Читать книгу Sexual Hunger - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 8

Mrs. Booth poked her head in. “Will you be dining downstairs to—Lord A’mighty, Miss Palladino! You’re quite nude!”

Something in her rose to the old biddy’s challenge, despite the way she’d pay for it later. Maria turned to give the housekeeper a full frontal view of her body. “Not really! Would you look at this pendant Jason gave me? Isn’t it the most exquisite—?” She swayed toward the door as she spoke, until Mrs. Booth stepped into the hallway and shut it briskly behind her.

“Lady Darington has graciously provided you with dressing gowns and all manner of nice attire!” the housekeeper’s voice sliced through the door. “While it’s apparent you are ignorant of proper conduct, Quentin and I have been ordered to humor you until the family can instruct you in—”

“Yes, I find this quite humorous,” Maria mocked under her breath.

“—deportment expected of titled society! So when you’ve made yourself decent, you may come downstairs for your evening meal!” Mrs. Booth railed. “And by the powers, I’ll inform Lady Darington she should hire you a maid immediately! To preserve the propriety and decency associated with the family’s fine name!”

So tempting it was, to fire back with Quentin’s tales of Ruthie Booth and her improper propositions! But while she was the outsider here, she was no fool: Dora Darington and her adolescent daughter, Jemma, had repeatedly warned her against such common behavior, reminding her of her lower station at every opportunity. “Thank you, Mrs. Booth, but I prefer to spend the evening before my wedding in silent meditation.”

The housekeeper coughed pointedly.

“Praying for the grace and fortitude to rise into the upper crust from such a humble upbringing,” Maria continued wryly. “It’s probably prenuptial jitters. Every bride gets them, they say.”

“Prenuptial jitters, my arse! You won’t be getting away with such talk—and such carousing in bed—after tomorrow, Miss Palladino!”

“And neither will you be eavesdropping and tattling, Mrs. Booth. Not to mention using such a tone. Thank you for thinking of my needs. Good evening.”

Ear to the door, Maria waited until the housekeeper’s footsteps descended the stairs. Had she overstepped? Perhaps baited the sanctimonious old biddy beyond her tolerance? She understood now why Jason insisted on ruling his roost! Asserting his rights as the heir to the Darington title and estates! Once they lived here as man and wife, no housekeeper would be telling her what was proper or acceptable!

The thought warmed her. She opened the tall doors of the armoire to gaze at the billowing ivory gown she would wear tomorrow, when she would become Jason’s wife—acknowledged by all as his, and therefore a Darington, with all the privileges that came with such prestige. After tomorrow, stodgy Phillip, Lord Darington, and his socialite wife could do nothing further about her deportment…her lower rung on the ladder of life. Although they’d say anything they pleased when guests weren’t present.

But for now, in the privacy of this chamber overdecorated in candy pink and sunshine yellow—at Jemma’s insistence—she could finally read her mail in peace. It might be days before she had the chance to answer these letters, to pen the paragraphs her editor—her readers!—eagerly awaited.

Maria opened the drawer more carefully this time, and then rubbed its edges with a bar of soap to silence its squeal. She carried a fat handful of letters to the window seat and then reclined on its plump pillows to rip open the envelopes. Her eyes raced across the handwritten lines of one missive after another: so hoping you can respond personally to my plight…have enclosed an envelope for a reply that must remain absolutely private…would be most pleased to provide the unbelievable details of my sister’s sordid affair…as I live and breathe, you are the woman my heart yearns for….

She sighed. While her position as social observer and advisor to the lovelorn had its rewards, it wore her thin at times. So many lonely, needy people vying for her time and attention. So many readers of elevated social circumstances wishing to see their gossip in print, and therefore considered gospel by thousands of subscribers. She settled more deeply into the cushions, absently fingering the butterfly pendant and wondering how she’d juggle the inner life she shared with so many readers, now that she was about to marry a man with whom she’d spend her apparent life. Would there come a time when she could reveal her occupation to her husband? Didn’t wives share every little dream and secret with the one they loved?

Jason will feel slighted. He intends to be the center of my world.

True enough. Jason Darington, heir to his father’s title, estate, and shipyards, was a fine, feisty lover. A man to be seen with and adored. But he did not understand taking second place to anything.

Maria sighed. A movement caught her eye on the driveway below and she gazed intently through the lacy curtains: the man approaching the town house could have been Jason, except he wore a flowing poet’s shirt tucked into his fitted trousers. He kept to the shadows of the nearest buildings, using the dusk to his advantage. And damned if he didn’t gaze up at her window, as though he knew she’d be watching for him!

