Chapter 32
“I’m sorry,” Lord Swindle said, after he pulled her in for a kiss that singed away all her regrets.
“I’m not,” Adelaide whispered, stealing him back. Four years since she’d last met those lips with her own, since she’d been free to do so. It mattered not, only the man before her.”
Adelaide, Chapter 24
God, when had the woman removed her gloves? Her bare, soft knuckle against his lips almost did him in.
“I want you. Here. Now. Will you do as your lady commands, my lord?”
He could sense what she wanted, but he wanted to hear her say the words. “And what does my lady command?”
Moonlight leaked through the carriage curtains to gild her face. “Kiss me.”
“And where does my lady command to be kissed?” His whispered words were temptation breathed against her mouth.
Her eyes flicked to the core of her and back up to him. He swore underneath his breath.
“Here?” He questioned, planting a kiss at the juncture where her graceful neck sloped toward her shoulder.
“Lower,” her whisper was a warm, soft caress against his ear.
He peered up at her, holding her eyes as he slipped one rosette-covered ruby strap of her bodice from its perch.
His free hand cupped her breast, bringing the perky orb to his mouth.
He tasted the sweat on her skin, the texture of her perfect nipple accented with the hitch in her breathing, and polished with notes of pleasurable sounds and sighs.
“Lower,” she breathed.
“Lower, the lady says,” he smirked up at her as he hitched up his trousers and sank to his knees,“Then let me make the floor of this carriage your fucking altar.”
And with a wink that achieved his desired effect, her jaw also hitting the floor, he hitched up her skirts, disappearing beneath a tent of red satin and crinoline and chiffon. The fabric made a welcome scrape against his skin.
“Dear God, how do you move in all this?” He wasn’t sure if she could even hear him from the swirling circular mass of skirts.
His hand caught around the smooth skin of her thigh; he heard her suck in a breath. His mouth trailed a wake of kisses up the skin of her leg all the way to her center. He felt the arch of her back as she grabbed the railing on the roof of the carriage.
Fitz left small, swirling circles inside her entrance, licking away at her resolve for long minutes.
He savored all the little sounds of pleasure she made as he both gave and took.
Her legs shook with the need for release as he brought her close to the brink, but not yet close enough.
He planted her hand in his hair and admonished her to pull harder.
In return, he planted caresses to bring her closer to her undoing.
He added one finger to aid the efforts of his mouth.
She let out little moans and sighs of pleasure when she looked more like she wanted to scream.
He could give her more, make her feel molten until she was satisfied with his efforts at supplication.
The sight of her above him, the taste of her on his tongue, the sounds she made at the trace of his tongue at her center had him straining with need for more of her, but he held back.
“Fitz,” she cried out, then he emerged from a pile of satin.
“My betrothed?” He answered.
“I need you,” when her voice came out sounding more like a whimper, it undid him.
“Do you need more of my lips?” He asked, wrapping his hand around her head to bring her in for a kiss.
One hand at his nape, she pulled his body to cover hers on the carriage seat.
Fitz’s knees bracketed her hips, and then he lost where he ended and she began amongst the many layers of clothes spread around them.
“Yes and no,” she replied, her hand coming to his trousers. A swore was torn from his lips.
“You want your first time to be in a carriage?”
He questioned, leaning over her on the small plush seat.
Her heaving chest pressed against her bodice, against him, but not nearly close enough.
Before she could reply, the carriage slowed to a stop.
The coachman called out, Fitz answered with a hoarse groan that he and the lady would be out in a moment.
He helped her up. “Coming inside, princess?”
Noelle looked through the crack in the curtains at his ivy-covered town house. It had never felt like much of a home to him, but she held the power to make it one.
Both set about restoring their clothing and appearance. She fussed with her hair and he felt the need to reassure her.
“In case anyone sees, it’s merely the author and her publisher, finally meeting face to face.”
He took her mouth in his, consuming her. Finally, he bit her bottom lip before pulling away. He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his attire before turning to her. She grimaced at his efforts and then retied his cravat, buttoned the buttons that had come loose.
“You’re still a bit… ruddy-cheeked and rakish, but there’s little I can do about that. You were likely born with a rakish grin affixed.”
He gifted her one of said rakish grins. “You aren’t the only one with a persona, you know.”
When the two exited the carriage, he saw a female neighbor doing the same, motioning to the two of them to the man beside her.
Fitz gave a polite wave. He thought he saw a tall, bulky figure in the shadows, but shook his head and the figure disappeared.
He was just being paranoid after the vitriolic letter he’d received from his uncle following the announcement of the masquerade ball tonight.
She was here with him, now, at his home- their home, he realized- and deserved his full attention. Fitz and his bride-in-disguise finally made it inside, where the butler asked for her cloak and mask.
“I’ll keep it on, if you don’t mind.” Noelle said.
Fitz didn’t miss the way his two maids observed her, staring and whispering.
“Cor! It’s her! She’s real after all.” A surge of pride shot through him that the enigma his Noelle had crafted had reached the working class, as he had suspected it would.
Noelle locked eyes with his, delight dancing in them even behind her mask.
Noelle waved,“Good evening,” she said by way of greeting.
They were struck dumb for a moment. They both gave quick obsequious curtsies.
