The Importance of Being Wicked (16 page)

Thomas looked into his heart, not something he was in the habit of doing. What did he think? What was it she needed to hear? Some instinct he had never known he possessed told him this was a moment for truth. She would never believe idle flattery, easy words of praise. He needed to find the words that would speak from his soul to hers.

“I've always done my duty,” he began, speaking slowly as the sentences formed in his brain. “From the day I could understand, I was taught what it meant to be Duke of Castleton, how the responsibility for the future of the family and those who depend on us must always be my first concern.”

Caro stood utterly motionless, her eyes fixed on his mouth as though reading something from the way he shaped the words.

“I won't burden you with the details,” he continued, “but most of what I do is laid out for me, not because it is my choice. I don't wish to complain. I
don't
complain. Fortune has gifted me with position and wealth that few men ever achieve. But my life is also prescribed in narrow paths. Most of what I do, what happens to me, is not what I choose to do but what I must. I thought my marriage would be the same, until I met you. Now I have decided to be selfish, to make my own choice. For once in my life, perhaps the only time, I have made an important decision with regard only to my own wishes. I want you for my wife, Caro. I want you not because it suits the ambitions of the Fitzcharleses but because of my own needs. I want you for myself alone, not for any other reason.”

Her eyes met his, and they were shining, and he saw that they were filled with tears. This was good, wasn't it?

“Do you love me?”

“I think I may,” he said slowly. “I've never been in love, so I can't be certain.” He wouldn't express extravagant devotion that he might not feel. “For once in my life, I want something for myself,” he said again.

An age passed during which her eyes grew ever larger and brighter. “Yes, Thomas,” she said. “I will marry you.”

He could hardly comprehend the words until a blaze of joy gripped his chest. Caro Townsend, with all her wit and warmth and beauty, would be his. His to possess. His to bed. His forever.

But triumph was underlain by a less blissful emotion. Fear. Somehow, the gods would make him pay for his selfishness.

Chapter 14

T
homas had found the right words to dispel Caro's doubts. If he wanted her for such a selfish reason, it must be for herself as she was, not as he wished she would be. Lord knew, she'd never wished to be a duchess nor hold the kind of exalted position her mother's ambitions had sought on her behalf. All she'd ever wanted was to be happy with a man she loved. She'd had that with Robert, right until the end.

She was glad Thomas wasn't sure he loved her. His sweet, blunt, persuasive words had picked at a knot deep in her heart. What would happen if he unraveled it was too frightening to contemplate. Too painful. About one aspect of marriage to him she had no doubts. The sooner they shared a bed, the better she would feel.

“You have made me the happiest of men,” he said. He spoke formally, probably embarrassed by the passionate way he'd spoken before. The expression of emotion didn't come easily to Lord Stuffy. If he couldn't do it with words, let actions speak. Another kiss, to start with. She tilted her chin hopefully and took a step forward.

“Let me assure you, Caro, that I will do my utmost to be a good husband. I don't pretend to be a brilliant man, but I would never treat you with anything but the greatest respect; nor need you fear I shall stray.”

That was good. Not straying meant bedding her, which moved the conversation in the direction she wanted. She could definitely do with a little less respect at this particular moment.

“You need never doubt my care for your welfare.”

She wouldn't have to worry about debts anymore, and it would be agreeable to have some new clothes. But . . .

“My welfare would be greatly improved by your kissing me,” she broke in.

He stared at her for a moment, his lips expanding into the rare smile that softened the serious cast of his features and never failed to weaken her knees. “I would hate to be derelict in my duty,” he said, and gathered her comprehensively into his large embrace.

It was an even better kiss than the first one. The room was warm and free of wind, the carpeted floor firm underfoot and lacking in mud. The guilt of kissing her cousin's fiancé gave way to the new and glorious knowledge that she could kiss Thomas whenever she wanted. He was hers.

And then there was the happy fact that they both wore fewer clothes. Without heavy topcoats, she was able to enjoy the press of his body against hers. Her bare hands delineated broad shoulders, moved down to trace the contours of powerful arms she'd admired so often and longed to touch. The pressure of his fingers through three layers of muslin at her waist ignited nerves that shot down to her lower belly. She felt his burgeoning interest match her own and was possessed by an aching, unbearable lust like nothing in her experience.

An attempt at speech elicited an incoherent protest as his lips reclaimed hers, seizing her mouth with ruthless thoroughness until she was nothing but a mindless assemblage of burning flesh and bones with but one instinct: to take him inside her. Now.

