Mask of Nobility (Scandalous Scions Book 4) Page 8

  Moonlight bathed the hall runner, making the patterns of white glow among the reds and blacks. Bronwen stepped onto the carpet, which muffled her footsteps, grateful that Lilly followed the European custom of laying rugs even in little used areas such as corridors and hallways. It was an exorbitant practice, although it kept Bronwen’s bare feet off the cold floor.

  Her heart pattering, Bronwen eased along the corridor toward the door at the far end, listening to the silence in the big house.

  Did she intend to go through with this? The question rose in her mind, as if spoken by another. She fancied she could hear another woman’s voice asking it. It was not her mother’s voice, for Bronwen suspected her mother would only warn her to reduce the risk in her decision in any way she could. The voice she thought she could hear was Elisa’s. Or perhaps, Natasha’s. Except both women had taken equally bold risks when they were younger.

  As she moved down the dim corridor, Bronwen re-examined her reasoning one last time.

  Tor had not said he didn’t want her. He had said he could not—would not—indulge himself when there was no future in it.

  Only, Bronwen had caught him watching her throughout dinner. His contributions to the conversation had been sparse and absent-minded. His gaze had been heated.

  Bronwen excused herself immediately after the meal. She escaped, not to the library where he would find her, but to the sanctuary of her room where she could think in peace.

  Only there, Tor’s absence drove home a relevant fact she had overlooked.

  She wanted to indulge herself.

  It was the first time Bronwen had experienced a physical reaction to the nearness of another. Sexual arousal, the books had called it. Until now it had remained a scientific term in her mind, one that explained why people sometimes behaved in ways that seemed quite mad.

  Now she was personally acquainted with the power of the condition. It gnawed at her, making her restless and aware of her extremities. Her breasts ached. So did the juncture of her thighs and somewhere in the depths of her belly. Thinking of Tor and the way his gaze had lingered on her over supper made the sensations intensify.

  She knew what she needed to do to address the ache, only a woman of good character did not take such pleasure for herself. If Reverend Jamieson of the Northallerton priory was to be believed, a good woman never felt such wicked impulses at all.

  While the house grew quiet and still beyond her door, Bronwen wrestled with the immorality of what she was considering. To go to him would be wrong by every measure used to judge a lady.

  Only Bronwen had put her back to societal expectations, so shouldn’t such measures also be discarded? They were not empirical measurements. They were judgements. Reason said a normal woman would naturally experience such impulses.

  Therefore, she was perfectly normal.

  To appease such impulses, though…that was another matter altogether.

  Only, she had been willing to do that this afternoon, when she had kissed him. For a moment, it had made perfect sense to her to follow the kiss through to the logical conclusion.

  Tor had made her doubt. He had caused this confusion in her. He had made it seem like a good thing to refuse her. He had implied she was worthy of greater ambitions.

  As Bronwen drew closer to his bedroom door, her heart stuttered and raced. She trembled. Was she being selfish?

  She put her hand on the handle, took a breath and turned it. It was not locked.

  The door opened without a squeak. There was normal lamplight within. The opening door revealed that Tor was still awake, despite the hour. He stood at the window, staring through the lace curtains, his arms crossed and his feet spread, scowling.

  He looked around as the door opened and his eyes narrowed even more when he saw her. He had cast aside his jacket and waistcoat, collar and cuffs. He had put aside everything but his shirt and pants and boots.

  Now he had seen her, her decision was cast. Bronwen made herself step inside and shut the door. Her trembling intensified as she pulled her wrapper about her tightly. “You have clouded the truth for me,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I thought I knew what it was, that truth is a good thing. Isn’t it a good thing? Is truth not the only measure worth using?”

  Tor crossed the thick carpet to where she stood just inside the closed door. His blue eyes in the light of the single lamp looked black. “I hoped you would come. No, I wished it. I did not think even you would dare…”

  He kissed her, stealing her breath. His hands caught her face once more. His fingertips stroked her cheeks and throat as his lips crushed hers. His tongue slid inside her mouth and played with hers.

  All her careful reasoning evaporated. This was a truth more universal than any scientific principals or logic itself. Bronwen let go of any thought and enjoyed the sensations. His kiss was deep and thorough and made her whole body vibrate.

  When he at last released her mouth, she gasped. “No, please don’t stop!”

  He shook his head. “I should stop. I should turn you around and push you out of the room and lock the door. If I were stronger, I would.”

  “I want you,” she whispered. “You want me. Why must it be so complicated?”

  “I don’t know,” he growled and kissed her again. “I only know I can’t stop thinking about you.” His lips brushed her cheekbone before returning to her mouth and pressing against it once more.

  The heat of his touch was electrifying. Bronwen didn’t realize she had reached for him, until she felt the warmth of his shoulders under her hand, shielded only by fine cotton.

  His lips trailed down her throat, to the opening of her wrapper. They slid over her skin, making her shudder violently in reaction. The tips of her breasts ached, only a few inches from where his mouth played.

  Don’t stop, please don’t stop, she whispered in her mind.

  “I wanted to throw aside the supper table tonight,” he murmured, his arm sliding around her back, to hold her steady. “I wanted to rid myself of everything that lay between me and you. It was almost…savage.”

