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Season Of Secrets - Кэрол Мортимер - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
Season Of Secrets - Кэрол Мортимер - Скачать любовный роман в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
Мортимер Кэрол
Season Of Secrets
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No sooner had they stepped outside into that shadowed darkness than Sylvie felt the steely strength of Christian’s arms as he pulled her hard against him, the lowering of his head blocking out the brightness of the moon overhead as his lips claimed hers.
Not a gentle or exploratory kiss, but that of an experienced lover, demanding she return that same heat of passion. An experienced lover who knew exactly how to kiss and caress the woman in his arms until she was weak with arousal...
Try as Sylvie might to resist that seduction, and her determination never to fall for this man’s rakish charms ever again, she found she had no defenses against the onslaught. Christian’s tongue parted her lips before plunging possessively inside, his hands moving in a restless caress down the length of her spine before cupping beneath her bottom to pull her in so tight against him Sylvie could feel the hard ridge of his arousal.
Betraying heat flooded between her thighs, her nipples aching beneath the bodice of her gown as Christian deliberately rubbed his chest rhythmically against them, eliciting a want, an unwanted hunger deep inside her—
Christian wrenched his mouth from hers to lower his lips to the swell of her breasts, his tongue rasping, lapping, across that sensitized flesh before he tugged down on the bodice of her gown. One of those swollen orbs spilled out of its confinement to allow him to place his lips about her nipple.
Arousing a heat that none of Sylvie’s late-night imaginings had even come close to replicating as she stroked the nubbin between her thighs, faster and harder until she reached a shuddering climax.
Sylvie felt that same climax rapidly building within her now as Christian continued to caress her nipple, harder, deeper, teeth biting, tongue laving as her back arched to press her breast deeper into that sensual delight.
She had no intention of ever falling in love with this man again, but that was no reason why she should not take the sexual gratification he now offered, in the same way he had once taken sexual gratification from her.
Sylvie parted her thighs and moved up on her toes so that she might rub herself against the hard ridge of Christian’s arousal, perfectly positioning that hardness against herself as she stroked herself against him in a rapidly increasing rhythm—
She gave a groan of protest as Christian wrenched his mouth away from her breast even as he grasped her shoulders to steady her before he stepped back and away from her, his eyes a hard and glittering green. “I do not in the least mind paying for a woman’s...services, but I prefer to know the price of those services before I bed her rather than be apprised of it afterward,” he drawled contemptuously as he straightened the lace at his cuffs.
“Price...?” she repeated sharply.
He gave a mocking inclination of his head. “I have no doubts that a man of Ampthill’s advanced years thought himself truly blessed when he took such a young beauty as his wife. I, however, am in no hurry to contemplate marriage,” Christian drawled contemptuously, at the same time feeling a moment’s regret as Sylvie set the front of her gown to rights. “Especially when I have already sampled your goods—”
He got no further in his insult as the palm of Sylvie’s left hand made loud and painful contact with his right cheek. “I will allow you that one small lapse,” he bit out harshly, a nerve now pulsing in that no doubt rapidly reddening cheek. “But be warned, Sylvie, that the next time I will retaliate in kind.”
“You are as much a bastard as you ever were, I see!” Her eyes flashed.
Christian raised mocking brows. “Because I gladly took what you offered four years ago?”
Her eyes glittered darkly. “Because you took what you wanted before departing to enjoy the licentiousness of London and then returning to your regiment with not a thought for what might become of me!”
Christian studied her flushed face between narrowed lids. “Unless I am mistaken, you became the Countess of Moorland.”
Her hands had clenched into fists at her sides, her breasts quickly rising and falling as she breathed deeply. “And you returned to your life of debauchery with not a thought to the fact that I was ruined. Used goods.”
“Not so ‘used’ you did not marry within months of our parting. And to another earl, no less,” he added. “Although well beyond the flush of youth.” Christian’s mouth twisted derisively at the thought of the gentleman who had been old enough to be Sylvie’s grandfather rather than her husband. “But perhaps he was so grateful to have you in his bed that he chose not to question your lack of virginity?”
