Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(10)

aisy?” hissed the aunt, sounding faint.

“Trent, is that you?” asked Carlisle, doing a fair impression of indignation for a man who had intentionally led the aunt into the darkness in search of her errant niece, knowing what they would find. “Good God, this is an outrage. You’ll have to marry Miss Vanreid at once.”

Marry.

The word turned the lust raging through his body into ice. Hastily, he hauled Miss Vanreid’s bodice back into place. But not before being treated to one more glimpse of the luscious ripeness of her breasts in the moon’s glow. There was no doubt about it—Miss Daisy Vanreid was pure, unadulterated temptation. And he had succumbed.

Despite his extreme distrust of her, despite knowing she was a manipulative flirt who had likely led half a dozen other suitors down the same path in the darkness, despite his deep resentment of being forced to compromise her and enter into a marriage that he most certainly did not want all in the name of the Crown… despite everything, he’d enjoyed kissing her.

He’d enjoyed how responsive she was, how her lips moved beneath his, how she’d tasted. He’d even enjoyed ripping her sleeve to further his cause and yanking down her bodice to take the sweet, hard bud of her nipple into his mouth. He hadn’t been meant to disrobe her. Hadn’t been meant to allow their embrace to escalate that far. Some kisses and a torn sleeve were all that was required.

But Sebastian had wanted more.

He still did, his cock a rigid reminder of just how much, a reminder that not even the cooling of his ardor could tame.

“Forgive me,” he said wryly at last. “I seem to have lost my head.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

Miss Vanreid remained oddly silent for a woman he knew to be quite forthright. The aunt sputtered, in fine dudgeon, demanding the situation be rectified. Carlisle did his part, offering grim comfort.

“There, there, Mrs. Stanley,” the duke said. “I’m sure the duke will make amends as swiftly as possible. Is that not so, Your Grace?”

Sebastian gave a stiff nod. “Please accept my sincere apologies for the insult I’ve paid your niece this night, Mrs. Stanley. Rest assured that I will call first thing in the morning to make a formal offer for Miss Vanreid’s hand.”

That appeared to take the wind right out of the aunt’s sails. “A formal offer?”

“Naturally,” he bit out. “My admiration for your niece is great. I would be honored to make her my wife. In the meantime, to blunt further scandal, you’ll need to take Miss Vanreid home.”

There. He’d said it. He done what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do, what he’d been uncertain he would allow on the carriage ride over. As sacrifices went, this was one of the ultimate, regardless of whether he was granted an annulment at the conclusion of the assignment as Carlisle promised. Marrying Daisy Vanreid was more than he’d wanted to give, but he had sworn an oath to protect his country. If he was willing to forfeit his life for the safety of his homeland, then he could damn well align himself with any woman in the world. Even if she was as lovely as she was deceptive. Even if he had reason to suspect she potentially possessed both the cunning and the deadliness of an asp.

By God, he would keep his distance. Tonight’s aberration aside, of course. This stunt had been necessary to ensure that Miss Vanreid’s father would agree to the marriage. There was something afoot between Vanreid and Lord Breckly, whose own mother hailed from Ireland. Some reason Vanreid was determined to wed his daughter off to an aging reprobate. Vanreid was aware he was under suspicion, and the League couldn’t be certain Vanreid would’ve accepted Sebastian’s suit, despite his being a duke.

But a ruining witnessed by the lady’s aunt would justify nothing less or risk bringing undue attention upon Vanreid and his murky dealings with the Fenians.

And so he had done all but raise Miss Vanreid’s skirts and take what he wanted: all of her.

What his body wanted, that was. For there was no denying the effect she had upon him. His mind, however, was different. He could govern his mind, and his mind could, in turn, rule his baser instincts. He would not touch Daisy Vanreid again. Not even if Carlisle told him that the safety of the Queen depended on Sebastian bedding the vixen.

Miss Vanreid finally broke her silence, interrupting the whirling tumult of his thoughts. “Aunt Caroline, I’m afraid my gown is… in disrepair.”

“Merciful saints.” The aunt actually gave a hiccup then, and he wondered just how far into her cups she’d already fallen this evening. “How will we manage to remove you without notice? Your father will be livid. You’re meant to marry Lord Breckly.”

Carlisle spoke up, ever the manipulator. “My dear Mrs. Stanley, fortunately, I am familiar with the grounds, having been a guest here on many occasions. I do believe there is a gate at the rear of the garden through which you and your niece may discreetly pass, with none of the other guests being aware.”

The aunt was so vehement in her appreciation that she nearly vibrated with gratitude. And another hiccup. “Your Grace, I am much indebted to you for your kindness this evening. Do I trust we can have your—hicc—complete discretion in this matter?”

“Naturally, Mrs. Stanley. As long as Trent is willing to make amends by marrying your niece as soon as possible, I will consider this entire event expunged from my memory forever,” Carlisle assured her.