“…love is love for evermore.”
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
England, 1878
aggie, Marchioness of Sandhurst, knew when to concede defeat, and now was proving just such a moment. She watched the first evening of Lady Needham’s infamous country house weekend unfolding in all its raucous glory. How had she ever thought she could find the courage to start a scandal to rival the debauchery before her?
Straight ahead, a masked lady’s nipples were nearly visible above the décolletage of her black evening gown as she sipped champagne and flirted shamelessly with a masked gentleman. To her left, a gentleman had a lady pinned to the wall as he feasted on her neck. At her right, another couple’s furtive motions suggested they were engaged in something far more depraved.
She’d thought that she was made of stern enough stuff to do what she must to regain her independence. Any man would suffice, she’d told herself, no matter how disagreeable the task. He could be old or young, short or tall, balding, round about the middle. She didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t cruel or malodorous, she could bear it.
Fool, she chastised herself. Coward.
For here she stood, mouth dry, heart thundering in her breast, fingers clenching her skirts. Too afraid to step forward, throw caution to the wind. Too fearful to free herself from the prison of her mistakes.
There was no hope for it. She wasn’t cut from the same cloth as her fellow revelers, for watching them only made her want to retire to her chamber, snuggle beneath the covers, and read the volume of poetry she’d brought along with her. If only she hadn’t chosen duty instead of love.
With a sigh, she turned away from the swirls of skirts and the dashing sight of masked rakes wooing their eager female counterparts. After two steps, she froze as she heard an unmistakable sound above the laughter and the music and the rumble of inebriated voices. It was the one sound a lady never wanted to hear, the sound that invariably made her shudder in her shoes.
The awful sound of fabric rending.
Her train, to be specific. The lush fall of silk designed by Worth himself. Hopelessly torn. Dismay mingling with true despair within her, she turned to find the culprit. He was dressed to perfection in evening black, taller than she, his identity obscured by an equally midnight half-mask. The lower half of his face revealed a wide jaw, a sculpted mouth. There was no denying that he was handsome, but he didn’t appear to notice her, his glittering green eyes instead traveling the sea of iniquity above Maggie’s head.
What a lout. Perhaps he was a drunkard as well. Stifling the urge to roll her eyes in frustration, she attempted to gain the man’s attention, for he still stood upon the mangled remnants of her beautiful violet silk. “Pardon me, sir?”
He either ignored her or didn’t hear her, caught up in the madness of the ball. For a moment, she had the distinct impression his mind was far away from the ballroom crush. He looked past them all, lost in his own meandering thoughts.
But this man and his thoughts were not her concern. Be he inebriated, enthralled, or distracted, unfortunately he was still on her skirts. “Sir?” She raised her voice, trying not to call too much attention to herself for she was ashamed she’d deigned to attend the notorious party in the first place.
He remained oblivious. Perhaps he suffered from a hearing problem. Oh dear. She had no choice if she wanted to save her train from further damage. Maggie reached out and laid a tentative hand on his arm. “Sir?”
He gave a start and turned the force of that startling mossy gaze on her. “Madam?”
His arm was surprisingly well-muscled, his coat warm with the heat of his large body. She withdrew her touch with haste as if he were a pot too long on the stove that she’d inadvertently touched with her bare hand. He still didn’t realize he trampled her gorgeous evening gown. It took her a breath to regain her composure under the force of those piercing eyes.
“Sir,” she began hesitantly, “I’m afraid you’re standing upon my train. If you’d be so kind?”
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, startling her with his blunt language. His penetrating stare dropped to the floor and he quickly removed the offending shoes. “Ah Christ, it’s ripped to bits, isn’t it?”
She cast a dreary eye over the effects of his feet. “I expect it will require some correction, yes.”
Correction was rather an understatement. Her silk train, complete with box-pleated ribbon trim and a lace-and-jet overlay, was badly torn. She wasn’t certain a seamstress’s hand could make repairs without them being obvious to the eye. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford a new gown, but this had been her first occasion wearing it, and it had been unbearably lovely.
“I’m truly sorry.” His voice sounded cross, drawing her attention back up to his frowning mouth. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll be happy to have it repaired for you.”
His mouth was especially fine, she noted again, contrary to her better judgment, firm yet sculpted. He had a generous mouth. Kissable. Dear heaven. What was she about, swooning over an unknown man’s lips? Hadn’t she just decided she was too craven to create the sort of scandal she’d require? She swallowed, forcing herself to recall what he’d just said.
“I appreciate your offer, sir, but I have a wonderful seamstress.” She thought of the dressmaker she used in London when in a pinch. Likely, the entire train would require replacing.
“But the fault is mine.” He played the gentleman now that she’d finally gained his attention.
“Nonsense.” Perhaps her womanly horror at the damage to her gown was foolish. It had not been intentionally done, after all, and she had more than enough coin for Madame Laurier’s alterations. “Of all things that need mending, mere fabric is by far the easiest and least costly.”
