“WHAT IS THAT excessive ball of dander?”
Camilla glanced up from where she sat perched on her bed, following Synton’s gaze to the mammoth long-haired gray-and-white cat that stood between her and her pretend betrothed. Bunny’s initial purrs gave way to a grave look of disapproval.
Camilla’s cat was a wonderful judge of character.
Or perhaps the cat simply did not approve of a late-night visit to Camilla’s bedchamber.
Though Bunny probably sensed the inner war raging inside Camilla and was being overly fussy. Camilla was fairly certain Lord Garrey was dead. It was beyond difficult to grasp. She’d had no choice; he’d made it clear he was going to kill her. But still, she felt wrong for not regretting her actions.
Bunny nudged her hand, drawing her to the here and now.
“Lord Synton, please meet Bunny.”
Synton closed the door behind him softly, his attention traveling from Camilla to Bunny, then back. She couldn’t tell whether he was amused or concerned.
“Unless it’s casting some powerful glamour, Bunny is a feline. You do realize that, correct?”
Camilla gave him a bemused look.
“With the spirit and claws of a great lioness, I assure you. Don’t insult Bunny again, or you may live to regret it, my lord.”
His lips twitched. “I’ll take your warning under consideration.”
“Very wise. My cat does not appreciate anyone who does not worship the ground she walks upon.”
“Why is your cat at Lady Katherine’s?”
“Whenever I spend the evening here, Kitty sends for Bunny straightaway. She adores riding in Lord Edwards’s coach. They spoil her with her own silk pillow and bowl of warm cream.”
“You spend the evening here often, then.”
Camilla nodded. “We have dinner every week when Lord Edwards is out. I usually spend the night then.”
His sardonic expression shifted to something more serious as he finally took Camilla in.
“Are you all right?”
She inhaled deeply, then slowly let it out. “Is he…”
“Responsible for his own sins?” he asked. “Then yes. Alexei got the full story from him.”
He wasn’t dead. At least not by her hand. The knowledge wasn’t quite a relief, but a knot inside her chest loosened.
“I’m not going to ask why he wanted your locket,” he murmured. “I suspect you wouldn’t tell me the truth even if I did.”
Camilla pressed her lips together.
“As long as you’re all right,” he said, looking her over again, “I’m going to bed. Sleep well. We’ll start the painting first thing tomorrow.”
He turned, hand on the knob. And her loneliness rose up in a rush.
“Wait.”
He twisted to meet her gaze. Silent. Steady. When she didn’t speak again, a wry smile tugged at his lips.
“Did you want something, Miss Antonius?”
She wanted him to hold her again, to make the coldness still clinging to her disappear.
His gaze darkened as if he’d read her thoughts, his attention slowly moving down.
She hadn’t been expecting company, and a maid had already helped her into her nightgown and robe. Camilla had her own guest room at Birchwood, with items of hers stashed away for whenever she visited; Katherine wouldn’t hear otherwise.
The robe was made of silk and the nightgown was soft knit lace, the material hugging the contours of her body with gentle grace. Given the nature of the material, much of her silhouette was easily visible. She loved to sleep in its soft luxury, never expecting anyone to actually see her in it.
Camilla was now exquisitely aware of just how little she had on.
Synton’s attention was a hot caress as it slowly moved from her face and then downward. His perusal was thorough, sensual. He took his time, admiring every inch of her body before dragging his gaze back up again, just as slowly.
Camilla’s mouth was suddenly as dry as the desert, her body growing warm and tight. Gone were any horrible memories of the hedge maze. The ghost of what had almost happened had been chased away.
“Was there something you needed, my lord?”
Camilla’s voice drew Synton’s focus back to her face but did nothing to douse the fire crackling between them.
Synton had the air of someone who indulged in his carnal urges often and was well versed in both giving and receiving pleasure. Camilla had never been one to fully submit to another in any capacity, but there was something tantalizing about the thought of being subjected to his every whim and demand.
Before she could stop herself from imagining his previous lovers, jealousy seared through her.
His expression shifted suddenly, the fire giving way to ice.
“Write up a list of everything you need from your home.” His tone was clipped, impersonal. “Tomorrow you’ll be moved into Hemlock Hall.”
“What?” Camilla pulled her robe more tightly around herself, caught off guard.
“My staff will collect your things tonight.”
Living under the same roof as this impossible man was most decidedly a terrible idea.
“I cannot live with you before we’re married. People will talk.”
“Not if you’ve been gifted your own private bridal wing by your protective fiancé. I want you with me from now on, lest anyone else try to harm you.”
“Have I been?” she asked. “Gifted my own wing?”
