The Viscount's Addiction (11 page)

He whipped off the restraining bonds and had her roll over on her stomach, rebinding her hands behind her back. He fit soft pillows beneath her, raising her bottom higher and higher until it jutted upward like an invitation to be fucked. He splayed her knees and the cool air against the wet heat of her quim made a sensuous shiver run through her body.



Ryder’s hands shook as he picked up the almond oil bottle. He dribbled a small amount on the crack of her buttocks and watched its slow delicious descent over her exposed pussy. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to resist shoving his cock into her. But he wanted her as greedy and desperate for him as he was for her. He traced the rim of her anus with his finger. She jolted. It was time for her to realize that there were no restrictions, that every inch of her lovely body was his to exploit. He pushed his finger into the tight, puckered hole. She pressed her face into the satin coverlet, muffling a cry.

“Relax,” he said, and with his other hand he rubbed her clitoris. He dragged out his finger and then inserted it again. He repeated the movement over and over, and soon she began arching her bottom up to meet his thrusting finger.

It made his heart thunder in his chest to realize she would not deny him anything. He settled himself between her legs, his hands spreading her buttocks, and pressed his cock to her pussy. She climaxed the instant he pushed inside of her. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to be an automaton, to not think about the fact that she had the sweetest, tightest sheath he’d ever enjoyed. He would brand himself on her mind so that no man in her future would be able to completely erase the memory of him. Fighting release, he set a driving rhythm, plunging himself to the hilt with each thrust. He snaked his hand around the front of her. His fingers moved through the wet curls, sliding between her cleft to pinch and rub her firm little clitoris. She spasmed around him, climaxing over and over again. Her body shuddered with his deep, thorough assault on her pussy.

“Ryder,” she said softly.

He was lost then, hearing her say his given name for the first time. He spilled gallons of himself all over the satin coverlet. After he took the binding from her wrists, she rolled off the pillows as though boneless. He worried suddenly that the only thing he’d impressed upon her mind was the idea that he was a ruthless beast. But her lips curled in a rapturous smile, and she reached up for him. He laid his heated, spent body on top of hers and pressed his lips to hers. She opened her mouth eagerly. She was heaven to kiss. Her small tongue tangled with his as her fingers stroked his hair.

She fell asleep nearly instantly when, with his hand cupping her bottom, he tucked her against his side. He stared up into the dark sky. Wisps of clouds veiled the moon. There would be no other man. That notion was impossible to swallow. Catholic or not, he would send her to a nunnery. His thoughts went farther afield. He envisioned a chastity belt. And then he imagined himself going mad trying to unlock it. Why punish himself?

He wasn’t the guilty party. He did not need to part with her…yet. He’d set her up in London as his mistress. She nestled her face into him. No, London would be too far. He wanted her no farther away than his bedroom.

Jessie woke with a start. She glanced down at the muscular arms that held her fast. She couldn’t remember returning to the house, and yet here she was in the viscount’s bedroom. She lifted one heavy arm in preparation of wriggling out of his grasp. He shifted and his hands covered her breasts, kneading them as he pressed his erection against her bottom. And even though she was tender from the incredible things he’d done to her the night before, she eagerly opened to him. He rocked gently inside of her. It was a luxurious feeling to wake up to him in the morning.

Their coupling ended as it always did. Clearly, he had no intention of getting her with child. It was absurd to be sad about it, she told herself. All she needed was to be thrown out with a baby to care for.

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, a gesture that brought tears to her eyes. “I’ve been giving it some thought, Jess. I think you should stay for a while.”

Her heart nearly leapt from her chest.

“I could use your assistance in getting my estate back in order.”

Elation turned to heartbreak. “The estate is your problem. I’m not interested in staying on one day longer than agreed.”

“Stubborn chit. I never agreed to a definitive date.”

She flung off the coverlet and padded barefoot across the room. Without asking she snatched up his dressing gown.

“Will you at least help me rid myself of my burden?” There was a hint of vulnerability in his normally confident voice.

She glanced at him warily. “You’re ready to give up the opium?”

