The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (22 page)

Win grinned.

“If I wish to tie him up and have my way with him—”

“Every little boy’s dream,” Win said under his breath.

“I shall do exactly that.” She glared at her brothers. “Do you have anything else to say?”

Adrian stared at his sister for a long moment, then drew a deep breath. “What do you propose I tell Mother?”

“Tell her I shall see her soon and whatever else you wish. I love all of you, but it simply doesn’t matter. It is my life, and I am very tired of hiding what I think and how I feel. However . . .” She thought for a moment. “I have people who depend for their livelihood on the continuation of Garret and Tempest. Obviously I therefore want it to be viable as long as possible. I am well aware that when the extent of my involvement becomes known publicly we will lose most of our commissions. And the fewer people who know about this the better. So. . . .” Her eyes narrowed in a menacing manner. It was most impressive. “I want your word that you will not tell Mother, Diana, Evelyn and especially not Portia.”

“Bianca knows, of course.” Sebastian scoffed.

Hugh stared. “And what would you have us tell them?”

“Well, it seems to me the truly juicy part of all this is when Lord Stillwell went on and on about what a remarkable woman I am.” She flashed him a quick grin. “I should think that would provide more than enough topic for discussion and speculation. Good Lord, Portia and Mother could live off that little bit alone for weeks.”

“Very well.” Adrian nodded with what might have been the vaguest suggestion of a smile on his lips. “I suspect we have no choice.”

“You don’t.” Miranda smiled. “But thank you. Thank you all.”

Adrian’s gaze locked on to Win’s. “You and I still need to talk.”

“And talk we shall. Eventually.” Win cast him a pleasant smile. “But I believe I have another discussion I must have first.”

“Yes, well.” Adrian’s gaze slid from Win to his sister and back. “I wish you good luck, Stillwell. I suspect you’re going to need it.”

“That is much appreciated, Waterston.” He offered Miranda his arm. “But I think I already have it.” A footman opened the door and they swept out into the night.

“Now that,” he said with a grin, “was a grand exit.”

She laughed. “I’ve always wanted to make a grand exit.”

“What now, Miranda?”

“Well, in that direction is my house and you may escort me home. Or . . .” She nodded in the direction of his house. “Your house is that way. Much closer, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, yes, I would, but . . .”

“Winfield.” She gazed into his eyes. “This is entirely your choice. You may still escort me home and the evening will be at an end.”

“Good Lord, Miranda, I couldn’t ‘still escort you home’ at this point if I was offered a million pounds to do so. I just want to make sure this is what you want.”

“My darling Lord Stillwell.” She smiled up at him. A smile filled with promises of tonight and forever. “There is nothing I want more.”

It was the damnedest thing.

If someone had told Winfield Elliott, Viscount Stillwell, heir to the Earl of Fairborough, a man who had once been known for his exploits with women and skating on the thin edge of scandal, that he would feel even so much as a hint of nerves at taking a woman to his bed he would have laughed and called him a liar. But there was definitely something very much like nerves that twisted in his stomach now.

He and Miranda said little on the brief ride to his house, but then what was there to say? Small talk didn’t seem appropriate and even that he couldn’t seem to manage. Miranda, however, did not appear the least bit apprehensive. Indeed, a serene smile had played on her lips in the carriage, in the foyer when he had dismissed the servants for the night and as he had escorted her to his rooms. Even now, as she stood near the fireplace discarding her evening wrap, the smile lingered.

He had no need to be anxious about this. He snapped the doors closed behind him. It was not as if he was about to seduce a virgin, not that he ever had. Although he suspected Miranda had never been with a man other than her husband. At least not before her marriage and probably not after she’d been widowed either. He couldn’t be completely certain and it was not something he could ask. Besides, it would be most hypocritical of him to care one way or the other and he did hate to be hypocritical.

She tugged at one of her gloves and slowly pulled it off in a manner as mesmerizing as if it were her stocking. “You surprise me, Winfield.”

“Oh?” He swallowed. “In what way?”

“From the look in your eye, one would think you’d never had a woman in this room before, which I find hard to believe.” She glanced around the bedroom with its dark wood furnishings, deep claret-colored wallpaper and matching bed hangings and draperies. “Indeed, this is a room that fairly screams seduction.”

He started to deny it, then thought better of it. “And I thought it was a room that fairly screams Winfield Elliott.”

“Aren’t they one and the same?” She pulled off her other glove, again in a slow and decidedly seductive manner.

“You give me entirely too much credit, Miranda.”

“Do I?” She smiled and started toward him.

He had the strangest impulse to flee. “I believe I have mentioned that I have not . . . well . . .”

“Dallied with women recently?” She continued toward him. “Enhanced your reputation? That sort of thing?”

“Something like that.” He resisted the urge to step back.

