The Viscount's Addiction (18 page)

“You vicious, crazed old fool.” Lucy flung herself over the table and swiped her fingernails across Henry’s face, leaving bloody tracks on the crinkled skin of his cheek.

Ryder caught her by the waist and tugged her away, but not before she managed to slash a bloody stripe down the old man’s nose. Henry shrieked as if he’d been mortally wounded.

Only moments after the constable led a dazed and mewling Henry to his carriage, Lewis began spouting. “Mad bastard. Never thought him capable of that.” He helped himself to some of Ryder’s best cognac. “Though, he was awful cruel to poor Jessie.”

“How so, Lewis?” Ryder asked.

Lewis swiveled in his chair to face Jessie. “I’m shocked you haven’t told him.” Lewis turned to Ryder again. “Did you never stop to wonder how he’d convinced her to marry a convict?”

Jessie wanted to crawl under the table. “He beat the devil out of her.”

With murder in his eyes, Ryder stalked the length of the room. “And where the hell were you, Lewis, when all this was happening?”

Jessie could sense Lewis’s sudden fear. “Do not blame Lewis. He did everything he could to stop it,” she lied. Though there were times Lewis would intervene, his attempts were feeble, at best. Jessie pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Lucy sidled up to Jessie and clutched her against her breast.

“Truly,” Jessie averred when she gauged the doubt still lingering in Ryder’s eyes. “What would you have had him do? Kill his own father?”

Though Ryder’s hands were still clenched in fists, his shoulders relaxed.

Believing she’d averted a disaster and lacking the heart to watch how the rest of the evening unfolded, Jessie hurried out of the room on wobbly legs.

Taking advantage of the luxurious option of having servants in the house to tend to her needs, she stopped a maid and requested a bath be filled in her dressing room. Exhausted, she wanted to hide away, immerse herself in hot water and forget about what might be going on in the dining room.

Steam clouded her mirrors so she did not have to view her tear stained face. She rested her cheek against the cool porcelain and was near to drowsing when Lucy slid like an apparition into the dim room.

Ryder wasn’t surprised by what he discovered in the dressing room, Lucy on her knees by his wife’s tub. What he was surprised about was his reaction to the scene. Though it made him hard, it also made him jealous as hell. Lucy was lathering Jessie’s breasts with an eye to devouring the rosy nipple nearest her mouth. The positioning of Lucy’s body obstructed his view of his wife’s face. At the sight of him, Lucy gave a guilty start and dropped the washing cloth. He could see Jessie’s face clearly now. She was fast asleep.

With Lucy watching and being the selfish bastard he was, he nudged Jessie’s knee so that her legs fell open. Getting down on his haunches by the tub, he plunged his hand into the cooling water and slipped a finger deep inside her. Jessie jolted, grabbing instinctively for the invading hand. Her dark lashes fluttered open, and she smiled the most inviting smile.

Muffling a frustrated cry with her fist, Lucy escaped the room. Jessie appeared unaware of either her presence or departure. Her gaze heavy with desire, she stared at his mouth. Her hand moved up his crisp shirtfront and smoothed over his throat, her thumb stroking his Adam’s apple. He wondered if she could feel his pulse thundering. It was primal, this need she inspired in him.

With reluctance, he slid his finger out of her and hooked his arm beneath her legs. “You’ll catch a chill. Put your hands around my neck.”

“I’ll soak your clothes.”

But taking the time to do it properly, to fetch the bath sheet, would mean he would have to leave off touching her for a moment, and he wasn’t willing to do that. Without waiting for her cooperation, he scooped her out of the tub. With a giggle she snatched the bath sheet from the dressing table as he carried her past it. He kicked open the door to the bedchamber. He sat on the edge of the bed, her bottom pressed provocatively on his erection. Her body glistened with drops of water. He wanted to lick them off one by one.

Her nipples were an edible pink. He gently tugged on one of them and watched as she curled her toes into the bedding.

She raked his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear, and traced his jaw line with her finger.

