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Daphne screamed his name, even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t, determined to hold back a part of herself. He chuckled, the sound one of low masculine arrogance and appreciation. He repeated his slow lick, and her entire body shivered under the lash of delight. Her fingers clenched tighter on the sheets beneath her as he licked and nibbled with decadent greed.
The yacht dipped and rolled, shifting the bed, and Daphne could not rouse herself from the wanton spell her husband wrapped her in to care if rain and winds raged outside of their sensual heaven. And she was helpless beneath it.
He captured her aching knot of pleasure between his lips and sucked, alternately rough and gentle. A whimper escaped her lips, while her hands released the sheets and rose to tangle in his hair. Her thighs fell open even wider, inviting him to be naughtier…and he complied, raking his teeth over her nub. The sensual little pain had weakness shuddering through her body. Two of his fingers stroked deep, sending her senses careening.
She shook her head, fighting him, fighting the pleasure as his mouth continued to torture and torment. He pressed her even tighter to his mouth, licked her deeper.
It was too much. Too much pleasure. Too many sensations.
The excruciating pleasure peaked and broke, cascading ecstasy through her.
Her whole body felt gloriously weak. He withdrew from her, and even after taking several shuddering breaths, tremors of pleasures still coursed through her veins. A sense of lack of fulfillment lingered, but she would not be reckless and demand more.
Sylvester rolled from her, and she scooted over so he could fit his large frame beside hers. Daphne expected to feel some guilt for using him without giving in return, but all she felt was the echoes of delight.
Her earl groaned, and she slanted a glance at him, flushing as he fisted his manhood through his breeches, his expression a tight grimace of lust and pain. Yet he did not reach for her or attempt to seduce her to slake his evident need.
“What can I do?” she murmured.
His eyes snapped open, and she almost drowned in the brilliant glitter of raw desire. He made no reply. Instead, Sylvester freed the flap of his breeches, and his length sprang free. She gasped at the magnificent beauty of him. His manhood was long and thick. Daphne tentatively reached out and barely touched the flared mushroomed head.
“Kiss me.”
Their gazes collided, and a surge of sensual awareness went through her. He did not mean on the mouth. She became flushed and breathless and filled with a strange sense of anticipation. He fisted his thick length and stroked up, the motion carnal and inviting her to take him. She leaned forward, lowering herself to her elbows, and gently pried his fingers away. Every line in her husband’s beautiful body went taut with anticipation.
She licked him.
He shouted. And she smiled.
She enveloped the tip in her mouth. His taste exploded on her tongue, rich and earthy.
Sylvester gathered her mass of hair and fisted the strands, holding her gaze. His touch was sensual, dominant, and she responded to the gentle flex of his hips, taking him deeper into her mouth. His hands tightened in her hair, his fingers flexing against her scalp.
“You’re so damned beautiful.” His voice was strangled. “So damned beautiful you steal my breath.”
She slid her tongue delicately over the throbbing head before taking more than half of him in her mouth. At times her teeth scraped him, but her earl did not seem to mind.
“God, that’s good,” he groaned, pulling back, then thrusting easily between her lips again.
Using his groans and curses and tense muscles to guide her, she licked and sucked him until he was shaking beneath her, until he pulled from her lips with a harsh groan and emptied his release in the tattered remains of her nightgown.
Daphne didn’t object when he pulled her atop him, and she wrapped around him like a vine. Their ragged breathing eventually calmed, and finally, she could feel the drag of sleep.
I’m falling in love with my husband.
How distressing the awareness wasn’t a cause for joy, but instead doubt and trepidation. There were advantages to be found in a good marriage, even if they did not burn with the wildest of love and passion. Daphne swallowed. Her heart was not eased with that admission, and her eyes smarted. She wanted it all… Friendship with her husband, wonderful children, and the soul-aching love she knew existed. The possibility of what they could be had hope and a heavy dash of fear tightening her throat. It made no sense to wish, for her earl did not seem like a man who was inclined to love. But as she drifted off, for the first time in years, she allowed herself to dream of another ending.
Chapter Ten
A few days after Daphne’s illicit night on the yacht with her very own husband, she rode her horse with skilled ease through the elm tree–lined and graveled entrance of Havendale Orphanage. Much to her chagrin and dismay, her husband had invited himself along to her weekly visit to the orphanage. A denial had hovered on her tongue, for she had endured some unexplained discomfort at the thought of his presence. He would observe her in a place where only a few had ever seen her. It had felt too intimate, even more so than the loving he had been giving her with his wicked fingers and his hot, searching mouth that night and every night since. At the orphanage, he would peer into her heart, see the things she loved, and probably discover the hunger she still had in her soul for a child.
