Chapter 14

William still had not answered that question when the carriage rocked to a halt outside his Mayfair townhouse. They had not spoken the entire way, nor had he realized how much time had passed—he had been too busy admiring what he was not allowed to have.

Still, he was not so easily defeated.

"It is smaller than my brother-in-law's townhouse," she said as he helped her down.

He feigned disappointment. "You surprise me. I did not think you were concerned about such things. Indeed, if fortune was your primary hope for marriage, you probably should have run from the church, after all."

"It was merely an observation." She smiled and began walking toward the steps.

He caught her before she could, sweeping her up into his arms to carry her the rest of the way. His hand curved around her thighs, his other hand gripping her upper arm, pulling her tight against his chest. And as he gazed down at her, seeing the surprise in her eyes, he could not resist a fleeting glance at her slightly parted, plump lips.

"What are you doing?" she asked flatly.

He had expected her to kick or fight as she had done the last time that he picked her up like this.

"I did not get to carry you over the threshold at Stonebridge. I am remedying that now," he replied, reaching the porch.

She smiled. "Would you like me to turn the handle?"

"I have it in hand." He knocked with his elbow, content to just stand there and hold her for a while.

The door opened, and the butler, Mr. Fenton, gave a yelp of shock. William would have rolled his eyes, but the ordinarily unflappable man recovered quickly enough.

He dipped into a low bow. "Good evening, Your Graces."

"Good evening to you, Mr. Fenton. If you will excuse us, we are going to retire," William replied, striding right past the butler.

He did not stop as he got to the stairs, carrying his bride all the way up to the middle floor and down the hallway to the adjoining chambers. There, he managed to turn the handle on the door to her rooms and carried her inside.

"I think you crossed the threshold, husband," Lydia said.

William set her down on her feet, though he kept his arm around her. "I can never remember which threshold it is supposed to be, so I thought it best to carry you across them all." He paused. "How long do you intend to stay?"

"Trying to get rid of me so soon?" She shook her head. "I did not realize I was such an inconvenience."

He chuckled in the back of his throat. "That dress is inconvenient."

Unable to resist, his fingertips traced the line of Dorset buttons that ran the length of her spine, imagining the satisfaction of ripping them off. She shivered at the touch, a ripple coursing through her that vibrated against him. Her eyes closed for an instant, her chin tilted up ever so slightly, offering that silent invitation once more.

"You should not be in here," she whispered, opening her eyes once more.

Something strange and magical had happened in that slow blink, causing a sparkling light to dance in those beautiful blue pools. She was looking at him as if he was forbidden, as if they were clandestine lovers who had stolen a moment together that could not last. It was liquor poured on the flames of his desire.

"Then tell me to leave," he replied, sliding his hand up her back, following that line of infernal buttons. His other hand came to rest on the curve of her hip, his head lowering in a silent invitation of his own.

She shook her head. "I will do one better—I will ask you to return to Stonebridge with me. I will ask you to play fairly."

"If I go back to Stonebridge with you, if I stay there where you are near," he murmured, breathing the words against her shoulder, "your rule will be broken."

Her throat moved, her neck arching. "Would that be so terrible?"

"I do not trust… what would come of it. I will not be the first to break a rule."

He raked his teeth across his lower lip if only to stop himself from kissing her. The frustration, the need—it was a powerful beast, clawing away the last few threads of self-control he had.

"Must you always win?" she sighed, slipping her hand into his hair.

As her other hand traced a meandering path up his abdomen and smoothed across his chest, those last threads snapped. He could not wait. He needed her, now.

Pulling her roughly to him, he kissed her with everything he had been holding back.

Lydia could not help herself. No one had warned her that by freeing her newfound talent for flirtation and seduction, she too would be swept up in the temptation of it all.

All throughout the opera, she had not been able to even out her breathing, feeling the press of his muscular thigh against hers. If someone had asked her what the opera was about, she would not have been able to tell them, for she had been daydreaming about the man beside her. She had imagined wild, glorious things in that private box, all of which would have not just seen her name in the scandal sheets but cast out of Society altogether.

The carriage ride had been equally interminable, feeling his burning eyes on her. And the way he had carried her up the stairs to this very room with such ease—who would not swoon at such a thing? Yet, she had forced herself to play the part of indifferent temptress, but the fa?ade had well and truly vanished now.

She kissed him with every ounce of that stored-up hunger, pressing herself against him, exploring the contours of his unfairly athletic physique. There was no hesitation this time, until it was unclear who was leading and who was following.

With his strong arm around her, he walked her back to the nearest wall and pushed her up against it. She gasped at the light bump, or perhaps it was his searing lips on her neck that coaxed it out of her. Either way, she clung to him, bucking her hips against his as his tongue tasted her skin.

A moment later, she was breathless under the ebb and flow of his kiss once more, surprised as that hot, teasing tongue slipped into her mouth. It was an unusual sensation at first, but as he kissed her more fiercely, she followed his lead. And as she grazed her own tongue against his, she understood the thrill of it, teasing and tasting and drawing back.

"I ought to punish you for the rules you have broken," he growled, sliding his hand up the valley between her breasts, running it all the way up to the column of her throat.

There, he gently curved his hand. If she had been in her right mind, Lydia might have seen it as a threat, but she could not—it felt like exactly what her wolf-pirate should and would do. Let her know his power without exerting it.

"I broke no rules," she panted in reply. "If you believe I did, you ought to have worded them better."

He laughed darkly. "Careful, kitten."

"I cannot help that it is the truth. You should have been clea—Oh, Will."

Any reprimand died on her lips as he wrenched aside the neckline of her gown and took her nipple into his mouth.

