Chapter 5
“Your parents both look well.”
“Did you think it might be otherwise?” Heather challenged Maxim as the two of them once again dined alone at Treganon House.
The journey home had thankfully not been as fraught with tension as the one there. Ralph’s nursemaid had accompanied them, of course, and Ralph seemed to have gotten past his shyness, his boyish chatter also helping with the passing of the miles. He was still a little shy when it came to Maxim, but the man had surprised Heather by doing all that he could to put the boy at ease. He’d suggested the two of them could go fishing in the cove tomorrow, and talked of several other boyish pursuits he thought might interest Ralph.
Heather was unsure as to whether or not she wanted Ralph to become attached to Maxim that way, but if Maxim intended to stay for any length of time, it would be difficult to prevent it from happening. All she could hope for was that Maxim’s visit to Cornwall would be of short duration.
“Not at all,” he answered her lightly before taking a sip of his wine. “Ralph is a fine boy— Careful,” he cautioned as Heather’s knife slipped from her fingers and only just missed stabbing her in one satin-slippered foot.
Heather’s gaze remained lowered as she thanked Coombe for removing the knife from the floor and also handing her a clean one before continuing about his business. “I trust your conversation with my father was all you hoped it would be?” She deliberately changed the subject, even though she knew the answer to the question.
Her father’s eyes had been glittering with anger when the two gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the sitting room, and Maxim had been tight-lipped. The two men had not spoken to each other again directly during the rest of the visit.
“As much as it could be, yes,” Maxim answered her guardedly, aware that Sir Walter was not being completely honest with him where the smuggling in the area was concerned. But how could he be when Sir Walter and his family were known to be involved in it up to their necks? In Heather’s case, a very pretty neck.
In truth, Maxim was currently more interested in talking to Heather than in her father’s avoidance of giving him honest answers. She looked stunningly beautiful this evening, in a gown of cream satin and lace. The style of the gown, with the short cap sleeves pulled down her arms, left her shoulders and the tops of her breasts bare. Her red-brown hair was once again swept up and secured at her crown.
She looked every inch the dowager duchess this evening, her expression one of haughty disdain.
Nor, Maxim knew, would he be the only one to have noticed her beauty since she’d become a very eligible widow. Despite what Maxim had said earlier, his father had left Heather some money of her own. It was nowhere near the Carlton fortune, which was bequeathed with the title, but it would nevertheless be enough of a temptation for many of the less wealthy gentlemen in Society to seek out in their future wife.
Maxim forced his fingers to relax about the stem of his wineglass before it snapped under the pressure. “Your mother told me she now has six grandchildren,” he said evenly. “Ralph, of course, three from Daveth and his wife, and two more with Jory and his wife.” It had been the only topic of conversation about which Adelle Turner had seemed comfortable talking with him.
Heather laughed softly as some of her own tension seemed to ease. “She assures me she is enjoying her grandchildren, and finds them far less of a strain than her own children have and continue to be.”
Maxim’s brows rose. “I believe Daveth and Jory are happily married and successfully farm the estate together? And you married an earl,” he remarked gruffly.
Heather was aware that neither of them could ever forget which earl she had married.
She shrugged creamy shoulders. “I am sure we have also each caused my mother an equal share of heartache over the years.”
“Even you?”
Especially her, Heather accepted regretfully. Indeed, she was sure the strands of gray in her mother’s otherwise reddish-brown hair had all been caused by her. Daveth and Jory had married local girls, and, as Maxim said, the marriages were happy ones. Jory had received a wound as a soldier, and there was the family’s involvement in the smuggling too, of course, but her mother was accustomed to that lucrative pastime by now.
“Even me,” Heather allowed evenly, sitting back in her chair so that Coombe could remove their used plates. “I do not care for dessert, and it has been a long day,” she announced. “I believe I shall retire for the night.”
Maxim looked up at the butler. “You may leave us now.”
Heather immediately felt alarmed at the thought of being alone in the dining room with Maxim. They had not discussed the events of early this morning, but nevertheless, the awareness of it was there between the two of them. It had been so all day.
“Sit down,” Maxim rasped, Heather having risen to her feet the moment Coombe had departed.
She arched one brow. “I beg your pardon?”
Maxim’s jaw tightened. “You and I need to talk.”
Heather remained standing. “We have done nothing but talk all day, and now it is late and I wish to go to my bedchamber.” There had been little enough time for her to rest this morning before she had to rejoin Maxim for their journey to her parents’ home together.