Worse, for the last couple of days, she felt uncustomarily flustered at the new sort of hunger that throbbed through her heart for her husband’s touches. Against her will, she found her gaze lingering on his profile. His lips, even at this distance, drew her attention and made her heart beat a little faster as she imagined more of his kisses. He rode unconcernedly beside her, dressed in a dark riding jacket, a light-colored waistcoat, and matching colored breeches that disappeared into tan knee-high riding boots. He was as handsome as always, but in a more masculine and unnerving way.
A peculiar heat clawed through her, and a heavy sigh of relief slipped from Daphne when she caught the first sight of the Havendale Orphanage through the trees.
“This is an impressive building,” Sylvester said, his gaze scanning the rolling grasslands that seemed to spread for miles, the beautiful gardens, before settling on the elegantly designed mansion that boasted more than one hundred rooms.
She cleared her throat delicately. “It would be remiss of me not to mention that I…ah…well you have been letting this property from a few years ago, my lord, and you have recently made an offer to purchase it. The previous orphanage was a wretched place, the roofs were leaking, the walls were damp, the space cramped and very uncomfortable for any sort of living. Baron Musgrove fell on hard times and decided to let this mansion.”
Her husband’s lips curved into a faint but quite charming smile. “Ah, one of those exorbitant bills my solicitor could not understand?”
The heady sensation he roused made her lightheaded, and she tried to fight the overpowering allure of her husband and lost. “Yes, one of those,” she drawled teasingly.
They arrived at the imposing entrance and drew their horses to a halt before dismounting. Sylvester arched a brow as she jumped down without the aid of a mounting block. A stable boy ran down the graveled driveway in loping strides to collect their animals. It felt natural for her to loop her hand with Sylvester’s arm and stroll with him toward the lawns. The easy familiarity with which they now touched sent her heart into a wicked tumble of desire.
Several children waved toward her, and she returned their greetings with a smile.
“Is that Miss Danvers?” he asked with an arched brow toward an attractive young lady seated beneath an elegant willow tree with a book in her hand, while several small children surrounded her with enraptured expressions.
“It is,” Daphne said, slanting him a considering glance. “I am surprised you remember her scandal, as it was some time ago.” The misfortune of eloping to Gretna Green with the wrong man had befallen Miss El
izabeth Danvers. The scoundrel concerned had changed his mind sometime before they had crossed the border, and she had tried to return home, but it had been too late for her reputation. All the scandal sheets seemed to have been made aware of her midnight adventure, so her notoriety had been unmatched over the previous season.
“I find her character to be quite agreeable, charming, and without pretention. I am the main benefactress of Havendale Orphanage, and so I also hold a seat on the board. When she approached the matron for work as a governess here, I supported her fully. Once a month I attend a very lavish feast with the children right here in the hall. There is a ball of sorts, where the artistically-inclined children may display their musical talents. Miss Danvers is instrumental to our banquet’s success each month. Her organizational skills are to be envied.”
Miss Danvers glanced up, and her face lit with a smile of welcome. Daphne waved and steered her husband away from the mansion and toward the dense woodland bordering the property.
“It is extraordinary what you’ve done here, Countess. I gather we are not going inside?”
“Penny, Sarah, and Lizzie will be waiting for me by the lake with their rods and tackle. We always do a spot of fishing on the third week of every month.”
Sylvester faltered, forcing her to halt. “You fish?”
No doubt her earl thought she lived for balls and the operas, and in her leisure times she did needlework. “That I do,” she said with a challenging smile.
He reached up to her jaw and lightly stroked with his fingertip. “You have no parasol or bonnet to protect your fair skin from the noonday sun.”
Instead of donning a bonnet with her dark blue riding habit, Daphne had required her lady’s maid to catch her hair in a severe chignon without a wisp of hair out of place. She knew how elegant the style rendered her features, and she had wanted to rattle her husband. “I am quite sturdy,” she said with a wink.
“I cannot stop thinking about how you were last night. Your sweet responsiveness was so intoxicating.”
Oh yes, he had brought her to fulfillment twice before she had drifted off to sleep. “Oh dear.”
