Page 23 of How to Seduce a Viscount
Open doors, returning housekeepers and wandering servants all ceased to be a priority at the first lick of his tongue. Wren dug her hands into the walnut surface of the table, a moan escaping her despite her efforts for silence. What servants couldn’t see, they could still hear, but she was very close to not caring about that either. This was a delicious payback for last night when she’d mouthed him with the brandy. Yet even in the midst of such ecstasy, the nasty reminder intruded. There would be a price for this pleasure. Every day she withheld her secrets she was betraying him, and he would hate her for it. Her heart pounded a single message in every beat.Tell him.Tell him. But how could she betray the earl? To tell would be to fail in her final mission.
Luce flicked his tongue over the secret centre of her pleasure and a primal groan purled up her throat. She thumped the flat of her hand on the table, begging for obliteration that would take her past the doubts in her mind. She was beyond control. Beyond caring who heard her. Dear heavens, he was a master at this—driving her to the edge of completion and then drawingher back until all she wanted was the release that taunting her on the horizon of her desire. Her body was a riot of sensation. A contradiction of wants. She wanted him to hurry yet she wanted him to linger. She wanted him to give her release yet she wanted him to extend this decadent limbo for as long as possible. Shecouldendure this pleasure yet she couldnotendure it. She would surely die if she could not claim that pleasure soon…
And then he set her free. His own breathing laboured. His hands gripping her thighs hard as he let her claim release, let her soar among the clouds, her face raised to the timbered ceiling and its blackened Tudor beams. Her eyes closed as her soul roamed another realm. A realm that only pleasure could access and to which Luce was the key.
She moved a languid hand to his head resting at her thigh and tangled her fingers gently in his hair.
‘Luce,’ she whispered his name as if that one word was enough, as if it contained all meaning necessary to convey the emotions of the moment. This had been both worshipful and wicked, pious and profane.
He looked up from his intimate crouch, an enviable, self-satisfied smile on his decadent mouth. ‘I believe the answer is yes, to both questions.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed softly, ‘I do believe you’re right.’ She would have liked to have remained there on the table until every last echo of pleasure had passed but that would have been too long.
‘Mrs Hartley is expecting me to go over the menu for tomorrow night.’
If she didn’t go to Mrs Hartley, Mrs Hartley would come looking for her and Wren would rather not be found sitting on the table, her skirts askew and her cheeks flushed.
She drew her skirts down and whet her lips. ‘Do I look ravaged?’
‘Only I would know.’ Luce leaned forward for a kiss, something soft in his eyes.
‘It will be our secret,’ he whispered at her ear. ‘You can think about this when the vicar sits down to supper. Then you’ll smile and the vicar will ask you why you’re smiling. You will have to make something up, of course.’
‘Lie to the vicar? How wicked.’ Wren wrapped her arms about his neck and drew him close, intent on a little mischief of her own. ‘Maybe I’ll tell him the truth,’ she murmured, ‘that the day before, Lord Waring pleasured me most thoroughly with his mouth at this very table and it was so divine I cannot stop thinking about it.’
Luce gave a primal growl. ‘You minx. You’d give him a fit before the first course.’
She tapped him on the nose. ‘Will I do it or not? Nowyouhave something to think about as well while you polish the silver.’
She’d levelled the pitch with her parting remark, but knowing Luce would also be distracted in his chores didnotmake discussing menus any easier. The domesticity of the chore in fact inspired further distraction.
What would it be like to be part of this home? To support the running of it for the man who lived within its walls? To raise a family with him? To balance life at Tillingbourne with life within the network? To be part of the Parkhurst clan?
But that was not the promise they’d made each other.
It was supremely difficult to concentrate with the echoes of Luce’s touch so fresh on her body. Marking her, tempting her to confess her secrets, luring her with dreams of an impossible future. To no longer be on the outside looking in on all that love and togetherness? To have an anchor in this world when the earl passed? To support Luce, to never leave the game? To be hispartner in all levels of his life—his home, his family and his work. Living in a village with Luce would never be boring.
‘Miss, did you have a preference on the venison or the roast? Mrs Hartley prompted and Wren had the distinct feeling she’d let her thoughts wander in the midst of a question.
‘A roast. You do beef so nicely, Mrs Hartley. Perhaps your gravy to go alongside and one of your syllabubs for dessert?’
Wren recovered only to be distracted once more with the appearance of Luce at the sitting room door, brandishing a note and wearing a smile. ‘What is it?’
‘The vicar has written to ask if we might postpone our supper for a night so that we could all attend the assembly in town. The town officials thought it would be a good idea to offer some impromptu entertainment for all those stranded here by the weather. There will be dancing and refreshment at the Hound and Fox tomorrow evening in the upstairs assembly rooms.’ He flashed her a boyish grin. ‘What do you think? Are you up for a bit of dancing, Wren?’
‘Most definitely.’ Her mind was already reeling with possibilities as she rose, menus forgotten. The vicar’s guests would be there. She could dance with them. In a crowd it would be easy to slip a hand into a pocket…
Luce gripped her forearm and pulled her into the hallway. ‘What are you thinking, Wren?’ his voice was gruff, his gaze stern.
She flashed a feminine smile. ‘What does any girl think of when going to a dance? What am I going to wear? If Mrs Hartley can help me find some ribbon, I can dress up the second gown enough to do for tomorrow. If there are slippers in the attic, perhaps I could borrow them for a night. Slippers never really go out of style and they’ll be hidden beneath my skirts.’ She shot him an impish grin, meaning to tease him and distract him from reading her true thoughts. ‘Unless of course, someone were topull my skirts up again. Are there many fifteenth-century tables at the tavern?’
Luce growled appreciably, pressing her to the wall. ‘I love a woman who knows her own mind.’ His mouth was at her ear, sending delicious shivers down her spine. There was something undeniably erotic about intimacy in a public space where one might be interrupted at any moment. ‘Are you sure you’re not thinking about picking certain guests’ pockets tomorrow night instead of waiting for our supper party?’
She slipped beneath his arm. ‘No, I was thinking about where I could put my stiletto.’ It wasn’t a lie but she was betting on the remark being too bold to be believable.
Luce’s face broke into a grin. ‘You’re a dreadful tease, Wren Audley.’
‘Are you sure I am teasing?’ She’d found that the bolder the claim, the less likely people were to take it seriously. Even Luce wasn’t sure what to make of it.
