Chapter Ten
Emily
Emily wrapped her robe tight around her body in an attempt to quell her trembling limbs.
Her gaze focused on the doors leading to her private balcony, and she wondered if she imagined the brass knob slowly turning.
When the doors failed to open, her thoughts drifted to the stolen moments spent with Wylder St. Clair.
After crying out her climax twice in the silent parlor of Lord Jacobson’s elegant townhouse, Wylder had pulled her upright, kissed her so fiercely she’d nearly fainted, then assisted in smoothing her skirts back into place.
Then, without another word, he pushed her gently out of the room as though confident she would follow his previous orders without even a peep of protest. And the man was insufferably right about that.
She’d moved as if in a daze, climbing into the Blackthorne coach then collapsing against the tufted seat as the trip home passed as though nothing more than a dream.
She’d gone straight to her room and disrobed in record time with her maid’s assistance.
The moment Mary exited the room, Emily quickly stripped away the nightgown she’d donned and threw a thin robe over her nakedness.
Then she unlocked the doors as Wylder had instructed and plopped down in an overstuffed chair to wait for his arrival.
The seconds stretched into minutes, and as the night slipped by, she nervously chewed her fingernail while contemplating the doubts running rampant in her mind.
How long would it take for him to appear? Emily shivered, wondering what the earl might do once he walked through those balcony doors. She would be completely at his mercy. What if he did not abide by his own rules? What if he took what he wanted and left her ruined?
Wylder would not do that. He is an honorable man, even if he is an unrepentant rogue. We would both suffer if he betrays the trust I have placed in him. Besides, if this is the only way I can have the man, then I must have faith in my own decision to proceed.
The way he had touched her in the darkened parlor was different from how he’d caressed her in his coach.
It felt more… possessive. Darker. Ironclad.
Unavoidable. As if by agreeing to his terms, she’d agreed to be his completely and without reservation.
The implications of that frightened her even as it thrilled her.
Wylder’s touch was addictive. She would do whatever he asked if it meant that the delicious tormenting pleasure would continue.
But even as Emily acknowledged the strength of her desire to please him, she wondered what he might do if she were to defy him in some way.
Would he spank her again? Or would there be some other manner of punishment concocted for her pain and his pleasure?
She swallowed hard as a pang of lust speared her body.
Thoughts of the weight of his hands striking her bare bottom as she struggled over his lap trickled into her consciousness.
Perhaps a tiny show of defiance was warranted, if only for the opportunity to explore her own confusing reaction to being disciplined in such a scandalous way.
Frowning at the lascivious nature of her thoughts, Emily stood and shrugged out of the robe.
Donning her nightgown for the second time that evening, she reasoned with herself.
This was a small act, one easily explained away by saying she’d forgotten that part of his instructions.
Would Wylder punish her anyway for such a small mistake?
Jumping up from the chair, Emily began pacing around her room, agitated by her own nervousness. Blast it, if the man did not appear soon, she was likely to change her mind and lock the doors against any intrusion.
The slightest whisper of cool autumn air and the soft click of the balcony doors closing alerted Emily that she was no longer alone.
Before she could turn to face him, Wylder had wrapped his arms around her waist, his hard chest pressing against her back.
She did not know whether to relax or resist, but she did internally melt when he whispered in her ear.
“Did you think I would not come to you, little minx?”
Emily breathed deep, unsure how to respond to his question. She both dreaded his arrival and feared he would not keep his word to come.
“I-I wasn’t sure,” she admitted on a sigh. Wylder carried the night wind on his clothing, the fresh scent accentuated by the woodsy sharpness of his cologne and the sweet spice of brandy.
His arms tightened when she would have turned to face him, his forearms as strong as iron bands encompassing her body. “I see we must start with a punishment after all.”
“We must?” Emily hated how her voice wobbled a little bit.
Would he recognize the excitement it contained?
Her cheeks flushed hot when he chuckled as if she amused him.
