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His eyes darkened as he seemed to sense he was winning her over.
“A devil’s bargain,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“I never claimed to be a saint,” Lord Castleton replied, then closed the distance between them, his mouth slanting over hers in a fiery kiss.
Matilda was overwhelmed by that kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and not too rough. He kissed her languidly, letting her become used to the sensation, and then she felt his tongue trace the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth instinctively. She gasped in shock as his tongue slipped into her mouth and playfully flicked at hers.
Her knees buckled a little as a stab of pleasure pain shot through her womb. She clutched Lord Castleton by his shoulders and hung on. He deepened the kiss, their mouths molded to one another, and she dug her nails into him, needing something, though she wasn’t sure what.
She became vaguely aware of him moving her and then she was pressed flat against the closed door and he was nudging a knee between her thighs. She whimpered as he rubbed against top of her mound, even though it was protected by her skirts, triggering that secret bundle of nerves there. He moved his leg against her, pressing his thigh over and over against that spot while he kissed her harder and harder. Then he cupped one breast in his hand and kneaded it gently. She screamed against his lips as something came apart inside her, like a star bursting apart in the night sky. His kisses softened and his hand continued to massage her breast. Her body quaked as she tried to understand what had just happened to her. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his waistcoat as she tried to think through everything she just experienced.
“What… what was that?” she asked as she drew in a shaky breath.
“That… was a taste.”
“Only a taste?” She couldn’t imagine how she could feel more. More of that might kill her.
“Oh yes. It can be so much more than that,” he promised as he pressed one more kiss to her mouth. “Be mine, and I will give you that same pleasure tenfold every night for the next two weeks.”
“I…” She wasn’t thinking clearly, but who could after feeling all that?
He watched her carefully and seemed to know her answer before she spoke, because he smiled slowly, wickedly.
“Y—yes. I’ll do it, but I want it in writing.”
“Writing?”
“The extended tenancy at Meadow Cross. If I’m to share your bed, I want this bargain in writing.”
He kissed her once more, lingering on her lips as if inordinately pleased. Castleton looked at her as if she’d said something wonderfully brilliant, not that Matilda could understand why. Surely anyone would want something like this written down.
“My clever little darling… Are you sure you haven’t dealt with the devil before? You shall have our agreement in writing. Now, shall we go to dinner?”
She wasn’t sure what confused and stunned her more. His calling herdarlingwhen they were complete strangers to one another, or the way it made her heart tighten and her blood hum.
She had made her choice. She had chosen to be his mistress. She wouldn’t second-guess her decision now. She couldn’t. She simply nodded and let the devil take her to dinner.
CHAPTER3
Arthur didn’t know what had possessed him to make the offer to Matilda, but he had.
Be my mistress…He couldn’t believe he had made such a demand. Back in London he was a declared rakehell, but he had hoped to cultivate a less robust reputation here. Instead, he’d done the opposite. Now he was set to ruthlessly seduce the fiery-tempered woman right under her aunt’s nose. Strangely, the thrill of such subterfuge pleased him.
He sat facing Matilda as she did her best not to look at him. Her aunt had joined them for dinner and was apparently unaware of anything going on between him and her niece.
Ignore me all you like, he thought,but we shall revisit that kiss and what followed it later.
“This is such a lovely room, Lord Castleton.”
“Please, Miss Wells, call me Arthur,” he said.
Miss Wells blushed and took a sip of wine. “Arthur, I always enjoyed our dinners with your great-uncle. He was so kind to us, wasn’t he, Matilda?”
Matilda nearly choked on her soup and shot a glance at Arthur, who eyed her smugly over the rim of his wine goblet. Her face turned the color of a ripe red apple. She was reliving that kiss and more in her mind every time she looked at him, he was sure of it. He was as well, for that matter.
She had tasted like the sweetest dream when he’d kissed her. Arthur had lost all rational thought when he held her in his arms. When she’d moaned and kissed him back, he’d had to hold onto what little there was of his self-control, or he would have tossed her skirts up and taken her on his desk. But that would be far too quick. Too easy. The thrill of all this came from delaying the outcome, the pursuit, the chase. Matilda deserved her first time with a man to be on a soft feather tick mattress where he could make her come apart over and over before finally claiming her himself.
“Did you know your great-uncle well?” Miss Wells asked, breaking through Arthur’s stream of wicked thoughts.
