2Rakehell Read online

  Gnawing her bottom lip, she looked toward the door that separated her chamber from her husband’s.

  Her husband’s…

  She was married now. The wife of the eldest son of an earl.

  The Viscountess Black.

  Lady Black.

  Growing up in New York she’d never dreamed she would marry into the aristocracy. Her chest swelled with a deep breath of excitement. She’d wedded the most eligible bachelor in all of England—even if she had conspired in trickery to do it.

  Guilt nibbled at her but she refused to heed it. She’d been left with little other choice than to marry him and after being caught in a state of dishabille with the handsome heir, she’d gone along with the perception that he’d sullied her—due mostly in part to Thorley’s insistence.

  Adam had been so nice, so attentive after her mishap with the horse. She’d loved him from afar since she’d first laid eyes on him. But since her London debut, Adam’s abominable cousin Benedict, Viscount Lashwood, had made overtures that made Primrose believe he intended to ask for—or rather demand—her hand. He’d gone so far as to broach the subject with her father. Primrose had argued desperately with her mother who felt the match to be an excellent one.

  To be sure the man was stunningly handsome and knew that fact well. He was tall and terribly British-looking, with his eyes the same color blue as a winter sky. His high cheekbones and sensual lips gave him a haughty, menacing air that set Primrose on edge. Once she’d even witnessed him ordering one of the pretty kitchen maids to drop to her hands and knees. Mortified, Primrose had slipped out into the garden, knowing in her heart whomever the poor soul he chose as a wife would receive the same base handling.

  Adam was quieter but came with his own shadowy reputation. Rumors abounded about his torrid affairs with bored wives, servants and loose women of all sorts. During her first season, Primrose had accidentally stumbled upon him in a dark corner of Lord Beckham’s garden. Adam had Lady Beckham bent over his knee like a wayward child and was delivering several firm swats to her bared bottom.

  It seemed Lady Beckham thoroughly enjoyed her spanking and from the ecstatic look on her face, actually derived sexual pleasure from it.

  The image had filled Primrose’s nights with bawdy fantasies. For the first time, she knew true desire—and she wished to exchange places with Lady Beckham.

  Given her choices, Primrose had still been ready to confess when the old earl had insisted on a thorough examination by his physician to determine her chastity—or rather lack thereof. However, both men had steadfastly maintained that she’d been deflowered—and were even more adamant that she go along with the ruse as well.

  When she’d questioned why it was so imperative she married Adam, Thorley intimated—threatened was more like it—that he’d use his title and position to see that she was summarily married off to Benedict if she refused to marry Adam.

  That particular ultimatum had made Primrose’s decision for her.

  He’d mumbled something about her staining his son’s good name and that was the only explanation she’d received. She smirked. An explanation she could hardly believe. Adam possessed a dubious reputation before she ever set foot on British soil.

  Shame heated her cheeks as she recalled that day a scant month ago. A good portion of the ton had participated in a hunt on Thorley lands and she’d somehow strayed away from the others. A clap of sudden thunder had spooked her horse and the unruly beast had thrown her and taken off through the woods. Drenched and shivering, she’d made her way to the earl’s hunting lodge and there had encountered Adam Black, who was already deep into his cups.

  Her heart warmed when she recalled how tenderly he’d helped her out of her wet clothes, how he’d draped her sodden riding habit over a chair to dry in front of the fire and most of all how he’d wrapped her in a warm blanket and prepared a hot toddy for her.

  Her heart had fluttered at his touch. Her knees had shaken from far more than the chill of the rain. She’d been a veritable lamb offered up for the sacrifice but alas Adam had been the perfect gentleman—before he’d passed out with a bottle still in his hand.

  When the others had come looking for Primrose after her horse had returned riderless they’d discovered her next to Adam, asleep in front of the fire, still clad in nothing but her unmentionables and a blanket.

  Assumptions were made. And shortly after the humiliating examination, a special marriage license was obtained and Primrose and Adam were wed under a storm cloud of shame.

