Chapter Eight
Bloody hell, the need for control was rapidly becoming overwhelming, for Michael felt as if his life was spinning out of that since the evening he’d met Evangeline. His mission was one step nearer to completion, though, and he needed to focus on that.
A frown tugged at the corners of her lush lips as she met his gaze. “We’re about to go into the wedding breakfast. I’ve promised the duchesses to sit near them so we can talk.”
“I don’t care.” And still he continued to shuttle her across the floor, at a slower pace since he walked without the help of the cane. “I am the Duke of Darkemore and this is my damned home, and that means my word is law.”
God, he sounded like London’s biggest prick.
“What is wrong with you?” She attempted to pry his fingers from her arm, but he held tight. “We have guests. This whole union was your idea. You should at least acknowledge your friends who’ve come and who’ve cared enough to see you wed.”
That gave him a moment of pause, but then he shook his head and ushered her through a door and into a small, connected parlor.
He slammed the door behind them. Since the room was usually kept closed off and it wasn’t prepared to be used today, he would be assured of privacy.
“I could give a shit less. This is what I want.” The room rested at the rear of the townhouse, and there was only one window.
Dust covers on some of the furniture had remained in place since the last time he was in London.
The gloom from outside filtered in but didn’t reach into the deep shadows in the corners.
It was one of the last rooms where he still felt a connection to his mother.
I can’t think of her right now.
“No.” This time she managed to yank her arm from his grasp.
One of his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Yes.” As much as he desired to throw her over his shoulder, he physically couldn’t do that.
Hell, his right arm could barely lift five pounds or hold it for any length of time, so he would do the next best thing.
At least most of the guests had already moved out of the drawing room.
“The wedding breakfast will keep everyone busy for the next half hour. If you still feel the urge to join them after we’re done, then by all means do that, but in this moment, you’ll attend to me. ”
When she stood her ground, his admiration for her rose. “What is wrong with you, Darkemore? You are acting as if you’ve gone mad.”
“Perhaps I have.” Being left for dead and knowing he’d failed on his final mission had indeed scrambled his mind. Couple that with falling out of favor with the Regent, and subsequently being cut off from support from the beau monde—even in parliament—had driven him to seek solace in Cornwall.
Except the damned viscount had brought him back to London, where he’d never wished to return to in the first place.
Now he had the added responsibility of a wife.
It was on his shoulders to keep her content and happy, even if their marriage could never be such.
Pressure surged into his chest, made his lungs feel as if they labored too much merely to draw a breath.
All because he needed access to the viscount, and could only have that through Evangeline.
God, what have I done?
She made a move to go past him. “I will attend the breakfast. Once you’ve composed yourself, you might come in as well.”
“I said no!” The outburst seemed to echo in the empty room. “And when I speak, I expect the people around me to listen.” Ever since he came home as a disgraced and nearly dead spy, he hadn’t had anyone’s attention or respect.
If he continued to act the arse, he never would, yet he couldn’t make himself stop.
Evangeline’s eyes widened. “What is driving you to this ugliness?” she asked in a soft voice. “I rather think this is who you are.”
He snorted. “You don’t know me.”
“That is true, but I’d like to. It’s a reason why I agreed to marry you.” For long moments, she held his gaze. “Talk to me, Michael. What are you running from? Why has everything been so rushed since we met?”
“I… uh…” Shaking his head, he tossed his cane onto one of the sheet-covered sofas.
Even as he spoke, anger boiled through his chest, and the need to hide grew strong.
“I can’t tell you that. Hell, I’m not a gifted orator; communication has never been a strong suit.
I’ve been alone too long, I think, and have forgotten how to interact with others.
” Why was he telling her this? Perhaps part of him hoped she’d be curious enough to stay…
“There is no shame in that.” When she rested a palm on his chest, he flinched. “And you can learn how—”
“I said no.” Fear suddenly slammed into him with the force of a blow.
There was nothing for him over and above completing this mission.
