Chapter Twenty-Four
Scarlett Perkins walked numbly back to her chamber.
She had been sure that Malcolm Brown wanted her.
She had finally trusted that she could be desired—because she saw the evidence in his eyes. And hadn’t he said it to her just now? I am not going to stand here before you, Scarlett, and pretend that I don’t want you.
Yet he had refused her.
She entered her room and sank down on the bed.
He had confessed to wanting her. But then, when he had declined her offer so coldly, she had been at first merely confused. Then she had realized.
She had spent so much time explaining to him that she didn’t want to marry. That she didn’t have designs to become his wife. He had seemed so honorable, so she had emphasized that their coupling wouldn’t ruin her prospects.
What a fool she had been. He had been sitting there the entire time, thinking of his own plans for marriage.
It hadn’t struck her, until after his refusal, that he might care about going to his bride pure.
That he might have a woman in mind, that he might be in love with her—or, failing that, a connection more advantageous in regards to fortune—and that he wanted to go to their marital bed unsullied.
Yes, men were usually not as principled about such things. Society certainly regarded their indiscretions differently. But that didn’t mean that every man wanted to go to his marital bed having tupped other women.
It shouldn’t sting as much as it did. He did desire her. She hadn’t been wrong about that. Just not as much as had imagined. And while he saved himself for another woman.
A knock sounded on her door, and she started.
Dear God, it must be the maid, the one whom she had so unfairly come to resent for her continual attendance.
She scolded herself. She must not let her own circumstances make her unkind. Scarlett rose and walked to the door.
She pulled it open.
It was not the maid.
It was Malcolm Brown.
She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.
“May I come in?” he asked, his eyes heavy-lidded and his voice raw.
“Yes,” she managed, barely. “Of course.”
She closed the door behind him, and then slowly turned. She kept her arms crossed as she did so.
“Yes?”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
She looked up at him. His face was flushed, and his mouth hung open ever so slightly. His eyes shone and his lips were red.
She had no idea why he had changed his mind. And she didn’t particularly care to know. It didn’t matter to her.
“I see,” she said.
He kissed her then, hard and thoroughly, and she melted.
She didn’t have resistance in her. She had meant what she told him.
She wanted him, this, this moment, this right now, more than she cared about consequences.
If he planned to marry another woman at some point in the not-too-distant future, let that be his problem. She needed to experience him.
This fact was connected to another, of which she was equally aware.
It could only be him. With no other man could she have this passion.
She was quite sure she would never again meet his like.
Perhaps it was because of how they had begun.
Either way, it felt natural to be with him like this, in a way that she was sure it never would be with anyone else.
She pulled him down on the bed, and he followed her without resistance.
His heavy body over hers had a stupefying effect on her. He continued to kiss her, and her body went syrupy, liquid. She would do anything he wanted, she thought. She wanted nothing more than to please him.
He cupped her breasts through her corset. She gasped at the welcome touch.
“Take it off. Take it all off,” he murmured.
She realized what she had forgotten. What he had evidently forgotten or didn’t have intimate enough knowledge of women to realize.
“I can’t—tonight.”
He looked down at her, stunned. She blushed, realizing how ridiculous she must sound. She had traveled to this man’s room and essentially begged him to ruin her. Now she was telling him no.
“My courses,” she stuttered. “I am—It won’t—”
His cock was hard against her leg, and he was panting. “You don’t want to? Tonight? Because of your courses?”
She had not considered bedding him with her courses. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “It’s only—the mess. The blood.”
She couldn’t believe she was discussing this matter with any man. Her cheeks were on fire.
“Don’t women bleed when they lose their maidenhead anyway?”
“Sometimes. Not as much, though, as this.”
He ran his hand over his mouth. “Of course, if you don’t want to—that’s one matter. But if you still want me, I don’t think I can stop. Not for a trifle such as that.”
“It’s not a trifle. It’s—”
“Do you want me?” he said, his voice harsher and less controlled than she had ever heard it.
“Yes,” she swallowed.
“Then let us proceed.”
“But the blood—the bedsheets. The maids will wonder what has happened.”
He stood then. For a second, she thought he had seen reason and withdrawn from her. Instead, however, he crossed to the closet. He opened the door and pulled out a dark flannel blanket.
“It belongs to me.” He spread it down on the bed. It was thick, she observed. “You’ll remember this room is mine, usually. And I don’t mind the mess.”
She swallowed hard, again. “Very well.”
“So, as I said, please take it all off.”
