Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,87

is determined to woo you for himself.”

His fervent tone softened her as no amount of badgering or blustering ever could. Didn’t he realize that no other man could ever tempt her? Yet she wouldn’t voice her love again, not until he had earned it. “You must think I’m a hussy who would leap into another man’s bed!”

“I’m merely saying that Hailstock is an arrogant snob. He’s not to be trusted.”

“And you are to be trusted?” she said tartly. “The circumstances of our marriage prove otherwise.”

His gaze burned down to her breasts, then back up to her face. “Our marriage was your salvation, Alicia. Were it not for me, you’d still be an untried spinster.”

With unbridled confidence, he lowered his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss that laid siege to her resistance. How could she love a man who insulted her and enticed her all in one breath? But she did; there was no denying the longing that flowed deep within her, the ache that tempted her to surrender to his caresses. He tasted her deeply as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Then he kissed a path down to her throat, licking and nibbling, casting delicious shivers over her skin.

He wanted to distract her. He wanted her to forget that Hailstock’s son waited outside in the coach. This was his way of resolving their differences, to use his power over her body.

Flattening her palms against his coat, she pushed at him. “I won’t be seduced,” she said. “Not until we settle this quarrel.”

“There’s nothing to settle,” he said in a roughly stirring tone. “We want each other. That’s all that matters.”

“No, you just want to distract me. There’s more to marriage than making love.”

“Ah, but making love is the best part.”

His mouth claimed hers in another ravenous kiss, and his hands clasped hard to her backside, lifting her against him so that she felt the strength of his arousal. Her tenuous hold on her control began to slip. She clung to his neck, her entire being focused on holding still, not moving, not succumbing to his lethal charm.

But when he moved his hand to her breast, caressing her through her bodice, she couldn’t restrain a moan. Through the haze of her passion, she sensed him reaching down, pushing up her gown and petticoat.

Shock clashed with forbidden longing. Furiously, she squirmed against his iron embrace. “Drake, no!”

“Yes,” he muttered, his hand beneath her skirt, heavy on her bare thigh where garter met silk stocking. “Let me touch you. Just touch you.”

He slid his finger into her cleft, and the exquisite pleasure of it blotted out rationality. Oh, sweet heaven. She pressed deeper into his hand, instinctively seeking gratification. His clever strokes wrested another moan from her, and she hid her face in his cravat to muffle her uninhibited cries. Yet even as her desire soared, she held to a vestige of discipline. She wouldn’t let go. She wouldn’t let him win.

Seeming to sense her resistance, he held her firmly, one arm strong against her back, his other hand plying its slow, relentless magic. He whispered naughty, indecent phrases that should not arouse her, but did. Against her will, she felt the gathering tension and could no more stop it than she could halt an approaching storm. With his touch, with his voice, with his skill, he lured her to the pinnacle and compelled her over the edge, so that she shattered into a thousand falling stars.

Dazed and drained, she came to an awareness of their surroundings. Daylight streamed into the office through a high window. She clung weakly to him, her skirts hiked to her waist. His hand still cupped her between the legs.

“Send the carriage away,” he murmured against her mouth. “There’s a bedroom upstairs, connected to my office. We’ll spend the afternoon there.”

She couldn’t think. “Drake, I…”

His hand applied a persuasive pressure. “My darling Alicia,” he said in tone so raspy it made her toes curl. “I’ve imagined making love to you up there. Having you waiting for me each night, my love slave, ready to fulfill my every command.”

Distracted by the fantasy, she burrowed her fingers inside his coat. “No, you would be my slave. Pleasuring me as I command.”

“I am yours, then, O exalted mistress.” Stepping back, he placed his palms together and bowed low. “Pray tell, what is your delight?”

Entranced, she stared down at his dark head, his mock submissive pose. Temptation again threatened her better judgment. In a few minutes, he could be