Page 7 of Submitting to the Widow

One of his hands abandoned a breast to pull her closer to his center and tilt her hips upward. With a sudden, smooth move, he pulled her ankles up to his shoulders, kissing the sides of her calves before settling her against his chest whilst he employed the fingers and thumb of his free hand.

Jane gave out a short, anguished cry of release before sobbing as if her heart would break. With a look of alarm, the talented Mr. Forsythe pulled her back upright onto his lap and curled her into his strong arms while he feathered tentative kisses into her hair and rocked her gently back and forth. “There now, sweetling, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She’d seemed to lose the power of speech, mutely shaking her head from side to side in denial.

* * *

Stephen feltas though a great ocean wave had upended and tumbled him head over heels onto the shore of a land that wasn’t yet mapped, a land that made him vaguely uneasy.

At the beginning of this uncharted venture with a woman who was, well, blackmailing him for his favors, he’d cynically assumed he could pleasure her by a rote set of sensuous moves and then walk away. When had he lost the calloused, devil-may-care attitude of his youth?

Meanwhile, a woman he barely knew still sobbed in his arms. What the hell had he done to cause that? Did this mean the deal was off? She wouldn’t return his pages? More importantly, had she robbed him of the will to care?

She tasted of a melange of lemons, rose petals, a snippet of ginger, and something else he couldn’t quite place. His nostrils still throbbed with the exotic smells of the beautiful, sensual creature who had just fallen apart over no more than kisses and his hands on her body. What in the name of God would she feel like if he were crazy enough to claim her with his cock?

4

Jane gradually returned to sensibility, noticing the disheveled state of her clothing…and…she’d been bawling like a small child. What must this man she’d only dreamed of before think of her now?

When she tentatively swiped her hand down one of her cheeks, she realized the kohl she’d so carefully applied around her eyes only that morning had turned into wet streams of black blobs.

She turned a stricken face to the man who had brought her to such a low exhibition of herself. How long had she been in his arms, submitting to his touches, her body ignoring rational thought, and baring herself with abandon? All she remembered was how he’d kissed the backs of her hands so politely but fervently, and then had moved on boldly to claim her entire body, finally pushing her to a physical crescendo she’d never before experienced. How had that happened? How had she allowed him to gain the upper hand so quickly?

A tiny, querulous voice inside her answered, “You read his journal pages of conquests. What did you expect?”

Women meant nothing more to him than an elegantly decorated box of bon-bons. He seemed determined to unwrap each one and discover for himself what was hidden inside. He might spend an inordinate amount of time choosing, unwrapping and finally swirling his tongue around the confection. But eventually, he’d weaken the outer shell before sucking out the insides until there was nothing left.

After kissing and licking the tears away at the edges of her cheek bones, he tilted up her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “Lady Trevellyn—have I paid enough on account to merit the return of my journal pages?”

Jane shrank inside at his cold words and then spiraled into a burning rage. “How dare you invade my sanctuary and assault my person without engaging in some, er, civilized negotiations first?”

“Tsk…a blackmailer with rules of engagement.” He leaned away and straightened his waistcoat, stretching and raising his well-muscled shoulders a bit as if tantalizing her with evidence of just what she was paying for. “What will we hear of next? Cats living with dogs? Prinny abandoning his mistresses?”

* * *

Stephen hatedthe words leaving his mouth so cruelly, but, damn the wench, he had to have those pages back, and he didn’t have time to romance them away from her. Besides, niceties were best left for the society women of theton. Although bedding those haughty ladies in his university days had been a rather dry, uninspiring affair.

The thoroughly pleasured, warm woman in his arms had cheeks as bright as patches on autumn gold apples. The long, black hair he’d expertly released earlier from an intricate coif now hung down her back in ebony waves. He longed to touch the silky strands, but his better self was sounding warning bells.

At that moment, the baroness looked down at her thoroughly wrinkled dress and made as if to tidy herself. He stopped her by taking one of her hands and turning it over to lazily circle the sensitive palm with his index finger.

She jerked her hand back as if he’d branded her with a burning sulphur match. “No, sirrah, no, by all that’s holy, you’ll not gull me again.”

He gave her a wicked smile and leaned back while she remembered where she was and scrambled from his lap.

“Have you no shame?”

He didn’t answer, but merely spread his arms wide while giving her a knowing look. “You’re the one who has my private journal pages…and is keeping them for your own naughty pleasure. Perhaps I should contact the local magistrate.”

“Oh—.” She fairly vibrated with unspoken rage. He knew he might roast in hell for what he was doing to the delectable Lady Trevellyn, but he rather liked what shaking with anger did to her sensuous curves beneath the fine silk of her pink striped dress.

“You must leave. Now.”

“Not without my journal pages.”

Her strange servant suddenly glided into the conservatory bower without a sound and handed him three pages. The insolent man turned and disappeared just as silently.

Stephen flipped through the pages before turning back to Lady Trevellyn. “Only three? Where are the rest?”