A Season for Treason Page 8

  As suddenly as it began, it was over. The hard slaps stopped, leaving her shuddering, crying, and almost disappointed. Hartford pulled her into a seated position on his lap, easily manhandling her so her cheek was against his broad chest.

  She whimpered as her weight came to rest on her bottom, reigniting the burn, but did not protest the comfort he offered.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. “You took your punishment very well.”

  Pride—it had to be her pride—welled even further, confusing her. Why on earth should she care if she took a punishment well? Yet, she could not deny she did.

  A hand slipped under her skirt, sliding up between her legs, and Mary’s thighs parted. She ached. Not just her bottom, but her whole body, and his touch felt so good. It felt even better a moment later when his fingers probed an area she certainly had never allowed a man to touch. She barely touched it.

  Thanks to Evie’s descriptions of her own experiences, Mary knew what he was doing. She moaned, shuddering as his fingers slid through the wet folds of her womanhood, parting them, stroking them. Her head tipped back, and his lips met hers, swallowing her whimpers, his tongue sliding into her mouth as his finger moved over an exquisitely sensitive spot.

  The burn had spread from her bottom to her loins, turning far more pleasurable than painful. If anything, the slight sting still in her bottom made for an erotic contrast to her growing passion, heightening it further.

  Her hands groping for purchase, she clung to the lapels of his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his finger moving to actually slide inside of her. The sensation of being invaded, filled was intense, making her lightheaded. The muscles of her body stretched to receive the digit, which thrust deeper, mimicking the movements of his tongue.

  Ecstasy surged, and she cried out, a feeling of hot bliss spreading across her body in golden waves of rapture. She writhed on his lap, clutching him, thighs trapping his hand between her legs as her need reached its ascent, and she fell. His hand rubbed against her, circling, coaxing every last spasm of pleasure from her shocked senses.

  It was glorious.

  Left trembling in its wake, Mary panted for breath when Hartford finally lifted his lips, his eyes glowing gold, studying her intently. Whatever he saw in her face, he must have liked it, his lips curving in a smile of pure male satisfaction. A small part of her stirred, wanting to prick the balloon of smugness, but she had to admit, it was well deserved.

  “Lovely,” he said, lowering his head to brush another light kiss over her lips, his finger withdrawing from her body. Mary watched, fascinated, as he lifted that same finger to his lips and licked the glossy cream coating it. He looked straight at her the whole time, completely unashamed. “And delicious.”

  She blushed… and hated herself for it. Wanting to change the subject, she looked down at his lap. Although she could not see the bulge in his pants, in her current position, she could feel it pressing against her thigh.

  “What… what now?” She knew he was still aroused. Several of Evie’s stories flitted through her mind, but Mary was no longer feeling very brave. With her arousal satisfied, her courage was no longer buoyed by the need that had been driving her… yet she still felt the impulse to satisfy his desires.

  “Now?” He asked the question as if he was considering the answer. Cocking his head, he lifted one imperious brow. “Now, I send you back to your home, and tomorrow, I will come to Hood House and apply to your uncle for your hand.”

  Mary froze, sure she had not just heard what she thought she had.

  With his mind made up about his choice of bride, the sweet taste of her cream still on his tongue, it had not occurred to Rex the bride in question might disagree.

  “What?” She moved so quickly, he was unable to stop her from tumbling off his lap. Springing to her feet, she brushed her hands over her skirts as if she could brush away everything they had just shared. Her hair was disheveled, cheeks pink, and doubtless, her bottom was sore, but that did not stop her. “No… I… no, that is not why I came here. I do not expect you to marry me.”

  “Perhaps not, but you cannot believe there is any other route for us to take.” He got to his feet, slowly, aware of his cock pressing against the front of his pants. Interestingly, she was aware as well, although he would swear she was a virgin. Even if she was not, he still wanted her, but he was curious exactly how much knowledge she had. “You, a debutante with a good name and reputation, have been thoroughly compromised by me, a nobleman who is unmistakably searching for a bride.”