“I’ll be meeting with the lady in my study to discuss business. Please ensure we are not interrupted,” Fitz instructed his butler as he handed him his hat and coat. Unlike the still-staring maids, the butler professionally took his hat and cloak without more than a ‘Yes, my lord.’
Fitz led Noelle- er, Adelaide- inside his well-appointed study, all mahogany and gold and dark green, depositing her on a divan.
He walked over to the sideboard and poured two fingers of whiskey in each glass.
Howler came from his perch at the window, and rubbed his side against Fitz’s leg, begging to be scratched.
As if Fitz didn’t know how fondly the staff doted on the overgrown hound in his absence.
Fitz gave a low chuckle. “Howler, did you neglect to notice we have company?”
The dog’s head swiveled in Lady Noelle’s direction, his tail wagging.
Noelle motioned the dog over, but he stayed at his master’s side.
Fitz returned, dog at his heels and handed a tumbler to her, her eyes alighted on his shirt sleeves.
They noticed his waistcoat unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up.
He sat down next to her, the dog at his feet.
“You can remove your mask now, darling.”
One of her beautiful ungloved hands toyed with the cuff of his sleeve.“I have wanted you, Fitz, for as long as I can remember, but… I’ve always felt intimidated by…well, the sum of you. I see you now, past all of that, but this is all new to me.”
He took her hand from where it rested against her blushing cheek, and kissed it. “I want to see you, too. Remove the damn mask or not, as long as I get to look into your eyes, to see all the pleasure in them as I make love to you.”
She brought his long fingers to the silk ribbon, guiding them to untie her mask, touch lighter than a whisper as he pulled the strings loose. She tilted her drink to his and then sipped it gingerly.
“Fitz, there is something else that I wanted to say.”
He raised a brow, staring at her over the rim of his glass as he draped an arm over the settee to caress her shoulder.
“The way that you published one copy of my book in such exquisite detail, and the other in penny novels, the show that we arranged tonight for everyone to believe they saw Adelaide in the flesh, the puppet shows in Covent Garden and the reviews you arranged in the papers,
” she stopped fidgeting with the mask in her hands and looked up at him, “You are good at this, you know. Better than you give yourself credit for.”
One hand reached for him, intertwining with his fingers the way his body wanted to be entangled with hers. “You said that perhaps I only needed someone to believe in me, it just occurred to me that the same could be said for you. Maybe that’s all anyone needs, really.”
“You’re all I need.”
One of his strong hands cupped her jaw, pulling her in close enough for a kiss that seared through him with a much stronger force than the contents of any glass. She pulled away from the kiss for one small sip more.
“Better?” he asked with a brow and a small smile.
“Yes. I feel…freer. In charge.”
Her skin was warm beneath his hand where it rested on her thigh.“You are. You are most definitely in charge, princess. Tell me what you want.”
“I believe I promised a performance?” She raised a brow, pushing him against the back of the divan as she seated herself atop him.
“God, yes,” he let out like he’d been holding in all his breath.
Her lips raked over his, over to his jaw, down his neck, at his nape. She gripped his damned cock through his breeches. He bit back a groan as his cock pulsed against her hand, asking to be kissed next. She looked at him, he raised a brow. Her wicked smile told him what she planned to do next.
Oh, he liked her being in charge.
“I’m the luckiest man in Christendom,” he replied, letting her hold his arms back against the furniture with one hand as she loosened his cravat and shirt from his trousers with the other. He held up both of his arms obediently as she slipped his shirt over his head.
He gave her a look that was wickedness incarnate as she stared at the perfectly made width and breadth of his solid chest. For a moment, her breathing marched in the same rhythm with his. Both realized there was no going back now.
“You’re still in charge, Viscountess,” he said.
She shushed him with one finger. Her lips trailed down his neck, making stops along his broad bared chest to suck at each nipple.
His eyes slammed shut. Could she feel the violent tattoo of his heartbeat as she singed his chest with those torturous licks and flicks of her tongue?
He wanted her eyes locked on his when he finally lost control. When they both did.
She planted a kiss at his navel, before pausing at the fold of his breeches.
He pulled her suddenly towards him, yanking her mouth to his, his kisses urgent and full of need.
Need…for her. A need she must have shared as she hissed, “These need to go.”
She set to work pulling down his trousers, revealing a well-made column of marble beneath.
He heard her intake of breath as it made its debut.
“It looks like marble-”
“I’m about as hard as marble at the moment,” he interrupted, placing his shaft in her hand.
When she planted little kisses up and down his length, finally taking him in her mouth, he couldn’t stop the cry of pleasure and surprise he let out.
She moved her mouth along all of him, tasting him.
She started to move faster as he reached for the back of her head.
The soft strands of her hair he’d longed to touch.
She removed his hand and placed one at her breast.
He’d wanted to learn the feel of those even more.
“God, Noelle, You’re going to be the death of me,” he ground out, arching off the divan toward her.
“I hope not, I have a use for you after all,” she paused to let out. She went back to stroking him with her mouth, until he pulled her away. He didn’t want to lose himself before he’d been inside her.
“You’re torturing me. And now…It’s my turn, princess.”
“Show me what you have in mind.”
And he pulled her to her feet to do just that.