Two Shades of Seduction (26 page)

“Yes, damn you.” Hazel eyes wide in her face, she turned her head to look at him. Desire glowed in her gaze, and he smiled.

“And once I finished with your nipples, I’d find it equally pleasurable to put my mouth against you so I could drink that delicious cream of yours.”

“Please, Quentin. Stop.” Her fan fluttered frantically in front of her face as he watched desire softened her profile, until she was even more beautiful than she’d been before.

“Tell me, my darling wife. Are you wet there now? If I were to stroke that sensitive little nub of yours would you buck against my hand like a wild thing?”

“Oh God.” Her voice was hoarse as a shudder shook through her. He smiled with satisfaction.

“No matter how small the orgasm, they’re still quite gratifying, wouldn’t you say so, Sophie?”

He waited for her to respond, but her only reply was small, rapid breaths. The sound made him smile, and he relaxed back into his seat. For the first time that evening, he experienced a deep satisfaction that even without touching her, he could make his lovely wife come for him, even in a public place. He didn’t even mind the wailing coming from the stage. He was content simply to sit beside Sophie and contemplate the night to come. He would drive her wild until she sobbed his name with all the passionate intensity he knew she was capable of.

“You are looking far too complacent,” she said in a fierce whisper behind her fan. Frustration echoed in her voice, and a low chuckle parted his lips as he leaned into her. The soft musky scent wafting off her filled his senses.

“Am I?” He grinned.

“Yes. You are.”

She glared at him before returning her attention to the stage. He grinned at the look of irritation on her face. In all likelihood, it would take a great deal of coaxing on his part to earn her forgiveness tonight, but the effort would be a pleasurable one. For several minutes, he watched his wife staring down at the stage performance, remembering the first day they’d met.

Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought to find himself a happily married man. He and Sophie were well suited in bed and out. What more could a man want? Even now, listening to music he despised, he was content simply to sit at her side and enjoy watching the pleasure on her face as she enjoyed the performance. Sophie waved her fan lightly in front of her face. She leaned toward him.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I’ve been remiss in overlooking your needs this evening.”

“My needs?” He eyed her carefully in the shadows. A slow smile curved her lips as she turned her head and met his gaze. It was the look of a seductress, and he immediately realized he was in trouble.

“Yes, my lord, surely you are in need of something hot and wet to sink into.”

Her gaze returned to the opera performance below them as her hand slid discreetly up his leg to his crotch. Her touch was light as she brushed her fingers across his cock. He was solid and firm in an instant. Without looking away from the stage, Sophie’s fingers toyed with his trouser buttons as if she might undo them and take him in hand right then and there. He drew in a sharp hiss of air. Bloody hell, never in his wildest imaginings had he ever thought she would retaliate with such reckless daring.

“Are you offering to take me in your mouth, Countess?” he rasped as desire barreled through him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can feel how hard you are. Imagine how much harder you’d be if I took you in my mouth.”

Her palm caressed him, and he barely managed to suppress the groan waiting to escape his mouth. God but the woman was a temptress, hell bent on exacting due payment for his earlier temptation.

“
Christ Jesus, Sophie
. Have a care before I explode right here and now.”

“As I recall, husband, you started this little game. I think it only fair that I play my hand as well.” Amusement echoed in her voice as she rubbed his erection again. Her pun was not lost on him, and he choked on a dark groan.

“Damnation,” he rasped.

“Surely you don’t want to quit now? Especially when my mouth is so willing to assuage your need.” Her words made his cock grow tight with the exquisite pain of anticipation. “Shall we make use of that dark corner you mentioned to indulge in sin, my lord?”

Satisfaction curled the corners of her mouth as she slowly pulled her hand off of him. As she turned away to watch the performance on the stage below he uttered a low growl of frustration. Sweet Jesus, but she’d turned the tables on him. A fire burned inside him, and he wanted to drag her out of the opera house and carry her home never to leave her side.

How the hell had he come to such a passion? He’d never had a woman twist his insides like Sophie did, not even Eleanor. No woman had ever provoked such a primitive, carnal need inside him while at the same time arousing a tenderness within him that made him want to share all things with her. But his beautiful, wanton Countess had merely to smile and utter a few well-chosen words and he was at her mercy.