  “But no one knows you have compromised me!”

  “I know.” To his surprise, he was starting to feel a bit put out about her reaction. Surely, he was not that bad a catch—and if she had such an antipathy toward him, why had she allowed him to kiss, spank, and pleasure her? And… Did she just growl at him?

  “You cannot possibly have offered marriage to every woman you have indulged with,” she replied tartly, crossing her arms over her chest. “And we did not even… you know.”

  “I do know. Do you know?” He asked, more curious than anything else. She blushed again, her chin tilting up in a fashion he was becoming increasingly familiar with. Stubborn little petal.

  “I know enough,” she said evasively, then frowned and eyed him. “Would that change things for you?”

  “Hardly,” he drawled. “I am fairly certain you are a virgin.” Her deepening blush spread to her neck. “But the only thing that would change if you are not is I will pleasure both of us now before putting you in a carriage and sending you home, so I may call upon your uncle in the morning.” He took a step toward her, calling her bluff, and Miss Wilson stepped back.

  “Fine!” She huffed, her chest rising and falling. “I am a virgin. More to the point, I am still a virgin and therefore, uncompromised. You have done nothing more than… rumple the package a bit. You did not open it.”

  Hartford could not help himself, her analogy was too entertaining. He laughed, head falling back, hand on his chest laughter so contagious, after a moment, he heard her giggle. Grinning widely, he met her eyes again. Yes, she would do very well as his bride.

  Passionate, adventurous, and with a sense of humor. He looked forward to learning all her mysteries, of which he was becoming very sure she had many. He even liked that she was not the type to draw attention to herself. Being the only applicant for her hand appealed, even if he had to shake his head at the blindness of his fellow men.

  “So, you see?” she asked when her giggles subsided, holding her hands out in front of her pleadingly. “We do not need to marry.”

  “Ah, but you misunderstand one thing,” he said, moving toward her. This time she did not step away, caught in his gaze. Rex grinned wickedly, taking her stubborn chin in his hand and holding it to keep her in place. “I had already intended to ask your uncle for permission to pay my address. Tonight has merely changed the timeline.”

  Her eyes widened in pure shock, and Rex took the opportunity to steal a kiss. A searingly hot kiss so full of promise and pleasure, she slowly, reluctantly, began to return it, melting against him the longer he kissed her. When he finally lifted his head again, she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I am not going to marry a man who sends me home, then goes and indulges in… that… with another woman.”

  Rex’s lips quirked in amusement. Already making demands, was she? Surprisingly, he chafed at the restriction. He already knew he had no interest in finding a playmate for the evening. Dallying with her had satisfied him, even if his own passion was still unfulfilled. He could certainly wait.

  “I will not,” he reassured her. “Even before you arrived, I had already realized I had no interest. I was too busy desiring one particular woman, who, fortuitously, had already infiltrated my house. I was spending my time the same way I will after I send you home—looking for my friend, Lucas.”

  Miss Wilson’s eyes widened.

  “Oh… are you and he…” She sounded more fascinated than scandalized, a
nd Rex laughed. Oh yes, Miss Wilson would fit in very nicely with the Society. Although the idea of her fitting in too well no longer appealed the way it once had. He pushed aside the sudden, strangely possessive urge that had wormed its way into his emotions.

  “No, my interests are exclusively female,” he said. “But I need to have a word with him and perhaps watch over him to see he does not get into trouble. Trust me, I will have my hands full.”

  Pressing her lips together, Miss Wilson stepped back, pulling herself out of his grip, and tossed her head.

  “Very well. You may ask my uncle for permission to court me,” she said.

  “Court, not marry?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Court.” She nodded firmly. “I will not marry a man I do not know.”

  “Of course.” A smile curved his lips. “You will just let him… rumple your package.”