He tilted his head, considering her with a fathomless stare that made her skin tingle to life with a dizzying warmth. “I sincerely doubt truer words were ever spoken.”
There was an intensity underlying his words that made her believe he was sincere and not merely another rake plying meaningless flattery. For the first time since stepping into the whirlwind of the ballroom, Maggie was intrigued.
“What have you that needs mending, sir?” A new sense of boldness coursed through her.
His lips quirked into a wry smile beneath his mask. “Would you believe it’s my heart?”
So he loved another, then. She tried to ignore the stab of disappointment the revelation sent through her. “I know better than anyone just how difficult it is to mend a heart.” She frowned as she thought of the unhappy life in which she had found herself. The realization she had settled on this miserable path was a constant burr beneath her mind’s saddle. “Perhaps impossible.”
“What man would dare to break the heart of a woman as beautiful as you?” he demanded. “An utter imbecile, surely.”
She laughed, entertained by his feigned toadying. A man who could laugh at himself and those around him was refreshing. “Forgive me, but I fear you’re guilty of dissembling.”
“Dissembling?” He pressed a large hand over his heart, feigning shock. “I’m wounded. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because you can’t see my face.” She grinned despite herself. Her dainty mask covered her face as well, save her mouth. It was rather the point of a masque, after all. She would have to remove it to accomplish what she wanted. But for now, there was safety in her anonymity.
“Yes, but you have the most extraordinarily lovely eyes I’ve ever seen,” he returned with remarkable aplomb. “I daresay they’re almost violet.”
Another wave of warmth washed over her. He was somehow different, this man. Dangerous to be sure. “I rather like you,” she confided before she could stop herself. Drat. Being too honest had always been one of her downfalls. She’d never been good at hiding her emotions behind a polite veil. Perhaps it was why she’d had such difficulty blending with London society.
He grinned. “You sound alarmed. I’m not all bad, I assure you.”
She shook her head, trying to regain her wits. “It is merely that I’d given up on your countrymen.”
“My countrymen?” He paused, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he viewed her with dawning comprehension. “You’re an American, are you? I thought I detected an accent.”
“I am,” she acknowledged. “I suppose that renders my eyes less lovely now.” Although a number of American heiresses like herself had made their way to England, they were not always well received. She’d had to work quite hard to forge her way, and acceptance from English ladies had not proved an easy or sometimes achievable feat.
“Of course not.” An emotion she couldn’t define darkened his voice. “Your eyes are still lovely as ever. Would you care to dance?”
Oh dear heaven. Her pulse leapt until she recalled two things. She was an abysmal dancer, and her train was in pieces. She wisely kept the first to herself. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid my train…”
“Bloody hell, I’d already forgotten.” He grimaced. “What an ass. Perhaps you’d like another glass of champagne?”
Belatedly, she realized the glass she held was empty. When had she drunk it all? She couldn’t recall. Perhaps that was the reason her head felt as if it had been filled with fluffy white clouds. Yes, that had to be it. Surely it wasn’t the tall stranger with the gorgeous mouth who kept plying her with sensual looks and disarming smiles. She probably ought not to have another flute of champagne.
“I’d love another,” she said. Hadn’t she lived her life the way she should? And what had that gotten her but misery and loneliness and a husband she hadn’t seen in over a year?
He returned to her side and pressed another glass of champagne into her hand. “There you are, my dear.”
“Thank you.” She took a fortifying sip, calming the jagged bundle of her nerves. Perhaps there was hope for her madcap plan after all. The stranger before her would certainly do for a scandal. Yes indeed. He certainly looked like the sort of man who would accept an invitation to sin. She forced her mind into safer territory, trying to distract herself from wanton thoughts. “Who has caused your heart to require mending?” she asked him. “A wife?”
He hesitated, drinking his champagne, and for a moment she feared she’d overstepped her bounds. “Not a wife, no,” he said with care. “But a very old and dear friend.”
“A lover,” she concluded aloud, then flushed at her bluntness, which always landed her in trouble. “I’m sorry, sir, if I’m too forthright. I cannot help myself.”
“You needn’t apologize. Everyone knows that here at Lady Needham’s none of the standard society rules apply. You’ve but to look around you to see that.” His tone was wry as his gaze lit on the couple against the wall. The man clenched the woman’s skirts in his fist, raising them to reveal her shapely, stocking-clad calves.
Maggie looked away, cheeks stinging. Of course none of the standard rules applied here. Indeed, from all appearances, there were no rules here. It was one of the many reasons she’d decided—against her better judgment—to attend. What better place to create a scandal than a party that existed for the express purpose of licentiousness?
“Is that why you’re here?” She couldn’t squelch her curiosity. “For the…lack of rules?”