His hands were stacked behind his head on the pillow. He watched her from beneath hooded lids.

“If I don’t, I fear I will lose everything, including my sanity.”

The sleeves of his dressing gown hung far over her hands. She started to roll them up. “I have read about opium withdrawal. DeQuincey paints quite a harrowing portrait of it in his
Confessions of an Opium Eater
.” She chided herself for those realistic but discouraging words. She desperately wanted to see him give it up. “A man of your type can weather an experience like that better than most, I wager,” she added, wishing to sound more hopeful.

“And what type is that?” “Determined, bull-headed, arro—”

He held up a hand to forestall any more assessments of his character. “Though you deem me a bastard, I am asking for your help.”

She swallowed hard. “Fine. I will stay.”

Suddenly she wanted to crawl back under the covers with him. She wanted to hold him and kiss the worry from his face. Despite his strong spirit, she knew the ordeal would be nightmarish. Not just for him but for her as well.



Titus shifted back and forth in his stall, swinging his heavy shanks, nearly trapping Jessie against the wall. He was making it impossible to muck. Jessie put down her pitchfork and pushed on the animal’s big hip so she could squeeze around him. His ears pricked up and his nostrils twitched with the anticipation of getting out for a romp in the fields. Since the viscount’s arrival home, Jessie had had little time for the gelding. Cooped up in the barn for three days had made the horse antsy.

“I’d best get you out today before you jump out of your skin,” she said.

Jessie threw a saddle on Titus and headed out. The air was crisp and the color of early spring was splashed across the meadow. Titus held his massive head up high as he trotted with an energetic stride onto the path. The cool breeze blew the hair from Jessie’s face and she laughed. The ride was exhilarating, save for the sweet ache she endured each time her sore bottom tapped the hard saddle.

Less than a fortnight ago, her husband had been a stranger whose image had been warped by the hate-filled descriptions of Henry and Lewis. Back then, the idea of being intimate with the man would have been a frightening prospect. But the man who stumbled into the manor that rainy day was far from the monster she’d expected. Though

he was a formidable specimen, he was a lover with an uncanny ability to touch her in all the right places. For a man who didn’t wish to be married, he certainly wasn’t doing anything to discourage his wife from craving his attention.

She tried unsuccessfully to shake her thoughts of him. But he’d already invaded her very core. Lord Blackwood had decided to extinguish his need for opium and she was pleased he’d asked for her assistance—and yet she was petrified. She knew horrific days lay ahead. She did not know if she had the stomach to witness his suffering. When her father was alive, the family had traveled through Asia and, though young, she had not been shielded from the bleak realities of life. Crowded cities were dotted with opium dens and many of the people she’d seen there seemed hopelessly bound to the substance. They were like ghosts, as soulless as the smoke that swirled in those parlors. Lord Blackwood was different, though. She sensed an unconquerable spirit. Or perhaps she hoped he was made of such strong stuff. He had survived a cruel and unjust incarceration—granted it was likely the opium that saw him through that nightmare. But now he had an estate to care for and a life to reclaim. Jessie suspected that once his mind was clear, he’d have little use for her. She would help him and probably end up hurting herself in the end.

True to character, Titus quickly faded and slowed to a plodding walk. “In the stall you acted as if you could run from one end of England to the other. Now it seems I may have to carry you back to your barn.” The horse swung his nose to the right, and his ear turned back with the sound of approaching hooves.

Two chestnut horses cantered up the path, and Jessie instantly recognized Joseph Duckett in his red military coat. The man next to him had to be his brother, Jeffrey. The Ducketts hadn’t ridden over to Tesslyn Hall since the viscount’s return. She could not fault them. She suspected most men would find the infamous lord of the manor threatening. Jessie was convinced that gossip about his arrival abounded but she was also certain that not a whisper of her marriage had filtered through the county. For her bitterly unsociable stepfather it would never have occurred to him to announce the union. It had been contracted for no other reason than to bleed the estate. And because Lucy’s distrust of men ran deep, Jessie did not think she’d betray the secret to any of her clients.