  Narrowing her eyes again, she apparently decided retreat was the better part of valor. Turning on her heel, she swept out the door, and Rex ambled after her. He would have Cormack bring round the unmarked carriage to return her home, although sneaking in would be left entirely up to her.

  Should he escort her? No, probably not. If she were caught, and a man was seen in the carriage with her, there would be no choice but for them to marry immediately. While he would be satisfied with such a conclusion, he was in no rush now that he had his bride in his sights.

  Besides, finding out why she was reluctant to wed and seducing her into changing her mind was sure to be an enjoyable endeavor.

  Mary

  Alone in the darkness of the carriage, Mary rubbed her temples.

  The Marquess of Hartford wanted to marry her? Her? And had decided so before tonight?

  Did she want to marry him?

  There were many reasons in favor of such a move. It would be a social coup for one, such as her. He was wealthy enough, she would never want for anything. It would mean she was properly settled and no longer in need of a third season. It would also provide her with plenty of opportunities to investigate the club and its members.

  But…

  He had promised not to indulge with another woman tonight—not that he would refrain forever.

  Mary thought about the list of attributes her aunt and Arabella had encouraged her to put together. She had not thought to add faithfulness to it. She had not expected such a thing, if she was honest, despite the many examples of happy, faithful marriages she had seen among her cousins and their friends.

  She had not expected it, but suddenly, she wanted it. Very much.

  Chapter 8

  Mary

  He arrived at ten o’clock in the morning, sending the household into a tizzy.

  Throwing Mary into a tizzy as well. She had barely sat down to breakfast before he knocked on the door, and Appleby came in to announce the Marquess of Hartford had come to speak with the Viscount. Uncle Henry’s newspaper had lowered, revealing his face, which was a sight not often seen over the breakfast table. Aunt Elizabeth had blinked so rapidly, it looked as though her eyelashes might take off in sudden flight.

  “He has?” Arabella asked, frowning, and set down the teacup she had just sipped from. “What does he want?”

  Appleby gave her a dry look before stiffly turning his attention back to Uncle Henry.

  “I imagine that is for me to find out,” Uncle Henry said, getting to his feet. A deep wrinkle of concern crossed his brow.

  “I am coming with you.” Thomas threw his napkin down on the table, springing to his feet, a fierce expression on his face. Uncle Henry nodded while Arabella looked up at him with equal parts fondness and exasperation.

  “Do behave,” she admonished. Thomas sent her a stern look, but Mary did not miss the way his hand lingered on Arabella’s shoulder before he followed his father out of the room, leaving the ladies to their breakfast.

  Mary felt the megrim she had claimed last night coming on for real. At least her bottom no longer hurt. The soreness had disappeared overnight, but at the very mention of his name, her skin had begun to tingle again—not just there. Her lips, her bottom, between her legs… the phenomenon was disconcerting, to say the least.

  She desperately wished she could talk to her friends before she had to face Hartford again, but he had arrived far earlier than she thought he would. Part of her was flattered at how in earnest he was, but it did complicate things.

  “What do you think he could want?” Aunt Elizabeth asked Arabella. Neither of them looked at Mary.

  Why would they? What could she, a gently reared, shyly retiring, virginal debutante know about the notorious Marquess of Hartford?

  Nothing. She should know absolutely nothing.

  “I cannot imagine,” Arabella said, sounding almost delighted at her lack of knowledge. Then again, she likely expected to soon learn exactly what he wanted. She would harass Thomas into telling her quickly enough. “I would have thought Papa had business with him, except he seemed as surprised as we are.”

  Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Henry would have told me.” Drumming her fingers against the table, Mary’s aunt sighed, then frowned. Her gaze drifted over to Mary. Of all her family members, Aunt Elizabeth was the only one who never forgot about Mary, which was something she usually enjoyed… just not right now.

  “Mary, are you all right? You look rather flushed.”

