A Woman of Virtue Page 18

  Blood pounded in his temples. Her words hit too close—and in a way she could not possibly understand. “Don’t do this, Cecilia!” he rasped, scarcely aware that he was brandishing a poker. “For once in your life, just do not push me!”

  “No! Tell me, Delacourt—” Cecilia whispered, her eyes now flooding with tears. “Tell me! What stands between a woman’s good name and outright ruin if she has no one willing or able to speak for her? Who will keep her safe? And who, God forbid, will help her raise her children—bastard children, I might add?”

  Delacourt was blinded by anger. Fear and rage pressed in upon him. “Damn you, Cecilia!” he shouted as, seemingly of its own volition, the poker swung high and came crashing down upon her desk. The exquisite Chinese ewer shattered into a thousand ugly pieces.

  Chapter Eight

  In Which Lord Delacourt Marks the Earth with Ruin

  In the aftermath, Cecilia could do nothing but gape at the spray of porcelain which covered her desk, her settee, and even the tips of her slippers. For a timeless moment, she stared at what was left of Giles’s extravagant gift.

  Suddenly, David tossed the poker onto the marble hearth with a clatter, shattering the awful silence. He came toward her, jerking her hard into his arms and against his chest, crushing her. “Damn you, Cecilia.”

  His was no gentle lover’s kiss. David took her without hesitation, forcing his tongue into her mouth and sliding one hand into her hair, fisting his fingers into it until her scalp burned. And still he kissed her, desperately, recklessly, without finesse or tenderness. He raked her mouth with his, abrading her face with the shadow of his beard.

  Cecilia let herself rise on the tide of emotion, tasting the rage which coursed through him. And yet, she knew that it was not her whom he raged against. She had tormented him quite intentionally. But this time, she’d unleashed something she did not understand. Still, the molten need welled up against her will, and with it came that old, familiar ache. It drew at her, evocative and tempting, pulling at her breasts and her belly, down into her empty womb, and leaving her trembling with hunger. Just as she’d always felt when David touched her.

  But this time, it was different. This time, he wanted her with something more than lust. She could feel his need and his pain. When she came fully, willingly, against him, crushing her breasts against his chest, David moaned, and slid one hand down her spine, dragging her hips hard against his own. In an instant, she ceased to worry that what she felt for him was wrong.

  She gave no thought to the past. All the stubborn never-evers and a hundred bitter insults simply melted from her memory. And Cecilia was left drowning in David, knowing only that he hurt. And that she wanted to soothe him. Just plain wanted him. And had since that frightening afternoon when he’d urged her back into the hay, thrusting his swollen manhood against her.

  Oh, God, she’d been so tempted. It had been madness. Was madness. And yet, for the briefest of moments, she now wished that no one had stopped them. She wished she had simply opened herself to him then, surrendered to her own wicked urges, and saved herself six years of torment.

  Then he’d been half in his cups. But now, he was not. Clearly, he still wanted her. And it was not too late to allay her own burning desire. So Cecilia kissed him back. She kissed him as he kissed her, urgently, greedily, with her mouth and her tongue, sliding inside his warmth, tasting and touching and learning.

  “Oh, Cecilia,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair, sliding his open palms up her shoulder blades. “Why must you possess me so?”

  The heat of his anger had died, but the hot scent of him lingered, waiting to be drawn into her lungs. Her mouth open against his throat, Cecilia slid her lips along the edge of his high, starched collar, savoring his exotic sandalwood cologne and his own ethereal male scent. Sweet heaven, she’d never known a man could smell so enticing.

  Cecilia let her hands drift over him in wonder-wonderment. David was tall, much taller than she, and slender, like a cat, narrow-hipped and broad-shouldered. A tailor’s dream. A woman’s fantasy. God knew he’d haunted her sleep often enough.

  Cecilia let her hands slide beneath his waistcoat and up his back, feeling him shiver under her touch. Raw, sensual energy coursed through him. Into her. As if to push her past all reason, David’s hand slipped between them and over her breast. Then he paused, gently lifting his face from hers.

  “Yes,” she whispered, refusing to hold his gaze.

