Page 37 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
The cool sheets felt heavenly against his skin, and he flopped on his back, his hand slipping down.
There were no rules against fucking Millicent in his mind. If he couldn’t have her body, at least he could imagine all that soft, tantalising flesh pressed against him. And after his sneak peek, he had all the inspiration he needed.
Closing his eyes, he thought of her full breasts, strawberry nipples puckered and aching for his touch. He would press open-mouthed kisses against her skin, circling ever closer to the sensitive buds, then finally, when Millicent was crazed withneed, when her husky voice demanded satisfaction, he would cover one nipple with his hot mouth and taste her sweetness. His fingers would pinch and squeeze the other nub as he devoured her. Light licks, hard sucks, bites that blended pleasure and pain. She would scream his name as he plundered.
His hand fisted his cock in hard strokes. Digging his heels into the mattress, Drake savoured the sizzle of desire pulsing at the base of his spine.
He thought of her mouth at dinner, her tongue licking the spoon. It was so easy to imagine her glorious mass of flaming hair falling through his fingers as he guided her head down his body. She would take his pulsing cock in her mouth, her plump lips tightening around him in glorious, wet heat. His hand became her lips as he imagined her pink tongue swirling around his head, licking the sensitive slit where seed spilled from him in arcing jets.
He cried out, lost to his fantasy, as his body reached the precipice and flew higher.
For a blissful moment, he hovered in the ether. Neither man nor spirit. Just sensation. But inevitably, the glory dissipated, and he returned to himself.
The fantasy wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But as Drake rose to clean himself, he sent a fleeting prayer to a God he no longer believed in that it would grant him control of his unrelenting hunger. For now. That it would allow him to keep the distance he so desperately needed.
Then he remembered the words he’d murmured.
Lie still, my love.
His mind recoiled. Surely not. Lust was bad enough. Love was impossible. Just the thought chased away any lingering need and replaced it with cold determination.
Millicent Whittenburg was many things, but she would not become his destruction. He would fight her with every weapon in his arsenal if he must.
‘She is just a means to allow me greater freedom in my investigations. One more mission assigned by the prime minister. I will not fail him. And I will not break my promise.’
Sharing his past with Millicent reminded him of how devastating a woman could be. Love would not lay Drake bare again. Some wounds never healed.
Light filtered through the drapes, and the scent of toast and tea tickled Millie’s nose. She was face down on the bed and started to roll over when streaks of fire lashed her back. Her wounds were not yet healed, but the salve was helping.
‘Don’t move, miss. Not yet. Let me reapply the balm and wrap your back. Then you can have some nice, coddled eggs, toast, tea, and lemon-currant scones. One of Cook’s best recipes.’ Penny bustled over from her washbasin with a tray carrying white bandages and the pot of medicine.
Millie lifted her head from the pillow, then let it fall back down, content to let Penny fuss over her for a few more minutes before she needed to put her shields back on, go downstairs, and face her stepmother. Not to mention the hordes of guests arriving today for her wedding.
Penny finished bandaging Millie’s back and brought the tray of delicious breakfast treats over to set on her lap.
Four days left. She would be marrying Beau in just four more sunrises. It was impossible not to remember his kind, gentle care last night. But she couldn’t let her heart melt as it so desperately wanted to do. Her mission for the Queen must take precedence.
And to accomplish her task, she would need to speak with Franklin St George.
‘Ugh,’ she muttered, crunching on a slice of toast with butter and preserves.
‘Is something not to your liking, miss?’ Penny watched her with a sharp gaze.
Millie forced a smile. ‘No, it’s lovely.’
She refused to think of Franklin St George just yet. Or the daunting task of getting him to divulge his secrets to her while trying to maintain the image of a devoted wife-to-be. Though after last night, that didn’t seem quite so difficult to pretend.
Am I pretending?
Her memories of the past evening invaded her mind once more. She couldn’t forget the feather-soft kiss Drake pressed to her shoulder before leaving. Or when he called her ‘my love’.
Sweet saints and sinners. The man is impossible. To resist.
But resist him she must. What good would come of being devoted to her husband? A man who would certainly forbid her activities with Lady Philippa if he were ever to guess. A man who was used to issuing commands and watching others scramble to follow them. If she let her affections for him grow, her freedom would decrease in equal measure. Devotion was just another term for beholden, and she would not give up her freedom. Not for a man and his fickle fancies.
She had been devoted to two men in her past. Her father and Franklin St George. Both men had proven the folly of trusting her heart to anyone but herself.
Millie once thought her father’s love was forever. He told her when she was just a girl, he would never force her to leave their family home. She could stay with him as a spinster for as long as she wished in a house full of books and cats and vases of freshly cut hyacinths sweetening the air. They would chase butterflies in the flower garden, lie out on the grass making magical kingdomsout of the clouds, and stay up well past her bedtime to watch the stars twinkle into wakefulness in a black, velvet sky. She was his sweet pea, and he was her pea-brained papa… two peas in a pod. Until she dallied with St George. Not long after, he met Patricia. Those two events changed everything.
