Page 16 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Then he moved the spoon to her lips.
“Eat,” he said. “Open for me.”
Oh my!
Clara glanced about the room—surely the company would see, merely from her face, what scandalous sensations he was eliciting. But they were occupied elsewhere—Miss Goodchild with what looked like her third bowl of syllabub, Corn and Nate laughing together, and her parents deep in conversation, with eyes only for each other.
“Eyes onme, lass.”
Her body resonated with his low command, and she met his gaze while she slipped the spoon into her mouth. The flavor burst on her tongue—the tang of lemon, balanced by the creamy, smooth sweetness—and she let out a groan.
“Do ye take pleasure at my hand?”
She drew in a sharp breath. His potency assaulted her senses—the spicy scent of man, his low voice vibrating through her center, and his strong, firm hand. How was it that a man could elicit such a desire to yield on a first acquaintance?
“I—I cannot…”
He released her hand and withdrew, and she fought the sense of loss.
“Forgive me, Miss Martingale,” he said. “Miss Peacock is right—I’m a savage compared to the company tonight.”
“As am I,” Clara said, dipping her spoon into her dessert once more.
“But I’d be false if I said that I wouldn’t take immense pleasure from feeding ye each bite of that dessert.”
She closed her eyes, battling the primal desire thickening in her belly.
He leaned back. “It’s too intimate an act to perform in public—but I enjoy many such intimate acts.”
“Such as?” Clara asked before she could stop herself.
He let out a low growl. “Oh, Miss Martingale, ye shouldn’t ask a question if ye’re not prepared to hear the answer.”
The ache between her legs intensified and she squeezed her thighs together. His nostrils flared, as if he scented her need, and shame engulfed her. Then she glanced up and saw her mother staring across the dining room, her sharp, insightful gaze fixed on Clara. Mama loved her dearly, but even she’d be shocked at the wicked thoughts in Clara’s mind.
Then Mama glanced at Clara’s companion and her gaze darkened with disapproval. Mama wanted her to marry a gentleman—to lift her from the life of savagery she’d been raised in. The man next to her—the only man for whom she felt any interest—was doubtless the very last man Mama would want to associate with her.
And the last thing Clara wanted to do was disappoint the mother who loved her more than life—the woman who had sacrificed everything for her.
Chapter Three
Devil’s ballocks, shewas a fine lass, indeed!
The wicked gleam in her eyes as she devoured the piece of chicken like a savage spoke of a wild abandon begging to be unleashed.
And Murdo had learned from the moment he knew what his cock was for that women who relished their food with such abandon made the best bedmates. If the little sighs and groans Miss Martingale elicited were anything to go by, she would howl like a wildcat in heat when she came to pleasure.
As he guided the dessert spoon to her mouth, his cock twitched with eagerness to be buried inside her, and he’d almost spent at her wicked response when he referred tointimate acts.
He’d noticed the disapproving look from the duchess—what man could fail to feel those sharp eyes burning into him? But her daughter was a wild, wanton creature. Did the duchess know how wild she was? No innocent young maiden would meet his gaze with such a wicked expression in her eyes and not understand his meaning. Maidens untouched by a man carried an air about them—a lack of understanding of the pleasures that could be taken from their bodies.
It mattered not that she was unlikely to be a maiden. With a woman such as her in his bed, he’d not be starved of pleasure.
As the footmen cleared the plates, Lady Cholmondeley announced the resumption of the dancing, and the party filed into the ballroom. As Miss Martingale rose, Murdo caught her hand.
“May I partner ye for this next dance?”
“I lack the talent for it,” she said. “Miss Peacock says I’m a clumsy fool.”
