Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(45)

With an epithet, he slid away from her. She thought he was gone, that she’d pushed him too far, but then his hands were on her thighs again, and she felt him there, his muscled shoulders between her legs.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked.

He splayed a hand on her belly, pinning her to the bed as his head delved between her thighs.

“Showing you,” he rasped, the moment before she felt his mouth there, his tongue tasting, licking, sampling her like she was some treat.

She bit her lip to stop from crying out at the sheer sinful shock of it. Then his mouth found the tiny nub buried in her folds. She couldn’t describe the wonder of it. She arched off the bed with a strangled shout as his lips sucked.

The waves were back, crashing over her. Hot sensation rolled through her again and again. Still, he didn’t stop, continued working his mouth over her like a man on a mission. She writhed like she was on fire beneath him, and she was. She’d never imagined anything like this was even possible—pleasure so acute, so swift and sharp. A pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Finally, she drifted back down and he slowed, easing himself away, collapsing at her side.

After some moments, she found her voice in her parched throat. “Why?”

Why didn’t you take me, satisfy your own lusts on my body? Why did you only give?

He didn’t say anything at first and she thought she was going to be left wondering.

Then he rose from the bed, speaking as he moved to don his clothes. “I just wanted you to know.”

Even in the shadowy room, she could identify his state of arousal. It would be hard to miss. The sight of it alone brought the ache back between her legs. Her body, it seemed, knew there was still more he had to show her.

She pulled the sheet around her naked body. “Know what?”

“That not every man is a ravening beast intent on taking his pleasure. That I can control myself.” He stopped and came over her suddenly, his flexing arms braced on either side of her. “You can trust me. Some things—like the number of children you have—can be controlled.”

He was so close. She found herself straining for his mouth again. And then he was gone from her, shoving off the bed. He pulled on his boots and left the room.

She sat there for a long moment, the sheet hugged to her chest as she wondered how in the span of one day she had come to this point—a woman seriously considering marrying the exact type of man she’d sworn off. A man that could be her total undoing.

She fell back on the bed and inhaled deeply, which only brought the warm, musky scent of him washing over her anew. A rush of longing swept over that she quickly stamped down. This wasn’t supposed to be about her. About her wants and desires. She was supposed to be looking out for her family.

She was her mother’s daughter, after all, it seemed—quick to lose her head for a handsome man. It should panic her, but oddly she only felt a small frisson of unease. The need to make a decision weighed on her. She kept hearing his words: You can trust me. Some things—like the number of children you have—can be controlled.

Was that true? She was of a mind to trust him and yet it was so difficult to release her demons and let herself go.

Let herself fall.





Chapter Eighteen

Logan walked Cleo to the front door of her father’s Mayfair mansion, her scent filling his nose. He felt conspicuous as he carried her valise. Even in the dark of night, eyes followed them. Servants peering from windows, people passing in carriages. Anyone who looked at them could see they’d been traveling together. Alone. He wondered if this occurred to her, too. Whether it concerned her in the least. Somehow he didn’t think so. Nothing that happened between them last night or this morning appeared to alter her determination not to wed him.

He’d left his horse in the drive alongside the nag he’d acquired for her to ride the rest of the way to Town. A groom rushed to attend to the beasts. She didn’t bother knocking at Hadley’s front door, simply strode inside.

He stepped behind her, fully intending to follow her, but once over the threshold she turned around and stopped, preventing him from going any further. Apparently, she didn’t wish him to join her inside.

He glared down at her, undeniably annoyed. He felt like a lad of thirteen again when Marlena, the young widow from the village, a very worldly nineteen-year-old, had brushed him off after introducing him to the wonders of the female body. He was too old, had seen too much to feel like this.

“I’d like to speak to your father.”

“I know you would,” she said evenly, giving a brisk nod. “I’ll talk to him myself. Explain everything.”

Suspicion knotted his stomach. Specifically regarding whether she would actually explain everything. Such as how ruined she was . . . and that he wanted to set it to rights and wed her. He glanced beyond her as if he might spot her father. “You can’t stop me from talking to him.”

She nodded again, the motion swift. “He won’t like hearing what happened. It’s best if it comes from me. He sets a lot of store in such things.”

“Things like your reputation?” he bit out. “Fathers tend to do that.”

She winced. “Let me break it to him first. Then you can pay us a call tomorrow.”

He angled his head, studying her closely. “What are you saying, Cleo?”