Self-preservation kicked in when he pushed open the door to one of the many guest chambers along the passage. She stopped, turning back toward the ballroom. “I must return to Roderick,” she said, drawing on every reserve she had to make it sound as if that was what she truly wished.
Lord Debenham stood very close to her in the doorway. “Do you desire my nephew, Miss Partington...like you desire me?”
The suggestiveness in his tone was more thrilling than terrifying. In the light of the candle resting in a sconce just above them, his eyes glittered like a satyr’s.
“And like I desire you?” He grasped her hand and placed it on the front of his bulging black pantaloons.
Araminta swallowed, her body in a state of the wildest excitement. But she did not take her hand away. She closed her eyes and shuddered slightly. “My Lord, I am saving myself for Roderick,” she whispered.
“That little sapskull?
Why, you’re too ripe and ready for half, aren’t you, my tempting armful, but I don’t think my nephew’s the answer.”
Araminta swayed as she felt his arms go about her. Giddy with desire, she was, this time, determined to cling to the safest course. That is, until he slipped his hand into her bodice, beneath her stays and chemise, and gently pinched her nipple.
This man was terrifying, but surely one taste of him would make no difference after what she’d already done? No, she’d not marry him if he were the last man on earth. He was far too dangerous to have as a husband—foolish, naïve girl that she’d once been to believe she’d have the necessary control over him that she required.
Heat engulfed her, her skin prickled and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.
One wild, wanton, wicked taste of this sinfully villainous blackguard while her pimply, boring, ghastly husband-to-be waited in the ballroom would be utterly and deliciously thrilling.
“You do flatter yourself, Lord Debenham,” she whispered, as she pressed closer against him, angling her body to ease the way for his exploring hands. “Why would I give my virtue to you when I owe everything to Roderick for making me such a gallant and enticing offer before the end of the season?”
“An offer of marriage, maybe, but my offer is much more exciting, don’t you think?”
His touch seared her skin as he kneaded her right nipple. Suddenly he pulled her against him and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, sagging against him, squeaking with delighted surprise when his hand went up her skirts and he cupped her heated mound.
“My, you are wet,” he growled. “Wet and willing.” Lightly at first, then with a little more pressure, he began to massage the swollen nub between her legs.
Araminta thought she would die from pleasure. “So this is what it feels like?” she gasped, shifting slightly to give him greater access. Seducing Sir Aubrey had been nothing like this. Though she’d been damp with desire, she’d merely plunged onto him and he, thinking she was...someone else—she shuddered as she reflected that that someone was her sister, though Hetty was welcome to Sir Aubrey—had then furiously berated her.
What a terrible man Sir Aubrey was to have led her on to believe he wished to marry her and now—she gave a little sob—she had no choice but to marry Mr. Woking. At least, though, Mr. Woking would be infinitely more pliable than this dangerous devil whose ministrations were nearly driving her insane.
She liked his roughness, and moaned again as he dipped a finger inside her before resuming his pleasuring, returning pressure to the outer lips of her secret, sensitive parts.
“Oh my, you are on fire,” he muttered as he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedchamber, where a single candle guttered on a chest of drawers by the large mahogany tester bed.
Without ceremony, he tossed her onto the crimson counterpane. Quickly, he unbuttoned the flap of his breeches, which he then kicked off, together with his shoes. Shrugging out of his tailcoat and waistcoat, he then threw himself—naked but for his shirt—on top of her.
Araminta managed to wriggle out from under him, gasping, “Not so fast, Lord Debenham. If I am going to gift you what by rights I should be gifting Roderick, I want more of what you were doing before.”
Oh, she wasn’t stupid. She knew how to get what she wanted at the same time as reassuring him that she was unspoiled. This was going to be even more important in a few months’ time when the baby came a little earlier than it ought.
“More of this?” His satyr-like eyes bored into hers, only an inch away, but obligingly he supported himself on one elbow, his lean, hairy flanks fascinating her before she gasped in delight as once more he slipped a finger inside her entrance, then out, slowly massaging the ever-swelling nub of her desire.
“Mmm, more of that.” She relaxed into the soft mattress and exhaled on a deep, satisfied moan at the exquisite sensations. So this is what she’d been missing out on? Closing her eyes, she was sinking into even more pleasurable euphoria when to her annoyance he stopped abruptly, rolled her over, and began to undo her buttons so that he could pull first her dress, then her petticoats, and finally her short stays and chemise over her head.
“My Lord!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have you dressed in a trice when I’m done but this is how I want to see you.”
She smiled coyly, enjoying her nakedness, or rather the raw appraisal in his eye as she flaunted herself without shame. “I suppose I’d better not spoil those if I’m going back to the ball,” she conceded, glancing at the pile of her clothes as she drew the counterpane up to her chin.
“Now why do you suppose I went to the trouble of undressing you?” he asked, dragging it away again so he could look at her. He raised his eyebrows. “My, but you are rather a delectable little thing. Despite the fact you’re insufferably haughty and immeasurably vain, you have the body of a racehorse. I shall enjoy getting used to this.”
“Well, get used to it now, because this is the only time you will.” She grinned up at him, feeling smug. Yes she had the measure of him. He was in thrall to her and she was—thank goodness—getting a little pleasure for once out of this sport.
“The only time? What makes you think that, Miss Partington?” He chuckled as he resumed stroking the swollen lips about her entrance, then bent to suckle her right nipple.