All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess (22 page)

Saint nipped the area of skin just below her navel. “I have yet to
take
what I want, Madame V. I intend to linger over the task for hours.”

“Hours?” she echoed in disbelief.

“I beg your pardon?” Anna said, her concern and exasperation palpable even through the door. “I am using the key.”

“Not the best idea,” he murmured, and then covered the pleasurable button of flesh between her legs with his tongue. He suckled hard.

“No!” Madame Venna exclaimed, rapping the back of her head against the wall. “There is no need. I am returning to my bed … to sleep. I will see you in the morning, Anna.”

There was silence on the other side of the door. If Anna decided to open the door, he wondered if Madame Venna would send him away. In his current condition, he did not think he would go willingly. His control was stretched to its limits. He did not want to test his character.

“If you are certain?” Anna said after a minute had passed.

Madame Venna moaned softly. “I am … I am.”

“Very well. Sleep—well, my dear friend.”

“Oui!”

Saint heard the departing footfalls of several people. Anna had not been alone.

Madame Venna had also heard her friends’ departure. She slapped him on the top of the head. “Are you trying to get caught? What if Anna heard you?”

“I am not worried about Anna.” He did not have the heart to point out that if Anna sensed anything was amiss, Madame Venna was to blame.

“You should worry about me.” She gasped when he reminded her where his fingers were—and that he was prepared to manipulate her to have his way with her. “Enough mischief. Release me at once.”

Kneeling at her feet, he looked up with hooded eyes at the woman who did not realize that he had already won the battle.

“No.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

“No?” Madame Venna shivered, and she tried to tell herself that it was from disgust.

It was difficult to appear indignant with Saint kneeling between her legs and his wonderful hands touching her so intimately. She did not want him to stop, even when her instincts were warning her that this man had too much power over her.

“Saint, what good will come of this?”

He gently withdrew his fingers from the most intimate part of her, and she told herself that it was for the best. Slowly, he unfolded his large body as he stood. His hands moved upward from her outer thighs to her waist, preventing her chemise from falling back into place. She felt exposed even in the darkness, her vulnerability more evident when the thick, rigid length of his manhood rubbed against her belly.

“Your lovers have been clumsy and selfish if you have to ask such a question,” Saint teased, lifting her effortlessly by the waist. He used his strength and the wall at her back to keep her feet from touching the floor.

She grasped his bare shoulders for support as her legs automatically wrapped around his hips. Some subtle shifting and she could feel the blunt head of his manhood against her womanly core.

“And you think you are better, no?”

“I
know
I am better,” he said, his voice ringing with utter confidence.

Madame Venna closed her eyes. Who needed sight when all she had to do was feel. His arousal pressed insistently against her, demanding entry.

“Tu me rends fou!”
he said fervently, stripping her chemise from her body with one skillful hand.

Madame Venna smiled, wondering if he realized he had spoken to her in French. “You drive me crazy as well,
mon coeur.
”

Although he was larger than most men, Saint’s clever tongue and fingers had prepared her body for his invasion. He rolled his hips against hers, inching his way until her womanly sheath stretched and opened for him. The dewy wetness from her arousal allowed him to slide fully into her.

Man and woman were one.

“There is a bed in this room.”

She felt him smile against her right breast. “We will get to the bed. Eventually.” He captured her right nipple with his mouth and suckled. Pleasure radiated like warm sunshine encompassing both breasts, tightening her flesh as her nipples puckered.

In this position, Saint had absolute control, and he was clearly enjoying his newfound power. With her pinned against the wall of her bedchamber, his manhood retreated and thrust deeply into her drenched core.

All she could do is cling to him and savor the sensations he was wringing from her body.

“Give me your lips,” she pleaded.

Saint pulled her closer, the movement driving him deeper. She moaned against his mouth. His mouth was heavenly. Hot, demanding, and still tender, he kissed her. Their tongues tangled and teased, a delicate mating dance meant to ensnare and inflame.