A lump formed in his throat. “I need you to believe that I’d never equated coercion with beatings. That was an evil of which even I’d not suspected the bastard capable. It is no wonder you resent me.” It was a good thing the constable had dragged his uncle from the house. Feeble-minded or not, his uncle deserved execution. If Henry had remained, Ryder would have snuffed the life from him with no regret.

She dropped her gaze, her thick lashes demurely shadowing her cheeks. “How could I hold you to blame for any of it? We were both duped.” She climbed off his lap, and his fingers grazed her satiny skin. He wished to pull her back to him, but she moved toward the hearth. She began toweling herself dry then covered her nakedness by wrapping the bath sheet around her. “I’m thankful those hard facts were spoken tonight. Perhaps we shall both find a measure of freedom through the truth.”

The word “freedom” suddenly held ominous overtones. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. Instantly, she pressed her towel-wrapped body against him and tugged his face down to meet hers. He could not help but feel she wanted to occupy his mouth so he would not question her choice of words. He resisted temptation and stiffened his neck. He peered intently into her eyes. “What do you mean to imply with the word ‘freedom’?”

“Nothing. Everything.” With a pout of her pretty lips, she dropped her hands from his neck and slid from his grasp. She took a seat by the fire and stretched her legs out to warm her feet. “All these questions are giving me a headache.”

“It was a single question,” he said. She refused to look at him. His heart thundered with warning. Only moments ago she was smiling sweetly at him; now she was insulating herself against him. The evening had turned on the word “freedom”.

Her expression was placid as she contemplated the firelight. But she could not calm her breathing. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly.

He moved to stand beside the settee. “So is this to be one of those nights you spoke of, where a wife refuses her husband?”

She turned her head to look at him. Her gaze dropped down and focused on his erection. Her pink tongue flicked suggestively at the corner of her plush lips. “Definitely not one of those nights.” Lifting her blonde hair out from under her, she lay back on the cushions then scooted her bottom to the end of the settee. She draped her legs over the

arm of it. In invitation, she elevated her bottom, propping it atop the armrest. Her back was bowed and her cunt, though still covered by the towel, was presented to him in a most vulnerable manner.

He cast off his cravat, coat and waistcoat. “How very accommodating. Needn’t worry, sweeting. I’ll make quick work of it.” Frustration made him feel savage.

Her green eyes glittered up at him. “I don’t want it quick. I want it slow and thick.” Gripping his hips with her feet, she urged him forward. There was defiance in her actions. It was a rejection of the affection he wished to lavish on her. She wanted him, but she preferred him at a distance. At this angle, kissing her was impossible.

He wedged his thighs between her legs and peeled off the towel. Exposed, her nipples instantly hardened. He skimmed his hands along the inside of her creamy thighs and was rewarded with an answering shiver. He wet his finger in his mouth and stroked it over her slit.

A deep feral groan escaped him. When he rubbed his thumb over the slick sweetness of her, her whole body trembled with pleasure. He unfastened his trousers and shoved them off.

“Pull your legs up and bend your knees.” The entire lower half of her body now balanced precariously on the arm of the settee. Her cunt was at the perfect height and so exposed, so explicitly displayed that he groaned again. He gripped her shins to give himself leverage and to allow him to spread her even wider. Which he immediately did. He pressed down on her legs, splaying her wantonly. His cock twitched with anticipation at the sight of her tight, delicious hole. He positioned his shaft and without pause shoved himself to the hilt. She gasped at his merciless entry. Her delicate neck arched and she clutched at the cushions. Frustrated that his shirt obstructed his view of where they were joined, he tore it off, sending buttons pinging off the floor.

Her lids fluttered with each hot-blooded stroke. A satisfying wet sound accompanied his thrusts as if her cunt were sucking him in. Another forceful stroke and her back curved higher, her puckered nipples pointing provocatively. He desperately wanted to taste them.

She seemed to sense his impending release and quickly shifted out from under him so that he would spill his seed outside her body. She’d moved prematurely. He wrapped his hand around his cock to finish the job. Damn it. It was his masculine prerogative to decide when and if he was ready to be a father. It was only a fleeting, unspoken

complaint because in an instant she kneeled on the cushions and took his cock in her mouth.