“But you’ve certainly not been celibate for any length of time.”

“I suppose that depends on how you define length of time,” he said cautiously. In spite of her comment about wanting a wicked man she was a respectable lady from a respectable family. There had never been so much as a breath of scandal about her. Indeed, he hadn’t been especially aware of her existence until the day they met.

“What a clever answer, Winfield.” She stopped less than a foot away and stared up at him. “It wouldn’t be at all fair of me to condemn you for activities in the past. Would it?”

“And yet women often do.”

She sighed, reached out and untied his necktie. “We are a confusing lot.”

He stared down at her. What was wrong with him? He had done this any number of times before. “I would define length of time as being well before I met you.”

“Oh?” She slowly pulled his necktie free and dropped it to the floor.

He shrugged in as offhand a manner as he could manage given that his heart was thudding in his chest and various other parts of his body were responding to her nearness. “I have been . . . busy.”

“Ah well, that explains it then.” She unfastened his collar.

“Explains what?”

“Why you haven’t seemed nearly as wicked as I had expected.” She started to pull off his collar.

He caught her hand and stared into her eyes. Her definitely green eyes. “Are you disappointed?”

“Not yet.”

The moment between them stretched, lengthened, endless, eternal. At once he understood. This wasn’t any woman. This wasn’t another conquest. This was different. This was important. This was Miranda. He didn’t know if it was love, wasn’t sure he’d recognize love, but he had never felt this way about a woman before. And he’d never wanted any woman more.

His nerves vanished.

He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve never been with a woman of business before. Or for that matter”—he smiled—“a governess.”

“What? You’ve never fulfilled that dream of every little boy?”

“Not yet.” He bent closer and kissed the curve between her neck and shoulder. She shivered.

“Then we are well matched.” A slight breathless note sounded in her voice. Her eyes were green and glazed with desire. “I have never before been with a wicked lord.”

“You will tell me if it doesn’t live up to your expectations,” he murmured against her skin.

“You shall be the first to know.” She pulled away, wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his face to hers.

Their lips met in a kiss, slow and deliberate. A kiss that said they had all the time in the world. A kiss to savor, to relish and enjoy.

It was not enough.

Restraint between them shattered. Desire he had denied for too long rose up within him. He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands, his mouth were everywhere at once. She responded in kind, touching him, tasting him. He wondered if he had ever felt such passion before and knew as well that it was not because she was lovely and enticing but because she was Miranda. He wanted her. He wanted more.

Within moments he had her clothes off and was removing his own.

“Good Lord, Winfield.” She snatched the coverlet from the bed and held it up in front of her.

“What?” He froze and stared at her. His shirt hung open, his trousers were halfway down his legs.

“Well, I didn’t expect, that is . . .”

“If you have thought better of this.” His words were measured and she knew it took a great effort on his part. “If you have changed your mind . . .”

“No, no, of course not.” She shook her head. “I want this. I want you. It’s only that . . .”

“Yes?”

“Well.” She winced. “You do seem to be shockingly efficient. Which is to be expected, of course. You had no difficulty whatsoever with my gown and my corset and . . . everything. I don’t think my maid could have disrobed me better and certainly not faster.”

He stared. “Thank you?”

“It’s just that you are so . . .so . . . so very skilled.”

“It’s a gift?”

“Don’t be absurd.” She scoffed. “It’s because you have had a great deal of practice.”

“You knew that,” he said slowly.

“Yes, and it doesn’t concern me whatsoever.” Her gaze flicked over him. “Would you mind either pulling up or taking off your trousers? I find it most disconcerting to see them hanging around your knees like that.” Although, in many ways, it was rather charming.

“My apologies,” he muttered and pulled up his trousers. “I had not intended for them to remain in that position.”

“I know and I am sorry. In truth I find your vast experience exciting.”

“Then why are we standing here?”

“Goodness, Winfield, I have only ever done this with one man. No other man has ever seen me without clothing before. And the lamps are still lit and . . .” She knew she sounded like an idiot, or worse, a frightened virgin.

“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “Should I put the lights out?”

“That does seem rather cowardly.” Besides, she wanted to see him although it did seem somewhat wanton to admit such a thing. “It’s understandable that I would be a little apprehensive. Not that I don’t want to continue,” she added quickly.

“Forgive me, if I’m confused.” His brow furrowed. “But not more than a few minutes ago, you were as eager to get my clothes off as I was to remove yours.”

“Oh, I am eager.” She nodded with enthusiasm. “Extremely eager. I can’t recall feeling this sort of desire ever before.”

“Ever?” His brow rose.

“I mean, that is to say . . .”

“Go on.”

“Oh Lord, I shouldn’t be saying this. But I do tend to say all sorts of things to you I shouldn’t. Relations with my late husband . . . well, John and I were . . . oh, what is the right word?” She thought for a moment. “Civilized, I suppose.”

