To Taste Temptation

“You’ll probably bite me again, but it might just be worth it,” he said before bringing his mouth down on hers. He kicked her legs apart and shoved himself into her again. And then he just lay there, heavy and hot, kissing her hungrily.



He hadn’t even undressed, she thought hazily as she opened her mouth beneath his. He was still wearing coat, waistcoat, breeches, and leggings, probably even had his moccasins on the covers of her bed. But then that thought fled, and she gave herself over to his tongue, courting and seducing hers. She felt the press of the cold metal buttons of his waistcoat on her bare breasts as he leaned into her.



Someone knocked on the door. Emeline froze. Samuel lifted his head.



“Are you all right, my lady?” Harris, her maid, called.



He arched his eyebrow at her.



Emeline cleared her throat, conscious of his flesh still in hers. “Perfectly fine. You may leave.”



“Of course, my lady.” They heard receding footsteps.



Emeline exhaled and pushed at his chest. “Get off.”



“Why?” he asked lazily. “I like it here.”



But she was feeling a suffocating sense of panic. “My maid will return.”



He pulled back and searched her face. “I find that hard to believe. I’m sure you demand only the best-trained servants.”



She pushed again, and this time he yielded, withdrawing his penis from her as abruptly as he’d placed it there. He rolled to the side. She scrambled off the bed before she could regret the loss of his flesh. “You should go.”



How terribly awkward to stand nude in front of the man she’d just made wanton love to. He should have the common decency—a gentleman’s decency—to leave quietly after the act. But apparently he did not. She could feel his silent gaze as she bent over her pile of discarded clothes, rummaging for something, anything, to cover her nakedness. She pulled out her chemise and held it over her front, but then discovered that it was more rag than cloth. It was too much.



Emeline threw the shredded chemise down and whirled to the man on the bed. “You must go!”



He was lounging on his side, propped on one elbow, watching her as she knew he’d be. His hair was still tightly braided, his clothes rumpled but otherwise the same. But his mouth had relaxed into a sensuous, wide curve, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy-looking. He hadn’t even the tact to button the flap of his breeches. Her gaze was drawn helplessly to his manhood, shining and thick, and the only nude part of him. His cock should’ve been limp and little by now, a thing to be pitied, but it wasn’t. Quite the contrary, it lay arrogant and half-erect as if willing to do the whole thing over.



The sight enraged her. “Why haven’t you left?”



He sighed and sat up. “I had hoped to lie with you a time, my lady, but evidently that does not meet with your pleasure.”



She flushed. Emeline actually felt the heat invade her cheeks and neck. She knew she was being surly and unreasonable. She knew she should display grace and perhaps an indifferent sophistication, but she couldn’t.



She simply couldn’t.



“Please go.” She crossed her arms over her breasts in an inadequate defense and glanced away.



He stood and buttoned the flap of his breeches without hurry. “I’ll go now, but this is not over.”



She looked up in horror. “Of course it’s over! You got what you wanted; there’s no need to...to...” She trailed away because she really didn’t know how to voice the thought. Oh, if she’d only been one of those sophisticated widows! The ones who took discreet lovers and made liaisons where both parties knew the rules of behavior. But she’d had to care for Daniel and Tante Cristelle and then Reynaud had died and, well, she’d never felt the urge before.



While she’d been thinking about her woeful lack of experience, he’d finished putting himself to rights and strolled over to where she stood like a rather aged dryad. He bent and brushed his lips against hers, softly, tenderly, the touch almost making her weep.



And then he stepped back. His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful. “Yes, I got what I wanted—and what you wanted as well—but I’m not quenched. I’m coming to you again, and you can either let me in quietly, or I will knock your door down and in the process summon the whole household.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward, but he didn’t look amused. “I may not be fully aware of all the niceties of your society, but I think that you won’t want that.”



Her mouth had fallen open during this arrogant speech, but now as he turned away, she found her voice. “How dare you presume—”



He caught her by the shoulders, making her indignant sentence end on a squeak. He bent his head and spoke fiercely into her ear. “I dare because you welcomed me into your body not a quarter of an hour ago. Your body rained your pleasure all over my cock, and I want that again.”



He covered her mouth. But this time his kiss wasn’t gentle or soft. It spoke of a man’s desire. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and angled his head so that his lips all but enveloped hers, and her silly body arched into him. She wanted this. She craved this. Intellect and reason fled her brain.



He stepped back so suddenly she nearly fell. His face was hard and flushed. “Let me in tonight, Emeline.”



He left her room before she could reply.



As she sank into her pile of ruined clothes, she had a blinding realization. She’d lost whatever control she’d ever had over this affair.



“CRADDOCK HUNG HIMSELF a month ago,” Lord Vale said later that afternoon.



Sam dragged his thoughts away from Emeline—her skin, her breasts, the fact that she didn’t want to see him again—and focused on the problem of the 28th. “You’d think that Thornton would’ve known that Craddock was already dead.”



Vale shrugged. “Thornton didn’t say when he’d last seen the man.”



“True.”



“Who’s next on your list to question?”



Sam grimaced. “No one.”