Returning his kiss with equal fervor, she started to claw at the buttons of his waistcoat and breeches, without much success since her fingers could gain no purchase with scarcely a hair's space between their bodies.

Then she was free. He stepped back, holding her by the shoulders at arm's length.

“We have to stop,” he said, chest heaving.

“Why?”

“It's daylight, and we are in Mrs. Quinton's drawing room.”

“I don't think we'll be disturbed, but just to make sure, I'll lock the door.” She turned the key and hurried back to him. “Where were we?”

“If we continue as we were going on, I don't trust myself to treat you with the respect you deserve. It would be wrong for us to anticipate our wedding vows.”

Caro saw that he was quite serious. While his sentiment touched her, it didn't please her. They hadn't come close to discussing a wedding date, but she was pretty sure ducal marriages involved tiresome documents and much haggling by solicitors. Their marriage might not be for weeks or months, and as far as she was concerned, waiting even a day to become lovers was a waste of time.

“I want you, Thomas. And I trust you. I don't want to wait.”

“You do me too much honor. I must not abuse your trust by giving in to my very strong desires.”

What about my desires
? she wanted to demand. She reminded herself that her future husband was a conventional man. He thought he was being a gentleman by controlling his lust. Well, she'd just have to see about that.

“Thank you.” She infused her speech with a spurious meekness he'd surely find unbelievable once he knew her better. “Would it be very distressing for you to sit beside me on this sofa and put your arm around me?” She sat down and patted the seat. “Like that, yes. I find your touch so very comfortable.” She snuggled up to him, tucked her head into the curve of his arm, and stretched her arms about his waist. “I hope we won't have to wait too long.”

Not long at all if she had her way.

T
homas hadn't thought it possible to want Caro more. He hadn't thought it possible to want any woman this much. But he tamped his raging lust and concentrated on enjoying her presence in his arms and the knowledge that he wouldn't have to wait too much longer to make her his. He'd make damn sure the lawyers didn't linger over the red tape.

Her hair tickled his nostrils, silky and lightly scented with some pleasing lotion. He stroked the slender shoulder beneath the light material of her gown. He was almost choked with astonished joy that this exquisite creature had consigned herself to his care. He wanted to lavish her with the protection and esteem that he sensed she'd lacked in her previous marriage and that she certainly never had from her friends. Robert Townsend had been a wastrel. Thomas wanted to teach her what it was like to be treated as she deserved.

“I have no wish to delay the wedding,” he said, playing with her short curls, tracing the whirls of her perfect ear with a forefinger. “I shall speak to Quinton about settlements.”

“I am my own mistress.”

“It's better if you have a man to act on your behalf. Unless you have a different connection, on your mother's side, perhaps, whom you'd like me to deal with.”

“Certainly not my brother, and no one else,” she said, and idly undid the bottom button of his waistcoat. He should stop her, but the sensation of her hand caressing his stomach through his shirt was pleasurable. Inevitably, its proximity to his cock had its effect, especially since he was already half-aroused, his normal state in Caro's presence and exacerbated by their recent kiss. But nothing that he couldn't control, no urge he couldn't defy.

She raised her head, continued her slow exploration, and whispered, “You are very strong.”

“Not really. Though I do spend as much time riding as I can spare.”

“Did you buy the gray mare?”

“Yes.”

“She's beautiful. Tell me about her.”

He'd barely begun to describe Grey Flyer's breeding when he realized she'd unbuttoned his entire waistcoat and was untying his neckcloth. She cut off his protest. “Go on about her dam.”

He let himself be persuaded because he yearned for the touch of her hand on his bare skin. It was all he'd imagined, her fingers caressing his neck, collarbone, and upper chest.

“By Lord Sackvile's stallion High Flyer out of Hyacinth.” Her fingers now tugged at his shirt, freeing it from his breeches. “I forget who owned Hyacinth.”

“It doesn't matter.” Her hand hovered at his waist. He longed and dreaded for it to drop lower. “Tell me about the mare's sire,” she said, and laid her palm over his cock, which leaped to urgent attention, straining against the light buckskin to seek her touch.

He was a bad man.

“I saw Grey Phantom race once.” Although he wouldn't swear that was indeed the name of his new filly's father. Blood was rushing south from his brain, extinguishing restraint and sense in its journey. He closed his eyes and strove for control. “At Epsom. At the Derby meeting. Or perhaps it was Ascot. He won by several lengths over an impressive field.” Usually he was good at remembering the details of an exciting race. “I can't remember who else was running that day.”

