Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Seventeen

O liver had been in the process of dressing for dinner when the missive arrived. Breaking the wax seal, he read the brief note once and then read it again.

Please join me in our chambers for a less formal dinner tonight. At the usual hour.

It was an invitation for more than dinner. Of that, he was quite certain. Did she know about the rumors? Did she know about Wortham’s vulgar bet? Or had it been the kiss they’d shared the night before which prompted her invitation? In the end, it didn’t matter. It was an invitation he would accept eagerly.

Discarding his coat and his cravat, he left his waistcoat undone and made his way to the small sitting room that opened off both their bedchambers. Two footmen had placed a table near the window and had laid it with linens, china and silver. A single candelabra was placed in the center of it along with two bottles of wine. It bore all the hallmarks of a scene for seduction. The question, given that his wife had invited him, was who would be doing the seducing.

The footmen finished their tasks and made a hasty exit. Alone in the room, Oliver settled onto one of the well-padded chairs that flanked the table and waited for Madeline to arrive. But nothing, not in his wildest and most carnal imaginings, could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when her chamber door opened.

The light was behind her, rendering the silk all but translucent. He could see the perfect silhouette of every curve beneath the sheer fabric. But it was her hair which had him transfixed. The dark, brunette waves cascaded over her shoulders, falling nearly to her waist in a thick curtain which beckoned a man’s hands.

“This is unexpected,” he managed to utter.

“Is it really?” she replied. “I suppose a better question is whether or not it is also unwelcome.”

His brows shot upward. “Unwelcome? What on earth would ever make you think this would be unwelcome?”

She looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. “This is the fourth night of our marriage… and had I not invited you so boldly, it would likely be the fourth night without… without any sort of intimacy between us.”

Oliver rose to his feet and then crossed the room to where she stood in that doorway, his strides measured and purposeful. When he halted before her, he raised one finger to her chin and tipped her face up to him. “I wanted to be patient for you. I wanted to give you time to adjust to the idea of all that was to take place between us when we were little better than strangers. If you think I did not come to your bed because I had no wish to be in it, then you could not be more wrong.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted on a soft “o” of surprise. “I hated to think otherwise, but I couldn’t—I didn’t know why you would be delaying something that I was always given to understand men were most eager for.”

Oliver cupped her cheek, allowing his fingers to slide through the silken fall of her hair. “Women can be just as eager… there is no shame in that. If both parties are equally enthusiastic, it only makes it better,” he stated.

“I have no notion what I’m doing. My mother explained it poorly. Every other person I’ve asked has given me vague and incomplete answers. Will you tell me?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, Madeline. But I will show you. And that is so much better.”

Madeline didn’t have a chance to ask what that meant. He swooped in, his lips claiming hers as he had done the night before. It was still gentle, but there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there the night before. She could feel the slight scratching of his whiskers on her skin, the sting of his teeth where they scraped over her lower lip. With the hand buried in her hair, he gave a slight tug, which tipped her head back further. And then the kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with hers in a way that left her dizzy and breathless.

But it didn’t stop with just a kiss. Madeline felt herself being maneuvered, walked backwards toward her bed. She didn’t protest. It was what she wanted, after all, at least in theory. And then his mouth left hers, but it traveled over her skin, along the column of her neck, down to her collarbone perfectly framed by the ridiculous excuse of a wrapper she currently wore.

As if thinking of it had called it to his mind, she felt the slight chill of the room as he loosened the tie and slipped the garment over her shoulders. With his lips skating over her fevered skin, Madeline couldn’t think. She couldn’t even form words. All she could do was feel the whirlwind of sensations burgeoning inside her. But then his head dipped lower still, and through the silk of her nightrail, he kissed the swell of one breast before dragging his lips across it to the taut peak of her nipple.

If she’d thought his kisses were drugging, the hot and insistent pull of his mouth on that tender flesh was beyond her ability to describe. It sparked a heat deep inside her, spreading outward until her entire body seemed to burn from it. Only then did he slip the straps of her nightrail over her shoulders, letting the silk fall to her waist and baring her to him.

