His skin hummed with a familiar sensation, one he’d experienced at the ball, but he forced it away. This was no time to let those thoughts intrude. That particular young woman wasn’t here and he needed to focus on the woman in front of him, to continue their games until they were both exhausted and dripping with sweat. “I see you are a tempting little minx tonight,” he growled, dragging a finger along her spine.
She moaned softly and he couldn’t wait a second more. Dropping to his knees behind her, he shoved her skirts out of his way. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, and hurriedly stripped off his waistcoat. Gripping her inner thighs, he pushed her open further. He couldn’t see much in the dim firelight, but the lips of her quim glistened with arousal, causing his mouth to water. Leaning in, he dragged his tongue through her folds.
The heavenly taste, a sweet and musky flavor, exploded on his tongue just as bells went off in his head, a clamoring that something was very wrong. The feel of her body was different. The smell of her skin was not the usual vanilla and lavender, but rather lemon. The hair on her mound was longer. The drawers . . .
Bloody hell.
Shoving himself away from her, he fell back on his arse, skittering on his limbs like a bloody crab, desperate to put distance between them.
No, no, no. She hadn’t. He hadn’t. This could not have happened.
“Turn around,” he choked out, dread pressing on his chest. “Turn the fuck around, right now.”
Legs shaking, she slowly straightened and let her skirts fall. Then she faced him . . . and Max’s stomach dropped.
Violet.
“You.” Blood rushed in his ears as he stared up at her, unable to believe it. “What in God’s name have you done?”
Red bloomed on her cheekbones and she stared at his shoes. “Is it not obvious?”
“Not to me. Spit it out, Violet. Why have you come here tonight, sneaking into my house and making me believe you were someone else?”
“I never said I was her.” Her head snapped up and she straightened, almost defiant. “And I thought you saw my face.”
Fury raced through his veins like a lit fuse, sending flames to every part of his body. He nurtured it, grateful to replace the other unwelcome emotions from a moment ago. “A lie if I’ve ever heard one. As far as you knew, Louisa was coming tonight and you tried to take her place.”
“I knew she wasn’t coming. I overheard her husband telling her that she could no longer see you.”
“So you draped yourself in a cloak, thinking I wouldn’t know the difference between you and her. One cunt is just as good as another, is it?”
She flinched, but he would not apologize. Just having her taste on his tongue, picturing her bent over his armchair, had him balancing on a precarious edge. He wanted her too badly for politeness.
“You were able to tell the difference just from . . . that?”
God save him from innocent virgins. “We men are simple creatures, but yes. Even we are capable of recognizing the woman we are currently fucking from behind.”
“Were fucking,” she corrected with a knowing smirk. “Seeing as how her husband has now forbidden it.”
The little she-devil was entirely too pleased with herself, and he liked this brazen side of her. A lot. Which meant he had to distance himself from this young woman at all costs. “Get out, Violet. Before we both do something we will regret.”
“Did I . . .” She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Did I not taste acceptable to you?”
The conscience he’d long forgotten chose that moment to rear its ugly head. He could have cut her down with a few simple words, destroyed her newfound confidence and probably sent her from the room in tears. But he couldn’t do it. Nor would he lie, not about this. “You tasted like the sweetest ambrosia. I could spend a week doing nothing but licking you to orgasm and not tire of it.”
Desire darkened her eyes and she swayed on her feet, a tiny gasp escaping her lips. Goddamn, she was magnificently responsive. So easily affected by him. More blood pumped to his groin, his cock hardening further beneath his clothing. He wanted nothing more than to dive beneath her skirts once again, hear her cries of delight ringing in his ears.
She is Charles’s daughter.
Only eighteen.
He will never forgive you.
You cannot marry her.
With her taste in his mouth and the image of her naked quim in his brain, the usual reasons why he should stay away from her weren’t working. He resorted to pleading with her. “Please, Violet. You should—”
“Did I cause that?” She pointed to the obvious erection between his legs.
“Yes,” he answered without thinking. “But you should not know of such things, little mouse.”
“May I see it?”
Every muscle froze and all the moisture fled his mouth. Oh, Christ. What was she trying to do to him? He’d end up in an asylum before the end of the night at this rate. Why was she not fleeing his house in terror?
Because she’s far stronger than you’ve imagined, you dolt.
He swallowed. “If you cannot even say the word, then you are not ready to see it.” His voice came out husky and teasing, not the biting tone he’d imagined in his head.
Violet must have sensed his weakness, because she took one step closer. “May I see your cock, Your Grace?”
His lips parted, his breath sawing out of his chest, short and swift. The question and the honorific uttered in her pliant, pleasing voice were his undoing. He’d tried so hard, but he wanted her too badly. Craving sizzled in his veins, like an addict denied his pipe, and Max could deny it no longer, whatever the consequences.
He let his lips curve into a sly smile full of wickedness. “You may, but you must take it out first.”
Chapter Four
Violet had never been so scared in her whole life. But there was something underneath the trepidation, an emotion that emboldened her and turned her into a wanton creature worthy of Ravensthorpe. Perhaps it was longing or passion, or the ravenous desire he inspired in her. Whatever it was, he seemed to appreciate it.
Even while angry with her, Ravensthorpe made her feel safe. Protected. Like she could say or do anything and he’d not judge her harshly for it. Which was probably why, despite her inexperience, she wasn’t afraid of whatever was happening between them.
He remained sprawled on the study floor, his long limbs akimbo as he studied her, the erection in his trousers enticing her to come and play. Firelight danced off the sharp angles of his face, the glow reflecting off the silver strands at his temples. He was irresistible and shameless, and the darkness only enhanced his appeal.
Ravensthorpe said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths. Though he was on the ground, he was clearly still in control of the room, like a jungle cat taking a momentary break to tease its prey, daring her to approach him.
Did he believe she wouldn’t follow through?
Flicking open the clasp on her cloak, she shrugged off the heavy cloth and let it fall. Then she lifted her skirts and dropped to her knees, the carpet soft beneath her stockings. Without a word, he widened his legs, making room for her between them, so she shuffled forward, her heart pounding behind her corset.