  He hadn’t seemed overly thrilled about the prospect of marriage—to her or anyone else for that matter. Overly thrilled… That was quite the understatement. He had in fact been livid and had exchanged heated words with his father. Primrose wondered what Thorley had said to his son behind closed doors because in the end the old man won out and Adam begrudgingly signed the contract.

  It stung her heart that Adam Black had to be forced into marrying her. Especially when she cared for him. He’d grow to love her. She would see to that. She would be an exemplary wife and rise above the scandal attached to her name.

  Her heart skipped a beat when the door opened and Adam entered her room. Having discarded his wedding finery, he looked both resplendent and dangerous. He’d removed his shoes and strode into the room barefooted. The sleeves of his snowy shirt had been rolled up twice at the wrists, giving him the air of a romantic swashbuckler. His black hair wisped untamed around his chiseled face. He looked capable, fierce—and determined to take his rights as her lawfully wedded husband.

  Her stomach knotted with excitement. The corners of Primrose’s mouth twitched as she offered him a demure smile.

  “On your feet,” he commanded in the same tone he’d playfully chastised Lady Beckham.

  Her breathing hitched as she rose. Heavens, her legs were trembling so badly she feared she’d collapse. She fumbled for the corner of her dressing table in search of support.

  Without ceremony he began unbuttoning his shirt. “Remove your dressing gown.”

  This wasn’t the tender knight in shining armor from the hunting lodge. This was the rake who thoroughly deserved his black reputation. Fear and doubt roiled. Primrose debated confessing to him that nothing had happened between them in the hunting lodge but she couldn’t make her mouth work.

  Her hands shook uncontrollably as she untied the sash of her robe.

  “Take it off,” he said, his words clipped and short.

  A ragged breath left her lungs as she shrugged free of the heavy fabric and let it slither down her body to the floor. The air on her naked flesh caused her to shiver in spite of the sweltering waves of heat undulating up her spine. Desperate to read his reaction, she lifted her gaze to his.

  He inhaled sharply. Her skin prickled everywhere he looked at her. And he did look everywhere. “Would that I remembered claiming your maidenhead.”

  She tensed at the mention of her fabled ruination.

  “Did you…enjoy it?” he asked, his voice low and menacing.

  She nodded uncertainly.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. And then—had she not been staring so intently, she wouldn’t have noticed—a diabolical hardness seized his features. “On the bed.”

  She cleared her throat. “M-my lord?”

  “Get on the bed,” he repeated.

  She’d known he was angry at having to marry. But she’d hoped he’d resigned himself to it. For him to order her about this way—so icily—hurt her. She’d expected something different. At least some semblance of tenderness.

  That image of what he’d done to Lady Beckham intruded and the knot welling in Primrose’s throat vied with a sense of excitement and mounting desire. Rationally she knew she should be terrified, at least scandalized. Instead she was aroused.

  Shockingly so.

  Her nipples grew painfully hard. She ached between her legs where moisture gathered. The blood pumping through her veins felt thick as syrup. It
pounded in her ears and other places that made her yearn for his touch.

  When she didn’t immediately move toward the bed he stormed toward her. This time her knees did give and she sank to the floor. Shaking, she timidly lifted her chin.

  With a sharp breath he cradled her face in his hand, brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. His admiring gaze caused her insides to quiver. Indecent, lustful thoughts ran rampant in her brain. Bloody hell but the sheer nearness of his body to hers alone had her quaking.

  He twisted a lock of her hair around his index finger and then let the curl fall over the swell of her breast. “My but you are an exquisite little thing.”

  She swallowed thickly. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I am your lord,” he whispered. “Your lord and master and as such you will do as I say.”

  “Yes,” she managed and dared to bestow a kiss on the hand that had returned to stroke her cheek again.

  “You are quick to submit. I daresay your naïveté prevents you from knowing what being my wife entails.”