“I’ll need your help.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He undid the buttons at the back of her dress and those at the waist of her petticoats. Then he attended to the laces of her corset. She removed her drawers and her guard, the one she secured with a band around her hips, and then her shift.
She turned to him, trembling.
“Dear God, Scarlett,” he said. “And you expect me to survive you?”
She nearly let out a sob. But it was swallowed by his movement toward her and how he swept her into his arms. He kissed her, immoderately, and she returned his passion.
“You too,” she finally managed to murmur. “Your clothes.”
He nodded. “On the bed. I’ll come to you.”
She positioned herself on the flannel blanket and watched as he stripped. His cravat from earlier was long gone, so he only had his vest and shirt to undo. Then he unbuckled his trousers, let them fall to his feet, and stepped forward.
He still wore his smalls, but she didn’t object. The absurd press of his large erection against the flimsy fabric gave her impression enough. She feared if he came to her completely bare, she would lose her mind and become a babbling fool—even more than she was already.
Malcolm joined her on the bed and instantly claimed her mouth. Her skin heated and flushed afresh.
He moved his lips down to her neck and groaned. She gloried in the feel of his cock against her. His hand found her breasts and then his lips did the same.
“Your breasts,” he murmured. “How could I be expected to refuse you?”
His speech was doing as much for her as his hands and lips. To hear the power she had over him, the way he felt he had no choice but to surrender, made her go even slicker between her legs.
“Please—” She gasped.
“Yes, darling.”
He looked at her, his eyes a shadowy sage color in the dim light. “If you want me to properly ruin you, we are going to have to open you up.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we tried before, you were too tight. You felt like heaven, but you wouldn’t let me in.”
“Do you think it impossible?” Panic beaded through her at the thought. She thought she might die of want if she never felt him inside of her.
“No, I know it is possible. You only need a bit of practice.”
“What do you mean?”
He brought his fingers to her core. “I will open you up with my fingers first.”
“Oh.”
She supposed it was true that when he had made her come before, he had never gone inside her. There had been no need.
“Will you allow me?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He began to stroke her. Between the blood from her courses and her arousal, she was very wet.
He stroked her at the apex of her pleasure, but then, as he had promised, he also began to ease her open with his fingers.
At first, it was slightly uncomfortable, but whenever it began to be so, he would return to stroking her there, and she felt herself relax.
Soon, he had not one, but two fingers inside her. The pressure that he gave her there wasn’t as acute compared to when he touched the center of her pleasure, but it added depth that had not been there before.
She understood now, as his fingers thrust gently inside her, what people meant by fucking much more clearly.
She began to pant and writhe, seeking a release that he did not seem particularly keen on giving her. “Please.”
“Patience,” he said. “I want to make sure that you can take me.”
With embarrassment, she realized that she was going to spend before he was inside her.
“Malcolm, I-I think-I won’t be able—”
He looked down at her, clearly perplexed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I—”
She realized that she had no idea how to articulate this situation. It was too mortifying.
“Should I stop?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“No, please, don’t!”
He continued stroking her, and she cried out.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Dear God, no, don’t stop.”
He continued, although she noticed that his body had gone a bit rigid. But she couldn’t care. She felt her pleasure about to crest as he continued to stroke her.
She began to tremble and gasp and begged him once more not to stop.
“Oh, Scarlett,” he said into her ear. “Why didn’t you say?”
She came, hard and fast, on a stifled scream.
As she came down, she kept her eyes closed.
It was embarrassing how much she wanted him.
How little he needed to do to get her to respond to his touch.
She was sure it revealed to him how desperate she was for him, how she felt completely overwhelmed by him, and how she would happily throw away her soul, her virtue, anything, for time in his bed.
She wanted nothing of her virtue, if it meant she couldn’t be with this man like this. He didn’t need to be anything more to her than he was right now. Not her husband. Not even her avowed lover. Her desire for him overrode every provision of respectability or pride she had.
And now he knew it.
“Well, that is one way to warm to my touch,” he murmured.
She put her hands over her face. “Don’t mock me.”
“I am not mocking you,” he said, his voice serious. “I could come right now just by looking at you, Scarlett. It takes everything in me to temper myself.”
“I am sorry I do not have your self-control.”
“Do not be. You don’t need it, anyway. Once you’ve recovered, I’ll be able to ruin you just the same.”
She opened her eyes then, peeping out from between her fingers. “Do you think?”
“Yes,” he said, with that deep, heart-rending smile, the one that had taken days in his company to learn he even possessed. “I am not done with you yet. Not by half.”