TemptressofTime (22 page)

Her moans turned to helpless, mindless mews. Like a kitten
kneading yarn, her fingers tangled in his silky hair, dug lightly into his
scalp. He groaned and sucked harder, his tongue abrading one taut nub as he
pinched the other. Her soft cry combined pain and pleasure. She arched into his
hand and mouth, welcoming the little ache, the building heat in her pussy.

“An O over your bellybutton,” he told her, his voice as
unsteady as her gasps. Shifting her off his lap, he stretched out along her
side, then propped his head on his fist. His other hand continued to explore
both her body and her gown’s frothy lace.

“I believe,” he went on, his gaze following his hand up and
down her trembling limbs, “I have discovered a clue as to where I might find
other letters.”

“H-have you?”

“Um-hum. Rounded letters near rounded parts of you.” His
hands drifted up her body, his fingers rubbing layers of lace until he found an
E. Sitting up, he grinned when he found the other, both hidden near her ears.
Which, to her increasing delight, he proceeded to lave and nibble her lobes.
With his haunches resting on his heels, his covered but swollen shaft and balls
presented a feast for her eyes and made her mouth water. Male musk filled her
nostrils. Unable to resist, yearning to see and taste him, she fumbled with the
buttons on his breeches.

His hand closed over hers. “I did not grant you leave to
touch me.”

“Neither did you forbid me.”

“I forbid you now.”

A desperate sounding moan escaped her thinned lips. How
could he deny her—and himself—the pleasure of touching and being touched? Of
tasting and being tasted?

“Once I have found all the letters in your name,” he
muttered, then tightened his lips and narrowed his eyes.

Warning her to obey? Or searching for his own control?

His expression lightening, he tsked. “You cheated. There is
an I on each lapel.” Tracing that letter, his fingers caressed her from her
breasts to hipbones.

Squirming only made him do it again until she laughed and
shoved away his hands.

“Ticklish, eh?”

“A little.” Her reply only made him grin like an imp. An odd
comparison with his manhood literally in her face, showing her how very manly
his assets were. Testing her ability to speak, she said, “All the letters are
on each side. Symmetry, Your Grace. But perhaps not in the same places on each
side.”

“I’ve patience enough to find them once, but no more than
that.”

Which suited her very well. She wanted him done with other
games and focused solely on pleasure. An idea she kept to herself lest he draw
out this sweet torture even longer.

Taking lace in one hand, he explored. “Ah. An N and a U.”
Resettling the fabric, he nodded. “A perfect fit at your knees.” A moment later
he sighed as if disappointed. “G, R and H with no discernible tie to any part
of your lush body.”

Sometimes creativity failed. Neither she nor the seamstress
could think of strategic locations for those particular letters. Yet he
discovered that tracing those initials with his fingertips, pressing lace and
embroidery thread along her thighs excited her. Knowing he was unlikely to find
the remaining letters without her assistance, she let her legs fall open.

Wretched man!
All he did was untie her belt and
spread the robe wide. Then he went on stroking and pressing the letters over
her thighs, coming nearer and nearer to where she wanted his fingers and
tongue, yet still only tormenting her.

“Y-your G-grace,” she stammered, a plea in her trembling voice.

“Walker,” he corrected.

“Walk—ohmigod! Walker!” He obviously had found both loops in
the B. His clever fingers pressed one loop around her clit, the other into her
channel. She spread her legs still wider, welcoming him between them as she
welcomed her spasming channel and the blessed tension winding tighter and
tighter until she shattered. Writhing. Quaking like fall leaves in a wild wind.
Crying his name. Shouting with the rapture tumbling through her body.

“An A not so imaginatively placed near your anus.” He
tickled her ring and the tension began to coil once more.

“Ohmigod,” she whispered again and again as his tongue
plundered her opening. While his thumb circled her clit, his other hand
massaged her buttock. He eased a finger into her ass.

“Come for me, milady. Now that I have found all the letters
in your name, come for me.”

She did. A keening wail ripped from her throat. Her entire
body exploded like a sun going supernova. At the pinnacle of release, stars in
all the colors of the rainbow flashed beneath her closed eyelids. Tears flooded
her cheeks, then seeped into her hair. Before she could swipe them away, his
tongue lapped her from eyes to mouth and back again. She could smell herself on
his stubble. Taste her juices on his smooth lips and velvet-rough tongue.

