The Mad Lord's Daughter (18 page)

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Authors: Jane Goodger

Tags: #Fiction, #General

BOOK: The Mad Lord's Daughter
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“Let me . . .”
And she turned, kissing him fully, her arms going around his neck, taking him by surprise. He recovered quickly, slanting his head to gain fuller access, pulling her close, letting her feel his arousal, letting her know he was a man who desired her. She gasped, and he pushed his tongue into her welcoming mouth, groaning in relief and desire. He deepened the kiss and moved his hands to her nicely rounded bottom, pulling her tight against him, so that his cock was pressed against her heated center. God, she was so responsive. He wouldn’t have expected that.
“Come to my room,” he said against her kiss-swollen lips.
He might have thrown a bucket of icy water on her instead of inviting her to his bed. She pushed away almost violently, her chest heaving, her face a mixture of unspent desire, anger, and mortification. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
He gave her a crooked smile. “I was kissing you.”
She gave him a withering look. “No. What do you mean by asking me to your room? Is that what you think of me? That I am a woman of loose morals? Yes, I had too much to drink tonight, which is evident from my disgraceful behavior. But you, sir, should know better than to accost a woman in your care.”
“Accost? I didn’t accost you. I kissed you.”
She looked flabbergasted. “And then asked me to your bed.”
“That is usually what follows such kissing. At least in my experience.” That last, perhaps, was a mistake to say.
“As a woman of no experience, I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice tightening slightly as if she were trying not to cry.
Now he did feel like a cad. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven a woman to tears. “I apologize,” he said. “I was swept up in the moment. I have no excuse other than that I find you rather difficult to resist.”
He’d thought she would smile, but instead she scowled at him. “I have a mirror,” she said.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I am not pretty. Nor desirable. I am passable at best. You, on the other hand, are exceedingly handsome, as you no doubt are aware of, and so you think you can seduce the poor, homely old maid. Well, sir, you cannot.”
“That is not at all what I was doing.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Really? And what, pray tell, were you doing?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. He
was
trying to seduce her. And she was an old maid. But the way she had said it made him sound like some randy lord taking advantage of the nearest female, and that simply was not the case.
“
Hmph.
No answer.” She glared at him rather speculatively.
“Do you think I want to be attracted to my niece’s chaperone? Do you think I like being kept awake at night wondering what it would be like to lie with you? I do not. I cannot explain it, but I will tell you one thing, Miss Stanhope,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “You are not homely. You are pretty. And when you smile, you are beautiful.”
She stood there, staring at him, and slowly her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head in disgust.
“Diane,” he said softly.
She swallowed and looked so torn. “Please don’t say another word or I might start believing you.”
“Would that be so awful?”
“Yes, sir, it would. Because there is something you may not know about aging spinsters. In here,” she said, pressing a fist against her heart, “we are still young. In here, we still dream of a husband and a home and children.”
George thought he’d masked his reaction to those words, but either she was quite perceptive or he wasn’t as good as he thought at hiding his emotions. She gave him a bitterly triumphant smile.
“No worries, my lord. I have no thoughts of matrimony when it comes to you. Why on earth would any woman willingly marry a man who professes that the emotion of love does not exist?”
“You agreed with me,” he said accusingly.
“I lied,” she said, nearly shouting, her voice cracking. She took a deep and calming breath. “You needn’t worry about me. Let us simply pretend this did not happen. It was wrong of both of us and a grave mistake on my part. But please don’t arrange such an evening again. I am not your paramour, and I never will be.”
His chest gave a painful squeeze as he realized she was right. No woman had had the capacity to cause him pain in decades. “I am sorry.” But he truly didn’t know what he was sorry for.
 