He’d never realized loving someone could do all of that and more. The thought made him grow still in his seat. It wasn’t possible. How in the hell could he be in love with his wife? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and looked at Sophie. Did she love him? Quentin grimaced at the question. She’d never given him any indication that she cared, and yet she never shied from his company. He changed his position in his seat again, and Sophie immediately turned her head toward him.

“Oh for heaven sakes, Quentin, go,” she whispered with an exasperated smile. “I promise to thank you properly for your gallant attempt tonight.”

The suggestive curve of her lips made his heart crash in his chest. God, help him. She was the most bewitching creature he’d ever seen, and if he didn’t leave her, he’d make a fool out of himself. He caught her hand in his and turning it over, he pressed his lips to the small circle of skin her gloves couldn’t hide. He raised his head to see her looking at him with an expression of surprise. Without a word, he rose from his seat and left the theatre box.

In the quiet hallway, he stood still for a moment, one shoulder pressed into the wall. The Devil of Devlyn had fallen in love with his wife. No scoundrel worth his weight would ever do such a thing, and yet here he was. God, he needed a drink. No, he needed several drinks. He needed to drink himself into a stupor. That or find a mistress. With a snort of disgust, he rejected the idea. There wasn’t anyone else for him, but Sophie.

“
Fuck
.”

Quentin pushed himself away from the wall and strode down the passage. As he entered the vestibule at the top of the stairs, which connected the corridors lining both sides of the theatre, he saw Eleanor coming toward him.

How could he have ever thought her beautiful? Even from this short distance, it was impossible to ignore the hardness of her blue eyes or the calculating twist to her finely shaped lips. He turned away and started down the steps. Her voice forced him to stop.

“Devlyn, surely you’re not leaving. I’ve not even had a moment to offer you my congratulations.”

“Forgive me, Lady Shively, but I have no need of your congratulations.” He slowly turned his head to meet her gaze.

“You’re being far too cruel, Devlyn.” Eleanor’s mouth parted in a pout that he’d once found seductive. He grimaced with disgust as she moved forward to touch his arm. “The past is behind us. You’re my brother-in-law now. Surely we can at least be civil to each other for Sophie’s sake.”

“Civil?” Quentin snorted in disgust and narrowed his gaze at her testing a theory. “As civil as you were to Sophie earlier this evening?”

“It was nothing more than a sisterly spat,” Eleanor said in a defensive tone. “I’m certain she misinterpreted everything I said.”

Quentin eyed his sister-in-law coldly as her response confirmed his suspicions. He no longer harbored any doubt that whatever Eleanor had said to Sophie had inflicted pain. The bitch had the tongue of a viper. He knew that from experience when he’d refused to marry her.

“Sophie is not one to misinterpret the words of others who wish her ill, Lady Shively. My wife is far too intelligent.”

“Perhaps,” Eleanor said with a smug smile. “However, I do admire her cleverness in hiding her true nature.”

“What are you talking about,” he snarled as fear clawed at his tense muscles.

“Why the fact that she’s a bastard of course.” The smug satisfaction on Eleanor’s face made him take a step forward, and she flinched.

“If you ever repeat that to another living soul, I’ll make you pay an unimaginable price,” Quentin said in a deadly quiet voice that made Eleanor pale before a calculated look crossed her face.

“Really, Devlyn, your defense of your wife would make one think you’re in love with her.” Eleanor’s words made him go rigid.
Christ Jesus
, were his feelings so obvious. A small gasp of amusement, followed by a familiar brittle laugh made Quentin flinch. “Oh how positively delightful. You
are
in love with her.”

“Remember what I said, my lady. Your social status is more easily destroyed than Sophie’s,” he said through clenched teeth. Before he turned away, he had the satisfaction of seeing Eleanor go white with fear.

“Do take care, Devlyn. In the morning, the scandal sheets will report that the Countess of Devlyn was overheard saying she was not in love with her husband.” There was a gleeful note in Eleanor’s voice that sliced into Quentin’s gut.