  It was enough. With one hand, David jerked the green silk dress off her left shoulder, baring one breast. Cecilia had always thought them rather too ample. But David, apparently, did not. “Oh, God,” he whispered reverently. “So perfect.” He cupped her breast in his hand, then lightly brushed his thumb over her nipple, watching as it hardened to his touch.

  And then, to her shock, he bent his head and took her in his mouth, suckling gently, almost reverently. It was the end of Cecilia’s restraint. To hell with shouldn’t. She wanted him. Wanted to claw off her clothes. Strip off the skin which had bound her for so long to something she wasn’t. The right and the wrong could wait. Under the onslaught of David’s fingers, her hair was tumbling down. She shrugged the other shoulder out of her dress, fighting the urge to rip the silk from her flesh.

  But David had other thoughts. Abruptly, he tore his mouth from her breast and drew her back to him. “Enough, Cecilia,” he rasped against her cheek. “Good God, that’s enough. We—I—must stop. This is insanity.”

  Cecilia forced herself to look up at him. The sheer beauty of him nearly wrenched her heart from her chest. “Do you not want me?” she whispered.

  In her arms, he trembled, his eyes falling shut. Without looking, he lifted his hand and ran the back of it along the softness of her cheek. “Wanting doesn’t make this right,” he answered softly. Nonetheless, his hand fell away, and slowly, oh so slowly, he dropped his head to hers.

  If his first kiss had been like fire, this one was like molten lava. It poured over her, weighing down her muscles, dragging her against him. His mouth molded to hers as his tongue slid sinuously inside, coaxing and probing the depths of her desire. The desperate need to possess him, to take him inside and make him a part of her, was undeniable. Cecilia was only dimly aware that she had begun to drag his shirt hems from his trousers. That she was sliding her hands up the taut smoothness of his bare back.

  And then, his deft fingers were unfastening the buttons down the back of her dress.

  “Stays,” she managed to murmur against the hot flesh of his throat.

  “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, sweet,” he answered, shoving the green silk down her arms.

  “No,” she whimpered. “My stays!”

  But it seemed not to matter. Together, they had collapsed onto the floor. David dragged his body over hers, pressing her down into the softness of the carpet.

  “Oh, God, Cecilia,” he whispered, barely lifting his mouth from hers. “I have to be inside you. Now!”

  “Yes,” she answered as he fisted his hand in her skirts. David raised himself up on one arm, tugging at the fabric with rough, frantic motions. Suddenly, cool air breezed up her calves, then her thighs, even as the heat rushed up her face.

  David sat back on his haunches, pitching her shoes, stockings, and drawers aimlessly aside, as if he were afraid sanity might return. His motions were desperate, clumsy, too unlike the man she thought she knew. And dimly, Cecilia realized she looked more like a common trollop than a lady, with her bodice down about her waist and her skirts shoved up to her thighs.

  But need had overcome both modesty and pride. Eagerly, she reached for him. David ripped off his cravat and coat, and the sound of rending fabric split the air. Carelessly, he hurled them into the darkness. Cecilia’s hands slid beneath his shirt and up his belly which was lean and hard. In response, he sucked in his breath and began to fumble frantically at the close of his trousers.

  And suddenly, Cecilia froze. David’s manhood rose up from the crush of line
n and wool, larger and more powerful than she was sure it ought to be. She felt panic light her face. But it was too late to quibble. He braced himself over her with one arm, parted her flesh, and probed rather awkwardly at her entrance.

  And then, David went perfectly still. He made no move to enter her as she had expected. Instead, he simply stared down, his eyes drifting over her naked breasts, her shoulders, and finally coming to rest on her face.

  “David?” she whispered.

  In response, he simply lowered his body onto hers, his mouth open, his breath rasping against her ear. His hand came away from their joining, drifted up her body, and slid aimlessly through her hair, now loose at her temples.

  “What is it?” she asked softly.

  David heard the agonizing catch in her voice and felt deeply ashamed. And deeply confused.

  God help him, but he just... well, he couldn’t do it.

