Page 77 of Rules for Heiresses
“It’s one dance.”
It was one dance, but the thought of Sommers touching her made him see red. He gritted his teeth, his rage simmering beneath his skin. Why would Ravenna agree to such a thing? She loathed the man. But the answer came to him as quickly as he’d asked the question. His wife’s face was tight, indicating her discomfort, but her smile was all single-minded politesse.Purposeful. Damn her infuriating, stubborn ways!
“What is she doing?” he ground out.
“What you told her not to, I imagine,” Waterstone said, relaxing his grip as though he was no longer worried about Courtland dashing off to play the hero. “Your duchess is…tenacious at the best of times.”
“Reckless,” he hissed. “Sommers is not someone to be toyed with.”
“Nor is she,” Waterstone said. “She’s bloody dauntless. I swear, if you hadn’t married her, I would have fallen head over heels in love with her myself. In fact, I might well be.”
“Just do your job. Watch her.”
“What are you going to do?”
But Courtland was already slipping around the periphery, keeping to the shadows of the ballroom like a shadow himself. He didn’t stop until he was a stone’s throw away from the dancing couple. His rage bloomed anew at the sight of the blackguard’s grasping hand on his wife’s waist. One day, when this was all over, he’d break those fingers that dared to touch what wasn’t his to touch. But not now.
Ravenna’s laughter rang out, and Courtland strained to listen to their conversation.
“You should visit my estate in South Carolina.”
“Should I?” Ravenna asked. For a moment, it felt like her eyes swept over where he stood hidden in the shadows of a statue and a fern. “I find myself…bored of late. Perhaps a change in…situation might help. Are you planning to head back soon, then?”
Courtland’s fists flexed as his wife gave the man a coy smile and Sommers licked his fleshy lips. Courtland’s blood boiled. What the hell was she doing? The American’s face twisted into a faint scowl, and Courtland’s foolhardy little wife was quick to pounce on it.
“Is something amiss, Mr. Sommers?”
“A minor inconvenience. Nothing to worry that pretty little head about.”
“Perhaps I can help,” she said.
He gave her a patronizing smile. “Not unless you own a ship.”
Courtland froze in shock. Could it truly be that easy? He felt his wife’s satisfaction from where he hid, rolling through her like a cat discovering the biggest bowl of cream known to man.
“But I do, Mr. Sommers. After all, what is my husband’s is mine to command.”
Sommers stared at her, eyes narrowed, but then he smiled as the last strains of the dance ended. He lifted her hand up to press a kiss to the back of it. Ravenna lowered her gaze, quick to hide the flash of revulsion, but Courtland still saw it.
“Perhaps I will take you up on that offer. Thank you for the dance.”
Once Sommers was out of sight, Courtland lost no time in dragging his rebellious wife off into a deserted room down the hall. He slammed the door shut and opened his mouth to give her the blistering she deserved when she rose up on tiptoes, crashing her lips to his. Her sweet tongue invaded his mouth as she clutched at him in frantic urgency. Ravenna arched her spine, gluing herself to him as much as their cumbersome clothing would allow. She demanded his participation and he gave it, matching her ferocity as his mouth claimed hers, tongues dueling for dominance and then gentling to something less like war.
“I need you, Courtland,” she rasped, breathless and breaking away to fumble at the fly of his trousers. “Erase the memory of his hands on me with yours.”
Panting, he stared down at her, reason returning with fury fresh on its heels. “Why would you do that? Engage him?”
“He needs a ship. I offered him one.”
Courtland blinked. “I think he’s expecting a lot more to come with that offer.”
“I don’t want to talk about Sommers.” He groaned as her hand found him, hot and hard and pulsating. “In fact, I don’t wish to talk at all.” She shoved him back onto a nearby settee, the backs of his legs hitting the frame. With a yank of his buttons, his trousers slid over his hips, baring his obscenely jutting length to his wife’s hot gaze. A bead of arousal gathered over his aching tip. To his utter shock, his wife bent, gathered it with a heated swipe of her tongue over the head, and then shoved him backward.
She moaned, as if savoring the taste of him. “More of that later, I promise.”
His cock jerked at the hunger in her eyes.
“Someone could come in,” he rasped, falling back onto the cushions. He hadn’t locked the door. Anyone could discover them. It wasn’t in him to care about scandal, but for some reason, he did.