Surely it was the champagne that made her so daring. For the real Maggie would never have dreamt of insinuating such a thing to a stranger. She’d all but asked him if he sought a lover, for heaven’s sake. But if she wanted to succeed in forcing her husband to divorce her, she couldn’t be herself. She had to be someone fearless and bold. Someone without conscience. Someone like the man she’d wed.
“I suppose it is in part.” He took another sip of spirits. “What of you? What brings you here? You appear terribly young for this fast set.”
“Disappointment, I suppose.” She gulped her champagne as he closed the distance between them. He was so near she could see the dark stubble on his defined jaw.
“You’re certainly too young for disappointment.” He ran a finger from her elbow to her wrist, stopping to tangle his fingers with hers. “Who would dare to disappoint you?”
“My husband.” Her mouth went dry. Though truth be told, she was far more disappointed in herself than she was in the marquis. After all, she had known he married her for her dowry in the same way she had married him for his title. However, she had not anticipated his utter defection and her resulting misery. But there was little need to divulge her inner sins and secrets to the man before her now. This was to be a lighthearted affair. A means to an end.
“He must be an utter bastard to cause you so much distress.”
She laughed without mirth. “I would say he is a rather cold and heartless man.” Yes indeed, that described Sandhurst perfectly.
He squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry, my dear.”
“You are not the man who owes me an apology.” The old sadness bloomed in her heart as she thought of Richard and all she’d left. “But I suppose I’ll never have one from him.” The best she could expect from him was anger. Perhaps a blinding fury. She meant to cuckold him before all London, to leave no doubt in the minds of the entire ton. Only then could she be free. This man could help her. She felt certain of it.
“Do you love him?” he asked, startling her.
His query threw her. People of their class so rarely married for love. She did not love her husband, but she had certainly married him with a hopeful heart. Her mother had assured her that many modern marriages began with respect and led to tender affections after time and diligence. She had hoped to foster a relationship of kindness between herself and her husband, at the least. Instead, their relationship consisted of silence. But it was odd for the man before her to have pondered such a question.
“Of course not,” she said at last. “What of you and your dear friend? Do you love her?”
“I did for many years,” he said, the admission seemingly torn from him. “Now, I’m not certain what I feel any longer. A need for change, certainly.”
She saw them for what they were then, a man and woman who had somehow run across each other’s paths at the same ball, both of them lost. Searching. She longed to escape from the gilded prison in which she now found herself. He longed for something. Perhaps distraction. A lover. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that the fear in her had at long last subsided. She stood ready, poised to grab the reins of her life and steer herself in a different direction.
“What sort of change do you seek?” she asked, watching him above the rim of her flute.
His sinful mouth curved in a half smile. “I think perhaps it’s you.”
She nearly choked on her mouthful of champagne. “Me?”
“Oh yes,” he told her in that seductive, deep voice of his. His green eyes were fierce and direct on her, trapping her gaze so she couldn’t look anywhere else. There was no denying his sensual promise. “You.”
She should not have invited the stranger to her chamber. She thought of one of her favorite poems, The Lady’s Yes and how it cautioned against the flirtations of the ballroom, how inconstant they seemed by bright daylight. Yes indeed, she should never have entertained such iniquity, let alone offered herself up for it.
But she needed a scandal. A scandal of magnitude. A scandal her husband could not ignore. He could provide her with that and more, the stranger from the ballroom. She would make certain that as many eyes as possible saw her for the entirety of the house party. There would be no question as to the sins she’d committed. At the conclusion of the fete, she’d remove her mask, strip herself from the safety of anonymity. Everyone would know the Marquis of Sandhurst was a cuckold.
A small stab of guilt pierced her, for she was not the sort of woman who used a stranger for her own gain. She hadn’t been, anyway, but desperation had a way of bringing one quite low indeed. Maggie paced the length of polished floorboards peeking out from amongst thick carpets. Perhaps it was the champagne. Perhaps it was the evening, the man’s dancing eyes, his deep voice laden with desire. Perhaps it was the allure of something more, the mysterious relationship between a man and a woman that had never been fully realized for her.
For a wife of nearly a year, she was still, somehow, a virgin.
That made her decision all the more reckless. What would the man think? She didn’t know his name, his face. She’d chatted with him in a crowded ballroom and now he would arrive at any moment to take her innocence. Come to my chamber, she’d told him, as though it was a sentence she’d uttered to a hundred men before him. Maggie fanned her face with her hand, needing air. What did it all entail? She’d heard murmurings that the deflowering would be painful at best, horridly humiliating at worst. Her friend Victoria said the marriage bed was wondrous, but Victoria was thoroughly besotted with her reformed rake of a husband and her word was understandably compromised by her feelings.
A discreet knock sounded at her door. Two quick raps. He had come.