 
John kept his distance as best he could and watched, his depression growing, as Charles became more possessive of Melissa. It was a subtle thing, really, but whenever the three couples went anywhere or did anything, Charles made certain he was paired up with Melissa. It seemed Charles was constantly touching her. What was worse was that Melissa did not seem to mind. John’s fevered mind wondered if they’d kissed again, though he could not think of a time when they could have. It didn’t matter how often he told himself she was better off with Charles, for everyone’s good. He could not stop his desire, his longing, his near-obsession with her. Fortunately, the houseguests were leaving in two days, which would allow him to depart as well. This constant torture was wearing on him. He wasn’t sleeping well, and Avonleigh commented on the dark circles beneath his eyes with a knowing grin.
They had decided the night before when they’d gone into the village to watch a concert that they should go fishing the next day, but it had been raining on and off all morning. John, feeling out of sorts and knowing he was bad company, headed to the library to be alone, only to find the very woman he was avoiding curled up before the fire with a book.
When he saw her there, looking lovely in a white gown frothed about her, he nearly turned around. “Why aren’t you with the others?” he asked, knowing he sounded surly. He didn’t care, because frankly, he
was
surly. That’s when he noticed Darling curled up beside her, letting out little snores, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“She’s snoring,” Melissa said, looking completely charmed by her little puppy. “And did you know she’s already housebroken? Though I daresay she doesn’t much care for the rain.”
“Most dogs don’t. So, she hasn’t had any accidents?”
“Just one. But I scooped her up just like you told me, and she peed all the way to the door and finished up outside. She’s such a good girl.”
He was looking at the dog, resisting the urge to stare at Melissa like some lovesick boy.
Don’t look at her. Don’t.
But he did, and his heart wrenched in his chest. He didn’t know what was happening to him, and he didn’t like it. Not at all.
“Charles and the others are leaving in two days,” he said, forcing himself to bring up his friend’s name. It was quite clear where Charles’s thoughts were taking him, and John wouldn’t be surprised if the fool proposed before he left. “And I’ll be leaving as well. Going to Town. I’ve had enough of the country.”
She looked up at him with those big violet eyes, and damn if she didn’t seem to care whether he left today or tomorrow.
“The season starts in just a few weeks. I suppose we’ll see each other then,” she said, then returned her focus to the book in her hand.
Just at that moment a bright ray of sunshine flashed through a rain-spattered window, like a candle flaring up. “The sun,” Melissa said. “It seems ages since we’ve seen it.”
But as soon as those words were out of her mouth, the rain came back in force, pouring down through the sunshine, and Melissa smiled. “Oh, how lovely,” she said, watching as the rain, looking very much like falling diamonds, fell from the sky. Then her eyes widened in excitement. “I’m going out in it,” she said, carefully getting up so as not to disturb Darling and then rushing over to the French doors that led outdoors. She flung them open and walked outside, immediately turning her head up to the rain, laughing and twirling about as it thoroughly soaked her.
With an indulgent sigh, John strolled to the door to watch her delight in this new experience. When he reached the door, he stopped, mesmerized by the sight before him. She was, quite simply, glorious. She stood, eyes closed, head tilted up to the rain, in the sun-soaked courtyard, wearing a dress plastered against her stunningly beautiful body. Every curve, every swell was clearly defined. His mouth went dry, and his heart nearly stopped. The rain lightened, and she brought her head down, smiling and blinking against the water in her eyes. He stared at her, unable to look away, unable to move. A gentleman would have retreated, would have gone into the house and fetched a coat to cover her. But at the moment, he was a man, hungry for a woman, body tense and aroused.
Her smile slowly faded, and her breathing became heavy, her breasts rising and falling, almost as if she’d been running. He knew raw desire was evident in his face. He knew he should turn and go back into the library. But he stood there, staring at her, feeling more aroused than he ever had in his life. She walked toward him slowly, to where he stood, dry and protected beneath an overhang, her eyes never leaving his, her taut nipples clearly visible beneath her rain-soaked dress. She stopped mere inches from him, and he watched as droplets of water slowly moved down her cheeks, to her chin, and dropped onto her dress.
Without saying a word, he lifted shaking hands and laid them on her breasts, moving his thumbs slowly back and forth across her turgid nipples. She let out a small sound and arched her back instinctively. The cloth was cool beneath his hands. He stood, mesmerized by the sight of his hands on her full breasts. Without thinking—he was far beyond that now—he leaned forward, mouthing one hard nipple and licking it through the wet fabric. She breathed in a sharp gasp, and he felt a hand on the back of his head, pulling him toward her.
John lifted his head and looked at her, seeing only desire. No fear. No disgust. No uncertainty. She moved her head slightly forward and that was all the invitation he needed to kiss her with all the pent-up passion roiling inside him. She let out a cry, opening her mouth, clutching him to her, moving her hips because she already knew it drove him mad. He pressed his arousal against her center, letting out a groan of frustration, for he knew he could not have her, not all of her. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to slip inside her, feel her heat around him, lose himself to the insanity that gripped him unrelentingly.
Her gown was made more pliable by the rain, and he pulled down one side, exposing a breast, then greedily suckled her.
“Oh.” That one syllable was filled with wonder and desire and nearly drove John over the edge.
If he was insane, then God help him, he didn’t care. He only knew that he had never in his life held a woman like this in his arms and wanted to weep from pure joy. She was so responsive, so innocently provocative, that he had to use all his restraint not to press her hard against the stone of his home. God, she felt so good, moving against him, making small sounds of pleasure.
He needed her to touch him, so he guided her hand to his arousal, letting out a jagged breath when he felt her hand tentatively stroke him. “Yes,” he breathed, so taut he thought he just might break. “God, yes.”
Melissa felt as if she were drowning in desire. Everywhere he touched her, every sound of pleasure he made, pooled, hot and wet, in her center. She wasn’t certain what she wanted; she only knew she wanted something, that touching him, feeling his man-part, hard and so very foreign, was making her giddy with need. His hands touched her on her exposed breast, her buttocks, between her legs. When he touched her there, over her dress, and pressed against her, she felt as if she might faint from pure, raw pleasure. So when she felt his bare hand on her thigh, when he moved his hand up and found the slit of her pantaloons and touched her between her legs, her knees buckled.
“Oh, God,” he said as he explored her, moving his hand and touching her in places she hadn’t imagined a man would touch. But it felt so good, so right, and so she allowed it, spread her legs so he could gain better access. He slipped one finger inside her, and she let out a sound she’d never heard from her lips. Nothing had prepared her for the feeling of a man, this man, touching her there. He slid his finger in, then out, and she moved her hips in the rhythm he created. She didn’t care if that made her wanton, she only knew that it felt good and wondrous, like nothing she’d ever felt before.
And then, it got better. He moved his thumb across the spot that ached the most, releasing such an exquisite sensation, she cried out. He moved his thumb back and forth, and she kept her hand on his man-part as he thrust against her. It was primal, this feeling, natural and wonderful how he matched the rhythm of his finger with his own hips, and Melissa knew she must touch him, not through his trousers, but flesh to flesh. She fumbled with his buttons, and John, realizing what she was doing, made short work of it and his man-part sprang out, hot and hard and velvety to her touch. They didn’t speak, and the only sound was their harsh breathing, the rhythmic rustling of their clothing, and the rain falling gently onto the courtyard.
John bent his head and once again suckled her nipples, sending shards of excruciatingly intense pleasure to where his hand moved against her. “Come for me,” he said, moving his mouth up to hers, and kissing her deeply, letting out a groan as she squeezed his arousal.

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