  Never in his life had his body failed him. More often than not, it had been a persistent nuisance. But it wasn’t persistent now. For when he had torn open his trousers and stared down at her half-naked body—the very one which had haunted his fantasies night after night—the doubt and confusion etched upon Cecilia’s face had brought everything vividly back.

  Good God, it might as well have been yesterday. Certainly, Cecilia looked as innocent and uncertain. And he—oh, he could even smell the sweet scent of hay and horse in the air! He could feel the stable floor tipping from beneath his feet and Cecilia’s firm, youthful body molding to his, even as her palms pressed him away, and he knew all too well his own reckless intent. His intent to take her, to use her body for his own gratification with little thought for hers. And he felt the shame flood over him. The certainty that he was his father all over again.

  “Oh, Cecilia,” he breathed against her flushed skin. “Oh, my dear, I—I don’t think I can... I mean, this just doesn’t feel... right.”

  But beneath him, Cecilia was already shaking with rage. Or so he assumed. Right up until the moment he felt the warm wetness of her tears streaming down her cheeks and onto his.

  Speechless, he rolled onto his side, dragging her with him until they faced one another, his back to the fire. His hand came up to push the curls back from her face, confirming the horrible truth.

  “Y-y-you don’t want me!” she softly wailed, biting into her fist.

  Suddenly, he understood. And she didn’t understand. Christ, what a nightmare. “Oh, Cecilia, darling!” he whispered. “That just isn’t true!”

  Lamely, she nodded, her rich red-gold curls scrubbing on the carpet. “Oh, y-yes, it is!” she sobbed weakly. “You d-don’t want me an-any more than Walrafen did! You’ve just been tormenting me. N-no-body ever wants me. The only men I attract are men like that horrid Edmund Rowland!” She drew a snuffled-fled breath. “And wh-what does that say about m-me?”

  If David had felt like a dog before, he certainly felt worse now. Roughly, he curled his arms about Cecilia and drew her body against his. She felt round and sweet, and he could feel her tears dampening his shirtfront. For a long moment, he simply held her as she cried, not knowing what to do or say. Certainly, he was ill prepared to deal with such an emotional outburst. The women he had known did not cry. Because they weren’t paid to.

  He wondered what that said about himself. Had he been purchasing something which felt fleetingly real but was, in truth, so deeply flawed and superficial, it bore no resemblance to reality?

  God, what a question! He would not—could not—think about it. He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Cecilia, my dear, you are beautiful. Any man in his right mind would desire you.”

  “Don’t lie to me, David,” she sniffed miserably into his shirt. “You don’t. Decent men never do.”

  David was taken aback by her phrasing. Decent? That sounded a damned sight better than his old depiction of a devil-may-care fribble. Somehow he’d gotten promoted. Was there hope? Gently, he pushed her a little away and stared into her limpid eyes. “Cecilia,” he said with a sardonic laugh, “you have obviously never noticed how men watch you move through a room. For if you had, you would know how wrong you are.”

  As if she were embarrassed, Cecilia dashed a tear from beneath her eye. “You kissed me that day in the mission,” she said almost accusingly. “I thought then that you wanted me.”

  “And I did,” he ruefully admitted. “Cecilia, a man’s desire is a complicated thing.”

  “Apparently so,” she agreed a little bitterly.

  “Oh, Cecilia,” he moaned, dragging her a little nearer, his humiliation all but forgotten. “What am I to do with you?”

  Suddenly, a strange thought struck him. A thought which explained a good deal. But how the devil did a gentleman ask? Awkwardly, he grappled. “Cecilia, your marriage... did Walrafen not want... or I should say, could he not... um—perform?”

  “Not really.” She snuffled moistly. “He said... well, he said I was pretty. And he tried. Two or three times. But he never did anything. I just don’t think I was attractive to him. But afterward, he would always pat me on the head and—and tell me what a dutiful wife I was.” Her voice rose pitifully, catching on an agonizing sob. “But I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t anything I wanted to be. And I think he believed me too stupid to know the difference.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, how embarrassing,” corrected Cecilia witheringly. “And I cannot believe I am telling you this.”

  “Cecilia,” David said gently, “you were begging me to make love to you. Trust me, I would have figured it out.”