She flattened her palms over her nightdress, a fairly formal affair of cotton and lace. Upon dismissing her lady’s maid, she had retied the mask to conceal her face. After all, she couldn’t risk being discovered until her plan was complete. Lady Needham’s wicked country house party was the perfect setting for such an undertaking. Guests wore masks for its three-day duration, enabling them to dabble in pursuits that were decidedly more sinful than ordinary society permitted.
Pursuits like fornication in a ballroom. Yes, she was sure the couple to her right had done something most wicked. Before her eyes, she’d seen the gentleman ruck up the lady’s skirts to her waist. He’d begun thrusting his body into hers, the lady tipping back her head, mouth falling open. Maggie had watched in rapt fascination, a keen sense of something heretofore unknown crashing over her. And all around them, the revelers had continued, some stopping to watch, others ignoring the spectacle entirely.
She took a deep breath before hastening to the door and pulling it open. There he stood, the man who had trampled her train. He appeared somehow taller now than he had in the ballroom, still wearing his black evening tails and his mask. Heat sluiced through her veins, mingling with uncertainty. For a breath, she thought about snapping the door closed and abandoning her scheme entirely.
“Am I still welcome?” Even his voice was somehow intimate.
Awareness prickled her skin. He was being polite, allowing her to change her mind. She hadn’t an inkling of how to conduct an affair. Maybe this was commonplace to him. Maybe he was a rake of the first order. Would that make what she must do easier or more difficult?
But he had asked her a question, hadn’t he?
Of course he was still welcome. She hadn’t a choice. She stepped back into the chamber, gesturing him inside, using levity to cloak her muddled emotions. “You are most welcome as long as you promise not to do any further damage to my wardrobe.”
He chuckled as he strode across the threshold. “I shall do my utmost to keep your gowns in good order, I swear it.”
It wasn’t her gowns she feared he’d do damage to at this point. She closed the door behind him and spun, unaccountably nervous now that she’d done what she’d set out to do in the first, obtained a lover. If only she knew what to do with him. If only she knew what he’d do to her. Would it be like the couple in the ballroom? Would he pump into her in quick, violent thrusts? An answering pulse throbbed between her legs. Her legs went weak, her breathing shallow. She was ashamed of herself, of her reaction to him, her reaction to this wickedness. For a part of her enjoyed it.
“My lady’s maid will be relieved to hear it.” She clasped her hands at her waist and watched him. She felt faint, trapped between a desire to flee and a need to launch herself at him and begin this madness. She hoped she appeared poised and confident, a seasoned participant in the game they now played.
He smiled, his teeth visible in a brief white flash before he was once again serious. His eyes dropped. “Your hands are shaking, my dear.”
She looked down as well. So they were. Dear heaven. How was she ever going to make it through the night? “I suppose I’m a bit anxious,” she conceded.
“You’ve never been to one of Lady Needham’s house parties before, have you?” His voice was knowing. He closed the space between them, catching her worried hands in his large, warm ones.
She was dismayed that he saw through her with such ease. She’d thought she had done an admirable job of portraying the debauched lady. “How did you know?”
“You’re a trifle too sincere.” He raised her hands to his lips, kissing each with a slow reverence that thoroughly disarmed her. “In truth, I’ve never met a woman as candid and lovely.”
She was breathless. “Never?” Oh, how she hoped he was not merely wooing her with meaningless praise. A foolish thought, a foolish hope, for she had no claims upon the man before her, nor would she ever. He was a means to an end. Through him she’d gain her independence. That was all.
“Never.” He turned her hands over and dropped a kiss to her palms, then her wrists. “It’s bad of me, but I’m deuced glad I trounced your gown.”
A shiver of pure desire skittered down her spine. Her body felt heavy and warm, weighed down with the delicious possibility of what was to come. “It seems fortuitous.” All her earlier bravado failed her. She was desperate to know what was about to unfold and yet simultaneously terrified.
“Am I overstepping my bounds, my dear?” He yet held her hands in his. “You haven’t stopped trembling. I wouldn’t dream of frightening you.”
“No,” she hastened to assure him. “This is all new to me, I fear, and rather daunting.”
He stilled. “Am I to be your first lover, then?”
He’d guessed. Likely, she hadn’t made the assumption a difficult one to make.
“You are.” Embarrassment made her long to crawl beneath the lovely carved oak bed taking up the opposite wall. Somehow, she hadn’t imagined as much conversation. How had she ever supposed seducing a man would be easy? How had she ever believed it wouldn’t affect her?
“I’m honored,” he said, his voice deep and velvety. He reached up to touch the corner of her mask. “Do you wish to keep it on?”
“Yes.” The barrier made their intimacies somehow more manageable. “If you don’t mind, sir. At least until the lamps are out.”
“If it pleases you.” His fingers lingered on her chin, tipping it upward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
She placed her hands upon his broad shoulders. “Please do.” She closed her eyes, waiting. The other kisses she’d experienced had been chaste and flat, a mere perfunctory brushing of lips over hers. Richard had been the perfect gentleman. The Marquis had never even bothered.