He rose to his feet. “In that case, you leave me no choice but to join you there.”
Heather’s alarm deepened. “It was not an invitation,” she snapped. “If you have something to say to me, then say it now.” She inwardly armed herself for the conversation. Whatever it might be.
He nodded abruptly. “This morning, the two of us—”
“Anything but that!” She moved away to stand in front of one of the windows, her lace-covered hands tightly clasped together in front of her.
It was now fully dark outside, and so there was little to see outside the window, but nevertheless, it was preferable to looking at Maxim in the dark evening clothes that fit him so perfectly across the width of his muscular shoulders and chest. She was a woman, not a marble statue, and her body still trembled at the memory of those shattering climaxes of this morning.
Her back stiffened as she saw Maxim’s reflection in the window and felt his heat as he came to stand behind her. Candles flickered in the room, adding to the sudden intimacy. Heather’s nipples immediately engorged, painfully so, at the memory of having Maxim’s lips and hands upon them earlier today.
“I am once again hard for you, Heather,” he murmured huskily.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” she snapped. “Get down on my knees and service you like the whore you have always thought me?”
Maxim’s gaze glittered as he easily held hers captive in their reflection. “I have never believed nor said that about you.”
She broke that compelling gaze by turning to face him, chin raised in challenge. “No?”
“No,” he answered calmly. “But, I admit, the thought of you on your knees in front of me is not unappealing,” he acknowledged ruefully. “My cock approves of the idea too.”
Her gaze dropped to where that swollen shaft pressed urgently against the front of his evening trousers. Nor could she look away again as Maxim’s hands moved to the buttons, slowly unfastening each one—perhaps giving her time to protest?—before the flap fell down and his bare cock sprang free. She could not have protested then even if she wanted to. Her mouth had gone dry as she stared at that long and fully engorged member, the bulbous top glistening with precum.
Heather ran her tongue longingly over her parched lips. She had always loved Maxim’s taste, been addicted to it, and him, six years ago.
“On your knees,” he instructed gruffly as he curled his fingers about his shaft and gave it a leisurely stroke, causing yet more viscous fluid to bubble to the surface.
Her natural instinct was to do as Maxim asked.
No!
She would not do it. Could not do it—
Her knees bent, folded beneath her, as she sank to the carpeted floor, drawn, lured to obey by the promised taste of him. It had always been this way between them. Maxim ordered, and, when it came to intimacy, she obeyed.
“Lick.” Maxim was barely breathing as he waited to see if Heather would comply with his second instruction.
In all other things, Heather had always been headstrong and rebellious, refusing to have her fiery spirit curbed. But during intimacy, she had always deferred to him in the past. He hoped—prayed—it would be the same now.
His lone release earlier today had not even touched the surface of his desire for her. He needed her lips and hands on him, to have his cock taken into the heat of her mouth while she pleasured him.
To some, it might seem that he was exerting undue power over her, but it had never been like that between the two of them. When it came to intimacy, Heather had always held all the power, to give or receive pleasure, or to make him suffer the pains of hell if she refused him.
In the past, she never had, but that did not mean it would be the same between them now. Even the fact she was on her knees in front of him did not mean she would put an end to his suffering.
“Heather, please,” he pleaded when she made no effort to move and there was only the sound of the mantel clock slowly ticking by the seconds of his endless torment.
Her glance was that of the temptress as she gazed up at him from beneath lowered lashes. Slowly, she lifted her hands to push his hand aside. Lace-covered fingers curled about his hardness while her other hand cupped the full tautness of his balls.
“Fuck!” Maxim groaned low in his throat even as he planted his feet farther apart to maintain his balance.
“I do not think so,” she taunted. “But this…” Her tongue rasped slowly over his cockhead, lapping up the precum. “Mm, this I would enjoy.” Her lips parted, and she took his cockhead fully into her mouth.
Maxim believed he must have died and gone to heaven as Heather’s head began to bob slowly up and down his shaft. She took his cock to the back of her throat before slowly releasing him to the tip and then swallowing him down again. The sucking in of her cheeks imitated the tightness and heat of her pussy.
How many times had Maxim imagined just this as he lay rotting in that French prison, holding on to his sanity by a thin thread? Only the promise of Heather waiting for him kept him grounded and willing to continue fighting his torturers. To live, for her.
Only to return to find she had married his father in his absence.
Heather released Maxim’s cock to glance up at him as he gave a pained groan. “Did I hurt you?” She had not thought she had, but his groan had not been one of pleasure.