  “My lord?”

  A mirthless smile played on one corner of his lush lips. “I have intense needs, dear wife. Very intense desires. And if you are able to fulfill them we shall have a happy marriage. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not certain,” she admitted, confused.

  “If at any time I hurt you, calling me by my given name will be my sign to stop.”

  Her mouth went bone-dry. She could barely focus on anything but the heat radiating off his body, the laundered fragrance of his clothes, the subtle scent of his cologne mingled with that sultrier aroma of his skin.

  “Say it for me now.”

  She cleared her throat again. Why was she having such difficulty thinking coherently?

  “Say it, Primrose.”

  Had he said hurt? Her heart skittered at the sound of her own name coming from his lips. “Adam,” she said, her voice but a breath.

  “Now get on the bed.”

  Her pulse rioted. Pursing her lips, she stood and moved toward the bed, aware of his hot gaze raking her. A sense of triumph blazed through her. In spite of everything, she felt his taboo desire for her. She felt oddly cherished—as if she were sex personified.

  There was no delicate or modest way to climb onto the high bed. A servant had already turned back the covers so Primrose quickly climbed the two steps, bounded in and dragged the bedclothes up to her neck.

  The unknown, unfamiliar sensation of soft sheets against her naked flesh thrilled her, aroused her, until she almost forgot she remained an untried virgin.

  Time stopped as he neared her then climbed onto the bed with the grace of a predatory cat.

  A gasp tore from her throat as he snatched the covers and flung them to the foot of the bed, baring her once more. His hands skimmed up her thighs. His palms stroked her hips, her belly, higher. She arched as his hands cupped her breasts and squeezed. Heat blossomed wherever he touched her. “Tell me what you want,” he said huskily.

  Her lips parted but she couldn’t produce words. Perspiration dampened her spine and beaded under her breasts. “Y-you,” she said, her voice but a hiss.

  He groaned as he kneaded her soft flesh then plunged his hand between her legs. “I’m going to fuck you, darling.”

  She’d never heard such ribald language. She liked it.

  He continued. “Here.” His fingers flirted with her slippery mons. “And when you’re ready here.” She tensed when his fingertip sought her rosette. His other hand followed her belly upward between her breasts and over her chin. Three of his fingers eased between her lips to invade her mouth. “And here.” Her traitorous sphincter relaxed to admit the tip of his cream-slick finger.

  Her fists curled against the bed. She expected the invasion to hurt but instead it felt good. Sinfully good. How had she never realized she was so sensitive there?

  And oh, after he’d thoroughly teased her most private recess his fingers stoked a fire that would have made Lucifer proud as they burrowed through her folds.

  “Damn,” he muttered and when he positioned himself over her she felt the unmistakable ridge of his erection pressing into her hip.

  She suddenly wanted him inside her more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  His fingers fell from her mouth. His hand left her body and she felt his knuckles brushing her flesh as he undid his fly. Her pulse pounded like a runaway horse’s hooves in her temples and in her ears.

  Every thought drifted away and primal physical sensation rose to the forefront.

  “I meant to take my time but I can wait no longer to assuage my lust,” he mumbled.

  Need-fueled heat raged everywhere his fingers touched her and when the tip of his cock nudged her opening she found herself tilting upward, willing him inside her. Her thighs opened as he settled himself between them. At that moment, she thought she’d die if he didn’t claim her.

  Adam…

  Oh Adam…

  In one powerful thrust he was inside her.

  “Adam!” The involuntary cry tore from her lips as the warmth of desire twisted into white-hot, stabbing pain.

  His hands left her flesh. His cock disappeared. A cold chill racked her and she shuddered from the loss of his body heat as he sat back on his knees. In shock and dismay, she whirled.

  He stared down past where his shirt fell open to reveal his sculpted chest to where his pants gaped to expose his blood-smeared, dwindling erection.

  Primrose sucked in a sharp breath as realization sank to her toes. She wished the bed would open up and swallow her whole.

