Surrender To A Scoundrel (13 page)

Sheldon took another drink. He despised men like Martin, who were blessed with everything—good looks and consistent good luck. Martin was the worst of them. He had more of both those things than anyone deserved.

But perhaps what galled Sheldon most of all
was that
she
had never given him the time of day, not even years ago back in Windsor. The rejections from her then—when her father didn’t have a penny to his name and she was the least attractive girl in town—had been a greater insult than any other.

And now Breckinridge wanted her. Well, he could have her as far as Sheldon was concerned, and then she’d get what she deserved, because Breckinridge would toss her into the country and spend all her money on cheap whores in London.

Better
that
than letting Martin enjoy her, Sheldon thought miserably—because Martin already had far too many pleasures on his plate. It was time somebody knocked that plate right out of his hands and watched it smash to pieces on the floor. Yes, it was time Martin Langdon went hungry for a while.

U
pon returning to his room after the assembly, Martin shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. He pulled his bow tie out from under his collar and tossed it onto the chair as well, then went to the dresser and poured himself a brandy.

He turned around and looked at the empty bed. He supposed he should not have come back so early. He should have found another party to attend, or he should have stayed longer at Northwood. But once Evelyn had departed, all the usual allures of society gatherings had disappeared, swallowed up by the unrelenting shadow of her absence.

Damn Breckinridge for his ill-timed interruption. If it weren’t for him, Martin would be walking on the beach with her at this very moment.

But did he really want that, he wondered uneasily, knowing where it might lead? She was not the sort of woman a man could toy with. She had made that very clear. He did not
wish
to toy with her.

He glanced toward his door and thought of how divine she had looked in that yellow gown this evening and how she had smiled up at him so brightly on the veranda when they were speaking of honest things. He felt a deep ache of frustrated desire. He wanted to be with her now, there was no point denying it, and nothing seemed important enough to keep him from her, not even his greatest, most willful intentions to avoid what could become a complicated entanglement.

Soundly sweeping away further hesitations—because he wanted her, dammit, his
body
wanted her—he picked up the brandy decanter and another glass, left his room, walked across the hall, and knocked hastily before there was time to change his mind. A few seconds later, her door opened a crack, and he leaned a little closer to discover she had been in bed. He knew this because she was wearing a white nightdress, no spectacles—bloody hell, her eyes were huge—and her hair was spilling over her shoulders in long, wavy locks.

He’d never seen her with her hair down. It was a shock to his system, rousing a very masculine hunger in him. His gaze drifted from her deep green eyes down the front of her gown to her bare toes, then back up again.

“I woke you,” he said, with no apology.

“Lord Martin,” she whispered, gathering the lacy collar of her gown in a tight fist and peering into the hall to make sure no one was about. “What are you doing here, knocking at my door at this hour? If anyone sees you…”

He raised the decanter and glasses. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

She raised her eyebrows at him skeptically.

“And we were so rudely interrupted earlier,” he explained, “I thought we could continue our conversation.”

Still holding her collar closed, she hesitated a moment, then stepped back and opened her door. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whispered. “I daresay you’ve corrupted me.”

He crossed the threshold and his gaze fell upon the disheveled bed. “Not quite yet.”

She shot him a quick, admonishing look, then darted across the room to tidy the covers. When she faced him again, her pink cheeks were flushed, and she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“This is a surprise,” she said, making an effort to appear unruffled, which he found utterly ador
able because she was completely flustered. She was the virtuous widow after all. She had never invited a man into her room before.

“I thought it might be,” he replied, “so I brought brandy to numb the shock.”

Her cherry lips curled up in a grin, and she dropped her hands to her sides. “That was good of you.”

Martin moved to the table, poured her a drink, and handed it over. He poured another for himself, then lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “To a good night’s sleep.”

“Or something else just as good,” she replied, and he let out a pleasantly astonished chuckle. Had she been
hoping
he would come?

Regarding her for a brief appreciative moment over the rim of his glass as he sipped the fine brandy, he noted the provocative curve of her bosom beneath her thin nightdress and the wavy softness of her hair. He moved to the tall chest of drawers, leaned back upon it, and spoke in a friendly voice.