“Civilized?”

“Always quite pleasant, but, yes, civilized. I suspect with you it will be anything but civilized.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Definitely flattered. Civilized isn’t nearly as exciting. And might I say this would be a moot point by now, given the way we were, oh, swept away by . . . by passion a few minutes ago, if you had not stopped the proceedings to disrobe.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s extremely awkward otherwise.”

“Unfortunately, you gave me a moment to think. To come to my senses, as it were.” She pinned him with a firm look. “I would think a man of your experience would know better.”

“One always has something to learn,” he said slowly.

“And then I became apprehensive, you understand, the enormity of it all. Not for you, of course, but for me. And, well, here we are,” she added weakly.

“Indeed, we are.” He studied her for a long moment. Good Lord, what if he’d changed his mind? “Apparently, there is only one thing to do.”

“Oh?”

He moved to her and drew her into his arms. His lips brushed across hers. “We cannot allow you to think.”

“No . . .” She sighed against his lips, warm and full and oh so wonderful. “Thinking is not at all a good thing.”

He shifted his head and ran kisses along the line of her jaw.

“Oh my.” Her eyes closed and her head dropped back. “That is not at all conducive to rational thought.”

“Good.”

His lips continued their exploration. Down the column of her neck to the base of her throat. She shivered beneath his touch, his glorious touch. Her back arched and his mouth drifted lower, to kiss between her breasts.

“Oh God, Winfield, yes . . .”

Slowly he pulled the coverlet from her hands and let it drop to the floor. She scarcely noticed.

He held her with one arm, and cupped her breast with his free hand. Exquisite. She’d never noticed how large his hand was, how gentle, how exciting. His thumb lightly brushed her nipple and she gasped. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly. His tongue and his teeth teased and toyed until she grabbed at his shirt to steady herself. Pleasure spread from his touch to wash through her and desire pooled in her stomach.

She moaned softly and he shifted to lavish attention on the other breast. “Oh . . . yes . . .”

His hands skimmed over her sides and he slowly sank to his knees in front of her, his lips trailing light, teasing kisses lower to her stomach. His tongue traced slow circles on her midsection and she gripped his shoulders and reveled in the feel of his lips on her skin. His hands slid over her, around her and he caressed her derriere. And she wondered that her knees could still support her.

He slipped a hand between her legs and explored the inside of her thighs and moved higher. Slowly. Deliberately. Her muscles tensed with anticipation, and she throbbed with needing him. At last his fingers brushed over her so lightly she wasn’t sure she felt anything at all. Save her growing need for much, much more.

Without warning, he got to his feet, swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Winf ield—”

“You’re not thinking again, are you?” His voice was low and harsh with desire.

“No.” She could barely get out the word. He laid her on the bed and opened her legs. “I can’t . . . think.”

“Good.”

He climbed on the bed and lay between her legs. His head lowered and she felt his breath on her. His tongue flicked over her and she sucked in a hard breath at the sheer sensation that shot through her. A loud moan sounded in the room and she realized it was hers.

His tongue teased her with long slow strokes, every touch bringing a sensation of pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Her hands fisted in the bedclothes and she writhed beneath the pleasure of his touch. He teased her, tasted her, drank of her. He reduced her existence to a creature of no more than pure sensation. She existed only in the touch of his mouth, the caress of his lips. Tension she had nearly forgotten spiraled within her, growing, gathering. Her past experience had not prepared her for the force, the power of the pleasure he gave her. His tongue, his teeth, his hands brought her inevitably closer and closer still until she was very nearly—

Abruptly, he stopped and slid off the bed.

Shock and disappointment coursed through her and she whimpered in frustration. Did the man have any idea what he had done to her? She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows and stared at him. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged off his shirt and pulled off his trousers faster than she could have thought possible. “Well, I’m not giving you time to think.”

“You have robbed me of all coherent thought,” she murmured.

Her gaze flicked over him. His shoulders seemed broader without clothes, his muscles tight and defined, his legs long and lean. And his erection, his
cock
, was most impressive. She’d never used the word before, even in her own mind. It was no doubt a measure of her arousal that she did so now and did not find it distressing but most exciting. The word and the appendage. “Indeed, there is only one thing on my mind.” She reached out to him.

He flashed her his wicked grin, took her hand, then joined her on the bed. He took her in his arms and the long length of his naked body pressed against hers. His flesh was hot and hard against hers. His lips met hers and she opened her mouth to him, welcoming his tongue, his taste. Her hands explored the hard curves and planes of his back, his buttocks. Her legs entwined with his. His cock pressed against her, hot and demanding. Dear Lord, she wanted this. Wanted him. She hooked her leg over his and tried to pull him closer.