She bucked against him as he sucked on that erect flesh, her eyes closing as sparks ignited. They darted across her chest and fizzled down into her belly, where they caught the fuse of a blissful blaze. It crackled through her veins, her legs trembling with the rush of such a feeling.

"I ought to punish you for wearing this gown, too," he murmured, before tracing his tongue between her breasts and drawing her other nipple between his lips.

"Do not… dare… tear it," she managed to gasp.

A rumble of amusement came from deep in his chest, his hand threatening to defy her as it skimmed over the swell of her backside. His palm eased down her thigh, his fingertips gathering up the cascades of fabric until they were bunched at her hip.

But he did not ruin her fine gown, though a secret part of her might have liked to know how that felt. Instead, his hand moved beneath those gathered skirts, lightly caressing her inner thighs.

She grasped his hair and pulled his head up to kiss her again, crushing her mouth to his as her lungs burned and her body ached for more. Without a word, he gave her just that, as if he could hear every inch of her yearning for him.

"Oh… Oh, Will!" She buried her cry against his neck, kissing his throat, his jaw, his lips, his chest, as his fingertips touched a part of her that no one had explored before.

Catching her mouth with his, he began to caress that secret bud in slow circles. So measured, so unhurried, and yet so ferocious in its effect. That fire burning inside her became an inferno, her grasp on the world slipping, as her mind whirled and her entire being was flooded with what could only be described as paradise. A sensation of truly being alive.

"Will you obey?" Will growled, kissing her harder.

She gasped out her reply between the press of his lips and the strumming of his fingertips. "Yes. Oh… oh, yes!"

He smiled against her mouth, and though she was certain she would regret her words tomorrow, she did not care. There was something greater than her predicament to think about, and it was building inside of her with each stroke of his fingers.

A feeling that rose higher and higher, familiar to her and yet different from the more muted version she had felt before when turning the pages of her beloved, illicit books. Her blood coursed in her veins like liquid fire, her head spinning, her skin warming to a feverish heat while her legs trembled and her breaths came in short, rasping pants. She knew she was not unwell, but she feared the intensity of what might be about to happen. Indeed, she worried it might tear her apart.

Will seemed to sense that she was on the brink of her conclusion, for at that moment, he dipped his head and drew her nipple into his mouth once more. As he sucked, he strummed, and she finally relinquished herself to paradise.

Euphoria exploded in the very core of her being, surging outward in crackling waves, as if she had been struck by lightning. The most glorious, pulsing lightning that pummeled through her limbs and danced across her chest, giving her just enough breath to cry out once more.

Will slowed his strumming as that swelling fire swept through her again and again, teasing her until it ebbed to embers. And as it did, he kissed her slowly and grazed his fingertips against her inner thighs, before sliding them between her legs.

He paused at her entrance, and whether it was the clarity that came after the dizzying euphoria, or whether it was the uncertainty surrounding that part of her, she suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. It was too soon. Far too soon for her to have any leverage to gain what she wanted.

"No more," she rasped. "If there is more, it will lead to more, and… my rule is still in place."

His throat bobbed. "It is?"

"You were right." She struggled to slow her breathing. "We must earn one another's trust first. So, please, leave me be."

He stepped back and bowed his head, though Lydia's eyes fell on the length straining against his tight trousers. It almost made her pull him back to her, but she could not lose sight of her lessons now. As she understood it, the key to seduction was giving just a little, withdrawing it, then giving more the next time. And so on and so forth until there was nothing, not even an annulment, that he would not give her in exchange for one night.

"Rest well," was all he said as he headed out of the bedchamber.

She waited until she heard his door close and went to the bed. There, she flopped down and stared up at the ceiling, unable to believe what had just happened. It was as if one of her saucy novels had come to life, and she had been part of it.

She puffed out a breath, feeling more relaxed than she had since before the wedding. "Do not rush," she whispered. "If you rush, you will fail."

Closing her eyes, wishing she had one of her books at hand, she smiled as she conjured up visions of her favorite character—a swashbuckling pirate who knew how to wield his sword. But as one of her most beloved scenes played out in her mind, it was no longer her original imagining of that pirate hero that fulfilled her fantasies, but Will…

And she guessed she only had herself to blame for that. By the time the month was over, she would either have a husband or the memory of one.

Unable to sleep a wink, his mind dizzy with thoughts of Lydia that would not be cast aside, William slipped out of bed and padded toward the adjoining door.

Ridiculously, and for reasons he could not explain, he just wanted to speak to her, to end their evening on a less… incendiary note. Perhaps then he would be able to find peace enough in his mind to fall asleep.

Gently, he knocked. "Lydia, are you still awake?"

No answer echoed back.

Holding a breath, he turned the handle and poked his head inside. In a pool of moonlight that did not seem to disturb her, Lydia lay fast asleep on the bed, her nightdress alarming him instead of enthralling him. It was much too cold in the room—she would catch her death if she slept like that.

Carefully, he tiptoed into the room, picking up two heavy woolen blankets from a nearby side table. Tucking one under his arm and unfurling the other, he approached the bed. Not wanting to disturb her or get a scolding for being in her chambers when he should not, he painstakingly laid the blanket over her slumbering form, taking his time.

Her breath shivered, and she curled up, as if she knew the blanket was covering her and could feel its sweet warmth. William smiled at the charming expression on her face and eased the second blanket over her, halting every time she stirred in case she suddenly awoke.

But she slept on, and he walked to the windows, drawing the curtains so the moonlight would not cast its glare on her eyes anymore.

It was not the conversation he had hoped for, but as he returned to the adjoining door, he already felt more peaceful.

"Rest well," he whispered, and slipped back to his chambers, closing the door behind him.