Jude! Her body prickled. Logic told her no one could distinguish her naked form through the camouflage of the curtains, yet his sly smile suggested otherwise.

How would he enter the house without alerting Mrs. Booth to his presence? Unlike his brother, this Darington—younger than Jason by mere minutes—felt no compulsion to make an entrance or otherwise attract anyone’s attention. He moved through life in total contentment as long as he was free to pursue his artistic projects. Those who speculated about Jude’s inclinations toward men obviously didn’t know him the way she did, but he allowed such rumors to be his social smokescreen.

Why wasn’t he attending the bachelor party?

Maria gathered the letters from the floor and stuffed them back into the armoire drawer. She padded into the bathroom to twist the spigots of the tub and then liberally sprinkled the water with her favorite lime-scented bath salts…the ones Jude had given her upon hearing she found floral scents overpowering. Stepping into the frothy water, she listened for his footsteps on the stairs.

Moments after she turned off the water and relaxed in the high porcelain tub, her bedroom door opened. Her visitor could’ve been a cat slipping in on velvet paws—at least until his low chuckle gave him away.

“So you were in the window. Dare I believe you were waiting for me, Maria?”

She glanced up languidly, immersed in the soothing, scented water. “Believe what you will, Jude,” she teased, “but I believed you’d be at the club with your brother, toasting the demise of his freedom.”

Jude sat on the rounded rim, letting his fingers drift through the iridescent froth. “Why would any man choose a stuffy old club that reeks of his forebears’ cigars, when he could be drinking in such a sight, such alluring scents, here with you?”

Maria smiled slyly. “Because he was expected to be there?”

“Because he’s more a slave to you than to any convention or tradition. May I wash your hair, darling? You know how I love to lose myself in it.”

Just that quickly Jude had shifted from the world of his privileged upbringing into the intimate realm that centered around her. Like his twin, Jude wore his hair carelessly raked away from his slender face, reminiscent of a windblown angel’s wings. And when he grinned, his close-clipped mustache glimmered in the low light. But there the likeness ended. As night differed from day, Jude Darington ruled an earthier universe where his love of sensory indulgences—his joy in creating pleasure—filled his every waking hour.

“Yes. Please do.” Although she lounged against the back of the tub, concealed by the dense, scented soapsuds, Maria’s bare body tingled beneath this man’s avid gaze, anticipating what he’d do to her as the hours of the night flew by.

“Good of him to give you the butterfly before he left. It looks as lovely against your bare skin as I envisioned while I was making it.”

His voice had dipped into that lower register that made her even more aware of his scrutiny, his intentions, on this night before she married his brother. “Thank you so much, Jude!” she murmured as her fingers found the jeweled pendant. “Never have I seen such a combination of colors and stones! I’m wearing it tomorrow, instead of Jemma’s pearls!”

“Thank you.” His whisper was a grateful prayer that wrapped around her heart. “May I interpret that as a declaration of your affections? As your unspoken vow to…continue our relations after tomorrow?”

Was that wistful desperation in his plea? Did he wish he had proposed to her before his twin had? It wasn’t a question she would ask aloud, for the glow in his tawny eyes told of a love deeper and truer, in its way, than the declarations Jason made at the drop of a hat. “I certainly want to continue,” she murmured. “Has your brother said anything to the contrary?”

Jude shook his head, smiling as he lifted the pendant from her chest. He shifted it, watching light from its jewels play against the wall. “As long as Mum remains unaware of our arrangement—and as long as Jason produces an heir—all requirements shall be satisfied. But not nearly as satisfied as you shall feel by the time I leave here tonight.”

His quiet promise rang in the small bathroom and in every fiber of her being, for Jude Darington did indeed know how to please her. She shifted beneath the warm water: Jason would’ve been squeezing her breasts, squirming as he freed his erection, yet this man lingered over the details. Made her wonder. And wait. And anticipate. He cupped her chin with his damp hand, to gaze at her with adoring eyes, and she melted. While her mind told her this triangular relationship might be their undoing if—when—someone caught them at it, her heart sang the words to the sensual song Jude inspired every time he came to her. By unspoken agreement, one twin was never present when his brother made love to her or accompanied her in public. It seemed a convenient way to make people believe she spent her time only with Jason, the man she would marry tomorrow.

Right now, however, Jude Darington was reaching around her head to let down her hair. Pins pinged to the floor and her raven waves fell around her shoulders, section by slow section. He smelled of old cognac, not because he drank it but because he patted it on his face after he shaved. His silk shirt whispered seductively as he scratched her scalp with his fingernails, easing the tension at her temples…taking his sweet time and thoroughly mussing her hair with his tender massage.