Six years ago, how had she let him go?

Wrapped around him, while he rocked his hips against her, her heart wept for the years they had lost. Even though he would go on to marry a woman who was worthy to bear his heir, this night, he belonged to her.

“You are mine,” she whispered against his cheek.

“Yes.”

The simplicity of his reply was a complication she was too muddled to address. Saint had a manner of driving all thought from her head. As much as he was hers, she was his.

Distracted, Madame Venna did not resist when he caressed her face. Taking advantage of her weakness, Saint tugged the porcelain half-mask from her face. In response to her cry of protest, he flung it across the dark interior.

The mask shattered upon impact.

She struggled in his arms, but he used his body to keep her against the wall. His rigid flesh was sheathed deeply, the broad head of his manhood bumping against her womb. Her muscles encircling him constricted and fluttered.

Furious at his high-handedness, she gasped, trying to fight down the pleasure he was building in her. “You had no right to do that!”

“You gave me the right,” he said, not sounding repentant for his misdeed.

The night hid her face. Her secret was still safe, but it did not quell her panic. “The mask—”

“Is no more a part of you than your chemise or your shoes, Madame V,” he said impatiently. “Six years ago, I respected your wishes and I lost everything. This time, we do things on my terms. No mask. I want to make love to the woman beneath the mask, not the proprietress of the Golden Pearl.”

“Damn you, I am both,” she said, her accented voice so much a part of her that she did not falter.

“Not this evening,” he said, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. His kiss gentled as he tasted the salt of her tears. “There, there, love. Don’t cry. You must have dozens of half-masks to replace the one that I broke.”

“I do.” She swallowed a sob, appalled that she was crying in front of him. “You do not understand. There are reasons why I—”

“Hush.” Their bodies still joined, Saint’s slow thrusts were meant to soothe her. “Upon my honor, we will keep the candles doused. Let the darkness be your mask. All I want is this.”

His shoulder muscles strained beneath her palms as he quickened the pace to scatter her thoughts and make her forget that he had stripped her naked and was laying claim to every part of her.

Madame Venna winced as the back of her head collided with the wall. She dug her fingernails in his flesh in retaliation for the tempest he was building within her. Over and over, her body welcomed his ravishment. His mouth had moved from her well-kissed lips downward until his forehead rested on her shoulder. Her breasts bounced merrily against his chest as she felt his buttocks tighten. His strength and energy astounded her. Perspiration dampened his skin, but he showed no sign of stopping until—

The ball of pleasure exploded within her core, reminding her of fireworks at Vauxhall. Madame Venna cried out. Tiny ripples of light burned through her, climbing higher and higher until she saw the glittering spectacle in the dark interior. Red, blues, and silver. How lovely. Or maybe this was just a warning that she was on the verge of fainting.

Saint was relentless. Unaware of the pleasure he was creating within her, he pounded into her with a bruising force that was surprisingly painless. Suddenly he gasped and pulled her tightly to him. He groaned as he embraced her, his face buried against her neck.

A second explosion occurred. This time emanating from Saint. Deep within her, she felt the hot pulse of his seed flooding her. Madame Venna held him while he shuddered and strained to deepen their joining.

Neither one of them spoke.

He gulped air, and she smoothed his damp hair from his face.

Finally, she said, “If you put me down, I will guide you to my bed.”

Saint chuckled at her offer. “Not yet.”

Puzzlement crept into her gaze, though he could not see it. “I do not understand.”

“You will know pleasure each step to the bed.” When he eased out of her, it was apparent that his manhood had not withered after their coupling.

Madame Venna’s lips parted in surprise. “Saint, as a lover you have nothing to prove to me.”

“I disagree.” Her legs were wobbly as her bare feet touched the floor. “In fact, I insist.”

*   *   *

It took an hour for them to reach the bed.

By the time, Saint had carried her to the bed, Madame Venna was no longer fretting about her shattered half-mask. She was too busy trying to catch her breath.

“You have killed me,” she said, gasping.