As the twins approached, Jessie experienced a pang of guilt. She really ought to tell her two closest friends about her husband but it would only complicate matters. “Jessie, we thought that was you,” Joseph called to her with an exuberant wave. “Of course with that massive horse of yours, even blind ol’ Jeffrey could spot you from the bottom of the

path.” Within moments they had ridden up beside her, one brother on each side. “I hope you don’t mind if we join you on your morning ride.”

Jessie turned to Joseph. “Not at all. And pray, how is your mother?” Jessie thought with fondness of their mother who had taken pity on her when her own mother had died and extended frequent invitations to tea.

“Mother is well and she was asking about you just this morning,” Joseph replied. He stroked his upper lip with his finger, drawing Jessie’s attention to the beginnings of a moustache.

Jessie had always considered Joseph to be the more sophisticated of the two, but now as she looked at his freshly washed pink face, he seemed incredibly young and innocent. Especially compared to the man with whom she’d been sleeping.

“Mother is planning a soiree this summer and you must attend.” Jeffrey blushed as he blurted out the invitation. Jessie always felt a twinge of sadness for Jeffrey. His weak eyesight had kept him from following his brother into the army.

“Some of my military friends will be in attendance, and I promised them I would fill the room with the prettiest girls I could find.” Joseph tried to be discreet as he nudged his horse closer and his boot brushed her calf. Months ago his flirtations would have amused her; now she found them annoying. She pushed Titus into a trot.

“Of course, I would love to come,” Jessie lied. To be away from Henry and enjoying a party would normally have thrilled her, even though her wardrobe was considerably lacking. Now, though, she was content spending the evening wrapped in Lord Blackwood’s arms. Jessie steered Titus down a small embankment to a sparkling creek. The horse snorted loudly, then lowered its head to drink. Her morning riding companions followed her.

“It has been a while since we’ve seen you, Jessie,” Joseph said. From the inquisitive look in his eyes, it was obvious he was itching to hear about Lord Blackwood’s return. “It has been heard around the village that Viscount Blackwood has come home.”

“Yes, he has.” Jessie was not going to divulge anything that would feed the monstrous rumor mill in the town.

“It must be terribly frightening living in the same house with a murderer,” Jeffrey said.

“Yes, is there not some safer place your stepfather could find for you to live?” Joseph asked.

Jessie suppressed a smile. What irony, she thought. Her stepfather was a far more sinister housemate than Lord Blackwood, and yet no one had worried about her growing up under the care of loathsome Henry Braddock. “If Lord Blackwood is a murderer then how is it he walks a free man?”

Joseph laughed derisively. “Apparently, justice takes its time. But as long as you are in no danger,” he continued.

Only in losing her heart and soul to the man, she thought. “I need to return home. I’ve been away from Tesslyn Hall too long.” Suddenly she had a pang of homesickness. She missed her husband.

Jeffrey was the first to turn his horse back up the path. He squinted as he looked back at his brother. “Joseph, we must follow her and see that she arrives home safely.”

“Please don’t trouble yourselves,” Jessie insisted, “I have traveled this road alone many times.”

Joseph pulled up beside her again. “Nonsense. My brother is right. We’ll follow you back and then part from our delightful morning visit.”

Jessie had an uneasy feeling about being escorted back. She was sure curiosity rather than chivalry was the motive that inspired the brothers to follow her. But as much as she was certain they wanted a glimpse of Lord Blackwood, she was equally convinced that the man would not want to see the brothers.



Ryder squinted as the harsh sunlight pierced the windowpane. The chair creaked as he landed on it with a heavy thud.

William sat behind a mound of oatmeal and sausages. “You look like someone turned you inside out, my lord.”

Ryder smiled at that assessment and then grimaced. Even the slightest movement of the muscles in his face gave him pain. At this moment he thought peeling off his own skin might just relieve some of the agitation. He spooned some sugar into his tea, then dropped the spoon on the table and picked up the entire sugar bowl, letting the sweet white crystals flow freely into his cup.

“Where’s my wife?” How easily those words came out of his mouth. He was beginning to have trouble thinking of her in any other way.