  Her aunt’s comment had the unfortunate effect of turning Mary’s face even redder as she struggled to think of an appropriate response. Sitting up straight in her seat, Arabella turned her inquisitive gaze on Mary. Blast and damnation. The last thing she needed was Arabella becoming curious.

  “Yes, you do.” Her eyes widened, and she turned back to Aunt Elizabeth. “Hartford was introduced to Mary earlier this week.”

  “Do you think…” Aunt Elizabeth’s voice trailed off, and she and Arabella focused on Mary, who sank back in her seat, her heart beginning to pound. The two women were intelligent and observant, a dangerous combination. Aunt Elizabeth’s eyes seemed especially sharp right now. “Mary, tell me everything about your interaction with him.”

  Rex

  It was not a complete surprise when the Viscount entered the room accompanied by his heir, although Rex could have done without the younger Hood’s presence.

  “Hartford,” the Viscount said with a correct bow, copied only a moment later by his son.

  “Hood.” Rex bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Please, have a seat.” The Viscount gestured to the armchairs in front of his desk while he moved around to his seat behind it. “Thomas is going to join us. You wished to speak with me?”

  Having practiced his speech on the way over, Rex was ready with his answer. He settled into the chair across from the Viscount and made himself comfortable, ignoring Lord Thomas glaring at him from the left.

  “You are likely aware I am searching for a bride,” Rex said with a small shrug, answered by the Viscount’s nod. The whole ton was aware at this juncture, and Rex was not one to pretend he was unaware of Society’s interest in him. “I was introduced to your niece, Miss Wilson, earlier this week, and I find myself very taken with her. I would like leave to pay my addresses to her.”

  “You want to propose to Mary?” Lord Thomas blurted out, leaning forward, surprise and confusion evident in his voice. Both his father and Rex looked at him with a frown, and he sat back, clearly flustered by his own outburst. “I mean, Mary is a lovely young woman, but she is hardly a match for someone of your… reputation.”

  Ah, but if only poor Thomas Hood knew the truth. Rex’s lips twitched, but he kept the smile from his face. Miss Wilson clearly preferred her family not know about her secret adventures, and that suited him well enough. If the Viscount rejected his request, he would play his hand, but until then, he was content to keep it in his back pocket.

  “I wish to court Miss Wilson,” he replied, directing his words at Viscount Hood. “If we find we suit, I will propose.”

  Beside him, the younger
Hood bristled but remained silent, clearly waiting for his father’s verdict—giving off the impression he was sure it would be a resounding negative. The silence stretched as the Viscount contemplated Rex with a serious expression, and Rex looked serenely back at him. While he was by no means sure of his position, one did not refuse a Marquess without good reason.

  Finally, the Viscount leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk in front of him.

  “Mary has become like a daughter to me,” he said, looking directly into Rex’s eyes. “As both of my other daughters married into my family, she is the first daughter I have whose marriage is my responsibility. I want to be clear. I do not care if she is courted by a prince, a duke, or a businessman without a title to his name. My one and only concern is Mary is happy. You have my permission to pay your addresses to Mary, but she is the one who will ultimately make the decision of who she weds.” He gave Rex a short, sharp nod, and Rex’s estimation of the man went up even more.

  There were not many among the ton who would balk at sacrificing a daughter, much less a niece, to gain a connection to a title as lofty as his. Rex had known from the first, all he had to do was pick a chit, and he could likely have her. The only thing that had kept him from doing so were his stringent requirements for his bride.

  “Thank you for your permission,” Rex said formally, aware of the younger Hood fuming beside him, put out Rex had not been sent packing. “I can promise you if we were to wed, Miss Wilson’s happiness would be of my utmost concern.”

  The words rang surprisingly sincere, causing both of the Hood men to cast thoughtful glances at him, although the younger’s was full of suspicion. Rex was a tad surprised himself by the truth of his assertion. Of course, he had never imagined purposefully making his imagined wife unhappy with him, but until Mary, he had not truly thought to do the opposite.