Gathering her into his arms as if her body were whole rather
than space dust adrift amongst the stars, he smoothed her hair and stroked his
hands up and down her back. Under her cheek she could hear the erratic drumming
of his heart, a heavy counterpoint to her own heartbeat pumping oxygen and
blood to her every extremity. Involuntary yet much-needed triage for the
particles of her just now beginning to reassemble.

He sat up slightly. Leaning back once more, he waved
something potent under her nose. She pushed it away and, opening her eyes, sat
up.

“I only felt as if I’d fainted,” she fibbed, fighting not to
glare at his proud expression. Hadn’t any other woman almost blacked out in his
arms? Not that she was in his arms when everything sort of…disappeared. Only
for a second. Less than a nanosecond, if that long.
Damnation!
If he
realized she cried solely when she lost control, she’d be trapped forever.

How’d you figure that out?

Well…if he figured it out, he’d keep trying to make her lose
control. Every time she lost control, it would get easier and easier until she
would cry every time he made her climax.

Made her?
As if he forced her to come? Oh yeah, sure.
Like when she came close to coming when he just looked at her? That kind of
control loss? Like right now when he’d repositioned her body without her
noticing? Like right now with him sitting tailor-fashion between her feet and
staring at her sex? When she could see his cock head peering over his crossed
ankles? All she could think about was impaling herself and giving him the
wildest ride of his life.

“Not until I’ve looked my fill,” he warned, his gaze steady
on her—there.

Certain her blush had spread to those nether lips, she
turned her head and prayed…
oh, damn
! Her pussy clenched. She felt it and
blushed harder. Clenched harder still when he licked his lips then wiggled his
tongue.

Oh, ohh, ohhh!

“Ah,” he said, pulling her legs wider still, then plunging
his tongue into her again and again. And she climaxed over and over, each one
stronger than its predecessor and unlike any climax she’d ever had.

Too enervated to breathe, grateful her body took care to do
so on her behalf, she could only let her gaze follow him as he stood, only to
sit again at her feet. She wasn’t too weak to moan her appreciation of his
magnificent shaft jutting like a flagpole from a nest of dark curls.

“If you…swive me…I believe I’m too…tender to enjoy it.”

Chuckling, he returned to the chaise, straddling it as he
sat. “You said earlier you want to watch me masturbate. I am ready now.”

That got her attention in a hurry and renewed her
anticipation. Scooting away, she leaned against the chaise back, her gaze
flicking between his hooded eyes and his shaft. “One day I want to watch you
grow from flaccid to erect.”

He barked a laugh. “An unlikely event, milady. With you
around, I am constantly erect.”

Her smile made his shaft bob in a kind of half-bow. She
laughed, delighted that her body granted her more discretion in arousal. Well,
except for her hardening nipples. At least her pulsing clit lay hidden amongst
her curls. Not from his imagination, however, if his darkening eyes were any
indication.

What might happen if she mirrored him? Her gaze narrowed on
his hands as one cupped his balls while the other wrapped around his shaft. His
eyes closed as though he were caught between pain and rapture. A frown creased
his brow, his teeth clenched his tongue.

“I fear I shan’t last long.” His voice rasped, its timbre as
low as she had ever heard it.

“Nor shall I,” she murmured, drawing his gaze first to her
face then to her hands. One caressed her nipples, the other her clit.
Fascinated, she saw his fingers glide up and down, drawing his foreskin over
his glans then down again to expose glistening precum in his slit. As his rhythm
increased, becoming more frantic, so did hers. She thrust two fingers deep
inside her pussy, her breath as ragged and hoarse as his. His eyes widened. So
did hers as they both rocked their hips back and forth. She cried his name just
as he jettisoned hot cum all over his balls and thighs. Before he could move,
she took him into her mouth, licking the last drops off his glans and draining
what remained within.

“I think I know how we shall spend the rest of today,” she
told him, licking his thighs clean of his seed.

“If I recover before the night has ended,” he muttered,
drawing her against him once more.

