A Night with the Bride(5)

“God, you taste sweet,” he murmured against her breast, teasing her nipple with the tip of his tongue. Then he opened his mouth and sucked her deep.

“Oh,” she panted, rubbing against him restlessly. “My…goodness…” She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, her hips arching into him.

Christ, he wanted her naked, legs spread wide, her channel wet, ready for him. But, God…if she knew the twisted, vile thoughts that ran through his head, she’d run screaming. She would abandon him as the rest of the world had, as Cecelia had three years ago.

Pulling back, his breathing ragged, he shoved himself away from her. He raked a hand through his hair as he paced, attempting to regain what little control he had. His blood burned for her. His cock ached.

Damnation.

He turned to her then, fury pulsing through him. He’d been content enough with his life, resigned to the lonely, isolated sphere it had become. Now, with this slip of a woman, he was quickly losing control.

Her eyes were wide, confused as she righted her bodice and blinked up at him. He grabbed her by the elbow and led her toward the French doors.

“Stay away from me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or next time, I won’t let you go so easily.”

* * *



Gabriella stumbled through the French doors and into the parlor in a sort of haze. What she’d just experienced with Somerset was…frightening, perplexing, and altogether exhilarating. Her heart still raced. Her blood still hummed from the electricity of his touch. It felt as though her body had been jolted awake from a twenty-year slumber.

When Gabriella reentered the parlor, it was nearly empty. Several gentlemen sat in clusters, talking or playing cards, but every female was gone.

Odd, that.

She’d been outside with Somerset for a quarter of an hour, at most. Where could a dozen ladies have disappeared to—Julia and Mary among them—in that short a time?

Wandering down the corridor, toward the main staircase, she noticed several guests crowded around the billiard room door. Just as she approached, Olivia Dewhurst burst from the crowd, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Olivia!” Gabriella called.

With a whimper, Olivia darted up the main staircase and out of sight. Just then, Julia emerged from the cluster of guests as well.

“Gabriella, there you are!” Julia said. “You missed quite a spectacle—Lord Huntington and Annabelle Croft were discovered in the billiard room clawing at each other like animals.”

Gabriella narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Like animals? Really, Julia.”

Julia deflated a little. “All right, perhaps it was just a kiss. But for all the scandal this will cause, they might as well have been tearing each other’s clothes off.”

Indeed, any mildly scandalous behavior was liable to brand a woman a harlot for life. Which was precisely what made it so exhilarating. In Gabriella’s well-ordered, strictly structured life, the threat of danger was thrilling.

Indeed, one kiss could ruin a woman, and she’d do well to forget the dare and go back to flirting with safe, respectable, boring men who kissed her hand and offered her practiced compliments.

But she wouldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t. Somerset had awakened something within her—a reckless, wanton part of her that she relished. For the first time, she felt alive, excited, and she wasn’t going to let that go, not now.

“Have you been with Somerset the whole time?” Julia’s eyes went wide. “Did he kiss you?”

She could have lied. She and Somerset had been alone, and no one would have known the truth. But she would know she hadn’t truly won, and that was enough to keep her honest. “Not yet.” She said. “But fear not, he will.”

Julia pursed her lips, brown curls falling over her temples. “I hope you’re right. Mary is quite certain you will fail, and if you do, there will be no end to her lectures on the subject.”

Half an hour later, the guests had filed back into the parlor. Whispers of scandal and intrigue rippled through the room, and all Gabriella could think about was Somerset. The more she contemplated his abrupt warning, the more she decided he had no right to push her away. She was a woman of her own mind. If she wanted to “stay away” from him, as he had so eloquently put it, then she would make that choice for herself. Somerset had no right to dictate to her.

Gabriella sighed, wishing she were anywhere but in this tightly packed circle of women, evaluating and dissecting the recent scandal to the point of nausea.

“Three minutes more and he would have ravished her, right there on the billiards table,” one of the ladies said.

Another lady chimed in that he would have refrained out of consideration for the elegantly crafted billiards table. He would certainly not risk injuring the fine cloth surface for an illicit tryst, she asserted.