The glow from the hearth gilded her skin. She clutched him, her delicate fingers digging into his thighs as she smoothed her soft lips down the length of him. Her shiny mane, which shimmered with golden lights, was long enough to graze the dimples above her buttocks. She was perfection. He stroked her silken skin and felt her tiny waist narrowing further and her ribs made prominent as her whole body strained to please him. She suckled him with such fervor that it took all his willpower not to pour himself into her mouth. Smashed against the armrest, her breasts plumped teasingly. He reached between their bodies and rubbed his thumbs over the top curve of her nipples. His touch elicited a purring sound that vibrated against his cock. She gripped the armrest and her mouth began to ride him. He controlled his animal instincts. He wanted to drive deeper, to touch the back of her throat, to increase the rhythm.

Ryder swept her hair over one shoulder and tilted his head to watch. Her beautiful mouth was opened wide as though she wished to devour him. His cock glistened as her wet mouth glided back and forth. The sight made his entire body throb with pleasure. A few more sinful slides and his cock pulsed with release and she cupped his balls, kneading them to empty him completely. As she gulped his seed then drew the tip of her tongue along the slit as a final erotic measure, her feet curled and a telltale shiver ran down her back.

When she sat back on her heels, he took note of the dreamy lids half obscuring her eyes and the blush of satisfaction that pinkened her cheeks. They were undeniable clues confirming what he’d suspected—that she’d found satisfaction. Such a reaction to pleasuring him should make him as cocksure as the devil. But he could not forgive her distancing attitude toward him. Despite her feverish attention to his body, he’d felt a distinct chill wrap around his heart.

He yanked up his trousers. “Impressively dutiful. Swallowing every drop like that.” After he acknowledged her service to him by pantomiming a tip of the hat, he strode to the book cabinet and pushed the books aside to find his flask of whiskey. The liquid warmed his insides, but did nothing to mellow the panic churning in his gut. He heard her pad barefoot across the room, throw back the coverlet and crawl into bed.

“I think you’re angry at me,” she said.

“How intuitive. Christ, I’ve had whores treat me with more tenderness.” He returned the now empty flask to the bookcase, shed the remainder of his clothing and joined her in bed.

He stacked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Next time, perhaps you could show me a little fondness.”

Silence that could shatter a man’s faith met his statement.

Their earlier conversation plagued him. What in holy hell had she meant by freedom? And of course there was the letter to the stranger in Brighton. It seemed all of one torturous piece. Like a man obsessed, he could not seem to let the subject rest. He tried another tack. “A gentleman might release a woman from the obligation of vows made under such duress,” he said. His plan to eventually be rid of her had been complete and utter rot. There wasn’t a way in the world he would ever part with her.

“Most assuredly a gentlemanly thing to do,” she mumbled sleepily.

Had he, in his entire life, heard a response less to his liking? It was so completely the wrong thing for her to say. She should have pledged her everlasting love and fidelity.

“Damnation, that would not be a chivalric gesture,” he said, amending his initial statement. It had only been meant as a prod to get an avowal of love. “It’s a damned saint-like gesture. And I am no bloody saint.”

“A surer truth has never been spoken,” she said with a laugh. The delightful sound thrummed through his blood. She rolled into him and curled her body snugly against his. She placed one delicate hand atop his chest.

Cupping her naked bottom, he tucked her tighter to his side. “That’s more like it.” He could finally relax a little.

He stroked her hair and found strands adhering to her damp cheeks. At what point had she cried? And, more importantly, why?

The night of the party had come and Jessie’s hands were so shaky she could barely manage to put in the pearl earrings Lord Blackwood had given her. She tried not to put too much emphasis on the fact they once belonged to his mother. They’d been the only pieces of jewelry that Lewis had not looted.

They were the perfect adornment for the lilac dress.

She sat before her dressing mirror as Mary fashioned a chignon and ornamented it with an aigrette of pearls, another gift from the viscount. She’d never had someone help her dress before. She wanted to cry over the absurdity of it. This night marked the end of the marriage, yet it was the only time she’d been treated as the pampered mistress of Lord Blackwood’s estate.

The maid plucked at the ringlets that framed her face. Jessie waved her away. “Mary, do stop fussing. You’ve done wonders.”