Page 19 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke (The Athena Society #1)

CHAPTER 19

“H eavens, you’re delicious,” he groaned, his breaths fast and ragged.

Emma gasped as the cool night air kissed her sensitive skin, and her nipple pebbled at once, a sharp lance of pleasure and pain spearing her right between her legs.

“Victor,” she whined, his name coming out like a plea and a command at once.

“Oh yes, pet,” he groaned against her flesh, his breath scorching hot against her breast. “I cannot wait either.”

And then his hot, moist mouth closed over her erect nipple, and she let out a soundless scream, her head lolling back as she drowned in the sensation.

Like a hungry beast, Victor sucked on her nipple in one strong pull, and her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips thrusting forward with urgency, eager to feel him right against her heated core.

And he seemed to realize it, too, because one hand greedily trailed down her body, even as his tongue lashed at her nipple over and over, the other hand eagerly massaging her other breast.

Emma was positively drunk on lust.

His hand soon disappeared underneath her skirts to touch bare skin, and her breath stalled.

“You’re so wet for me, Emma,” he groaned against her breast.

She nearly broke down into a sob, her fingers desperately clutching at his shoulders, holding on for dear life even as his hand trailed toward the pulsing flesh between her legs.

When he stroked it, she hissed out a tortured breath, her hips bucking against his hand, seeking more friction.

A curse fell from Victor’s lips, and her lips parted in shock, her cheeks blooming at the vulgar word. But Victor didn’t seem to realize his error, his eyes dark with sheer lust, the deep color on his cheeks turning his expression into one of pure debauchery.

“You want more, My Lady? Hm?”

And for some reason, his referring to her by her title only seemed to heighten her pleasure.

“Do you want more, Emma?” Ah, now he called her by her given name—this man was out to end her. “I ask you, do you?”

Emma nodded her head with wild abandon, not caring where she was anymore, her hips grinding against his fingers as they began to push into her. Slowly, those fingers opened her up, causing an ache that stemmed from being barely touched for years.

And now, she wanted more.

“Yes. Oh God, yes,” she gasped, her back arching.

As if propelled by her verbal encouragement and surrender, those fingers began to stroke in and out of her moist, hot cleft, faster and faster until she could barely breathe.

“What sweet torture it is,” Victor growled against her lips now, his fingers pistoning in and out of her, “to imagine this tight heat around my cock.”

It was by no means the most vulgar thing she’d ever heard a man say—her late husband had spoken far worse words—but the passion with which he said them, the way his shaft throbbed against her? That was what undid her.

With a cry, Emma reached her climax quickly, her legs giving out and trembling, hips jerking and her moist flesh clenching down hard on his thick, long fingers.

“Yes, come for me, darling,” Victor was murmuring against her jaw, his lips trailing down kisses toward the base of her throat, toward her breast.

That was the moment her senses returned, and she realized what she’d just done: she’d just let the Beast of Westmere pleasure her to orgasm.

Out in the garden of the Marquess’s home like a common whore.

Oh God, what if someone had heard her? Or worse, seen her? After everything she had done to avoid scandal and make sure she created a good life for Tristan, she’d let her lust get the better of her.

That aside, how could she forget about Joanna? She ought to have gone after her ages ago, and yet here she was, her legs spread for the very man her son looked up to with childlike admiration and wonder.

Had she truly gone mad ?

“Oh…oh God.”

With a gasp, she snatched her dangling bodice to cover her exposed breast and pushed against his chest with all her might.

The Duke let her go.

And Emma took to her heels, fixing her clothes and hurrying toward her carriage without looking back.

* * *

“Westmere! There you are!” Nathaniel exclaimed, intercepting Victor as he reentered the ballroom. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned my humble gathering for more compelling entertainment.”

Victor adjusted his cravat, which had been significantly loosened by Emma’s eager fingers mere moments ago. Indeed, her sweet scent still lingered on his fingers, and he’d stopped himself more than once from sucking on them on his way back to the party.

He had to maintain his composure; he’d barely managed to quell his arousal. Any recollection of their stolen moment and he would be hard as a rock in the blink of an eye.