  His eyes grew flinty as they lifted and bored into hers. “A virgin?”

  She wished she had a robe, something, anything with which to cover herself. “I…”

  “Explain yourself!” he boomed.

  “My lord…please…”

  “You lied? You entrapped me?” His eyes narrowed into vicious slits. “My father’s physician confirmed that you’d been sullied.” Realization settled into his chiseled features, creating lines and creases she’d never before noticed. Then he let out a laugh so chilling Primrose hugged her arms across her body.

  Shrinking, she twisted her head away on the pillow.

  “He knew?” Adam questioned her savagely.

  Tears welled, burning her eyes. She reached with her toes for the coverlet at the foot of the bed, half expecting him to rail at her when she ensnared it and dragged it up. She caught it in her hand and pulled it across her.

  “I asked you a question, wife! Did the earl know?”

  Oh why did he say wife with such bitter contempt? She trembled anew. “Yes, yes,” she admitted. “They both knew. I heard them discussing it in the hallway after I was examined. I tried to tell them. I tried to explain that—”

  But her apology fell upon deaf ears—or rather upon Adam’s back. The bed shook as he got off. Tension radiated off him and Primrose feared admonishment but instead he silently stormed toward his room. He stopped only to pound his fist into the wall before he wrenched open the door and slammed it in his wake. It seemed as if the entire wing of the house reverberated.

  Pressing her knuckles to her lips, Primrose stared at the closed door. She should have borne the initial penetration better. She should have been prepared. But how could she have known? Still smarting, she shifted and lifted a knee. No one had ever taken the time to educate her properly in the duties of a wife.

  Hopeless, she heaved a sigh.

  A little over a month ago she’d had no idea she’d so soon become a wife! She’d been a green debutante who’d only just put away her dolls. Explanations and excuses filled her head but it was too late now. She had not the courage to go to him.

  Besides he’d made it abundantly clear he hadn’t wanted to marry her. He’d done it out of duty and honor. And if one little shred of him had done it to protect her reputation then she deserved to be miserable and alone for the part she’d played in deceiving him.

  Howev
er, one question remained that until now, Primrose had been too caught up in the whirlwind to examine. Scarborough Hall was hardly one of those estates that barely scraped by. So why had Thorley been so intent on deceiving his son?

  Chapter Three

  Scarborough Hall

  Present Day

  Slowly consciousness came back to him.

  At first all Adam knew was that he lay in the most comfortable bed in the entire world. A fire crackled in the room and he felt its warmth on his skin. Fingers—feminine fingers—brushed sympathetically through his hair. He breathed in the scent of cedar and old wood, the fragrance of rainwater in the chimney and something else familiar…

  Something that eluded him…

  Until it all rushed back in a nauseating wave.

  His eyes snapped open and he blinked, attempting to focus through the last vestiges of his opium-induced haze. An angel…

  His focus sharpened on a pair of wide blue eyes and parted pillow-soft lips.

  Her!

  “You!” he bellowed at the woman he’d wed five years prior. He bolted upright in his bed at Scarborough Hall. Something bit into his ankle and he jerked his leg only to discover it had been chained to the bedpost.

  His eyes widened in utter disbelief. “What the devil?”

  Primrose stood back, just out of reach. She swept her deep-navy skirts back lest he make a grab for those. His fingers curled, aching to twine their way around that pretty little neck of hers.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Anger chased away the lull of the drug and something inside him clawed for the last elusive traces of bliss. Damn his head throbbed.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Primrose lifted a pitcher and poured some water into a crystal glass.

  He debated refusing it. He smacked his lips against a wickedly awful dryness he simply had to appease. Gingerly she offered the water, staying judiciously out of reach. He snatched the glass from her hand, heedless of the liquid splashing onto his chest and the sheets. He downed the contents and thrust the glass back toward her. “More. More, dammit!”

  She stepped forward and refilled the glass but then quickly returned to her safe position.