“No!” He shook his head. “I want you, and I won’t be denied.
You knew I was steeped in darkness before you married me.
It’s too late to hope for something else now.
” If he didn’t leave his mark on her, there was every possibility she would leave before they could ever understand each other.
Once more grabbing her upper arm, Michael guided her over the floor to the nearest wall, and then he pushed her back against the wall.
“What will claiming me right now gain you?” Her eye color shifted, darkened to green, much like the emerald she wore on her finger. “And I did tell you the next time we came together physically, I would initiate it.”
The words, her strength, the fact she was even still in the room with him all worked toward his undoing. “Tell me you don’t wish for the release, don’t wish to feel the raw and messy rush of our bodies heaving together.”
A quick intake of breath was the only betrayal to the direction of her thoughts. “I’ll admit, there is something… compelling about you, even when you are showing yourself to be an arse, yet—”
That was all the permission he required. With a soft growl that echoed with pain, both physical and emotional, Michael pressed his body into hers, claimed her mouth with a savageness that surprised them both.
Why did he think she could provide a safe haven when he knew nothing ever could?
Wrenching away, he skated his lips down the soft side of her neck. “You are truly gorgeous in this gown; you will make an excellent duchess.”
She furrowed the fingers of one hand in the hair at his nape. “I refuse to be your duchess if you insist on burying the title in scandal and shadows.”
With a grunt, he yanked at the bodice of her gown until her nipples were bared. “I will always be in the shadows. And scandal can’t be helped. People will talk regardless of the topic or the spirit in which a thing was intended. This was never a secret.”
“I suppose it is your life, after all.” She didn’t respond with words. Instead, Evvie guided his head until their lips met, and it was as if a lit match was dropped to dry tinder.
His hands went to her breasts to bedevil the nipples into stiff peaks while he jammed a knee between her thighs.
The texture of those pebbled tips on his tongue only fed his hunger.
The soft glance of her fingertips along his neck urged him onward.
The only thing keeping him anchored to the here and now was the eagerness of her tongue as it tangled with his or the sounds of enjoyment she made when he rolled her nipples between his fingers and thumbs.
God, she could easily become an addiction, just like laudanum, but he was stronger than them both. He didn’t need the distraction, but for whatever reason, he needed her. Yes, just physically for the moment, but that didn’t lessen that longing.
It didn’t take long for him to wrench up her skirting, and when it bunched at her waist, her hands slipped to his frontfalls and worked the buttons from their holes.
When his engorged shaft tumbled out, a tiny sigh escaped her and she wrapped the fingers of one hand around it, gave it a gentle squeeze.
A groan left his throat, but if she continued to fondle him, he’d embarrass himself and waste the energy.
“Not now,” he said around a growl as he hiked up her leg with his good hand and encouraged her to rest it at his hip.
“Plenty of time to play later, and the next time I lay claim to your body, you will be fully and completely at my mercy.”
Her chuckle rang hollow. “As if I’m not in this moment?”
“Not even close.” With jerky movements, he put one of her hands over her head, pinned it to the wall by the wrist. “This is hardly what I mean, but after this, you’ll know that you will always be mine, for better or for worse.
” Then taking himself into his weak hand, he pumped once to ensure the erection, fit his cockhead to her wet opening, and with a sound that was much like a cry, he thrust with his hips, and didn’t stop until her body was impaled by his shaft.
A soft whimper mixed with a moan was her only response, and he rather liked that about her.
Never once did she cry foul or try to push him away.
She rested her free hand on his shoulder, clenched her fingers into the fabric of his tailcoat.
The moment she canted her hips to seat him better was the moment that signified the beginning of the end.
Putting his weak hand on her hip and keeping her pinned to the wall with his other, Michael thrust into her with powerful strokes that had them both crashing into the wall.
Damn, but she watched him the whole time, her gaze boring into his until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
The woman practically begged for a blindfold, and that would happen in short order, but for now, he met her gaze without regret.