He felt her tense beneath him. “What . . . what is it?” she asked, her breathing low and heavy. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, except that you’re driving me mad, and I’m not sure how much of that I can bear before I . . .” He coughed to mask his discomfort and decided to steer the conversation back to more comfortable ground, focusing on her needs instead of his own. He squeezed her thigh and kissed the side of her neck. “I wonder . . . if you’ve ever . . .” His fingers trailed up over her leg, bunching the fabric of her gown as they travelled across her hip and settled between her thighs. “Touched yourself . . . here.”
She probably would have jumped to her feet and run out the door if it hadn’t been for the fact that Anthony held her firmly in place. At least that was the indication her very loud “no” gave him. She then started prattling on about what sort of doxy he must think her to be, that she must have been mad to be there with him and what could she possibly have been thinking.
Unable to silence her with a kiss due to their present position, he decided to move his hand against her instead. “Then allow me to show you what magnificent pleasure can be found in a mere touch.”
Her h*ps rose to meet him, as he’d known they would, and though she sighed and groaned, she muttered, “No,” and then, “You mustn’t.”
He stilled, unable to advance unless she asked him to. Whatever people thought of him, he’d never so much as kissed a woman without her granting him permission. So he turned his attention to her shoulder instead, nibbling there as his hands found her br**sts once more. “Are you quite certain?” he asked as he tugged at one of her n**ples, eliciting a throaty cry of pleasure from her.
God, he was hard for her. He’d never in his life been more aroused than he was now, to the point when it was causing him actual physical pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on what mattered. This was about her—about showing her what he could give her if she’d only let him.
“No,” she murmured again, and Anthony reined in his passion and started to pull away—to do the right thing—when she grasped his hand and said, “I mean no, I’m not certain I wish you to stop.”
Anthony chuckled. “Then you wish for me to continue?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
It was all the permission he needed. Caressing the smooth surface of her belly, his hand drifted lower, over the soft curls guarding her womanhood, tickling her gently on their downward journey. She stiffened, and he sensed that she was holding her breath. “Relax, Bella, and let me show you,” he said. And then he did—his fingertips slowly skimming her tender flesh.
“Oh, God,” she moaned as her h*ps rose to greet him. “Please . . .”
“Please stop . . . or please continue?” Anthony asked, his words soft against her ear as he gently parted her and ran one finger along her center, reveling in the slick wetness that welcomed him.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured, arching her back and grasping his legs with her hands. “Don’t ever stop.”
She was his. Anthony was sure of it, for her passion was such that he knew Mr. Roberts would be incapable of satisfying her, and now that Anthony had unleashed her inner wanton and made her aware of her desires, she’d know that she would have no choice but to pick him over that fool.
Besides, Anthony thought as he circled the hard nub that would lead her to fruition, he had to have her for himself if he was to preserve his own sanity. No other woman would do—not anymore—and the mere thought of Isabella . . . Bella . . . left him hard and aching. Living out the remainder of his days in such an unfulfilled state would be torturous.
Self-conscious as she was of her own body, Isabella was thankful for the privacy her gown offered, for though she’d tossed her inhibitions aside a while ago and no longer cared that her br**sts were bared and her skirts hiked up across her h*ps while the duke . . . Anthony . . . fondled and petted her, she was comfortable knowing that what he saw of her body was limited. He stroked her again, the feeling incredible—unlike anything she’d ever experienced before—and she wanted all of it.
Hoping to offer him some measure of encouragement, she raised her h*ps against him once more, but it wasn’t enough—he wasn’t doing enough to satisfy this crazed feeling that swept through her. Not the best at being passive and idle, she decided to do something—something that would leave him with no doubt about how exactly he was to proceed. After all, she was a country miss and not in need of coddling like she imagined some of the London ladies would be. So, lifting her legs, she swung each of them over each of his, opening herself up wider.
“I didn’t think I could possibly want you more,” he muttered against her cheek between kisses. “But seeing you like this—so free and so inviting . . .” His words trailed off as he dipped one finger inside her.
Heaven.
Sensing that this was what she’d been seeking, Isabella lifted herself toward him again.
“You want more, don’t you, Bella?” His voice sounded hoarse as he said it, and as if to add to her torment, he removed his finger just enough to leave her wanting.
“Yes,” she said on a gasp of air, and his finger returned, moving inside her, then joined by another, increasing the fullness—in and out as she moved against him.
