Wilde in Love(43)

But she didn’t want to blurt out, “I’ll be your wife,” or something equally simple.

In this moment, more than any, she had to be Evie, not Willa. Brave in emotions as much as, if not more than, in words. With that thought, she unpinned her hat and dropped it to the side. Next, she slipped off her shoes and bent over, reaching up under her skirts to untie her garter.

“What are you doing?” Alaric asked in a strangled voice.

She looked up and smiled. “I’ve decided to accept your proposal.” She allowed her smile to turn into something truly naughty. The suggestive smile she’d occasionally seen on other women’s faces. It seemed to curve on her lips quite naturally. “I think I might take to being a trollop.”

Her first garter fell away. Her stocking was made of gossamer-weight silk; it fell to her ankle and she toed it off.

Alaric appeared to have been struck dumb.

She looked up, saw just a flash of blue eyes before she bent her head again and untied her second garter.

“How am I to have a rational life if I walk around in a permanent state of arousal?” he demanded, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I look at you, any part of you, from the nape of your neck to your ankle, and I’m ready for service. Your service, I mean.”

“I have grasped that,” Willa said, voice wry. Her remaining stocking slipped down her leg.

“You shouldn’t do that.” His voice made the blood pound through her body even faster. She was having trouble keeping a semblance of calmness, which was unusual for her. Very unusual.

She tossed her second stocking on top of the first.

“Have you removed your stockings because they are uncomfortable?”

Maybe she hadn’t yet managed a properly alluring smile? There had been many occasions, Willa reminded herself, when her first efforts had been unsuccessful—from her first sampler to her first kiss.

“I am removing my clothing.” She twisted to reach the tie at the back of her neck. “I have accepted your proposal of marriage. That being the case, it would be very pleasant to continue what we began last night.”

That was pure Willa, she recognized too late.

Sure enough, Alaric let out a bark of laughter. “Pleasant?”

“Very.” Willa nodded. “We are truly betrothed now. So …” She had managed to untie the knot that held the lace apron on her gown.

He wasn’t watching as she disrobed; he was studying her face instead. “Are you certain, Evie?”

“That I will marry you? Yes.” It was easy to untie the strings of her cork rump and let it drop to the ground.

“What about women like Prudence?”

“The number of mad people is small in proportion to the number of sane people, I would think. Once you become a boring squire, merely a duke’s younger son with a few travel narratives in your past, I doubt anyone will pay you much attention.”

That was a fib.

Alaric was a man to whom people would always pay notice, but she had concluded that she wanted him more than she wanted privacy. She began unbuttoning her bodice. Under it she wore a corset that did very nice things to her breasts, and below that, her chemise.

“You won’t embarrass me, will you?” she asked. Her fingers were trembling again, as they had the night before, from a combination of desire and anticipation. “I will be distressed if you refuse me. I might think you are rejecting my figure.”

“That’s rubbish.”

Willa took her bodice off and dropped it to the side, followed by her corset. Then she lay back on the pillows and smiled up at him.

Alaric stared down, incredulity written on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be timid about bedding me? You’re a virgin.”

Willa let ice slide into her voice. “Do you imagine otherwise?”

“No.” He shook his head with a grimace. “I just can’t quite grasp the miracle that is Willa Everett.”

She was about to say something sarcastic when he abruptly lowered his large, warm body onto hers. She wriggled against the hardened rod straining against her belly, and a groan sounded from deep in his chest.

In the books whose illustrations she and Lavinia had examined, the male tool had appeared faintly ridiculous, like the horn of a rhinoceros. Alaric’s, to her delight, felt warm and alive.

He bent his head to kiss her, and Willa relaxed into his embrace and let herself be. Be in the moment, although she was lying on a pile of pillows in an imitation Greek temple. Be with Alaric, even though she had never contemplated marrying Lord Wilde.

Be a person who was trembling and panting and unable to think. There were no rules for a moment like this—or if there were, Willa didn’t know them. All she could do was feel.