With his taste still on her lips, his breath in her ear and
one of his hands holding one breast she thought she could die happy.

Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday morning

Adrian was sick of waiting for Walker to question Diane
about their pasts—what she remembered, what she did not, how she felt about
each man. More, he was tired of playing good guy to Walker’s bad guy. Hell,
everybody knew how women always fell for the wicked, almost evil, less than
heroic man. The fairer sex never saw the heartbreak they would face
when—despite all their good intentions—the black-hearted knave remained a
gambler, a sot, a rake. Or left the woman to bear the brunt of his despicable
actions.

Not that Walker gambled to excess or drank o’er much. In
previous lives, Adrian had done both to excess and whored as well.

Worse still, Adrian resented playing second fiddle.

And now this pup, Jason Leveson. Why was he here, muddying
the entire situation with his glowing eyes all but burning Diane’s clothing off
her body? Not that she seemed to mind. She flirted with the whelp as if she
welcomed his attentions. Didn’t she know Jason’s interest lay solely in getting
her into bed?

Realizing his and Walker’s intentions could be construed as
no better than Jason’s, Adrian puffed out his cheeks and exhaled a huff. He’d
worry about the lordling if Diane showed any inclination to bed him. Walker was
his largest worry. Always had been. Likely always would be unless…

He had today and tomorrow—never mind Diane’s ridiculous
rules. Rules she’d already broken—to convince her
he
was the better man.
The
best man
, he amended in case Jason stayed in the game.

Squaring his shoulders, mentally girding his loins, he marched
to Diane’s suite, determined to drive his rivals out of her mind.

Adrian entered her sitting room without knocking, his blue
eyes the color of glacier ice and just as cold. Diane was so caught up in his
demeanor, she barely noticed Walker vacating his chair. Without a word, the
duke sketched a bow and left, whistling as he closed the door behind him.

“If you expect me to leave at this time tomorrow morning…”
Adrian said, his voice tight with fury. His hands clenched into fists, he
seemed ready to hit something. Or someone.

“What I expect, Lord de Vesay, is for you to remember you
are a guest in my home. I’ll not tolerate rudeness or belligerence from
anyone—least of all from a man who has six mistresses.”

“Had. My brother had—” He looked as if he wanted to bite off
his tongue for confessing that.

“So you admit to remembering Arnaud and his lovers. Do you
also remember
me
? Our marriage? Did we have children? How many lived to
maturity? How—”

His raised hand made her flinch as if expecting him to
strike her. Not that she believed he would—not when he stood frozen in the
doorway to her room.

“In truth, Diane, I cannot recall anything after you left me
in our wedding bed.”

She believed him. How weird was that? But maybe he’d only
been a visitor to that time and place. Stranger still, she could almost believe
that as well.

Wanting to press him for more details about their lives, she
decided to leave him hanging instead. “How many mistresses have you now?”

Gape-mouthed he stared at her for a long moment before
smiling his most charming smile. It almost reached his eyes. “None at the
moment, but hopeful of winning one. Soon.” His eyes warming, he examined her
from her upswept hair to her soft leather house shoes.

Knowing the rose-colored dimity gown lent her skin a
pleasing glow, she refrained from scolding when his gaze lingered at her bosom.
Instead, she treated him to the same close scrutiny, her gaze clinging to the
apex of his thighs. His cock strained at his buckskin breeches and he cocked a
hip to better display his manly attributes. Ignoring the blatant invitation,
she noted his silk waistcoat matched the bright-pink peonies embroidered at her
neckline. His jacket, golden brown and well fitted, showed off his wide
shoulders. She bet he could see his reflection in the toes of his polished
Hessians.

“Such sartorial splendor leads me to expect an outing,” she
said.

“I thought you would enjoy some fresh air.” He sniffed,
making her aware of the lingering aroma of musk in the room.

“The weather conspires against us.” Outside her windows
treetops swayed in the windy gusts. Rain drenched the panes in fitful sheets.

“There is the conservatory or the portrait gallery.” A smile
lurking in his eyes, he added, “And the billiard room.”

Her pulse quickened. “Where any servant or guest could
wander in.” Heaven help her, the fear of being discovered added a certain spice
she found irresistible. Or almost so.

