oh! You want . . . to . . . to . . .”

“Yes.” He laved her with his tongue, relishing the musky woman smell of her. And the way she shivered beneath his strokes.

“Tristan, you really shouldn’t . . .”

“Hush, sweetheart. Let me do what I do best.”

“That’s not . . .” she began.

But he was already sucking her swollen bud the way he knew most women enjoyed it. The way he hoped
she
would enjoy it.

“Ohhhh . . .” She clutched his head, anchoring him to her mons. “My darling . . .
Tristan . . .
”

The word
darling
reverberated in his brain. She’d never called him that. It sounded wonderful.

Desperate for her now, he set about making her desperate for him. He did have one advantage. She desired him. And he damned well meant to make the most of it.

He teased her with his tongue, reveling in her gasps, drinking in her scent, enjoying the way she began to shimmy and quiver beneath his intimate caresses. He
loved the taste of her arousal; it drove him mad. He didn’t know how much longer he could—

She came, crying out her pleasure so sweetly that his cock hardened to iron. As her knees buckled, he swept her off the chair and onto the bureau’s projecting surface. Hastily opening his trousers and drawers, he parted her legs and leaned in, then hesitated there, giving her a chance to refuse him.

When she threw her arms about his neck, it was all the invitation he needed. Seconds later, he buried his aching cock inside her. Though she uttered a little cry of surprise, she tucked her feet behind his thighs to fit herself better to him.

He nearly came right then. She felt so good, so hot and welcoming. With any other woman, he would have pumped swift and hard until he spent himself. But he didn’t want that with Zoe, especially now. Last time they’d been together, she’d felt pain; this time he wanted her to have only pleasure.

“Tristan . . .” she breathed against his ear as he began to move inside her. “I missed you.”

“In your bed, you mean,” he ground out to hide his disappointment.

Despite the raging need of his cock, he kept his strokes slow and easy. He dragged the neck of her night rail down so he could fondle her breast, making her squirm.

“Is that why you’re . . . marrying me?” he asked, burning to know the truth. “Because you like
this
? Being seduced by a scoundrel?”

“No!” She drew back to stare at him in a daze. “And you’re no scoundrel.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Her eyes shone warmly at him, full of an emotion he dared not trust.

He kissed her, afraid to hope, not even sure what he hoped for. No, he knew what he hoped for. Like his mother, he yearned for the impossible dream.

Damn her. He drew back so he could see her face as he thrust hard into her. “Are you marrying me only because I ruined you?”

“Of course not.” Her body dragged him in, pulling him deeper.

“Then why?”

A sudden wariness leapt into her features, and she buried her face in his neck. “Because . . . because I want to.”

“But
why
do you want to?” He could feel his release just there, yet it would not come. Ruthlessly, he increased his pace. “If not because of
this
 . . . why?”

She met him thrust for thrust now, her hair a wild tangle upon his shoulders. “Because . . . you make me laugh.”

“I made you laugh before. And you still planned to marry your cousin.”

“I . . . I came to my senses.”

A pity
he
couldn’t come to his senses. Couldn’t stop asking her for the impossible. “Yet you won’t answer me. The truth, Zoe. Why. Marry.
Me? 
”

He found her pleasure spot and fingered it deliberately,
determined to bring her to bliss. If he could bring her there, perhaps he could go there, too, and stop this mad wishing and yearning for more.

She gasped. “Does it . . . matter?”

“
God
, yes.” He drove into her over and over, seeking release and that something else he wanted, that something he didn’t dare name. “Damn it, tell me why!”

“Because I love you!”

As the words reverberated in the room, she convulsed about him, milking his cock and making mewling noises that roused him somewhere other than his cock.

Then she clasped him close and murmured into his neck, “I love you . . . my darling.”

That sent him over the edge. With a deep plunge, he found his release at last. Tangled up in her words, scarcely daring to believe them, he spilled himself inside her.

With his body falling into contentment and his mind still reeling, he heard her whisper, “Happy now?”

He could barely contain the giddy laugh that rose in his throat. “Delirious.”

And the fact that he spoke the truth struck terror in his soul.

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