There appeared a look of such chilly contempt upon Sylvie’s face that it took every effort on Christian’s part not to flinch from that coldness. “You may insult me all you wish,” she bit out. “But you will never talk of Gerald again in that tone. He was a gentleman. A man of honor. Of integrity. And you—you are not even fit to so much as lick one of his boots!”
Christian scowled his displeasure. Not because Sylvie had just roundly insulted him, but because her words made it very clear that even if she had not loved her aged husband, she had deeply respected and liked him. A respect and liking she made it equally clear she did not feel for Christian...
Did he want Sylvie’s liking and respect?
Before this evening his answer would have been a resounding no. Before he had kissed her again, caressed her, suckled the fullness of her breast and felt the heat of her response to him, he would have said no. But now? How did Christian feel now that he had done all of those things?
Four years ago Sylvie had been the only daughter of the family living on the small estate neighboring his own in Berkshire. A young girl he had seen about the village for most of his life, even if his years away at school, university and latterly the army had meant he had never known her well.
But he had come home on leave from his regiment the summer of 1813, battle-worn and inwardly scarred and sickened from seeing too much blood and the death of many of his friends. And the young and beautiful Sylvie Buchanan, with her ready smile and innocently eager body, had been exactly the distraction Christian had needed to help him forget, if only for a few weeks, that he must soon return to that bloodbath.
Their first meeting had been completely accidental. Christian, strolling about the countryside several days after his arrival, had come upon Sylvie swimming in a curve of the local river.
Even now Christian could remember the warmth of that day and how the sun had turned Sylvie’s long hair to rippling gold as it flowed out to float loosely in the water behind her after she had given a surprised shriek at espying him on the grassy riverbank and dipped below the water to just below her chin.
Far from leaving, as she had begged him to do, Christian had instead made himself comfortable on that grassy riverbank and laughingly dared her to come out of the water. A dare Sylvie had protested, her beautiful face burning hotly with embarrassment. Christian had persisted in his request at the same time as he informed her he was in no hurry to leave, his breath catching in his throat when, almost an hour later, she finally stood up in the water to reveal she wore only a wet and clinging chemise.
The water had rendered that chemise almost completely see-through, revealing all of her charms as she stepped fully from the water—pale and satiny skin, those high and tilting breasts tipped by rosy nipples, the slightly darker-blond curls nestled between her thighs, her legs long and slender—and all causing Christian’s manhood to harden in a way it had not done in the last months of bloody battle, and which he had secretly feared it might never do again.
The relief of knowing that his lack of desire had only been a temporary aberration had allowed Christian to rein in his own needs and only kiss Sylvie lightly that first day, not wanting to frighten her with the depth of the desire he felt for her.
He had so enjoyed her company, her innocence of passion, that he had arranged to meet her at the same place the following day. And the day following that one. And the one after that. And as each day passed, their kisses deepened, became more passionate, needy, quickly advancing to caresses, and then finally the two of them had made love on that grassy knoll beside the river, the sunshine continuing to shine down on them as Christian made love to Sylvie a second time, and then a third, his hunger to possess her, to claim her, seeming never ending.
A hunger that Christian’s response to kissing Sylvie again this evening had now shown him, no matter how he might wish it otherwise, had never completely gone away...
His mouth twisted disdainfully. “I believe I would far rather lick the honey from between your silken thighs than I would your husband’s boots,” he drawled suggestively. “Something, if my memory serves me correctly, that you would also enjoy?” He quirked one mocking brow.
Her breath caught in her throat. “You are disgusting!”
“Have a care, Sylvie.” His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“And if I choose not to do so?” she dared.
Christian gave an unconcerned shrug. “Then you will suffer the consequences of deliberately challenging me.”
Sylvie gave an involuntary shiver as she heard the steely edge beneath Christian’s tone, knowing she should not have attended the Dowager Countess of Chambourne’s ball this evening.