“You can order the servants to stay away.”

She tsked. “Adrian de Vesay, I believe you want my other
guests to find us in a compromising position.” Shaking her head, she told him,
“Since they also have an interest in the outcome of this…competition, I doubt
either will carry gossip to London. Compromising positions, discovered or not,
will not serve you. Our reputations remain unsullied.”

“Do they?” He sounded sarcastic, but his expression showed
only concern. “Have you forgotten the horde that returned to London the night
of your ball? The masses that left the day after?”

Her face heated, but she held his gaze. “La, what is one
more scandal after all that has happened before?”

“Perhaps nothing to us. What about our children? If we have
any, that is. What about our reputations when they want to bring friends home?
The
ton
has a long memory and never truly forgets. All it takes to
resurrect a scandal is a whisper of impropriety.”

“You begin to sound like Walker,” she chided, not bothering
to hide her displeasure. All she needed now was Jason spouting warnings about
immorality and its consequences. And he barely out of Oxbridge! All she needed
now was Adrian admitting they were stuck here forever.
Ha! As if he’d admit
anything!
Shrugging off anger laced with depression, she gave Adrian a
half-smile. “You—we seem to have spoiled the mood.”

“Let me see if I can restore it.” Offering a smile and his
arm, he opened her hallway door.

Picking up a shawl Margaret had laid over a chair, Diane
wrapped it over her shoulders. Adrian made minor adjustments, lingering over
the swell of her breasts above the neckline and the valley between.

“For a man lecturing about propriety, you take outrageous
liberties.”

“I plan to take many more.” With his warm hand at the small
of her back, he guided her out.

The conservatory ranked high on Diane’s favorite places to
dine. The glass walls allowed Adrian and her views of the storm outside while
keeping them safe and dry. Braziers provided heat and kept their food warm.
Pillows and throws in brilliant colors made her think of sultans’ palaces and
aromatic spices lingering on gentle breezes. Rare trees and verdant bushes
screened them from prying eyes and provided a fragrant bower for the divan
draped with sheer fabrics. A fountain gurgled nearby, flowing into a shallow
streambed full of pale-pink water lilies and floating gardenias.

“You went to some effort,” she said, touching his
clean-shaven cheek, her fingertips lingering a little longer than proper. In
truth, she shouldn’t touch him at all. In truth, even a widow shouldn’t
entertain a man while unchaperoned. Not in such intimate surroundings, at least.

What a hypocrite she was becoming! Out of bed with one man
little more than an hour ago, yet worrying about chaperones while alone with
another?

“Your servants deserve all the credit. Though I am grateful
you enjoy the setting.”

Taking her hand, he guided her to the divan, settling with
his arm draped along the back, his body so near she could feel his heat.
Sandalwood and cloves from his cheeks and mouth tempted her to cuddle nearer
and breathe in his scent. When he only looked at her, she relaxed against his
side and rested her head on his shoulder. For several long moments they sat in
companionable silence. A few minutes later, her eyes drifted shut.

His featherlight touch tilted her chin. Soft lips brushed
hers, brief forays she wished would last longer. A sigh parting her lips, she
drew his face to hers, pressing upward as he pressed down. Their lips fused.
Their kisses remained light, as if they had never kissed before and these were
short voyages of discovery.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered. She moaned a protest, but
obeyed. Pineapple, tart and sweet, flowed over her lips and tongue and filled
her mouth. When she swallowed, he used his tongue and drank from her cheeks and
tongue and lips.

Having his hand on her breast felt like heaven. When he slid
his fingers beneath her neckline, she moaned and opened her mouth wider to
stroke his tongue with hers. Light caresses explored the valley between her
breasts, making them swell and her nipples pearl into aching peaks.
Sweet
agony.
She wanted more.

His hand captured hers over his heart. Its heavy beat raced
against her palm. Wanting him to know she shared his need, she pressed his hand
more firmly to her breast and arched her back to increase the blissful tension
speeding her heartbeat to match his. Opening her eyes, she caught the gleam of
satisfaction in his.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he commanded.

“I want to look at you,” she murmured. “I want to touch your
skin.”