But if she’d expected the same sort of brief peck now, she’d been entirely wrong. Delightfully so. His mouth pressed against hers, hot and firm, his upper lip fitting naturally into the seam of hers. He drew his arms around her waist, anchoring her body to his. The hardness of his long, lean form was a pleasant surprise. She leaned into him, hungry for more, gasping when his tongue teased her lower lip. The moment she opened to him, he swept inside her mouth. Tentatively, she ran her tongue against his, tasting him. Champagne and sin.
The warmth pervading her senses all evening escalated into a fire that began in her belly and echoed in her sex. Her skin tingled. A steady ache thrummed between her legs. She’d never experienced a more heady mix of pleasure and longing. At last, she thought as she mimicked his kiss.
He dragged his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged, before dropping tantalizing kisses over her bare neck. He made a path to the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse galloped at a frantic pace. His silk mask scraped against her, equally exciting. She tilted her head back to grant him greater access. His fingers went to the shell buttons on her cotton nightgown’s bodice, unhooking them from their moorings one at a time.
Dear heavens. For all the times she’d lain awake in her bed, imagining this moment of capitulation, she’d never had any idea how thrilling and horridly frightening it would be all at once. He was disrobing her. She didn’t know his name. Somehow, impossibly, that heightened the allure.
He worked his way to the button between her breasts and paused, glancing up at her. The intensity of his stare nearly made her knees give out. “Are you utterly certain, my dear?”
He was giving her the opportunity to change her mind, she realized through the dizzying desire clouding her rational brain. Of course she wasn’t certain. She’d never been more hopelessly uncertain of anything in her life. But that was part of what made sharing heated kisses with a masked stranger so enticing. She felt free for the first time, empowered by her anonymity. She could be anyone she wanted to be in the magic of the night. She could do anything she wanted.
“Yes. I’m certain.”
“We shall go slowly.” He cupped her breasts through the fine fabric of her nightdress. “I want to make you mad with wanting before I take you.”
His words sent a fresh surge of heat and wetness to the apex of her thighs. His thumbs rubbed in lazy circles over her nipples, hardening them into aching nubs. She wanted desperately for him to touch her without the barrier of cotton. She reached between them, attempting to help undo the endless line of closures with fumbling fingers.
“All those damn buttons.” He gave her nipples a soft pinch that made her moan. “What do you women think when you purchase these blasted fripperies?”
She’d certainly never thought of a sinful stranger peeling it from her body. Maggie freed a few more buttons until her nightgown was open to her waist. She pulled her arms from the long sleeves, baring her bosom to his heated gaze.
“Do you find this preferable, sir?” Her voice was throaty, almost as if it belonged to another woman entirely.
“Hell yes, I do.” He palmed her breasts. “This is a vast improvement.”
Her heart raced, every part of her body focused with maddening intensity on the place where their skin met. Her need for a scandal no longer drove her. Instead, it was him. His touch, his scent, the forbidden. She arched into him. Their gazes clashed and he kissed her again, his mouth open and voracious. Claiming. She kissed him back rubbing her tongue against his as he plundered. She wanted more.
He squeezed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and dipped his head to kiss her throat. She placed her hands on his chest, longing to feel his masculine form without his formal evening clothes. He dragged his mouth lower, sucking her nipple. He flicked the bud gently with his tongue in quick, sweet strokes. It was wicked. It was wanton. Of all the times she’d envisioned carrying out her plan, she’d never once imagined she would actually enjoy the act of sin that would grant her the freedom she so desired.
He paused and looked up at her, a mischievous smile curving his lips. The contrast between her pale skin and his black silk mask was as seductive as his glittering gaze. “Do you like my tongue on you?”
The boldness of his speech shocked her. No one had even referred to limbs in her presence before. Bodies were things to be covered and hidden, not meant for unveiled adoration. But she rather liked this naughtiness, the venturing into the forbidden. “Can’t you tell for yourself?” she returned, joining in on his game of teasing.
He suckled her other nipple, dragging deeply until he wrung another moan from her. “I want to hear it from your proper, lovely lips.” He laved her with his tongue, bent on reducing her to a complete wanton. “Say it.”
“I like it.” She sighed, her fingers sinking into his too-long, midnight hair.
He stopped, blowing air over the taut nub he’d just pleasured. “What do you like? Tell me.”
Maggie’s mouth went dry. She didn’t know what she liked. All she knew was that she liked every wicked thing he did to her. But she couldn’t say such words aloud. “I don’t know.”
He caught her nipple between his teeth and nipped playfully. “Tell me. If you want more, you must tell me, darling.”
Fine. She wanted more. “I like your tongue.” She pressed her breast into his cheek. “I like your mouth on me.”
He kissed the plump mound she’d offered him. “You’re learning.”