  Bronwen shivered again. “Stop talking,” she said. “Talking confuses things.”

  “Yes,” he agreed and swept her up off her feet and into his arms. He carried her over to the bed and placed her on it, then settled next to her.

  Fear should be paralyzing her, yet it was absent. Instead, she wanted to hasten to the end, to experience it all. It wasn’t intellectual curiosity. Her body’s demands drove her onward. The power of the wanting was overwhelming. She wanted to tear her clothes away to hurry the matter. At the same time, she wanted to make the sensations linger.

  Bronwen put her hand on his chest, against the soft pillow of flesh beneath the shirt and let her thumb stroke over the bare flesh showing between the open front. With a breath for courage, she pushed the shirt aside, revealing more.

  The first fastened button prevented farther revelation.

  Tor reached for the button.

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  He dropped his hand. “Other people have done such service for me, my whole life.”

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Bronwen whispered, as she slid the button through the hole and released it. She drew a breath as the soft plane of his stomach appeared and eagerly unfastened the remaining buttons. She pulled the shirt aside, studying him.

  “You find the view…appealing?”

  “Very much.”

  His expression was impossible to read.

  “You don’t like that?” Bronwen asked, dropping her hands.

  “I do, even though admiration of the human form is the province of men.”

  “And whores, I guess,” Bronwen added.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Tor said, his mouth turning up. He picked up her hand and placed it so her fingers spread across his torso. “I do know the look in your eyes when you study me is pleasing. I would have you do more of that.”

  “So would I,” Bronwen confessed. “You are the first ma
n I have found pleasing to look at.”

  His brow lifted. Then her secondary meaning registered. He drew back. “You are…you really are innocent?”

  “Innocent? No. I know what we do here, Tor. Don’t look at me in that way.”

  “In what way?”

  “You look horrified. This is my choice. You did not coax me here against my will…unless…is it that you find my lack of experience an impediment?”

  Tor sat up. “I have never taken a woman’s virtue. I don’t know if I can.” He lifted his head from his study of the bed cover. His gaze was direct. “It changes things.”

  “I don’t see why,” Bronwen said. She sat up, too. The heat and yearning in her was fading. Fear replaced it. Would he reject her now? Just because of a technicality?

  “Of course it does,” he shot back, his voice tight.

  “Name one thing it changes that is not a silly society expectation,” Bronwen demanded.

  He remained silent, his jaw working.

  “Well, then,” she concluded.

  “You would be different,” he muttered. “So would I, for making that change in you.”

  “Would the change be negative?” she asked curiously. “I recall no such changes in my research.”

  “Research!” He said it as if it was a curse.

  Bronwen considered him, startled. “Yes, you are right,” she said, puzzling it out. “This is not the time or place for reason. I said talk spoils such moments, only a while ago. Very well. Let’s not talk. It does trip us up. Instead, I will…”

  She rose to her knees on the bed and tugged on the bow of the belt holding her wrapper closed.

  I will follow my instincts and what my body tells me, instead of listening to my thoughts, she added silently. She removed the wrapper and let it drop behind her.

  Tor held still. Even his breath halted.

  Moving with a tense stiffness, he got to his knees, facing her. The open shirt fell aside, showing the band of his trousers, hanging loose about his hips with no braces to hold them. The skin looked soft and sensitive. Bronwen couldn’t take her gaze away from the fine line of hair that arrowed into the trousers, darker than anywhere on his body. It was a siren song, begging for her to follow it.

  Recalling a moment she had read in a salacious French novel, she reached up and slid the combs from her hair and shook it out. The tips brushed her rear. She shivered at the shadowy touch.

  Tor let out his breath with a gusty sigh. “Dear God,” he whispered.

  Bronwen put her hand on her bare belly. “Stop talking,” she reminded him. She wore nothing beneath the wrapper and now she trembled, not with fear, but with a growing excitement, as Tor’s gaze moved over her. She could almost feel the heat in his eyes stroke her. The tips of her breasts didn’t just ache, now. They hurt with the need to be touched.

  She moved restlessly, her bare thighs shifting, making her even more aware of the heated flesh between them. Letting her instincts lead her, she picked up his hand and placed it against her breast and gasped at the contact of his hand against the tip.

  With a groan he dropped his hand to her waist. He pulled her toward him, mashing her body against his and kissed her with a ferocious intensity, searing her mouth.

  His hands against her bare flesh were heavenly. Bronwen let her head fall back with a sigh as his fingers slid down the back of her hip to the rounded flesh of her behind and cupped it. His lips released her mouth and moved over her chin and down her throat.

  He trembled against her. The heat of him inside his trousers rubbed against her belly in a way that made her moan.

  She fumbled with the fastenings that were in her way, her fingers mashed between them. She swayed back to give herself room.

  Tor took the opportunity to dip his head lower. His mouth closed over the point of her breast and his tongue lapped at the pert tip.

  Bronwen gave a choked cry and grabbed his head. She didn’t know if she was trying to encourage him. She did know she didn’t want him to stop. The delicious tugging and stroking sent ripples of pleasure through her, making the flesh between her thighs pulse and tingle. Her breath came in soft little pants.