“Your room is different from mine.” He raised his glass, gesturing toward a painting on the wall. “That’s very nice.”

She turned and looked at it. “A local artist.”

“And a very talented one.”

They said nothing for a few seconds. They simply stood across the room from each other, their
gazes warm and languorous while they sipped the strong brandy and contemplated what might happen next.

For her part, Evelyn was working hard to hide her frazzled nerves. She could barely comprehend that Martin—handsome, vigorous, exciting Martin—had come to her private hotel room in the middle of the night. And he had said the most wonderful things to her earlier on the veranda at the assembly. He had told her he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a long time. She’d never imagined, after all these years, that she would ever hear him say such things.

He pushed away from the cabinet and strolled to the window. “So tell me,” he said, “are you really going to marry Breckinridge? The general impression I’m getting is that people think you are.”

She had not expected him to ask that. She supposed she didn’t know what she had expected. This was all so far beyond her normal horizon. “He hasn’t asked,” she replied.

“But he will.”

“Do you know this for a fact?”

He casually shrugged. “I would put money on it.”

While he waited for her to answer, she looked down at the amber-colored brandy and swirled it around in her glass before she took another sip, then walked to the window to join him there. She
parted the drapes with one finger to look out, then decided she was not going to answer his question. She did not want to make any of this too easy for him.

“Let me ask you something else then,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the window frame. “If you came to Cowes looking for a husband, Evelyn, and you heard me tell you yesterday that I do not wish to marry, why did you let me in here?”

She let out a sigh, realizing he was not going to make this easy on her either. “You are certainly direct, sir.”

“And you are very good at avoiding the answers to my questions.” He smiled and raised his glass to her before taking another sip.

Seeing the amusement in his eyes, she set down her glass and stepped closer. The tip of her breast touched the back of his hand where he held his drink in front of him, and her nipple tightened instantly. She felt her breath come short.

“I let you in, Martin, because I am hopelessly attracted to you, I always have been, and I couldn’t bring myself to turn you away.”

The open declaration came as a surprise even to her—she couldn’t believe she had said it—and it arrested
him
on the spot as well. But then he gazed down at her from under his dark lashes and began to lightly stroke her nipple with a
knuckle. The potent sensation through the fine linen of her nightgown caused her blood to simmer hotly.

“And I want to learn what it feels like to be with a man like you,” she added, still in a state of disbelief that any of this was actually happening. “A man who knows the ropes.”

He continued to rub the back of his hand in a light circular motion over her breast until she feared her legs might give out under her.

“May I assume,” he asked, “that you are referring to something other than lessons in sailing?”

She smiled. “You already taught me how to steer your yacht. I think we can move on.”

His eyes focused on her lips. She wet them with the tip of her tongue, from one corner to the other. For a long moment he watched her mouth as if he were waging a battle in his mind, then he carefully dipped his head and pressed his brandy-flavored lips to hers.

All at once, Evelyn felt roused to a new peak of excitement as shivers of lust ran up and down her spine. It was all so magical and intoxicating, like nothing else in this world.

He set down his glass on the windowsill and slid his arms around her waist, then cupped her bottom in his strong hands and crushed her firmly up against his erection, which she felt through the fabric of their clothing. He thrust his tongue into
her mouth, and his hips ground fiercely against hers until she was sure she was going to dissolve into liquid. She would do anything for him right now. Anything.

But then he dragged his lips from hers and whispered against the side of her neck. “Let us be sensible for a moment, Evelyn. You told me on the beach that you do not wish me to toy with you.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she assured him breathlessly. “I’ve decided that I have been living too long without pleasure or joy. I discovered that on your boat, and I don’t want to care about the consequences. I’m tired of being safe.”

His chest rose and fell as if he’d just run a mile up hill. “But I don’t wish to hurt you, and you know how I feel about marriage and children.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

Growing frustrated with talk—because she wanted him desperately, despite the aftermath—she slid her hand down the front of his trousers and rubbed his firm, swollen shaft with her palm. “I’m a woman, Martin, not a child. I can take care of myself. I am asking you…please. Don’t deny me this pleasure, which I have wanted for so long and have never known.”

