Page 15 of The Wolf of Mayfair
That subservient gesture paired with her bold gaze sent another bolt of lust through him.
“I’m not a thief. I’ve not come to take anything from ye.”
“And yet,” he murmured, and started for her on deliberately menacing steps, “I find you not in your bed, where you belong, like a good girl, but rather here.”
A sinful image whispered forth. Of her, this lady no more than eighteen or nineteen, lying in the ghastly virginal robes she wore now, draped upon a bed and parting her legs as Wingrave lowered himself between her sweet thighs.
“Is there a question there, my lord?”
No, there was no question. He absolutely wanted to fuck her.
“Why have you left your rooms?” he said. Desire left his voice graveled.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed. Fear sparked in Miss Wallace’s eyes. “Am I your prisoner?”
Oh, God. The images this innocent painted continued to come. This time, the thought was of her stretched out with her arms and legs tied to the four posters of his bed so she lay helpless and wide open to his attentions.
“Would you like to be my prisoner?” he asked thickly. He’d be all too happy to serve her wishes.
She scoffed. “If I’d wanted to beanyone’sprisoner, I would have remained in Scotland with my devious cousin.”
Notanyone’s.Wingrave’s.Ah, God. Had he ever known one as innocent as she? Perhaps he’d had it wrong all these years. Perhaps the fellows with a taste for wide-eyed, untouched innocence had discovered a perverse pleasure he’d been denying himself.
“How can you be a prisoner,” Wingrave purred, continuing his feral approach, “when you begged to stay with me?”
He stopped before her.
“Ah dinnae beg to stay here with ye—I begged for shelter for the night, from the storm,” she said, with a husk to her contralto that further aroused him.
“Ah, but isn’t that the same thing?”
She swallowed wildly. “I dinnae believe so,” she whispered.
“Ah, but I do. Tell me, is it fear of ruin that has robbed you of sleep? Have you realized too late that, with my black reputation, even breathing the same air as me will see the whole world believing I’ve had you in my bed? And”—he dangled that—“with no choices available to you, that would be your only course—becoming my mistress. I believe you’d love that, Miss Wallace,” he purred. “Nay, I know you would. And not for the diamonds I’d drape you in but for the endless pleasure you’d find in my arms.”
She retreated a step, so quick she stumbled over her feet.
The lady righted herself.
“You said you dinnae desire me,” she reminded him, her voice pleading.
He’d been wrong.
Once.
There was always a first time for everything. And that saying clearly applied to carnal interests in a virginal miss.
“Ye said ye’d only offer me a role as your mistress if ye can rouse enough interest t-to ... to ...” Her blush deepened.
“To want a place between your legs?” he supplied all too happily. “I’ve had time to reconsider my initial assessment.” He glanced pointedly down at Miss Wallace’s demure white nightshift.
The lady followed his stare and automatically folded her arms around herself ... as if she could shield herself from his gaze.
With those slim, delectable limbs folded, she bit the corner of her index finger.
Wingrave’s gaze homed in on lush, berry-red lips—the most voluptuous part of her painfully trim frame—and another wave of desire filled him.
He’d not last this night without the efforts of his own fist.