“Your definition of humble should be studied, Knightley,” he replied dryly, gesturing to their opulent surroundings.

The Marquess had indeed gone all out with the decor and the refreshments, and the party was fast becoming a spectacle of social debauchery rather than the respectable social gathering it was meant to be.

“You look rather… well, disheveled ,” Nathaniel observed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “The gardens, was it? I do hope you weren’t terrorizing my rosebushes.”

“Your blasted gardens are quite intact,” Victor assured him, though he could still feel the phantom press of Emma’s body against his and taste the sweetness of her mouth.

His blood still raced from their encounter and from the way she had responded to his touch with such uninhibited passion before fleeing in evident distress.

Nathaniel studied him with uncharacteristic solemnity. “And what of you, dear friend? Are you… intact as well?”

Victor arched an eyebrow. Here was the sly fox, trying to wheedle a truth out of him, but he was not going to fall prey to that particular tactic. He was no fool.

“Your concern is touching but unnecessary,” he replied, his tone making it clear that the subject was closed.

A knowing smile spread across Nathaniel’s face. “I see. And would a certain brown-haired widow happen to share your newfound appreciation for nocturnal horticulture? I find that she is nowhere to be seen now.”

His expression deliberately blank, Victor shrugged. “I do not see what her disappearance has to do with me. Perhaps your party is not as interesting as you believe it to be.”

“Aha. Your snark speaks volumes,” Nathaniel snorted. “Though I must say, my roses have never before inspired such a fascinating array of expressions on your typically stoic visage. You appear simultaneously murderous and… dare I say, content .”

“If you value our friendship at all—” Victor began through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but I do,” Nathaniel interrupted. “Which is precisely why I find your sudden interest in gardening so delightfully promising. Perhaps Lady Cuthbert might recommend some particularly captivating specimens for your grounds.”

Victor was saved from formulating a suitably cutting response by a burst of malicious laughter from a nearby cluster of elegantly attired ladies. He recognized Lady Harrington at their center, her crimson gown as garish as her personality.

“Did you see her face when the wine spilled?” she tittered to her companions. “As though I’d committed a great sin rather than ruining a dress that was already a hopeless cause. Really, if Miss Joanna wishes to attend such gatherings, she ought to develop thicker skin—or at least learn to dress appropriately.”

“And that bluestocking niece of hers,” another voice chimed in. “Lady Cuthbert puts on such airs, as though being a widow to decrepit earl somehow makes her better than everyone.”

Victor felt a cold fury settle over him, displacing the lingering heat of passion. Without conscious thought, he found himself moving toward the gossiping circle, Nathaniel close behind.

“Lady Harrington,” he said, his voice cutting through their laughter like a blade through silk. “I wonder if you might assist us.”

The women fell silent immediately, their expressions transforming from cruel amusement to simpering deference.

“Your Grace,” Lady Harrington purred, dipping into an unnecessarily deep curtsy that displayed her considerable décolletage to maximum advantage. “How may I be of service?”

“We’re searching for Miss Joanna Dennison and her niece, Lady Cuthbert,” Nathaniel explained, his usual good humor notably absent. “It seems she departed rather suddenly.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Harrington replied with patently false concern. “I believe there was some minor accident with the refreshments. These things do happen, unfortunately.”

“Indeed,” Victor uttered coldly. “I find that many ‘accidents’ occur with remarkable frequency in your vicinity, Lady Harrington.”

Her smile faltered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”

“No?” Victor’s gaze swept over the assembled women, noting how several seemed to shrink beneath his scrutiny. “Then allow me to clarify. I refer to your persistent habit of orchestrating social humiliations disguised as mishaps, particularly directed at those you perceive as vulnerable.”

Lady Harrington’s cheeks flushed an unattractive red. “Your Grace, I would never?—”

“Spare me your excuses,” Victor interrupted, his jaw set. “I witnessed your interaction with Miss Joanna from across the room. Your aim was too precise to be accidental, so I hope you do not think me foolish enough to believe that balderdash.”

“Really, Your Grace,” interjected another woman nervously, “Lady Harrington merely stumbled?—”

“Did she?” Nathaniel inquired, his tone deceptively light. “How peculiar, considering she has been attending balls for long enough. One would think she’d have mastered the basics of walking in public by this point.”