His mouth explored the nape of her neck, exposed by the braid her dark, wavy hair had been pulled into.
A shudder of delight swept her as he softly kissed the skin there.
“Yes, we must. My expectations were that you would be wearing nothing, and yet, I find you clad in a garment which conceals your body from my perusal.” Loosening his grip on her waist, Wylder’s hands trailed up along the sides of her form, hesitating briefly to cup her breasts.
A low moan trembled in Emily’s chest, echoed by Wylder’s groan of lust.
His fingers hooked into the bodice of the muslin gown, and Emily froze with sudden apprehension. “Wylder? You do not intend on tearing my gown from me, do you?”
He laughed again as if her hesitant question amused him. “I do.”
“But you cannot. How would I explain its state to my maid in the morning?”
“Must you explain it at all, minx? I shall purchase you a new one to replace it.”
Before she could protest that his buying personal items of that nature for her was highly improbable, the thin garment was ripped from collarbone to navel, and his bare hands were exploring her exposed breasts.
Lifting, weighing the mounds of flesh, his fingers smoothed over her skin before encircling her peaked nipples.
Emily’s body shook with the force of the emotions cascading over her, the words of protest dying before she could even form them.
She’d never experienced anything like this before…
this wildness, this reckless urge to give herself over to him completely.
Wylder’s possessive touch sent her soaring, and he’d not even begun to explore her fully.
“You are so soft, minx. So smooth.” He pinched her nipples until she gasped in shocked pleasure at the slight pain. “Turn around for me now. Let me see you before I decide on your punishment.”
He released her then, stepping away so that she could obey the murmured command.
Clutching the tattered edges of the nightgown together to conceal her nudity, Emily slowly turned.
Her heart thumped harder at the look of absolute desire in Wylder’s eyes.
He looked as though he would eat her alive, a muscle ticking in his jaw as his gaze passed over her.
A dimple in his right cheek appeared when his lips quirked upward at her display of modesty.
“Lower your hands, Emily.”
Closing her eyes, she did as he instructed.
The nightgown gaped open once more, and in the next second, goose bumps broke out on her flesh when his hard hands pushed the material off her shoulders.
The gown hung for a few moments, then slipped away from her body, pooling in a flimsy heap of muslin at her feet.
She was now entirely bare for his hot gaze and a sudden, pained embarrassment flooded her.
How terribly strange it is to be standing before him in this unclothed state when he is not similarly bare.
What if he does not find me pleasing to look upon?
What if I am lacking in some way compared to his other lovers?
He is so much more worldly than I am… perhaps the women he has consorted with in the past were more generously endowed…
their breasts fuller and their hips curved like the ones in the paintings I saw at Northumberland House last year…
“No. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, minx,” Wylder commanded softly, interrupting her internal reverie.
Emily’s eyes flew open, meeting his when he reached out a hand to lift her braid from where it coiled around one breast. He entwined it around his fist like a silken tether.
“You are by far the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
It is almost painful to look upon such beauty and know that I will be responsible for its ruination. ”
Releasing her, Wylder removed his coat and quickly unraveled his cravat.
He tossed both into the chair she’d previously perched upon, and Emily silently watched as he shrugged out of his waistcoat.
His movements were unhurried. Deliberate.
Entrancing. Throwing the garment into the same chair with the rest of his clothes, he now stood before her wearing only a white muslin shirt that lay open to his waist. Emily’s mouth went dry at the sight of him.
What she could see of his body was smooth and lightly tanned, the expanse of exposed flesh an intriguing mix of firm muscles and ridged lines that her fingers ached to explore.
That dimple in his cheek appeared once more as he tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside as well.
Then, as her blood raced and her knees trembled beneath the weight of her own body, Emily stared as Wylder picked up the cravat. The white strip of silk dangled from his large hand as he regarded her. His eyes glowed in the dim light of the room, chips of ice blazing with an internal flame.