Saint chuckled as he rolled onto his side. His hand found the flat of her stomach, then moved upward to her breast. He lightly pinched her plump nipple. “You appear hearty and hale for a dead woman.”

Madame Venna laughed. It was a rich, full-throated sound that made his testicles tighten in anticipation. “You told me that you knew the way.”

“I got us here, did I not?” he said smugly. “I just preferred to chart a leisurely course.”

The journey might have been unhurried, but the frantic couplings had not. Even after spilling himself inside her, he discovered to his amazement that he wanted her again. His cock was still hard. As much as he prided himself on his sexual prowess and virility, he needed time to recover. That did not mean that he could not use his body to pleasure her. He had pulled her down onto the rug to prove that he was far from finished with her. She had found her womanly release three times before he had pulled her to her feet and they had staggered to her dressing table, breathless and giddy from the joy they had found in the dark bedchamber. Saint had lifted her up, cupping her round bare buttocks in his hands as he settled her on the cool surface of the table. A bottle of scent had toppled over and shattered when it struck the floor. Madame Venna had laughed and told him to forget about the bottle. Despite the darkness, he unerringly found the heart of her and eased into her, her wetness welcoming him.

“Leisurely?” She exhaled a sigh and stretched. “
Mon chéri,
you have such a way with words. No wonder my girls enjoyed your attentions.”

Madame Venna froze at her words. Naturally, her girls had given her details about his encounters with them over the years. Had she not sent them to Nox? In her weariness, she had spoken thoughtlessly, and the tension in her body revealed she regretted it. Her next words confirmed it. “Forgive me, I did not intend—”

“An apology is unnecessary,” Saint said gruffly, interrupting her. “It is a little unsettling that you are familiar with pieces of my past, but I have few misgivings about the way I have lived my life.”

However, most of my regrets are tied to you,
he thought.

“Nor should you.” She inched closer as if she was attempting to discern his expression. “There have always been women in your life. Then. Now. Tomorrow. It is the way of things, no? I accept this. My words were meant to flatter you.”

He sensed her smile in the darkness.

“Your attentions were highly recommended by several of the girls.”

Saint chuckled. “And yet this high praise did not entice you back into my bed,” he teased, slipping his arm under her head and tugging her closer.

“Oh, I was tempted. I just did not—no, what happened no longer matters, I suppose.”

Interesting. He never expected her to admit that she was attracted to him, even while she had shut him out of her life. His jaw tightened as he recalled the old rage and helplessness of that night. Nevertheless, his voice was tender when he said, “The past has no place here with us.”

She nodded, her nose brushing against his chin. “Or tomorrow.”

Saint swallowed his annoyance. Madame Venna was nothing but practical about her place in his world. She didn’t have one. The woman in his arms expected nothing from him beyond the hours that they had already shared.

Even if she was correct, it still stung that she was not willing to fight for them.

He thought of the lies that stood between them. A few pleasurable shags were not going to smooth over their differences.

“Or tomorrow,” he echoed, resigned that all Madame Venna had to offer him was her body.

And what of Catherine?

He shook his head. There were already too many people in their bed to invite another.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Why had she mentioned her girls? Worse, she had told Saint that he had tempted her for years. Grateful for the darkness, Madame Venna winced at her carelessness. This gentleman had too much power over her. She had recognized her weakness six years earlier and had done her best to banish it from her life.

And yet he was here in her bed, her damp, sated body molded against his and her cheek resting in the hollow of his shoulder. It felt right. With her finger she drew lazy circles around his nipple as her heart slowed and contentment filled her. Over the years, she had taken other lovers, but she had never felt such peace in the wake of a desperate coupling.

Despite her initial reluctance, she had savored the feel of his manhood within her. Saint had not treated her gently. His thrusts were demanding, claiming, and she had mindlessly clung to him as he had overwhelmed her senses.

It was rare for her to be out of control. She should have been worried about the effect he had on her, but she could not summon the energy to fight her feelings, or him.