Recently returned to Society, and having only seen Christian Ambrose occasionally from a great distance, Sylvie had known that it was only a matter of time before the two of them were introduced by a hostesses at one function or another. That being so, Sylvie had decided that she would prefer to be in control of when and how that meeting took place, her years of being married to the gentlemanly Gerald having led her to believe she was now immune to Christian Ambrose’s dangerous brand of sensuality.
Instead she had found herself in his arms within minutes of their having met again, telling her that if anything, her response to Christian’s lovemaking was even more intense, more immediate, than it had been four years ago.
Because she was also four years older? And as such her physical desires had become that much more mature too?
Whatever the reason, Sylvie knew she should not have come here this evening. Should never have risked drawing Christian’s attention to her. And she most certainly should never have allowed herself to respond to him on even a physical level! He—
“Why did you not wait for me, as I asked you to?”
Sylvie blinked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Christian’s jaw tightened. “Four years ago. I told you I loved you and asked you to wait for me.” And only thoughts of this woman waiting for him in England had kept him alive.
Her chin rose defensively as she recalled how his own household in the country, unaware of Sylvie’s previous involvement with Christian, had been indulgently abuzz with the rumors of his return to his rakish behavior during his week’s stay in London prior to returning to his regiment. Rumors that had put Sylvie’s own importance in his life in its proper context.
She lifted her chin. “And when, after two months, you had not so much as written me a single letter, I had no choice but to accept that our affair was over.”
He scowled. “There was a reason I did not write to you—”
“None that are acceptable to me, I assure you.” Sylvie gave him a contemptuous smile.
Christian’s jaw tightened as he remembered those weeks he lay suffering, when only thoughts of Sylvie, waiting for him at home, had prevented him from succumbing to the fatality of his infected wound. “And how long after I left did you wait before accepting Ampthill’s offer of marriage?” His top lip curled back in disgust. “A week? Two? On the basis, no doubt, that an earl ‘in the hand’ was better than the uncertainty of the return of the one who had so recently gone back to the war!”
Sylvie gave a rueful shake of her head. “How dare you stand there and accuse me of inconstancy when you were the one who left without so much as a single glance back at the girl you had used to fill your hours of boredom whilst in the country!”
“I told you I loved you and asked you to wait for me, damn it!” His eyes glittered.
Sylvie forced herself not to wilt under the barrage of Christian’s accusing tone, distrustful of that anger as she had good reason to be distrustful of the man himself. “I was eighteen years old, Christian, with all of the impatience of youth.”
“So impatient you could not even have waited a few months?” Christian frowned as he recalled finally returning to England three months after he and Sylvie had last seen each other, only to be informed by her proud parents, when he rode over to their estate to pay his respects, that Sylviana no longer lived on their estate with them, but was now residing in Bedfordshire with her husband, Colonel Lord Gerald Moorland, Earl of Ampthill.
Christian had no recollection of the rest of his conversation that day with Henry and Jessica Buchanan, or of taking his leave some half an hour or so later. He had felt as if someone had punched him in the chest, rendering him both speechless and numb. He’d had no choice but to accept that Sylvie was now another man’s wife, and as such, was far beyond his reach.
That numbness had lasted for several days, only to be replaced by anger and disillusionment. He had believed Sylvie was different from all those other marriage-minded chits he so frequently met in Society, that she actually cared about him, Christian the man, rather than his title. The fact that she had married an ancient earl in the few months of his absence showed Christian that had not been the case, that the title was everything to her.
And so had begun the months and years of debauchery he had embarked upon following his disillusionment. Those same years that had quickly earned him the reputation for being a rake and a dissolute, a man who cared naught for the softer emotions and everything for the pleasure of the moment.
“Obviously you could not,” Christian answered his own question contemptuously. “And as luck would have it, you only had to suffer an old man’s pawing for a year or two before you were conveniently left his widow and in possession of all his fortune.”