A tense silence fell over the group as Lady Harrington’s companions exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncertain whether to defend their leader or distance themselves from her potential disgrace.

“I had not realized,” Victor continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, “that the quality of one’s character had become inversely proportional to the volume of one’s voice.”

Nathaniel chimed in, “Indeed. Miss Joanna and Lady Cuthbert possess intelligence, compassion, and dignity—qualities evidently in short supply among your circle, Lady Harrington.”

Lady Harrington’s mouth opened and closed several times, resembling that of a crimson fish suddenly deprived of water.

“Your Grace, you misunderstand?—”

“I understand perfectly,” Victor cut in. “What I do not understand is why Lord Knightley should continue to extend his hospitality to those who abuse it so flagrantly.”

Nathaniel nodded gravely, his eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. “An excellent point, Westmere. Perhaps future invitations should be more selectively distributed.”

The threat of social exclusion hung in the air like a thundercloud. In London’s rarefied atmosphere, being barred from the home of a wealthy, eligible marquess was tantamount to social death.

Victor leaned slightly closer to Lady Harrington, his voice pitched for her ears only. “I expect you to make a formal apology to Miss Joanna by tomorrow afternoon. A written note expressing genuine contrition, delivered with a suitable gift to replace the gown you ruined.” He straightened, before addressing the entire group. “Furthermore, I suggest you each engage in some serious reflection on your conduct. The ton may tolerate many things, but I assure you, I am considerably less forgiving.”

Lady Harrington’s face had drained of all color. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall call on Miss Joanna. I-I had no idea the wine would cause such damage.”

“Hadn’t you?” Victor’s smile was cold enough to freeze fire. “How fortunate, then, that I am here to educate you on the consequences of your actions.”

With a strangled sound that might have been intended as agreement, Lady Harrington gathered her skirts and fled, her coterie scattering in her wake like startled birds.

Nathaniel whistled low under his breath as they watched their retreat.

“Remind me never to anger you, Westmere. I believe you’ve just sentenced Lady Harrington to social purgatory with remarkable efficiency.”

“She deserves worse,” Victor replied tersely, the image of Emma’s expression when she’d described her aunt’s humiliation still fresh in his mind.

“Indeed, she does,” Nathaniel agreed, his customary levity giving way to sincere concern. “Miss Joanna is a remarkable woman. I had hoped to secure at least two dances with her this evening. I did not realize she had left. I should call on her soon.”

Victor glanced sharply at his friend, noting the unusual solemnity in his expression. “I wasn’t aware your interest extended beyond polite conversation.”

Nathaniel shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “There are many things you remain unaware of, my friend. Including the state of your cravat, which currently suggests activities far more vigorous than a casual garden stroll.”

Victor quickly adjusted the offending cloth, cursing under his breath.

“I wonder,” Nathaniel mused, “if your sudden championship of Lady Cuthbert’s family might have anything to do with your recent botanical studies?”

“Your metaphors grow more ridiculous by the moment,” Victor observed dryly.

“Perhaps,” Nathaniel conceded with a grin. “But my observations remain remarkably accurate. Now, shall we return to our duties as gentlemen and ensure no further ‘accidents’ befall our guests? I suddenly find myself quite invested in the welfare of the Dennison-Cuthbert family.”

Victor nodded curtly, his thoughts already drifting back to Emma—to her passion and the way she’d come undone in his arms, to the delicious cry she’d unleashed, to her sudden panic and ensuing escape. He’d let her go tonight because… well, he still wasn’t quite sure what to do about his desire for her.

He was still torn between staying away and keeping propriety in mind, and fucking it all to go after her the way he truly wanted to.

It was true—he wanted Lady Cuthbert, and he could deny it no longer. And it was clear that she wanted him with just as equal fervor. But the dilemma remained: Was he really ready to give himself to her?

He was quite certain she was not the type to satisfy her carnal desires with no strings attached, and he wasn’t sure whether he could give her more than that… not after…

There were quite a lot of things he was not sure of, and there was just one more that was most baffling.

He wasn’t sure he could stay away from her any longer.