It was raining outside, which had sent their hostess into a flurry of despair. Apparently, Lady Hasselthorpe had planned an afternoon expedition to view the ruins of an abbey, a famous local sight. Sam was privately relieved at the rain. He would never have been able to hike over the hills today, not at least without a good deal of pain, and making an excuse would’ve drawn Rebecca’s attention. He was beginning to realize that his sister saw much more than he’d given her credit for. Having to explain to her why his feet were in ribbons would’ve been awkward indeed.



But instead the majority of the house party had retreated to a large sitting room at the back of the house. Emeline was noticeably absent, of course—she was obviously avoiding him—but most everyone else was in attendance. Some of their number amused themselves playing cards; others were reading or talking in small groups.



Like Vale and Sam.



“You don’t have anyone else to question at all?” Vale looked incredulous.



Sam grit his teeth. “I’m happy to take suggestions.”



Vale pursed his lips. “Ah...”



“Assuming you have any ideas of your own?”



“Well...” Vale found a sudden interest in the rain-drenched windows.



“Thought not,” Sam muttered.



Both men gazed at the windows as if transfixed by the terrible weather. Vale drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair in an incredibly annoying manner.



Finally, the viscount inhaled. “If Thornton was the traitor, he’d have to have a reason to betray the 28th.”



Sam didn’t take his eyes from the window, strangely unsurprised that the other man’s thoughts had run along the same lines as his. “You definitely suspect him, then?”



“Don’t you?”



Sam thought of the unease he’d felt since meeting Thornton again in London. He sighed. “I might suspect him, but I can’t think why he’d betray the entire regiment. Any ideas?”



“Haven’t a clue,” Vale said. “Perhaps he was growing weary of all the peas porridge we had to eat on that wretched march.”



The viscount seemed to like him. There was something villainous in pretending friendship with a man when you’d just made love to that man’s fiancée. Sam would’ve avoided him, but Vale had sought him out as soon as he’d entered the sitting room.



“There’s always money, I suppose,” Vale mused, “but I don’t see how killing an entire regiment would benefit Thornton unless he was paid by the French.”



“Does Thornton speak French?” Sam asked idly.



“Haven’t a clue.” Vale drummed his fingers for a moment, apparently considering Thornton’s linguistic abilities. “Not that it matters—the note was written in English, you said. And besides, plenty of French speak English.”



“Was he in debt?” Sam watched as Rebecca tilted her head to listen to another girl. She’d found at least one lady to talk to.



“We should find out. Or rather I should find out. Haven’t been much help to this investigation so far. Ought to lend more of a hand, what?”



Sam looked over at Vale. The other man was watching him with his earnest, hangdog eyes. What kind of a man would betray a friend like this?



“Thank you,” Sam said gravely.



Vale made one of those mercurial transformations that he was sometimes capable of. He grinned and his funny, homely face lit up, his almost iridescent blue eyes sparkling. “Don’t mention it, old man.”



And Sam looked down, no longer able to meet the other man’s eyes. He should in all honor resolve to never see Lady Emeline again. Which must make him the most dishonorable man alive.



For he fully intended to find her and make love to her again tonight.



Chapter Thirteen



The giant wolf leapt for the baby’s cradle, its jaws gaping wide. But Iron Heart ran at the beast, his sword upraised to protect his son. Then what a battle commenced! For Iron Heart must remain silent—he could not call for help—and the monster wolf was a test of all his strength and skill. Back and forth across the room the combatants raged, smashing the furniture to splinters. The babe’s cradle was overturned and he began to wail. Iron Heart gave a mighty blow and struck the wolf’s hind leg. The beast howled with pain and lashed out, flinging the man against the wall with a crash that shook the castle. Iron Heart’s head hit the stone wall and he knew no more....



—from Iron Heart



She’d argued with herself all day, even as she’d been careful to keep to her rooms for fear that she might see him. The reasons were well worn by now. They were of different classes, different worlds. She had a son and a family to think of. He was too intense, a man not easily led. She wouldn’t be able to hold the upper hand with him. And yet...



And yet...



Maybe it was because she’d spent all day debating and redebating herself. None of the arguments seemed to hold sway anymore. She shrugged them aside because they paled in comparison to her need. She needed to feel him inside her once again. Shocking, how animal she’d become. She’d never done this before—pushed reason aside, let her physical self rule. It was a frightening thing, to give herself solely over to the sensual. Frightening, and exhilarating at the same time. She’d always held herself in strict control, been the one in control. Someone had had to—all the men who were supposed to hold the family together had left. First Reynaud, then Danny, then six months later, Father, leaving her alone.



So terribly alone.



She tensed as she heard a footstep outside the door. She was ready for him, nude and already in bed, and she felt excitement shoot through her. Then he was opening the door. He closed it behind him, not bothering to disguise his limp once inside the room. In that moment before he saw her, she noticed the lines that carved furrows into his cheeks, the slump of his broad shoulders. He was weary, she could tell, probably not yet recovered from his punishing one-man race of the day before. And she didn’t care. She would have him tonight, would use him as he used her.