He silenced her pleadings with a kiss, crushing his mouth to hers again and ravishing her with his tongue. She let her head fall back to offer her
neck to him, and he tasted the base of her throat. “I’ve never been kissed like this,” she said, “and I want more.”

“You’ll get it,” he replied, his voice husky with need.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her around the bed, setting her down on the soft mattress. He stood back and unbuttoned his shirt while she lay on her back looking up at him, wondering if this was a dream. She was with Martin, and he was going to make love to her. Finally.
Please, dear God, don’t let it be a dream.

He tossed his shirt to the floor. The smooth contours of his chest paralyzed her with desire as he flexed and relaxed his muscles. He was so inconceivably strong and powerful from all the days and weeks aboard his yacht. She felt a curious pull in her belly and raised a knee and squirmed impatiently on the bed.

At last he came down upon her and pressed open her lips with his tongue. He kissed her passionately while his hand cupped her tingling breasts, then slid down her pulsating belly to caress her thighs.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispered, blowing into her ear. He kissed her neck and unbuttoned the top of her nightgown, spreading it apart, planting kisses on each raised nipple. “And I thought I would go mad to night when I saw you with Breckinridge.”

She raked her fingers through his hair and gloried in his possessiveness, then caressed his cheeks while he licked and flicked with his tongue and drove her insane with lust. Lifting her hips off the bed to push against his pelvis, she trembled with need and fought the urge to beg him to do it now—to plunge into her at once and satisfy this impossible yearning. She could barely believe any of this was really happening.

He slid his hand down over her hip and gathered her nightgown in a fist, tugging it up inch by inch until it was bunched around her waist. A fiery heat ignited deep inside her as she felt his feathery touch on her quivering thighs. He took her in his arms, then his lips grazed over the top of her gown, between her breasts and across her navel. He slid down to kiss her knees and inner thighs, then moved up and up until he could bury his face in her hot, pulsating center.

Overcome with both shock and delight, she lifted her hips in response. He slid his hands under her bottom to pull her even nearer to him as he slipped his tongue into her folds and tasted her with his hungry mouth.

It wasn’t long before her body began jerking, and she cried out, then pressed her hands at his temples to direct his attack. Heaving violently, she gasped with desire, but before the mounting pleasure exploded within her, she took hold of his shoulders and pulled him up for a deep, wet kiss.

He had worked her up to such a state of arousal that she became obsessed with seeing this through. Impatient, desperate to hurry, she reached down to grab hold of his erection, only to discover he was still partially clothed. Quickly, he peeled off his remaining garments while she sat up and stripped her nightgown off over her head and tossed it aside.

Nude before him, Evelyn burned with need and wanted only to open herself to him completely. “Hurry, Martin. Please.”

Stepping out of his shoes, he said, “I don’t normally like to hurry at times such as this, but I think the situation demands it.”

“Yes, oh yes.” She realized suddenly it was not how she’d imagined this would be. She had not expected to feel such urgent need.

“I promise next time,” he said, “we’ll go slower, but right now, I’m afraid nothing can hold me back.”

Bold and unashamed, she pulled him down to her again and drew his lips to hers and shoved her bottom up to meet his charge. At the same time, she turned her head to the side and shut her eyes and braced herself for the pain, because there had always been pain before.

He slid into her, smoothly and with ease, stretching her slick opening to the hilt. There was no pain, only hot, surging desire, for she was damp and soft and unresisting.

Opening her eyes again, she looked up at him in the lamplight. He was braced above her on both arms, looking down at her while he moved with deep, sweeping strokes. It was a moment she would never forget—the beauty of his sun-bronzed face, the classic definition of his features, his blue eyes glimmering with desire. He had awakened her to every possible kind of joy and filled her with a fantastic yearning to know what other pleasures existed outside the normal sphere of her old life.

She spread her legs wider and wrapped them around him, resting her heels on his strong, muscular back. He slid all the way in, then drew out slowly, and the sensations were almost unbearable, agonizing in their intensity. As he plunged deep inside again, she rubbed herself against his pubic bone and threw her head back as he pumped wildly into her.