Sylvie felt the color leech from her cheeks at Christian’s deliberately insulting tone. An insult she did not deserve from this particular man. Not now, and certainly not four years ago.
She had been deeply in love with Christian. Even when she had been told of his behavior in London after he left her, she had tried to dismiss it as just rumors, malicious gossip that could not possibly be true. The months of silence that had followed those rumors had left her with no choice but to accept she had merely been a diversion for him during the weeks he spent in the country attending to estate matters.
“You know absolutely nothing of my marriage to Gerald—”
“I know enough to realize that an old man of sixty could not possibly have hoped to satisfy the physical demands of a young girl of eighteen!” His top lip curled back with distaste. “I know you, Sylvie,” he added softly. “How to touch and arouse every silken inch of your body.” He reached out to run his fingers lightly across the firm swell of her breasts revealed by the low neckline of her gown. “I have watched you, enjoyed you, time and time again, as you experienced climax after shattering climax. Did Moorland do that for you, Sylvie? Did he touch you in all the intimate places that I know give you such pleasure—”
“Stop it!” she protested, knowing and regretting that the heated flush to her cheeks and breasts revealed how much Christian’s words had aroused her. Aroused her, but never again would she allow her heart to be broken by this man. “All this talk of the past achieves nothing—”
“And if it does not have to be the past?” Those long and caressing fingers dipped beneath the bodice of her gown to pluck unerringly at one roused nipple. “It so happens I am currently without a mistress—”
“And I am not so desperate for a man’s intimate touch that I would ever consider accepting such an offer from you!” Sylvie glared up at him. Not on his terms, at least. Not on any terms that would endanger her heart or the independent life she now lived.
Those sculpted lips curved into a humorless smile. “All evidence to the contrary, my dear.” He squeezed that roused nipple between thumb and finger, looking down at her dispassionately as she drew her breath in sharply. “Are you damp and ready for me between your thighs, Sylvie? Perhaps I should touch you there too and see for myself—”
“Leave me be!” Sylvie could stand it no more, slapping his hand away before stepping back.
“You are,” Christian murmured with quiet satisfaction as he continued to regard her flushed cheeks dispassionately. “You will give me the name of the gentleman—or gentlemen?—currently sharing the pleasure of your body and your bed,” he said.
“And why would I wish to do that...?” She eyed him contemptuously.
“So that I may dispense with his, or their, services, of course.” He shrugged those broad shoulders. “I may be considered an out-and-out rake by all of Society, but I draw the line at sharing my woman with another man!”
Sylvie gave an indignant gasp. “I have no intention of ever
becoming your woman!”
“Oh, but you will, Sylvie,” Christian assured her confidently. “In fact, I intend calling upon you tomorrow so that we might...discuss the terms of that agreement.”
Sylvie stared up at him for several long moments, knowing by the cold implacability of Christian’s pale-green gaze that he meant exactly what he said. “I do believe that your arrogance has now become as large as your overinflated ego!” she finally snapped dismissively. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a headache, and wish to go and make my excuses to your grandmother before taking my leave.” She turned briskly on one satin slipper before marching away.
Christian watched between narrowed lids as Sylvie walked the length of the terrace before stepping lightly back into the ballroom, knowing he needed to delay his own return several more minutes if he was not to appear before his grandmother with an indecent erection tenting the front of his silk breeches.
And despite her protests to the contrary, he had every intention of having Sylvie satisfied on the morrow...
* * *
Once safely returned to her home in Berkeley Square, Sylvie went straight up the stairs, moving quietly into the candlelit bedchamber before nodding dismissal of the nurse and taking that lady’s place in the chair beside the small bed, the tension leaving her expression as she gazed down at her sleeping daughter.
Sylvie felt a deep outpouring of love as she reached out to gently touch the abundance of dark curls framing those baby cheeks and small rosebud of a mouth, and knowing that if Christianna’s eyes were open, they would be a beautiful, warm, moss green.
The exact same shade as her father’s...
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