Wicked Intentions

  Then she looked into his face.

  “Very well,” he said. “But don’t be disappointed if this doesn’t work. I’ll still love you no matter what.”

  She felt tears prick her eyes at his calm acceptance of her and what she wanted to do. Whatever happened, they were in this together and that at least made her feel better.

  Bit by bit, one article of clothing at a time, she undressed him in near-complete silence. By the time they got down to his smallclothes, she was out of breath and he was already erect under the cloth. Her hands shook as she divested him of his last article of clothing.

  She stood back and looked at him.

  He was magnificent nude. His silver hair spread over his shoulders, long enough to brush his dark nipples. In contrast, the hair on his body was nearly black. Dark curls swirled between his nipples in a diamond-shaped pattern on his chest. His hard belly was bare, but just below his navel, the dark hair began again, in a thin line that trailed to the curls around his manhood. His legs were long and strong, his shoulders broad and muscled. And his eyes—dear God, his eyes!—watching her silently, sparkling sapphire blue, as he waited for her next move.

  “Tell me if I go too far,” she whispered. “If it hurts too much, if you want to stop.”

  His deep sapphire eyes were trusting. “I will.”

  She placed her palms flat against his bare chest, firmly, and gently pushed him to sit on the bed. She was expecting his flinch by this point, but she didn’t give in to it, keeping her hands against his warm skin as he inhaled deeply. When he had settled, she slid her palms slowly down his torso, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the tickling abrasion of his body hair. She watched his eyes as they darkened to midnight blue; she paused and then slid her hands back up his chest.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted to simply look at your bare body for so long.”

  His mouth twisted, but he didn’t comment. He inhaled, his chest swelling and deflating beneath her palms. He was so alive, so vital, and for the moment he was all hers.

  She gave a gentle shove, making him lie back on the bed.

  His eyes narrowed, but he lay obediently.

  She went to his chest of drawers and searched until she found his neatly folded neckcloths. She drew five out and turned back to his great bed. “When you tied me, I was forced to accept your lovemaking without giving in return. I’d like to do the same for you.”

  His eyes widened, but he nodded once, firmly.

  She began tying his right ankle to the post at the bottom of the bed. She finished that foot and looked at him. He was breathing faster, but his eyes were calm. She tied his other foot and both his wrists. The knots were loose, and in any case, she was fairly certain he could tear himself free from the bonds if he truly wished. But that didn’t matter. The point was merely to give him the feeling of helplessness.

  And to that end, she approached the bed with the last neckcloth between her fingers.

  His sapphire eyes glittered as she laid the neckcloth across them and tied it firmly to the back of his head. She brushed her fingers over his cheek. “All right?”

  He cleared his throat. “Oh, yes.”

  His voice sounded sensuous. Anticipatory.

  She stood back and looked at her handiwork. He filled the huge bed. She’d tied his wrists to one post. His fisted hands were stretched over his head, the muscles bulging in his upper arms. The neckcloth covered his face from his brow to the middle of his nose. His lips were parted as he waited for her next move, his face turned to her as if he tracked her movements by sound. She shivered, remembering how it had felt when he blindfolded her—her senses primed by the dark. His broad chest heaved. His penis lay thick and ruddy against the paler skin of his flat belly.

  Dear God, she was growing wet merely looking at him. For the first time in her life, she welcomed her own arousal. She half closed her eyes, glorying in the sensation of her heavy breasts, of her thighs rubbing together. This was who she was, whether she liked it or not, a woman who wanted and needed sex. Who loved sex. And tonight she would use that part of herself—the part she’d always despised—to heal this man she loved.

  Quietly, she removed her clothing, bodice, stays, dress, underskirts, stockings, and shoes. When she took off her chemise, his nostrils flared. Could he scent her arousal? She could smell it herself, faint and tangy. She would usually be wildly embarrassed at her own body’s scent and moisture, but she willed the embarrassment away.

  She needed to be bold and without fear to do this.

  For a moment, she stood by the bed, not touching him, not moving, merely breathing in and out, feeling her own body, watching his. Then she touched one finger to his nipple—as he had once done to her. His chest heaved at the touch, but he made no sound.

  “I love you.” She circled his nipple, small and dark against his pale skin. It pebbled as she touched him. She inhaled as well, her chest suddenly tight. He was at her mercy, this powerful, lonely man, both physically and emotionally. If she made the wrong move, she might hurt him terribly, for she knew now that she could hurt him, and the realization was wondrous and strange.

  Somehow, by some miracle, she mattered to him.

  “All of you.” She leaned forward and placed her mouth against his chest, kissing him, stroking him with her lips, trying to convey all she felt. She licked his nipple, circled it with her tongue, tasting man, tasting Caire. She took that small bit of flesh between her lips and bit gently, carefully, listening as his breath quickened.

  “I think I’ve loved you since that first night when you surprised me in my sitting room.”

  Her breath quickened as well, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. She climbed on the bed and straddled his hips, but when he pressed up, she ignored him, sliding lower, her legs on either side of his thighs.

  “Or perhaps it was when you talked to me so shamefully in your carriage that first time.” She lay flat on him, her breasts crushed just above his hot penis, her forearms along his sides, touching him with as much of her body as she could. “Do you remember?”