  “Oh, it’s too awful!” she moaned.

  “Darling, it isn’t awful,” he whispered, trying not to delight in Walrafen’s conjugal failures. “It happens. Your husband wasn’t a young man. I’m sure... I’m sure he did his best.” But inwardly, David thought Cecilia’s breasts alone could resurrect a man from the dead. Indeed, he was beginning to feel a little hopeful himself.

  “Then why did he m-marry me?” Cecilia sobbed, obviously unaware of David’s rekindling interest.

  Probably to spite his son, whom he delighted in tormenting, David inwardly considered. But he bit back the words, for they were the last thing Cecilia needed to hear. “He married you because you were beautiful and desirable,” he softly answered. “And I am sure he loved you very much.”

  “But you do not even have to like someone to want to bed them,” she said quietly. “Even I know that much.” Gracelessly, Cecilia struggled into a seated position on the rug and began to tug at the sleeves of her gown, discreetly covering herself. Strangely, her quiet, resigned motions made David want to cry, too. It seemed so sad, so wrong somehow.

  He struggled onto his knees before her, hitching his trousers over his hipbones. He did want her. He had always wanted her, had he not? Indeed, he very much feared that what he felt for her was something worse—and infinitely more confusing—than desire.

  But all Cecilia wanted was to be found desirable. And somewhere along the way, she’d obviously misunderstood what that word meant. No doubt he had had a hand in that little bit of cruelty, for six years ago, she had been far too young and inexperienced for a man of his ilk. In response, she’d married someone who, in comparison to him, no doubt looked sane and trustworthy.

  And yet, David had very nearly succeeded in seducing her—an eighteen-year-old virgin. And what if he had? Could life have turned out any more miserable—for either of them? Abruptly, he sat up, speaking rapidly before he could change his mind. “I’ll tell you what the trouble is, Cecilia,” he said awkwardly. “It is this room. I mean, this floor. The rug. Why, for pity’s sake, this isn’t romantic. This isn’t the way a gentleman ought to treat a woman as precious as you.”

  Nervously, she blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  David leaned forward to cradle her face in his hands. Gently, he kissed her. “Look, Cecilia—if you want me,” he said softly, “if you are unerringly certain that this is what you want, if you can say it honestl
y, when your mind is not clouded by lust, then let me take you upstairs to your bed. Let me do a proper job of loving you. In the way that you deserve. And I promise, I will not fail you.”

  For a heartbeat, Cecilia was silent, then gradually, she reached out her hand for his. “I know,” she said softly.

  Cecilia had no recollection of how they made their way up the two flights of stairs in the dark. Dimly, she was aware of pushing open her bedchamber door and of being led across the room to her small four-poster bed. And then, David sat down on the edge of the mattress and drew her between his legs. He looked up at her as she stood there, his eyes dark and glittering by the light of the lamp Etta had left burning.

  Outside, the freezing rain had turned to sleet, lashing at the windows in sheets. Within, the room was a sanctuary, bathed in warmth and soft firelight. The flames from the hearth cast shifting light and shadow over David’s face, emphasized the aristocratic elegance of his bones, the dark intensity of his expression. Silently, he reached up and began to pull the pins from her hair.

  When at last her hair was down about her shoulders, David turned his attention to the sagging bodice of her gown. “Cecilia, you are sure?” he rasped. His hand trembled almost imperceptibly as he urged the other sleeve down her shoulder, baring her flesh inch by inch.

  Cecilia stared down at his long, elegant fingers as they drew the silk down her arm. “Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Just show me how to please you.”

  “Cecilia,” he answered tenderly, “you do please me. I have only to look upon you, and I am pleased to the point of madness.”

  And then, as if he’d said something which made him uncomfortable, David jerked to his feet and turned her around. His fingers moved down her back, swiftly freeing the row of tiny buttons as his lips brushed first her neck, then her collarbone. “I—I’m wearing stays,” she whispered nervously.

  “I shall manage.”

  “Oh.” Cecilia felt her face flush with heat. Of course he could manage. “I daresay you’ve undressed a great many women,” she added a little miserably.