Her head fell forward in submission. “I love what you do to me, Jude,” she whispered.

“And I love the way you let me do it.” He cradled her head in one hand and gently pinched her nostrils shut. “Ready?”

Maria curled her legs against her body so he could submerse her completely. He brought her back up then, stroking the wet, heavy waves of hair out of her eyes. With practiced ease, Jude poured her shampoo into his palm and rubbed his hands together. She felt warm and limp and submissive as he massaged the rich lather from her scalp to the ends of her hair. Her head again lolled forward as he cast his spell, caressed and manipulated the muscles of her upper back with slow, knowing strokes.

A sigh escaped her. She felt so completely pampered and spoiled. Cherished.

“Shall we rinse and move on to other delights?” he murmured. “I brought you a surprise.”

And how had he done that? When she’d seen him in the driveway, his hands were empty—

“Magic,” he answered. Again he held her head and nostrils, grinning at her. “It’s my mission to keep you guessing. Down you go.”

As Maria allowed him to dunk her head beneath the water, she realized how much she trusted this man. Even as he held her under for a few seconds longer than usual, she felt the playful vibration of his chuckle: Jude didn’t have a mean bone in his body. She surged to the surface then, sputtering and gasping, laughing with him as she filled her lungs—and then became breathless again, in a different way.

Jude framed her wet face between his hands and kissed her, tenderly at first, nibbling at her lips to make her giggle. With a low moan, he settled in for the longest, most relentless kiss she could remember…as though he wanted her to wish she’d be his, come tomorrow. With only the power of his affection, he held her captive against the back of the tub. His mouth plied hers eagerly, restlessly, and then retreated to the point she thought he’d allow her to stand and dry herself.

But no! Jude launched into another lovely, languid kiss that nearly made her cry with its exquisite pressure…the dance of their tongues as though he might pleasure her all night…the melding of their sensibilities and their souls.

He at last broke away, to gaze raptly at her. “If I can’t be your husband, I want to be your port in a storm: the man who listens to your complaints and whims and brings you resolution.”

Maria blinked. He appeared so serious, sounded almost ominous. “I—”

“Life amongst us Daringtons won’t be a rose garden, darling,” he continued quietly. Still he held her head, his eyes afire with a golden flame, as though he burned for her on this night before her wedding. “And at times when Jason must carry on in the name of duty and honor, as the firstborn, I hope you’ll allow me to be the comic relief, or the sexual release, or the answer to whatever you pray for. May I aspire to such things, at least?”

Again he’d left her speechless. This man, so talented with gemstones and camera, paintbrush and piano—any artistic endeavor he undertook—was asking to be her fool. A slave to her desires. Maria nuzzled his palm, hoping to find words as lovely as his. “I would like that, yes,” she whispered. For a moment, only the soft lapping of the bathwater filled the little bathroom. “While I love Jason with all my heart, I would grieve deeply if something happened to you and if we were forbidden to spend time together. Does that make me a whore? A wife without conscience or scruples?”

“I think not. But then, I’m biased.” Jude laughed softly. “Jason and I have agreed that a woman like you—a lover with such diverse and intense passions—is probably best satisfied by having two admirers. We know damn well that if you chose, you could exhaust us both and move on to the next man. So we’ve agreed to please you at every turn, in every way. A challenge, but we shall rise to it.”

Maria’s gaze dropped. Yes, indeed, this man’s trousers were tented, yet he made no overt move to satisfy his need. “What if I got out of the tub, and you got out of your clothes—”

“All in good time, dear lady. First we shall dry you, so your skin doesn’t crinkle like Mrs. Booth’s.”

Her grimace made him laugh as he reached for a towel. “Hard to believe, but Quentin claims she drops her drawers. Invites him in.”

“See there? We should never judge a book by its cover—even if it looks like it’s been left out in the rain.” Jude stood beside the tub, offering his hands to help her stand. “You’ll be the same way when you’re her age, darling. Insatiable. A vixen on the prowl.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Certainly not. I intend to be there, too, watching you in your glory.” Jude tossed the towel around her shoulders. As he tugged it side to side, inhaling, he gazed at the sway of her bare, wet breasts. “Lime. Not using these bath salts just because I’m here, are you?”

Maria shook her head, relishing the way he caressed her body. “I am, however, wondering how I’ll ever repay you for all the ways you’ve spoiled me.”

He smiled slyly. “Now that you mention it…” He raised her leg so her foot rested on the tub’s rim, to dry it—but then he sat down and ran his tongue along her inner thigh. When she sighed, Jude tossed the towel. Parted her nether lips and kissed her there.