“In time,” he promised, “just not yet. Close your eyes,
Diane. Use your other senses. Enjoy every sound and touch, every taste and
scent.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes, but opened her mouth to say,
“I didn’t realize pineapples had reached England.”

“I’m not certain they have as yet.” Placing his hand over
her eyes, he tsked. “If you don’t keep your eyes shut, I’ll blindfold you.”

“Oh, all right! But I’m holding you responsible for all my
questions. And believe me, if you lie I’ll know. Tell me about pineapples.”

His hands circling her waist, he lifted her onto his lap.
“Pineapples—so named I believe because they resemble pine cones. As to finding
them in Regency England…” She felt him shrug. “You seem to have a strange
influence over time.”

“I?” Wanting to see his expression, she hid her face in her
hands. “Explain.”

“Later.” He tilted her chin, explored her neck with his
lips, her ears and nape with his fingertips. Such light touches. So arousing,
they left her breathless and aching with need. Only when her gown gaped at her
back did she realize he’d unbuttoned it and had untied her corset laces as well.

Shoving him away bared her front from shoulders to waist. On
an outraged gasp, she opened her eyes just as his hands closed over her naked
breasts. His eyes half closed, his lips half curved, his thumbs and forefingers
plucked her nipples like a guitarist creating melodies on her flesh.

Her eyelids drooped as she surrendered to the sheer pleasure
of arousal. Her back arched and her head fell back, exposing breasts and neck
to his tongue, his teeth, his greedy mouth. It closed over one nipple and
sucked the tender nub deep. Each pulse echoed in her pussy, wrenching pleas and
purrs and pulses until ecstasy rippled through her and she sobbed his name.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. With a sharp laugh of
both pleasure and pain, he jerked away, her wrists gripped in his hand. In
seconds she was on her back, her hands tied to the posts hidden by the fabrics
around the divan. He’d put those sheer curtains to use as manacles.

“I warned you not to touch me,” he whispered, laving her ear
and down her neck to the tender spot where neck and shoulder joined. Tugging
off his cravat, he tied it around her eyes.

She kicked, taking joy when his breath whooshed out, but
disappointed when he pulled her gown down her legs. She bared her teeth, not
caring if he saw her outrage. She wished she’d kicked him where it would hurt
much more. After all, he’d promised he would abide by her rules and only kiss…

“You…you blackguard! Miserable miscreant liar! You vowed—”
Walker had vowed, as well, and look at the liberties she had allowed him!
Hypocrite!

“Kissing you is all I’ve done. If the form my kisses take
displeases you…’tis you who lied, Lady de Bourgh. Betrayed by your own body.”
He ran his hands down her traitorous body, lingering a short time at her
treasonous, pearling nipples, then down, parting her legs. She shivered as he
rucked up her chemise, told herself it was because cold air coursed over her
all but naked body. Yet when he dipped his fingers into her folds, heat and
lust made her cry out.

She could only imagine how she looked to him with her
chemise below her breasts and above her waist, her garters and hose sagging
between her knees and ankles. Her breasts and mons bare to his gaze—as well as
to anyone else he might invite to witness her humiliation.

“When I am free I’ll…I’ll cut off your balls and eat them
for dinner!” Or perhaps she’d tie him naked to the dining room table then
invite a passel of guests to stare at him. See how he liked that!

“Will you? Then prepare yourself, my lady, to spend the rest
of our lives in this sweet bower. Freed only to relieve yourself. Food given
only by my hand. Drink as well. No privacy to hide within. No time to think
beyond your next climax. Will I bring you fast or slow? Will I lick you, kiss
you, sip your nectar until you beg me to fuck you? But alas, I promised I would
only kiss you. So our fucking becomes impossible—a torment forever
unsatisfied.”

“J-Jason will… No, he has no reason to rescue me, but—”

“For Jason, you are the forbidden fruit, the golden fleece,
the rarest coin he can but strive to hold for an instant. Walker? Yes, Walker
would rescue you and fuck you whenever and wherever you wish. His prize? An
heir…should you both prove fertile in this time and place.”

Jutting her chin in the direction of Adrian’s voice, she said,
“I liked you better when you loved your brother’s mistresses.”