  “Ye-es,” he hissed.

  She felt his body shudder, knew she was hurting him with just her gentle touch, but she pressed on. She licked down his chest, feeling the tears start in her eyes as his heartbeat thudded under her lips. She was causing him pain and she hated it, but at the same time, she hurt him with all the love in the world.

  “Do you remember what you talked about? How you described me kneeling before you?”

  He shuddered.

  She took down her hair, letting it spread over his chest as she kissed around his navel. A soft sound left his lips, perhaps a moan, but she didn’t stop. She tongued her way to that special spot by his groin where his thigh met his hip, licking like a cat. She wriggled farther down him, stretching her legs full length along his, her feet hanging off the end of the bed, her breasts resting now atop his hard thighs.

  “And what I would do when I knelt before you?”

  His whole body stilled. Carefully, thoroughly, she licked over his hard cock, feeling it leap beneath her tongue. She bathed him with her tongue but didn’t take his penis into her mouth. His breathing was rough now, and she didn’t know whether it was from arousal or pain.

  Perhaps it didn’t matter anymore.

  “I was so aroused by your words,” she whispered. “So shamed and at the same time so excited. You were opening up a new world for me. A world in which I could be free. I want you to be free too.”

  She placed her head between his thighs and kissed his sac, gently, tenderly, inhaling his male musk. Then she turned her head and ran her mouth down first one thigh, then the other, leaving no spot untouched, leaving no bit of flesh unloved. By the time she reached his feet—big, but with surprisingly elegant arches—she was drenched with her own need. He no longer trembled, but when she looked toward the head of the bed, she saw his fists clenching the spindles of the headboard so tightly she feared he might br
eak them.

  Now.

  She flowed up him, bracing one hand on his shoulder, using the other to guide him into her. They both gasped at the penetration.

  “I love you,” she moaned.

  Her tears overflowed as she took him deep within her. She raised her bottom, letting him slide out once, twisting herself back down on him. Then she laid herself on him like a blanket, covering as much of his flesh with hers as she could. She found that she had to curl her legs next to his hips to keep him lodged within her depths, but she could spread herself over nearly all of his torso. Then she lay still, her head on his chest, his hot cock within her, listening to his leaping heartbeat under her ear.

  He was gasping beneath her.

  She raised her head a little and brushed her lips over his exposed jaw, trying to comfort him. “Is it all right?”

  But he wouldn’t answer. His hands were still fisted, the muscles in his upper arms bulging with his restrained strength. She watched his hands flex around the neckcloths, waiting to see if he’d tear himself free, feeling his hard length within her, pulsing with life.

  When after a while he still let her lay on him, she moved. A gentle circling of her hips, a mere rising and falling, like waves upon a great rock.

  She licked his throat, humming under her breath, comforting as she made love to him. He hardly moved within her. She wanted—needed—this to last. At the same time, her desire was rising. She ground herself against him, using his body to pleasure herself, even as she tried to convey all he meant to her.

  He made a sound, perhaps a sob, and she closed her eyes, rubbing her wet face against his jaw.

  “Temperance.” He moved his face then, catching her lips. “Dear God, Temperance!”

  She kissed him gladly, letting him thrust his tongue into her mouth, letting him take control in this small way.

  Her movements slowed until she was merely pulsing against him, concentrating on his cock filling her completely, on his hips against the inside of her thighs, on his tongue within her mouth. It began gradually, naturally, like the dawning of the sun, a warmth starting at her center and spreading throughout her body. She hardly noticed until she was clenching inside, sobbing noiselessly against his mouth. She felt him jerk inside her, felt all of his muscles tense beneath hers. She knew he was reaching his peak as well and continued to kiss him. Gently. Softly. Telling him all she felt with just her body.

  He relaxed, his spasm spent, while she still lay on him, her flesh wet with both their fluids, delicately sensitized. She had enough presence of mind to reach up and untie his hands.

  Then she tucked her head under his chin and lay quiet, his cock still lodged within her, and whispered, “I love you, Lazarus Huntington. I love you.”

  * * *

  “DOES IT STILL hurt when I touch you?” Temperance asked sometime later.

  She and Caire had bathed and supped and made love again, and now they sprawled nude upon his bed. She lay on her side, her legs tangled with his, rubbing her palm over his chest. She couldn’t seem to touch him enough.

  Caire turned his head, his sapphire eyes meeting her own. “No, your touch no longer pains me. I think you have indeed cured me. It tingles a bit, but the sensation is not painful.” He caught her hand, rubbing her fingers over his nipple. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  Happiness streaked like a golden light through her, but she kept her face grave. “Are you sure? Perhaps we should test your endurance further.”

  His lips curved rather wickedly, and he brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing each one slowly and carefully until Temperance nearly squirmed. “Is that a challenge, madam?”

  She lowered her eyelashes demurely, her heart pounding at their flirtation. “Perhaps.”

  “Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint.” His voice had turned serious, and when she looked up again, his face had lost its former teasing look. “I never want to disappoint you.”