Maria’s head fell back. She grabbed his shoulders and closed her eyes as the sensations made her need surge to a new peak. To this point, Jude had toyed with her, but now he was determined to make her respond—to make her his. As he lapped the dampness from her sensitive folds, she swayed with the force of his intimate kiss…braced herself for the crack of lightning that made her pulse thunder in her head.

“God, Jude…Jude,” she whimpered as the jolts of pleasure became almost unbearable.

He thrust his tongue inside her, rubbing the nub he knew so well…exploring the depths of her desire as only Jude knew how. Just as the spasms began in earnest he grabbed her backside to steady her. He licked and tickled her rim, driving her to a frenzy before pressing his mouth against her, hard.

Maria cried out. Their moans mingled as Jude kept thrusting, until she felt she might collapse in a boneless heap. Her hips took on their own rhythm until all her spasms were spent. She eased him away then, to regain her sanity, her balance, before stepping out of the tub. “It’s my turn to please you now, but I must catch my breath—”

“Not so. This is my night to give and yours to receive.”

“That makes no sense! Why should I be the only one to—”

“Because I said so!” Jude grabbed her hand, his grin wet with her juices. “On to the next course! Champagne to toast the lady’s wedding day, and fine chocolate to sweeten the deal.”

As Maria followed him to her bedroom, she could only wonder how he’d smuggled such treats upstairs past the ever-vigilant Mrs. Booth. “I could’ve sworn you were empty-handed when I saw you slipping in.”

“Father stocks a fine cellar here at the town house. And since his ships’ captains know better than to sail home without the candy Mum craves…” Jude shrugged boyishly, which made his silk shirt shimmy around his shoulders. “Lean low, my queen. We’ll wrap your hair in this towel and then you may recline on your bed. Your serving boy shall fulfill your every desire.”

Maria chuckled to herself: Jason would never declare himself her servant, nor would he lead her through these circuitous little games to arrive at his own satisfaction. But sprawling on plumped pillows, propped against the headboard naked while a handsome lover poured fizzy champagne into two flutes on a tray? She could grow accustomed to such indulgence!

Jude broke off the end of the dark chocolate bar he’d smuggled in. “Sweets for the sweet,” he murmured. He laid the confection on her tongue, much like a priest would administer communion, and then he placed a piece in his own mouth.

As the intense cocoa melted in their mouths, they gazed at each other. Anticipating. Savoring. Again she was struck by the way this twin appreciated such subtle nuances—and her! When the candy was a coating of thick richness on her tongue, the first sip of the liquor sent a rush of electricity straight to her head. Giggling, she downed the rest of it and held out her flute for more.

Jude chuckled. “Let the festivities begin! A toast to your marriage tomorrow, Maria!”

“And to you, dear man. If I roast in hell for this wickedness, at least I won’t be alone!”

The slender man seated on the bed’s edge began to shed his clothing. While he wasn’t as athletic as his twin, Jude’s whipcord muscles rippled as he dropped his shirt and then escaped his pants. His eyes shone brightly, focused on her…full of his yearning for her. He took the towel from her hair, and from there it was a sensual collage of images: Jude slipping into bed alongside her, caressing her with his velvety skin…chocolate kisses that elevated her pulse, her awareness of how she craved him…how he inspired her playful response even more than their candy and champagne had. Sighs drifted between them as they languidly rolled…as Jude entered her with an expression of exquisite joy she’d never forget.

Maria let her body follow his whims: all rational thought was gone. Their lovemaking took on a special poignancy on this eve of her wedding. He refused to be rushed, so Maria followed his lead in this intimate dance…lingered in each kiss and reveled in the way his golden brown eyes reflected her—and held her spellbound when his climax led to hers.

“Maria…Maria,” he prayed as his body convulsed. When he was spent, he enfolded her in his arms. Rested with his lips in her damp hair until his breathing once again matched hers. “I must go now. Before the urge to carry you off and marry you myself overrides propriety.”

Propriety? She grinned wickedly yet held her tongue. Jude looked so solemn as he dressed, gazing at her in the dimness. Somehow the evening had flown and the candles had gone out without their awareness. With a final kiss, he left her sprawled on the rumpled sheets.

“Sleep sweetly, Maria,” he murmured as he reached her door. “I look forward to making your portrait tomorrow, before your groom sees you in your bridal finery.”

Silently Jude slipped from her room and down the stairs. Her mantel clock tinkled delicately and then struck two.

Maria smiled. It was her long-awaited wedding day.