They kissed for long minutes, Alaric’s hands clasping her head, his mouth ravaging hers over and over. Before long she was arching against him, inarticulate pleas coming from her throat. Her legs felt restless, aflame, aching with a burn she’d never felt before.

“Alaric,” she gasped.

He didn’t answer, but looked into her eyes once more. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him, because he kissed each eye and murmured something about a wife.

Then he kissed his way down her cheek, peppering her with kisses that felt like brands. Just as he reached her throat, one of his hands curled around her breast.

Willa tipped her head back. In the midst of shattering heat and bliss, one thought floated up: this was so freeing. There was nothing more free than to allow someone to make you blissful.

Allow?

It should be an exchange. Her hands had been groggily flying over Alaric’s back in small caresses. Now she ran a hand straight down the front of his breeches.

He made a hoarse sound, deep in his throat.

“Should I not do that?” Willa gasped. Her fingers curled in embarrassment. Perhaps she wasn’t allowed to touch like that. Perhaps that was only for the trollops pictured in those Italian books.

She snatched her hand back.

“If I beg you, will you touch me like that again?”

His aching question made her lips curl up in a breathless smile. “It’s acceptable?”

“No rules,” Alaric stated. “No rules between us, Evie.” He ripped open the front of his breeches as he flicked his tongue against hers. “I’m going to lick your body from head to foot.”

Her hand slid down his front again and she curled her fingers around him. He was large and hot. When she tightened her fingers, the breath caught in his throat.

“There is no propriety between us,” he rasped, pushing farther into her hand. “You may do whatever you like to me. Whatever you dream of doing. My body is yours.”

Heat was prickling through her from her breasts to her legs. She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not sure what to do with you.”

“Do you have any knowledge of the marital act?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’m not sure if there’s something I’m supposed to do at this moment,” she confessed, the words ragged.

Willa’s mouth was so plush and lovely that Alaric leaned down and kissed her again, even as his cock was pulsing in her hand.

A few minutes or an hour later, he pulled back and forced himself to ask, “Are you certain? You don’t want to wait until you become Lady Alaric Wilde to bed me?”

She shook her head, eyes bright. “Has it occurred to you that my name will be Willa Wilde?”

He swooped down and kissed her silent, swallowing her giggles. “Evie Wilde, this is your last chance,” he said, meaning it. “I will marry you, even though you deserve better than me, even though I am besieged by readers and madwomen.”

“I will marry you,” she said, as fiercely as he, “even though you are the beloved son of a duke and I’m an orphan, even though you are a famous author and I still haven’t read your books, even though you gave me a skunk when I wanted a kitten.”

Alaric felt his heart skip a beat. “You will be my bride, in truth?”

His girl nodded, her eyes on his.

A desperate sound tore from his throat as he succumbed to a wave of blinding need, ripping open the neck of her chemise. A moment later his mouth closed around a pink nipple and he suckled her hard.

“More,” she gasped.

“May I remove your skirts?” He’d never heard his own voice so guttural and deep.

Coming up on his knees, he tugged off his shirt and came back to her, taking her other nipple between his lips. She squirmed and arched. “Do that again!”

He slid a hand up her smooth leg, all the way up, and she fell silent.

She was sleek and wet. He flipped up her skirts; she was exquisite, deep rose fading to pale pink. “You’re too beautiful for me,” he said thickly.

He bent his head and licked her flowery, private place without warning. Direct, because Willa was like that. No need for fussing.

Sure enough, her fingers clamped around his head to hold him there.

He kissed her until she cried out, her body convulsing around his fingers, her eyes flying open in surprise. Then he moved, bracing himself over her. Her trusting smile felt like a caress. “This may hurt,” he whispered.

His aching cock slid through wet, hot silk. Being Willa, she looked curious, not frightened. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as he reached down and guided himself inside. No more than the head of his cock slid inside. She was so tight that a rasping sound escaped his throat. Her hips rose to meet him and he gained another inch. “Is there more?” she gasped.