“I did warn you against my forthright nature.” She was breathless as his mouth seared a trail back up to her neck and at last her lips.
Their hungry mouths met. He drew her against him, pushing the crumpled remnants of her nightgown from her waist, down over her hips. It landed on the floor about her ankles, sending a brief draft of air up her naked legs. One of his hands cupped her bottom while the other skimmed over the curve of her belly and settled into the mound at the apex of her thighs. His long fingers dipped into the folds of her sex. All thought fled from her mind.
“I’m grateful for your nature.” He nipped at her lips and rubbed the hidden pearl between her legs, the one she’d only dared touch once or twice in the bath. Pure bliss surged through her body, along with a yearning for more.
“Please,” she begged, uncertain what she was asking him for. Completion. A joining. Anything that would satisfy the crescendo of longing that was driving her as mad as he’d said he wanted to make her. She’d never known anything so potent and incredible was possible between a man and woman. Revenge, freedom, right, wrong…everything fell away. All that existed for her was this moment, this man and the way he made her feel.
“Tell me what you want.” His ministrations continued, his pace increasing along with the pressure he exerted upon her.
She was going to fracture, to collapse. Her breathing was hitched. Her heart was poised to leap from her chest. Sensation built to a wild pitch as his fingers worked between her legs. It was as if he knew she was about to come undone.
“I…” she began, only to falter. She didn’t think she could speak. He lowered his mouth to suck a hard nipple once more, and the dam within her burst. She writhed against him, desire rippling through her body in waves of unadulterated pleasure. Her hips ground against him as she cried out, head thrown back.
“Do you want me to fuck you, darling?” He licked a path around the pink tip of her breast.
As the ripples of passion began to subside, she felt a new spurt of wetness between her legs. He continued teasing her there, and her flesh was sensitized by his touch so much that she feared she would reach her peak again in another breath.
She’d never heard the word fuck before, and she had a feeling it was terribly bad, but she loved the way it sounded on his lips. Whatever it meant, she was quite certain she wanted it very much.
“Do you?” he asked again as his fingers moved over her with a practiced expertise.
She gasped at the heightened sensation. If the pleasure he gave her had been strong before, it overwhelmed her now. “I do,” she said. She wanted more of that, wanted to be filled. By him, with him.
Just when she was on the brink, he withdrew, startling her. In the next instant, he took her in his arms. She threw her arms about his neck for purchase. No man had ever scooped her up thusly before, as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. And she weighed far more than a feather pillow.
“I’m too heavy.” It wasn’t as if she was overly large, but she possessed the requisite feminine curves. She was no willowy miss, that much was certain.
“You’re a perfect armful.” He looked impossibly rakish with his black mask and seductive smile.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath the silk shielding his face from her view there hid a dangerously handsome man. He was the opposite of the only other man whose attentions she’d ever wanted aside from Richard.
Her husband.
Sandhurst had been far too busy to say more than a handful of sentences to her after he’d secured her fortune. Having won her, he’d promptly abandoned her in favor of his beautiful mistress. A year had passed since she’d last seen him. And how dare he intrude upon her thoughts now, when freedom was within her grasp? To the devil with him.
She forced all unhappy thoughts from her mind and instead focused on the man who carried her across the room to deposit her on the bed with a gentleness that suggested he thought she was fashioned of the finest porcelain. He was everything a gentleman ought to be, and she was thankful she’d been given this one night to spend in his arms. With hearts in need of repair, they had somehow found each other. And with his unwitting help, she’d gain her escape.
Maggie watched him as he shucked his coat and silk tie and made short work of his white shirt. In a breath, his chest was bare to her seeking gaze. He was broadly built, well-muscled, his stomach taut, chest dotted by a tantalizing amount of dark hair. She’d never seen a bare male torso aside from the marble slabs and oils applied to canvas in the name of art. No artist’s rendering had ever been so perfect, at least not in her eyes. She longed to touch him.
And then, he unfastened his trousers, allowing them too to fall. His manhood jutted from between his firm, horseman’s thighs. Thick and hard, it rose in proud relief against a small whorl of hair and his sac. Her mouth went dry as she stared at his shaft. She knew a bit about men and women, both from her married heiress friends who had dared to share treasured secrets and from the saucy novels she read in private. She was aware that he was about to put himself inside her. It was daunting to be sure. How painful would it be? She stiffened as a new wave of nervousness assailed her. She’d tried to prepare herself in advance, but preparation and reality were starkly different.
He sensed her sudden discomfort. Still wearing his mask though not a stitch else, he lowered his strong body to the bed. He cupped her face and gave her a lingering, tender kiss.
“You needn’t fear me, my dear.” He broke away from her. “We shall do only what you want. Tonight, I am yours. Do you understand?”
She stared at him, at a loss. He was giving himself to her. Completely. “Mine?” she asked, doubting him.
