All About Seduction(57)

He kissed her then, his mouth covering beyond her lips and his tongue plunging inside. He grabbed her breast and tugged the material of her dress down. Then he again moved to her neck, leaving her chin nearly dripping as he moved his head lower and suckled on her breast.

Another moan of protest left her mouth, but she fought her instinct to push him away and let him draw on her nipple. He pulled off and bared her other breast and repeated his nursing.

Breasts were for babies to suckle, grown men were too rough and it hurt. She whimpered. He pulled back and groped them. She tried not to think of the bruises she would likely have.

“I wish I could see you,” he panted.

“Next time,” she purred.

Biting her lip, she pushed at his coat jacket, trying to free him of his clothes. He seemed to be in that precoital frenzy she’d witnessed more often than she cared to with Mr. Broadhurst. Just to be certain, she reached down and checked Mr. Berkley’s member.

He groaned and pushed her hand against his trousers. Yes, he was ready to perform, and while the dining room table was hardly ideal, it would have to do. She just had to free him of his clothes so he could impregnate her.

A pounding on the front door of the house made them spring apart.

“What the hell?” whispered Mr. Berkley.

Her heart jolted and her fingers on his buttons went still.

“Who in the hell calls at this time of night?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I better go see.”

He backed away, and she tugged at her neckline and wiped her face. As soon as she put herself back together, she opened the door.

The footman sitting with Jack had already moved across the hall. The door yawned open and a man stood there, his hat pulled low, his muffler wound high, and wearing a glistening-wet long greatcoat. “I got business with Broadhurst.”

“I will just ascertain if he is home,” said the confused servant.

“He’s home,” said the man in a gruff voice, pushing his way inside.

Across the expanse of the hall, the library door clicked open and Mr. Broadhurst emerged.

“Bloody hell,” whispered Mr. Berkley behind her.

The man at the door stepped inside, a pool forming around the rim of his coat. Mr. Broadhurst flung open the library door. “Sir, if you will just step inside, we can conclude our business.”

“Your coat, sir?” said the footman.

“I’ll keep it,” said the man, striding across the pristine marble, sullying it with dirty boots.

Mr. Broadhurst’s gaze pinned her. His nostrils flared. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

Caroline held up her arm. “I lost my bracelet and I just found it under the table. The last time I saw it was at dinner. I should take it to a jeweler to have the catch repaired.”

“You are avoiding the guests,” he growled.

“No. I had every intention of returning to the drawing room,” she said. With Mr. Berkley so close he could hear every word, she dare not inform Mr. Broadhurst she was in the middle of carrying out his directive. An inappropriate bubble of a laugh threatened to burst from her. She’d finally almost succeeded and Mr. Broadhurst and his strange visitor had thwarted her.

As if Mr. Berkley wasn’t standing just inside the dining room, fumbling with his clothes, she calmly closed the door.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“Go upstairs, Mrs. Broadhurst, his business doesn’t concern you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Caroline followed her husband’s order.

But who was the man who came to their house at such a late hour?





Chapter 12



“You may go to bed,” Mrs. Broadhurst told the maid watching Jack. “I will stay until Steven comes on duty.”

Once they were alone, he debated crutching toward her, finishing what he’d begun last night. But she’d been drinking then. He took a step toward her.

“Are you ready for your next dose of laudanum?” she asked softly as she skittered toward the sideboard.

He checked for the knifing pain that made him crave the oblivion of the medicine and found only a dull ache that was no longer setting his teeth on edge. He moved back to the bed and sat.

“Not yet. Doesn’t hurt as bad.” Even if she wasn’t touching him, he didn’t want to sleep while she was with him.

Her hair was different, loosely twisted—more as if to get it up rather than the elaborate kind of style that she wore in the evenings, and instead of a gown with a low dipping neckline, a tight waist with wide skirts, she wore a loose garment made of velvet.