Page 4 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
He turned to fully face her, his features hard and callous. A shiver skittered along her spine as his gaze slowly, leisurely roamed over her. She quite imagined he was envisioning her without her clothing. Perhaps she deserved his unkind regard, but she wouldn’t back down. For her sister’s sake, she would suffer whatever punishment he deemed necessary in order to get beyond this insufferable state of their marriage. To a point. She’d not let him force himself on—
“So you’re now willing to welcome me into your bed?” he asked, mockingly.
She should have come during the day, when such a possibility wouldn’t be an option because she knew bedding took place only at night, but she’d thought it would be easier to face him within the shadows. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she could find no way to dampen it, so her voice was scratchy when she said, “I’m willing to be your wife in more than name.”
He studied her a moment longer before demanding silkily, “Unbutton your bodice.”
Her hand flew to her throat, her fingers skimming over the buttoned collar of her serge traveling dress. She glanced hastily around. “Here?”
“We’re alone. Well, except for the dog, but Cooper is not one to interfere or gossip. If you truly know of my reputation as you claim, then you know I don’t limit my bedding to bedchambers.” He jerked his chin toward her. “The buttons, Claire.”
At that moment, she despised him almost as much as she had when he’d exiled her to his ancestral estate. “I hate you!” she’d yelled, as he’d departed the manor after informing her that she would stay in residence there while he returned to London. His dark laughter had echoed along the hallways and followed him into the stormy night.
Now, she wanted to turn on her heel and march from the room. She wanted to tell him to rot in hell. Instead, she tilted her head defiantly, met his cold stare with one of her own, commanded her fingers not to tremble, and forced them to loosen one blasted pearl button after another. Strange how she’d not noticed the chill in the air until the material parted. It seemed to take hours before her fingers finally reached the last button at her waist.
She thought so much distance separated them, but he reached her in five long strides, bringing with him the scent of lilac. He’d come here not from his club but from another woman’s bed. Tears once again burned the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She’d not let him see how much he could devastate her without even trying. For the first time, she thought she might finally know what he’d experienced on that long-ago night. It shamed her that she’d been so young and self-centered not to have realized it immediately.
He did deserve his revenge, however he meant to exact it. She would do anything to put the past behind them.
His gaze still on hers, he placed one finger on the hollow at her throat. A challenge. A dare. So be it. She’d not retreat. He would see she was not the ninny she’d once been. She’d had three years of managing his household at the estate. It thrived beneath her watchful eye, and he’d never even had the decency to thank her—the ingrate.
He dipped his gaze and trailed his finger down, his hand slipping beneath the cloth, further parting it to expose the swell of one breast above her chemise. She barely breathed as his other fingers joined the first to skim over the exposed flesh. She was only grateful that he’d lowered his gaze, so he couldn’t see the anticipation mixed with fear that was no doubt clouding hers. How could he stir these unwanted sensations with something as simple as a touch?
His fingers moved slowly up, then back down, across one way, then the other.
“Tell me, Claire, is all of you as enticing?”
Her gaze clashed with his, and to her mortification, the heat of passion consumed her. Had she ever seen so much fire in eyes so dark? Yet, beneath it all, she could see the mockery. He wanted her to desire him, so he could punish her all the more. She was certain of it. She’d created this villain—with a moment’s weakness, with a gossamer dream of a life far different from what had been unfolding before her. She’d wanted to change her path and had been stumbling along it ever since.
She deigned to ignore his smoothly delivered taunt, certain he would have his answer in short order. Her heart beat erratically, her breathing refused to settle into anything resembling normalcy. She’d heard he was skilled at seduction, a master at eliciting pleasure. Strange how her knees suddenly wobbled. It was the lack of air. She thought she might swoon.
“You said you were in London because of a promise. What promise?” He sounded as though he were on the verge of strangling.
What promise indeed? Why am I here? She shook her head slightly to clear it, to focus on his question. “My … my sister. Beth. Father has arranged for her to marry Lord Hester, despicable man, so much older than she. With Father’s blessing, she has one Season to find another prospect. I know what it is to marry a man you barely—”
“Are you saying he forced you to marry me?”
“I’m saying I had no choice. How could you think otherwise when you were fully aware of the contract, when you never courted me or asked for my hand?”
His fingers jerked over her skin, his eyes probing hers as though he sought evidence of deception. “So you will be a wife to me in order to save her? You could accomplish your goal by staying elsewhere in London.”
She considered telling him everything, but she didn’t think it would sit well. The ladies were not happy that her husband ran wild through the boudoirs, that he gave their own husbands the notion that a man owed no fidelity to his wife. In order to receive invitations to the balls, in order to help her sister be accepted into Society, she had to bring her own husband to heel. But instead, she said, “You have influence. I must take my place beside you in order to properly introduce her into Society.”
“Which you no doubt see as a noble sacrifice.”
Her patience snapped. “For God’s sake, Westcliffe, I’ve asked for forgiveness, which you withhold, and I’ve told you that I wish to be your wife in all matters. Why must you make this so blasted difficult?”
“Because I no longer want you for my wife.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, her stomach dropped to the floor as he stepped away. She’d never even considered that he’d refuse her. That he’d make it difficult, that he’d make her pay for her youthful indiscretion—yes. But to not want her at all? He needed an heir. He needed a wife. He had a wife.
“It’s late. I’ll have Willoughby prepare a guest room for you,” he said, his voice flat, back in control. “We’ll discuss this situation in the morning.”
He began striding across the room.
“Where the devil are you going?” she called out after him.
But he didn’t answer, didn’t even glance back as he made his exit from the room. Sinking to the floor, she allowed the tears of humiliation to flow at last. How was it that her life had become such a frightful mess?