“That’s it, Bella,” he murmured. “Take your pleasure, find your release, and imagine me joined with you—how good it would feel to have me thrusting inside you.”
Isabella couldn’t speak. It was as if her mind and body were no longer her own but belonged entirely to him—his scandalous words making her hotter and needier as she reached for something just within her grasp. “I know you want me,” she heard him say as the first tingles swept up her legs. “Marry me, Bella, and I’ll give you pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings.” He pushed his fingers inside her again and a wave of pure ecstasy crashed over her, leaving her spent and breathless.
But there was something else going on as her mind began to clear and she was able to consider her actions—his actions and his words—with greater clarity. A feeling of intense anger swept over her, so strong that she found herself leaping away from him as she did what she could to adjust her dress. How could she have been so stupid as to fall for such a backhanded trick? “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she said as she stared down at him with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.
The man had the audacity to smile as he said, “And it would seem that you’re not much of a lady either.”
Isabella’s mouth dropped open. Was he seriously going to act so cavalier about this? “How could you?” she asked with a small shake of her head.
He frowned, got up and stepped toward her, but she edged away, determined to keep her distance. He shrugged. “How could I not when you were so willing?”
Of all the things anyone had ever said to her, this was the worst—partly due to the fact that his words rang true. She’d encouraged him in the worst possible way. Clearly she’d lost her mind somewhere between entering the barn and now. It was the only logical explanation. And then it dawned on her. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you decided to give me a taste of what I can have if I marry you.”
He didn’t deny it, asking instead, “Did it work?”
Staring back at him, she felt an uncontrollable urge to scream. She was furious with him for trying to force her hand this way and furious with herself for letting him. What purpose had it served? Nothing but a means by which to add to her misery. She would marry Mr. Roberts, except now, on top of everything else, she would be acutely aware of what she was missing, because there was no question that Mr. Roberts would not be willing or capable of giving her the same unparalleled bliss that Anthony had just done.
Instead, she would live out the remainder of her days knowing what she might only otherwise have suspected—that her marriage was lacking in a very key element. “This was a mistake,” she said, turning her back on Anthony and walking across to where her basket was lying crooked on the floor.
“How can you say that?” he asked. “Don’t you know how incredible this was? You cannot possibly tell me that you can walk away and forget this ever happened.”
She turned back to face him, the anger she felt coiling around her until she feared she might explode. “No. I cannot forget. That is the problem, you idiot. I will forever know what I am missing now.”
He looked back at her in disbelief. “You’re still going to marry him,” he said as if it was the most absurd thing he could think of.
“Of course I am. My parents won’t let me marry you, and even if they did, I’m not entirely sure I’d be willing to subject my father to the sort of humiliation he’d surely face at the prospect of telling Mr. Roberts that his suit is no longer wanted. And that is without considering that you just tried to force my hand by turning my own body against me.”
He came toward her in one brisk stride, grabbing her by the arms before she had a chance to pull away. Startled, she met his fiery gaze. “Don’t you dare pretend as if you didn’t like it,” he ground out.
“Of course I liked it,” she said as she clenched her jaw and balled her hands into two tight fists. “The problem is that you methodically seduced me in the most calculating way and with no thought of anyone but yourself. You knew I’d be putty in your hands. You knew that I would be unable to turn you away and that I would have allowed you to do as you wished without thought for the consequences. I didn’t, because no one has ever made me feel the way you do—as if nothing else exists but you. Except now the moment is gone and I have to face reality again, only now it’s worse thanks to you. You should have stopped when I still had the will to say no.”
“Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “And I would have if you had repeated the request or even sounded more convincing. But then you started begging for more and I . . . I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
A sad laughter erupted from Isabella’s throat.
Overstepped?
You could say that again.
“Please let me go,” she said, tugging a little at her arms. He released her slowly and with obvious reluctance, and she bent down to pick up her basket.
“I should have compromised you completely,” he muttered, taking what little calm she’d retained and snapping it in two.
Rising to her feet with her basket in hand, she resisted the urge to strike him and glared back at him with pure fury instead. “How dare you!”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No, I don’t believe you are. You were a rake once, so I don’t believe it would be beneath you to take a woman’s innocence if it served your own agenda.” She watched as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, but he didn’t respond, so she turned away instead.
“The gown,” he suddenly said. “The one you wore to the ball. Where did you get it?”