“Yours,” he repeated. “Your servant for tonight. I seek only to bring you pleasure.”
“You already have,” she said foolishly. She didn’t know what he wanted of her. He imagined her a woman who knew the ways between a man and woman. Perhaps when he had guessed he was her first lover, he had meant her first lover outside her marriage. Most married women had lost their maidenhood, so his was not an unreasonable assumption. “I haven’t done this before,” she added for good measure.
“I know you haven’t.” He smiled and kissed her again.
“No,” honesty compelled her to say. “It is not as you think. While I’m a married woman, my husband has not…that is to say, I remain…chaste.”
“Oh Christ.” He stilled, his gaze searching hers, his mouth going taut. “You’ve never lain with a man before?”
She shook her head, flushing from head to toe. The words refused to form on her tongue.
“Ah.” He leaned into her, pressing his hard body to hers, and kissed her lingeringly. “That simply means that our rules have altered.”
She rolled toward him so that her breasts crushed into his hard chest and his manhood prodded her belly. “I haven’t an inkling as to what rules you speak of.” She was well aware that she was out of her depth.
“The rules between you and me as lovers,” he said, cupping her bottom and pulling her into him more fully. “You must promise to tell me exactly what you want. Do you promise?”
She swallowed. This was so much more than what she had imagined. She wasn’t certain she could find it within her to give voice to the wicked things he did to her. But with those vivid eyes swallowing her whole, she knew she would do anything to please him.
“I promise,” she agreed at last.
A sinful smile flirted with the corners of his lips. “Good.” He kissed her again, nipping at her lower lip before working his way back down her body. “I want to taste you everywhere.”
His tongue flicked out against the fullness of her breast, then lightly over her aching nipple. But he did not take her into his mouth again as she wanted. Instead, he moved lower still, to her navel. He paused, glancing up at her, looking every inch the part of a highwayman of old come to plunder. He was perilously near to the wet heat of her center. She longed to feel him there.
“Open your legs for me, darling,” he coaxed, his hands on her hips, caressing.
She obeyed, shivering with anticipation, watching him.
He groaned, his eyes going to that most private part of her. Cool air hit her humid skin, heightening her awareness even more. “I want to taste you. Do you want my tongue on you, darling?”
Dear heaven. He had a filthy, frank way of speaking. He meant to… Her mind couldn’t form a coherent thought. She was shocked and titillated at the same time. She hadn’t known men did such sinful things. She should tell him no. But his stare and his naughty words had combined to send another delicious pulse of want to her core. She wanted him to lick her. Maggie swallowed, stricken by the realization. She was a wanton.
“Yes,” she whispered at last. “Please.”
His eyes swung up to hers, pinning her with the naked desire she saw reflected in their mossy depths. He lowered his head and sucked the responsive bud of her sex into his mouth, holding her gaze all the while. The sight of him pleasuring her, his masked face buried between her thighs, only served to heighten her passion. She tipped her head back and moaned as he continued sucking, occasionally using his teeth to ever-so-gently rake against the plump nub so eager for his every attention. It was pure poetry, singing through her body and setting her aflame. This was the answer to the troubles plaguing her, she thought, this sweet distraction. At least it could warm her body if not her soul.
“Mmm, darling.” He lifted his head, stopping the sensual torture. His lips were shiny with her juices. “Do you like when I lick your cunny?”
She flushed, still embarrassed by his words even now that he had actually done the deed. She didn’t know what to say. A helpless slave to her own need, she watched as he pressed a kiss to each of her thighs, then flicked his tongue out to toy with her. She bucked against him, dangerously near to falling apart. So many new, wicked names to match the sensations he unlocked.
He stopped again, blowing on her swollen, slick flesh. A truly seductive smile curved his lips. “Tell me, my dear. Tell me what you like. Say the words.”
He wanted to hear her affirmation, wanted that power over her. And he had it. He could make her say whatever he wanted, could make her do whatever he wanted. She’d strayed too far from her intended path. She struggled to force her mind to function. “I like your mouth on me.” While this was indeed a night of firsts, she still couldn’t bring herself to repeat his wayward words.
He groaned once more, lowering his head to her sex. His tongue worked over her in a maddening dance, flicking her tender button back and forth. She couldn’t hold herself together. The wild feeling between her thighs rippled through her entire body, making her tense beneath him. Suddenly, the pleasure whirled out of control, slamming into her. She shook, arching into his knowing mouth, crying out with helpless release.
“You came for me twice, darling.” He dropped a kiss on her sex, then rose.
His manhood jutted from him, hard and long. He had enjoyed giving her pleasure as much as she had receiving it. She reached for him, clutching at his strong, broad shoulders. His skin was hot and smooth, his muscles flexing beneath her touch as he angled himself over her. His dark head bent to suckle her nipple. Wetness trickled down over the folds of her sex. Want of him made her mindless.