  She barely kept her eyes open, even though she wanted to see everything.

  When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she groaned again. The need to finish this was a frantic ravening, making her shake with it.

  Tor lowered her to the bed and lay over her, his lips not leaving her breasts. His hands, now free, ran everywhere over the rest of her, wherever they could reach. He may have been exploring, only it was teasing to her. She wasn’t sure she could withstand much more of it. There was a tension in her belly, deep in the core, that was building and growing. It was a piano wire winding tighter and tighter inside her, that quivered and shimmered with the tension, the merest touch of air making it whisper and vibrate.

  When she reached for his trousers once more, Tor paused and lifted himself high enough to shrug off the shirt, as she opened the fastenings and let his trousers drop. With an impatient sound, he stripped his boots and the trousers from him and tossed them away.

  Now he was naked, too.

  Bronwen stared at the rampant shaft jutting from his thighs. His cock, she made herself call it, just in her mind. The curt Anglo-Saxon word was appropriate and made her heart skip a beat.

  His cock was red with the blood that made it stand as it was. It was pulsing with the same beat as his heart.

  As he rested over her, his cock brushing her thigh, she could see concern in his eyes. She rested her finger against his lips and shook her head. Then she drew him closer, her hands on his hips, guiding him. The sweet tension in her would allow nothing else. Even her thighs fell open, welcoming him.

  Tor propped himself over her and lifted her knee, opening her up even more. The tip of his shaft pressed up against her aching, empty channel, then slid inside a little way. He paused.

  Bronwen beat at his shoulder with her fist, little blows of frustration.

  “Shh…” he whispered, even though she had not spoken. “This must be slow. I will not hurt you.”

  Bronwen didn’t think he could hurt her. An unknown agency controlled her, driving her to finish this. She could barely lie still as he inched deeper into her. Her flesh separated around him, gripping him and squeezing in a way that made everything throb once more and made her groan, too. It was so very, very nice!

  There was no pain, even though there was a tightness that resisted him for a few heartbeats. Then, as she breathed out a soft moan, the tightness eased and he drove himself deeper, then grew still.

  The heat of his body against her was amazing.

  Tor’s gaze met hers. “You are…intoxicating,” he whispered and touched his lips to hers.

  Bronwen squeezed his shaft, her body rippling around him. Tor groaned. His hips thrust and he moved inside her. It was a glorious feeling.

  “Do that again,” she breathed.

  He thrust again. Harder.

  His arms flexed as he held himself up over her and drove into her over and over again. He would withdraw his cock slowly, then push deep again, with a soft grunt of effort that made her skin ripple. For long moments he continued, as her eyes drifted shut. The tension was building in her again, the piano wire tautness winding tighter.

  Tor’s movements grew faster, too. She opened her eyes, unwilling to miss a single moment of this glory.

  Perspiration appeared at his temples, as he worked himself hard, pleasuring her. As the excitement built, she writhed beneath him, making soft little sounds that seemed to please him.

  He clutched at the top rail of the bed, the tendons in his arm and neck flexing as he thrust, his body straining for the release she sensed was close.

  Her release, too. It approached like a summer storm, crackling with energy and portent on the horizon.

  Just a little more…

  Then it arrived, stealing her breath and snapping her body as taut as the wire that had driven her here. Pl
easure sparkled and flared, turning every nerve into molten sweetness.

  Tor groaned and arched and held still, his hips moving in tiny little shifts, as his seed spilled inside her.

  The release of tension was heavenly. Bronwen finally drew a full breath.

  Tor sagged against her, his head dropping to touch hers. Then he stirred and withdrew from her body and lay next to her, his arm over her middle.

  His heart was a fast staccato against her arm. As his breath slowed, he stirred. “Now I understand—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips once more. “No. Don’t talk. No more talk. No more analysis. No more reason. There is no space for reason between us, not like this.”

  “I was about to say only that now I understand why I had a headache, in peaceful Northallerton.” He pressed his lips to her cheek. “I think I have wanted you for days now, buried deep where reason could not talk me out of it.”

  “While sensibility kept us blind to it,” she added.

  “Yes.” His voice was low. “Bronwen—”

  She kissed him, halting the flow of words. “Enough talk,” she breathed into him. “I want to do that again.”

  He growled and kissed her.

  Chapter Nine

  When Doctor Thomas Rheems Mortenson came downstairs after his examination, he went straight to Rhys’ study where Rhys waited with Anna.

  Anna sat in her usual small chair by the desk, although she did not read. There was no book sitting next to her, either. The lace handkerchief in her hands had long ago torn. Bits of thread from the lace lay scattered over the front of her gown like rice at a wedding.

  Rhys felt no corresponding joy, however. The formless, nameless cloud in his mind and heart made it hard to breathe. He couldn’t abide the thought of sitting and waiting.

  When Mortenson entered the room and Stamp shut the library door behind him, Rhys swallowed.

  Mortenson put his tall hat and bag on the small table by the door. He was not smiling. Although it was often difficult to tell if he was smiling or not because his full dark beard and thick mustache hid most expressions. Only, his eyes were grave, now.