Page 29 of His Brazen Tart
On the other hand, Piers needed to maintain the distance he had entered this agreement with; which was why he waited until he was certain he had a hold of his traitorous emotions before arriving on her doorstep.
The butler, accustomed by now to his presence in the lady’s household, ushered him into a drawing room, where he found his lover … along with three other women. Piers faltered in the doorway, feeling unusually hesitant as four pairs of eyes fell on him. He only recognized one of Joan’s guests—the Dowager Countess of Rodingham—whose fair complexion and blonde hair were washed out by the drab gray of half-mourning attire. A brown-haired woman with sharp features stared at him through round spectacles, while a lovely auburn-haired lady bounced the bundle of an infant in her arms.
“Sir Piers,” Joan said, coming slowly to her feet. “What a surprise it is to see you this afternoon.”
His belly clenched at the sight of her, lovely and serene, as well as the tone of her voice, cool and composed. She wore white today, his favorite color on her. The pristine hue allowed her natural beauty to proudly show, bringing her inky hair and vibrant eyes to life.
“I apologize for intruding,” he managed, dropping his gaze from her face. It landed somewhere on the wallpaper—a safer place to rest his eyes, to be sure. “Your butler did not mention that you already had guests. I can call on you another time.”
“Nonsense. I had wanted a word with you, and now is as good a time as any. But first, meet my dearest friends. Ladies, this is Sir Piers Lovelace. Sir Piers, this is Lady Rodingham, Mrs. Portemaine, and Mrs. Thornton.
“How do you do?” murmured the woman cradling the baby—Mrs. Thornton.
Mrs. Portemaine, the one wearing the spectacles, simply gave him a glacial look, one that nearly made him shiver. She certainly did not approve of his presence in this room, or in Joan’s house for that matter.
Lady Rodingham offered him a sweet smile. “It is wonderful to see you again, Sir. I pray that you are well.”
“I am,” he answered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He felt as if he were a museum artifact on display.
Joan sauntered toward him. “If you will follow me to the room across the hall, we may speak privately. Ladies, I will return in a moment.”
Piers had no choice but to obey as she swept across the corridor. She led him into another drawing room, which wasn’t prepared for receiving visitors. There was no fire in the hearth, and the drapes hadn’t been tied back, muting the afternoon light. He paced to the center of the room while she closed the door and then turned to lean against it.
Something within him broke now that they were alone, and all the longing and despair he had tried to hold at bay rushed through him. He lost his grip on restraint, his strides long and quick as he bore down on her.
Joan’s eyes went wide as he caged her against the door with his body, gripping her waist and yanking her against him. Her arms hung helplessly at her sides as he drew her up on tiptoe and angled his mouth toward hers.
“Piers,” she whispered against his lips. The single word was muffled as he closed in, hungry for the taste of her—for the one part of Joan that he could have.
She whimpered, keeping her hands passive as he pressed in, closing the distance between them and finding sweet solace in the haven of her body. Her mouth opened to him, and he groaned with relief to know she wanted him. Even if her feelings were no match for his. Even if she threw him away when she was finished with him.
He swept his tongue into the cavern of her mouth and slid his hands down her body. She let out a startled squeal when he cupped her buttocks and squeezed, grinding his arousal against her. His shaking hands tore at her skirts, trying to raise them so he could lift her up and take her against the wall. She had mentioned wanting to talk, but Piers couldn’t wait. The three days of their separation had been torture, and now that they were face to face, he could have this taste of her and be content.
She turned her head and he lunged for the side of her neck—kissing and nibbling and greedily inhaling her scent. Her voice rumbled in his ear, barely audible through the rush of his blood. It grew more insistent, piercing through the haze of his need and rattling something deep within his mind.
He pulled back just as she uttered a sharp declaration—one that made his blood run cold and his hands drop from her skirts in an instant.
“Apple!”
Piers swiped a hand over his mouth and stared at her in numb shock as her designated word echoed through the space between them. He prided himself on being conscious of his lovers’ needs and wants, and had trained himself to come to an abrupt halt the sound of their safe words, no matter how far gone he might be. He was never too lost to the throes of his own desire to ignore such a clear signal.
Hurt lanced through him, however, in a way it never had with anyone else. Piers had never expected her to use her word with him, because from their first encounter they had always seemed in tune with one another. Things happened naturally between them—as if they had been made for one another.
He gave his head a swift shake, preventing his mind from latching on to that particular thought. It was too dangerous.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with a frown. “Why did you stop me?”
Joan stared at him with eyes that betrayed nothing. Only the wrinkles he’d caused in her gown and the flush of her cheeks hinted at what they had just done. He had never seen her so closed off from the outside world, so cold.
“Because I told you we needed to talk,” she replied, smoothing both hands over her rumpled skirts. “I had planned to call on you tomorrow, but you have saved me the trouble.”
Dread made his stomach roil and Piers inched closer, trying to catch her gaze. She wouldn’t look at him, though even if she did Piers had a feeling he still couldn’t have figured out the inner workings of her mind. She was a fortress, strong and immovable.
“Something is wrong,” he stated, succumbing to the feeling tearing him up inside. He suddenly felt as if a noose had settled about his neck.
Joan sighed. “Piers, I think it is time we ended our arrangement. I intend to pay Mr. Sterling a visit with the remainder of what is owed for your services. I have enjoyed our time together, but I think I am ready to move on with my life.”
Despite his behavior the other night, Piers hadn’t been prepared to hear those words. Of all the things she could have said, ass that he was, he hadn’t anticipatedthis. The heat of his arousal died a swift death and ice thickened around his organs. He felt as if he were dying a slow and painful death. “You … you’re cutting me loose?”