“And was he a very large stallion?” she said, and clasped his cock in her bare hand. He hadn't even noticed her unbutton his breeches, and he nearly exploded on the spot.

“Caro.” He could barely croak. “What are you doing?”

“I would think that was obvious. I'm seducing you.” His cock stood proud amid a nest of white linen, and he watched with fascination as her small encircling hand worked it up and down. He shuddered.

“Why?”

She let him go and struggled out of his arms.
Don't stop!
cried his feverish brain. But he didn't say it. This was wrong. Next thing he knew, she'd hiked up her skirts and straddled his lap.

“You may be prepared to wait, but I am not. I haven't had a man in two years.”

He rather thought Townsend had been dead only a year or so, but his brain wasn't up to advanced arithmetic. It had never occurred to him that a woman might be as frustrated by celibacy as a man, another consideration to be postponed until later, when his mind was working. Now, with some urgency, he needed to decide whether he would further resist her. And suspected it was a fruitless exercise. She lowered herself over his lap and her sex, warm and wet, brushed against his straining cock.

“So what do you think?” she whispered, clinging to his shoulders, her lips close to his mouth. “Shall I take you, Thomas? Shall I have my wicked way with you?” With each provocative word, she swayed her pelvis back and forth, taking him to heaven with each touch and to hell because it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He submitted, surrendering without a fight. Pushing aside her petticoats, he took her delectably curving hips in his hands and seized control of her movements.

“Who's taking whom?” he growled, and pulled her down onto him. But it turned out her guiding hand was needed to find the right spot, and once he was lodged in her tight passage, they let out twin sighs of bliss.

“Oh yes,” she breathed. “There. So good,” and other words of command and praise. She didn't let him set the rhythm, as he would have expected, but moved up and down at her own pace, weaving and rotating her hips, clenching his cock with inner muscles before a long, languorous withdrawal, followed by a renewed thrust as she gloved him in her heat. It was entirely possible that he was going to die.

Her words became less frequent and made less sense. Her breathing grew faster, along with the rise and fall of her hips, like an accelerating trot. One hand descended to touch herself where they were joined, and she emitted a sharp cry.

Unalloyed hunger swept aside every thought and consideration. As she fell against his chest, he grabbed her tight and flipped them over so she was lying on her back and he was on top, pushing into her, harder and harder. Balanced on his elbows, he could see Caro's face, eyes closed and mouth open, more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen. Faster and faster came his mindless thrusts until at last, in great gusts of ecstasy, he spent.

Just sensible enough to fear crushing her, he slid off and knelt on the floor, holding her tightly with his head on her chest, exuding gusty breaths.
Mine. Mine forever,
was the only conscious thought that penetrated his blissful satisfaction.

“Thomas.” His very ordinary name, spoken soft and husky against his ear, sounded precious and unique, as though no man had ever before borne it. “You wicked, wicked man, Thomas.”

He raised his head to look at her, all soft and golden in the midday light. “I shouldn't have done that, Caro. It's still morning, and we're in the drawing room.” Good Lord! He'd never been with a woman before noon. And to his shame, he wanted her again. “I'm sorry I lost control.”

Her gurgle of laughter was pure music. “I don't think you had any choice, Your Grace. And I have no idea why you are apologizing. Surely you realize I wanted this as much as you, probably more?”

“I should have been strong for both of us.”

Caro sat up and held his head between her hands. “Look at me, Thomas,” she said, “and listen. We want each other. There is nothing wrong with us enjoying each other at any time and in any place that suits us both. It would be remarkably foolish not to since it's the main reason for our marriage.”

That seemed wrong, and he wanted to protest, yet wasn't it true? His intense desire for her had driven him to overcome his scruples. And what of Caro? He offered her wealth and position, security from want, safety from the importunities of Horner and his ilk. It was madness for a woman in her precarious situation to turn down his offer, yet her hesitation had been genuine. His chest swelled with pleasure.

He'd never thought of a woman wanting him for himself, not for who he was. He'd never really separated the idea of himself as a man from his position in life. He wasn't sure it was even possible. But insofar as it was, Caro wanted him.

“We should be wed as soon as possible,” he said, his only defense against the immoral urges that seemed to have possessed him.

“My feelings, exactly,” she said.