Maggie pulled him to her, moaning. She didn’t understand what was happening between them. Nothing in her life could have prepared her. Good heavens. Perhaps she was dying of pleasure. It seemed possible as he took her other nipple into his mouth. His hands ran up over her hips to settle on the nip of her waist. He dragged his lips to her neck, kissing just below her ear. She shivered, loving his every touch, his every action.
“I want to go slowly for your sake, but I’m going mad with wanting you.” He caught her earlobe between his teeth and gave a soft, playful tug. “Christ, what you do to me, woman.”
She was already beyond rational thought, but not so much that she didn’t know what she wanted. What she needed. She captured his face between her hands, pulling him to her until their noses nearly brushed. He was devastatingly handsome, that much she could discern even with the obstruction of his silken mask. “Do not go slowly on my account,” she urged him, breathless.
A beautiful smile curved his sensuous mouth. “I love debauching you, my dear.”
Debauching her? She did her best to ignore the phrase, for perhaps lingering upon it overlong would induce an attack of conscience. Of course, she shouldn’t have any conscience at all in terms of her husband, that insufferable lout who likely didn’t recall what she looked like. But she had not been raised to be a fast lady with an impenetrable heart. Her parents, for all that they were alarmingly wealthy, had always enjoyed a love match. She’d foolishly expected the same respect and love in her own marriage. She had been terribly wrong.
He lowered his mouth to hers for a devouring kiss. She opened to him, her tongue flitting against his. He tasted sweet and musky, a blend of himself and her both. His hands went between them, skimming down over her rounded belly to her cunny, to use his ribald word for that part of her body. She found she liked the wickedness of it. He worked her nub, and she tipped her hips up and into him, loving his every touch on her starved flesh. She wanted more.
“I’ve never wanted to take anyone the way I want you.” His breath was a warm puff of air fanning over her lips.
“Take me,” she said against his mouth. “Tonight, I’m yours.”
“Fuck.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m going to lose my head if I’m not inside you soon.”
She wanted him inside her. Mindless, she moved against into his finger, hungry for more of him. Deeper. Harder. Oh good heavens, yes. “Please,” she begged. “I want you.”
“It’s going to hurt.” He kissed her lingeringly. “When I enter you, I’m given to understand there will be pain.”
She didn’t fail to notice his phrasing. “Am I your first virgin?”
“Yes.” His tone was velvety. “We are each other’s firsts, it would seem, in different ways.”
She rather liked the notion, she found. It was fitting somehow. “I have never been faint-hearted,” she said, referring to the pain. “When I was a girl, I broke my arm falling from an apple tree and I never even cried.” Surely his entrance couldn’t cause as much pain as a broken bone had, she reasoned.
“Brave girl,” he said, kissing her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she said with more bravado than she truly felt. “Make me yours.”
He ceased his delicious torture. His cock, large and full, pressed into her instead. “Wrap your legs round my waist, darling.”
She did as he asked, allowing him to settle comfortably between her thighs. He moved against her, not yet entering her. Warm pleasure hit her like a wave from the ocean.
“How does that feel?” he asked, sounding strained.
She was touched by his concern but frustrated too. She didn’t want him to be restrained and careful. She wanted him to lose himself inside her. “Wonderful.”
He thrust into her, slowly at first, and then with increasing pace and vigor. The pain began, an unpleasant burning. This was what she’d been warned about, but once her maidenhead was gone, she would never again experience the discomfort she knew now. Biting her lip, she jerked into him, taking him deep inside. A sharp ache cut through her.
And then he began moving. The pain ebbed with each long, slow thrust of his cock. As she adapted to the new sensation of him filling her, she moved along with him, adjusting the angle of her hips for comfort. Soon, pleasure overtook all else. Nothing could have prepared Maggie for a man pleasuring her in that elemental way. It was incredible.
He reached between their bodies to stroke her and increased the pace and the pressure of his thrusts, his breathing coming faster. His heart was a rapid thump against her breast. She sank her fingers into his silky hair, inhaling deeply of his potent, male scent. Just when she thought nothing in the world could possibly compare to the sensations sparking through her, she was proven wrong. He anchored her hips and slammed into her, bringing her intense waves of pleasure. She was going to come yet again, she realized, twisting up, wanting more of him, wanting to consume him.
Her sheath tightened on his cock as she found her release, and he abruptly withdrew from her. He pressed himself against her belly and a warm, wet spurt landed on her bare skin. His seed, she realized.
He collapsed at her side, wrapping one possessive arm around her, his breathing heavy and fast. Maggie had never felt more alive. She was awash in fantastic sensation, her entire body throbbing, her sex wet and swollen. She turned to him and pressed one last kiss to his lips, knowing that from this moment forward, she would never again be the same.
A woman, she thought with what little coherence remained in her fogged mind. She was at last a woman. A woman about to gain her revenge.