Ignoring his sister-in-law’s venomous laughter, he strode down the stairs and out of the theatre. God help him. Was Eleanor telling the truth? Had Sophie actually said she wasn’t in love with him? If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Eleanor never missed the opportunity to insert her daggers wherever she could. She wouldn’t hesitate to tell him the truth if it suited her perverted sense of vengeance. The thought was enough to twist his gut into knots.

Throughout the ride home, he tried to comprehend what course of action he should take, but he still had no answers when the carriage rolled up in front of Devlyn House. In a foul temper, he strode up the steps, through the front door, and straight into the library. A good stiff drink was what he needed. Something to deaden his senses until he didn’t feel this gut wrenching despair.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he rid himself of his coat and tossed it over a nearby chair on his path to the sideboard. He’d just poured his first drink when Fischer entered the room.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t realize you and Lady Devlyn had returned.”

“Lady Devlyn is still at the opera,” he said tersely. “I couldn’t stand the noise any longer.”

“I see, my lord. Is there anything I can get for you?” Fischer’s voice held a note of concern, and Quentin kept his back to the man as he took a stiff drink of the brandy he’d poured.

“No, thank you, Fischer.” With a wave of his hand, Quentin dismissed his longtime servant and topped off his glass one more time.

The manservant murmured a quiet good night and left Quentin to his misery. Another glass of alcohol burned its way down his throat making him cough until the tie at his neck was choking him. With a violent gesture, he yanked the narrow band of material off his throat and let it fall to the floor.

Decanter in hand, he sank down into a chair in front of the fire. His gaze focused morosely on the floor as he took a deep swig of brandy. How in the hell had it come to this? He was in love with his wife, and his wife didn’t return his affections. No, he didn’t know that. Eleanor could have been lying. He snorted with disgust.

Past experience had taught him that Eleanor wouldn’t hesitate to lie if it meant she could inflict pain. She’d taken great pleasure in sharing with him that the morning scandal sheets would inform the whole of London that the Countess of Devlyn didn’t love her husband. Quentin tossed down another stiff swallow of brandy.

What the fuck was he going to do? Without Sophie there didn’t seem to be much of a point to anything. Even the revenge he’d sought for so long tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He took another drink hoping to wash the taste out of his mouth. The day the baron had attacked Sophie, she’d said revenge would never make up for the pain her family had caused her.

He hadn’t understood her words at the time, but they’d made an impression on him. So much so, that he’d chosen not to use Sophie’s ledgers to ruin Townsend. He grew still. Had he loved her for as long as that? He rested his head on the back of the chair and stared into the fire. What the hell was he going to do? Was it possible to make Sophie love him? He expelled a harsh breath of disgust. He was a fool to think so. He’d made sure from the beginning that she understood he was nothing but a scoundrel. She had no reason to fall in love with a man who had that type of reputation. Worse, despite her change of heart when it came to revenge, he’d told her he had no intention in hell of setting aside his plans for destroying the only family she knew.

Brandy stung his throat again as he took another deep drink of liquor. He heard the clock chime the hour of ten as the liquor began to deaden his pain. The fire seemed immeasurably hot, and he popped several buttons off his shirt as he yanked it open in an effort to let the cool air brush his skin. Another deep swig of brandy rolled down his throat. This time there was no sting.

Success at last. He’d wanted to drink himself into a drunken stupor, and he had. Already his head was throbbing and the room was spinning. But there was still just one problem. His pain hadn’t disappeared. If he’d been battered in a brutal fistfight, he couldn’t be in any more pain. God help him. A mirthless chuckle rolled out of his throat. The almighty wasn’t about to administer absolution to the Devil of Devlyn.

His thoughts crashed together as he closed his eyes and sank deeper into a drunken haze. Christ, he didn’t want to think anymore. It was too much trouble to think. Slouched in his chair, he closed his eyes in hope of forgetting. But even drunk, images of Sophie filled his head. Images he couldn’t escape no matter how hard he might try. And heaven help him, he didn’t want to try. He drifted out of consciousness for what he thought was only a few minutes, but when he stirred, the clock was chiming the hour of midnight. Eyes half shut, he heard a quiet sound and turned his head toward the library door to see Sophie’s shadow in the doorway. He groaned softly. What the hell was he going to say as to his current condition?