Madeline didn’t cover herself despite every instinct she possessed telling her she ought to. She had wanted it. She had wanted him . Even without fully knowing what that meant, she’d longed for something more than polite conversations at dinner and walks in the garden. Never had she imagined herself capable of feeling anything so strongly as she felt the need of him in that moment. This was not sweet. It was not gentle. It was none of those things she’d heard poets speak of in such vague terms. It was sharp and demanding, hungry and overwhelming.

Somehow, she found herself on the bed, the thin silk of her nightrail having long since vanished. She was completely nude as his hands and questing mouth roamed over her flesh. But it was when she felt his hand sliding along her inner thigh, upwards to a place she’d been told never to touch save for washing that she felt her first moment of doubt. She placed her hand over his, halting his progress for a moment.

As if he’d sensed it, he paused for a moment, settling back to look down at her. “Whatever has been told to you, let all of that go. Trust me?”

She did. Against all odds, she trusted him, perhaps more than she’d ever trusted anyone in her life. Though their acquaintance was not long, he’d shown her that he was constant and unchangeable. He would only ever be himself and would not shift his manner or his feelings for her to suit someone else’s agenda. Madeline removed her hand and laid back on the bed, a gesture of trust and invitation.

The first touch of his hand there, brushing gently over the curls that shielded the most intimate part of her, was shocking. The heat that rushed through her was like lightning. Gooseflesh raised on her skin and the breath shuddered from her on a soft gasp. But if that had been shocking, what occurred next was beyond her wildest imagining. He dipped his head and kissed between her thighs, his lips and tongue moving over her in a way that rendered her helpless to utter a sound much less protest. And after only seconds, protesting was the last thing she wished to do. The languid heat that suffused her even as an unexpected tension settled low in her belly were feelings she never wanted to end. And yet, even then, her body seemed to be yearning for something her mind could never name. She opened more fully to him, welcoming his touch, welcoming the novel sensations he was stoking to roaring life inside her.

It might have been minutes or it could have been hours. Time was simply lost as she sank into the pleasure. It took her by surprise—the rush of pleasure as it pulsed through her, radiating outward in waves as her body quaked beneath him. And then he was kissing his way back up, his lips dragging over the soft skin of her stomach, pausing to pay sweetly torturous attention to her breasts. Then his mouth was on hers and she could feel the weight of him pressing against her. The warmth and heat of his body on hers, even through the layers of his clothes, which remained on, was such a welcomed relief. She needed that. She needed him to anchor her to a world that seemed to be floating just out of reach in that moment.

Oliver was struggling for control, struggling to find some semblance of willpower. Her arms were wrapped about him and he was cradled between her perfect thighs as he fumbled with the fall of his breeches. When the buttons were freed and the fabric loosened over his straining erection, he hissed out a breath in relief. But it was a momentary relief as he hitched Madeline’s knee slightly higher on his hip. The heat of her was an impossible temptation to resist.

Easing his way, he pressed inside her, feeling her flesh yielding to him as he claimed her completely. She tensed beneath him, her body drawing taut. Then she made a sound, soft and distressed. He halted immediately, stilling entirely. When at last she relaxed again, her muscles eased and her eyes opened to meet his gaze.

“That was the only part of it that is unpleasant,” he promised. “And only this time. Never again.”

She nodded slightly in response, offering her assent. Despite that, her expression was clearly dubious.

Rather than leaving anything to chance, Oliver slid one hand between their joined bodies. He touched her intimately, circling that small bud that was the seat of her pleasure even as he began to move within her once more.

He knew the exact moment her doubts faded. Her neck arched, her head falling back as her hair spilled around them. With her lips parted on a soft pleasured cry, she was like a work of art. Perfect and beautiful. His.

His movements became more frantic as he drove them both toward that precipice. And together, they slipped over the edge, falling into a pleasure that consumed them both.