“No.” He looked at her between narrowed lids. His hands came up to rest either side of her head as he thrust his weeping cock toward her.
Heather eyed him uncertainly. Maxim had always been demanding in their lovemaking, but she had never sensed the anger she could now see in his expression and hear in his voice.
“Open your mouth and keep sucking me until I come,” he rasped.
He wasted no time waiting for her answer. He pushed his cock past her slightly parted lips, causing Heather to reach up to grasp Maxim’s hips as he immediately began to thrust in earnest.
She more than sensed the anger inside him now, could feel it in the ever-increasing wildness of his thrusts and the erratic sounds of his breathing. He was close to his release, to using her as if she were nothing more than a hot mouth in which he might thrust his cock and then empty his balls. To treating her as that nameless, faceless whore servicing his needs.
Heather wrenched her head free of his hands, releasing Maxim’s cock with a loud pop as she sat back on her heels. She knew she was right in her conclusion when she looked up and saw the glassy sheen to his eyes and the lack of recognition for her in the blankness of that gaze.
“Finish it, damn you.” His voice was guttural.
“No.” She shook her head as she rose to her feet on legs that shook at the knees.
“Then I shall do it.” His fingers returned to curl tightly about his cock. He braced his legs and began to savagely pump that engorged shaft. “And you shall watch.”
“You are out of control,” Heather accused breathlessly, barely recognizing Maxim in this snarling stranger. At the same time, she was unable to look away from the rapid pumping of his hand and the increased release of precum spilling onto the bulbous top and over his fingers.
“I was never in control where you were concerned,” he rasped, color high on his cheeks as his other hand moved to squeeze his balls while he continued those fierce strokes. “It was always you who controlled me. Always you, damn it.” He gave a loud groan as his shaft began to jerk and pulse within his grasp, and cum shot in a thick and steady stream from the slit that gaped open at the tip of his cock.
Heather was still standing close enough that it splattered over the skirt of her gown, allowing her to feel the heat of his release through the silk material. The wildness of Maxim’s gaze remained fixed on the evidence of cum on her as he continued to pump long after that release had ended.
Finally, he stopped to stumble backward and lean back against the window frame, his chest rapidly rising and falling beneath his jacket and waistcoat, his gaze downcast and no longer meeting hers.
Heather had no idea what to say or do. Their lovemaking had always been wild but satisfying in the past, and her response to him during the early hours of this morning had shown that desire was still as strong. On her part, at least. But she had never seen Maxim so far gone in his passion. So out of control.
An angry passion which seemed to be born of hate.
Toward her.
Maxim might still desire her, but his behavior now had shown that he also harbored a fierceness of anger toward her for being the woman who had forced him to feel that emotion.
Heather had been angry with Maxim for years. Since he’d abandoned her so callously, in fact. But to now realize the emotion was returned, that it surged even deeper than merely anger inside Maxim, bordering on hate, caused a numbness, an emptiness inside her Heather knew could never be filled.
No, not complete emptiness, she accepted as she acknowledged the tightness in her chest exactly where her heart resided. She blinked back tears as the last little piece of hope she’d had that Maxim might have had good reason for having abandoned her six years ago finally died.
There was nothing between them now but the remnants of their long-dead desire for each other.
And anger. Maxim’s as well as her own.
Her spine straightened. “In the circumstances, it would be better for all concerned if you departed Cornwall first thing in the morning.” She turned on her heel with a swish of her soiled skirt and departed the dining room, the heat of her tears tracking down her cheeks.
Maxim was so full of self-disgust, he barely registered Heather leaving. There was certainly nothing he could say in his defense that could ever excuse his behavior.
He had never behaved in such a barbaric manner before tonight.
Never been so consumed with anger as well as desire that he had treated a woman with so much contempt and disrespect.
Had treated Heather so contemptuously and disrespectfully.
The one woman he never wished to hurt but seemed to do so constantly.
This time deliberately.
Because here he stood, the respected and occasionally feared Lord Maximillian Smythe, the Earl of Carlton, friend of dukes and earls and the Prince Regent, with his rapidly softening cock hanging out of his trousers and his clothing and shoes soiled with his own cum.
It was behavior in himself Maxim barely recognized.
Did not want to recognize.
But had no choice but to do so.
What did he do now, was the question.
Did he leave Cornwall, as Heather wished him to do?
Or did he stay and continue on his mission to prove or disprove her guilty of treason?