  “You won’t,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes as if pained. “I am not the man you would’ve chosen on your own, I think.”

  She laid a palm on his cheek. “Why do you say that?”

  His eyes snapped open, and he suddenly rolled to bring her beneath him. “Because I am selfish and vain and venal—nothing, in fact, like you or the men in your family. Don’t think I’m unaware of that fact. I don’t deserve you, Temperance, but it doesn’t matter. You have told me you love me, and I’ll not let you change your mind, now or ever.”

  He lay on her heavily, his legs between her spread thighs, and she was aware that he was erect and ready again. It was a position of dominance, one meant to enforce his will.

  But she looked up at him and smiled gently. “What makes you think I didn’t choose you?”

  His dark brows snapped together. “What?”

  She threaded her fingers through his glorious silver hair. “You are exactly what I want, exactly what I need. You are honest and strong and fearless, and you make me fearless too. You don’t let me hide behind excuses and prevarication; you make me face myself and you as well. I love you, Lazarus. I love you.”

  “Then marry me,” he said fiercely.

  She gasped, the prospect of happiness shimmering so close she could almost reach out and touch it. “But… what about your mother?”

  He arched an arrogant eyebrow. “What about my mother?”

  Temperance bit her lip. “I’m not an aristocrat—I’m not even close. Father was a beer brewer. Surely your mother and the rest of society will disapprove of marriage to me? After the fire, I don’t even have anything to my name but the clothes I wore today!”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true,” he drawled, and his sapphire eyes seemed to glow in the shadows of the curtained bed. “You have a very fine piano.”

  “I do?”

  “You do,” he said, and kissed her nose. “I ordered it only a couple of weeks ago as a surprise present, and as it wasn’t delivered before the fire—it wasn’t, was it?”

  “No.”

  “There you are,” he said loftily. “You have a piano and a full set of clothes, and that’s plenty dowry to marry me.”

  “But you provided the piano!” Temperance couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading over her face. A piano? Lazarus might call himself selfish, but it was the sweetest gift she’d ever received.

  “Where the piano came from is of no matter, Mrs. Dews,” Lazarus replied. “The fact is you own it. As for society, it can go hang. I’ll wager the thing the gossip mongers will be most scandalized by is that I found a lady to consent to be my wife.”

  “And your mother?”

  “And my mother will no doubt be extremely happy that I’ve married at all.”

  “But—”

  He nudged himself against her damp folds, and she lost whatever objection she was about to make.

  “Oh!”

  She looked up and saw he was so very close, his silver hair falling like a curtain to either side of her face.

  “Will you marry me, Mrs. Dews,” he whispered, “and save me from a life of loneliness and uncaring?”

  “I will if you’ll save me from a joyless life filled with only work and duty.”

  His blue eyes flamed, and then he was kissing her passionately. He pulled back only long enough to say, “Then you’ll marry me, my sweet Mrs. Dews?”

  “Yes,” she laughed. “Yes, I’ll marry you and love you until the end of both our days, my Lord Caire.”

  And she would’ve said more, but he was kissing her again and it didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was that he loved her and she loved him.

  And that they’d found each other.

  Epilogue

  Now, a year passed and during that time, King Lockedheart grew more and more morose. One by one, he dismissed his courtiers until only a very few wise men remained. He grew weary of his beautiful concubines and he sent them, weeping, away. He sat alone in his great golden throne room on his velvet throne and wondered why he
felt this way. All that was left to keep him company was his little blue bird, but a bird cannot talk or laugh or smile.

  One day, a quiet knock came at the throne room doors, and when the king called for entry, who should come in but Meg the maid?

  Well, the king sat up straight, but soon his broad shoulders slumped again and he looked a bit sulky. “Where have you been?”

  “Oh, hither and yon and over all the wide world,” Meg said cheerfully. “I had a wonderful time.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll be going again?” the king asked.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Meg said as she sat at his feet. “How did you feel when I was gone?”

  “Lost. Empty,” the king said.

  “And now that I’ve returned?”

  “Happy. Joyful,” King Lockedheart growled as he scooped Meg into his lap and kissed her soundly.

  “Do you know what this is?” Meg asked in a whisper.

  “Love,” the king replied. “This is love, true and eternal, my sweet Meg. Will you be my queen?”

  “Oh, yes,” Meg said. “For I’ve adored you since first you had me dragged before you. We will be married and we’ll live happily ever after.”

  And so they did!

  THREE WEEKS LATER…

  The mornings were the hardest, Silence found. There just never seemed to be any reason to get up. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. William was gone, of course, four weeks now at sea and still no letter. That wasn’t so unusual, but the nagging feeling that he wouldn’t write at all this voyage was. Concord wasn’t speaking to her, except for one short lecturing letter that she’d burned because it might destroy any sisterly feeling she had for him should she read the whole thing. No one had heard from Asa.

  Silence sighed and rolled to her side, idly watching a fly buzz against the bedroom window. Temperance would be happy to have her come and help plan the wedding. But the sad thing was that Temperance’s happiness with Lord Caire contrasted depressingly with Silence’s estrangement from William. And jealousy of her own sister made Silence feel small, ugly, and bitter.