His smile reemerged, turning positively feline. Bunny herself seemed to perk up from where she’d settled in a corner.
“Disappointed you won’t be sharing my bed for our little ruse, pet?”
She was, rather.
Camilla also knew he was needling her with the endearment to distract her.
“You think very highly of yourself.”
“I’m exceptionally talented at reading emotions. You desire me physically.”
Cocksure. Arrogant. Damnably correct.
She lifted a shoulder as if it were common knowledge and she was unperturbed. “Well, you cannot keep your hungry gaze off me, either, my lord. Each time you look at me I think you’re removing an item of clothing and trying to decide what to do next.”
“Is that what you think, Miss Antonius? That I somehow lack know-how?”
Camilla sensed they were entering dangerous territory again.
She’d been fighting loneliness for the last two years. If she permitted herself this one indulgence, allowed him to make her forget her solitude… maybe the ache would disappear for another few years. They were already pretending to be betrothed.
Why not let that excuse set her free? She could give in to her desires for one night.
“I’m quite positive you’re a proficient deviant when you wish to be.”
Synton’s sparkling gaze filled with challenge. His expression said Camilla was right.
“Tell me, Miss Antonius, are you ever a deviant?”
Camilla had been, that once. Had craved the touch of another ever since.
He mistook her silence. His tone softened to a purr. “Would you like to be?”
He waited, watching. Whatever he saw in her expression made him stalk closer. Like he’d understood she was silently daring him to act on his longings as well.
“Just for tonight,” he said, gaze locked onto hers, setting new rules. Ones that intrigued Camilla, despite herself. “Our secret.”
Camilla’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to agree.
“Take off your robe. Hand me the sash.”
Camilla glanced around the bedchamber, thinking of her friend who was sleeping soundly two doors down.
“We shouldn’t,” she said, hand rising to rest on the sash, the cool silk a balm against the sudden warmth in the room.
God, did she want to let the soft material pool at her feet.
Synton uncannily read her thoughts again.
“Doing things one shouldn’t is often so freeing.”
He prowled a few steps closer, the charge between them growing more intense. Camilla felt like she was standing in the middle of a field, watching lightning strikes grow closer. She tugged to loosen her sash, just a bit.
“When was the last time you were a little wicked, Camilla?”
“What, exactly, are you proposing?” she asked.
“Only a kiss,” he said, with a slight, teasing smile.
The way he said it, his voice a low growl of temptation… Camilla had never felt such heady anticipation. Her palms tingled, her breathing turned shallow. Her heart thundered in her chest. Excitement warred with desire, and admittedly, slight nervousness.
She wet her lips.
Synton stopped before her, gazing into her face. Noticing the gesture, his lips curled devilishly. “Hand me the sash, Camilla. Now.”
She did. Sliding it from around her waist, she dropped the ribbon of silk into his open palm. As she shifted, her robe fell slightly apart, exposing her lace nightgown.
Synton admired her silhouette, then motioned for her to stand and turn around.
She did as he’d silently commanded, already hating the fact that her heart raced harder, thrilled for whatever he’d demand next.
Synton gently placed the sash around her head, covering her eyes, then pulled it taut and tied it. The long ribbon tickled her back, falling between her shoulder blades.
She was blindfolded.
With one hand on her shoulder, he slowly spun her to face him. She craved the reassurance of his emerald eyes but could only feel the soft wind of his breath against her mouth.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
All her senses had heightened—from somewhere deep in the house she heard the soft chiming of a clock. Closer still she heard the slight rasp of Synton’s breath, the rustle of his own shirt before he slipped a hand beneath her robe. His touch glided effortlessly over her nightgown as he circled her waist and drew her nearer to him.
“Good.”
His body was warmer than she’d imagined, his scent intoxicating this close by. She tilted her face up, lips parting in anticipation.
If he was only going to kiss her, she wished to enjoy every second of it.
“We can do much better than good, darling.”
His mouth skimmed her neck, her collarbone, grazing lazily from one side to the other before drifting lower, past her locket to the lace above her breasts. She’d expected him to kiss his way upward again, finally pressing his mouth to hers.
But she soon realized that Synton was a man who enjoyed playing.
Camilla felt the air stir around her as he moved, closing his mouth over the peak of her breast, where it pressed against the soft fabric of her nightgown. The unexpected heat and wet of his mouth sent a shock of pleasure through her as his teeth grazed over her again.
A moan slipped past her lips as Synton’s erotic kiss soaked through her nightgown, causing a different sort of wetness to form between her legs.
He held her steady, his big hands gripping her waist, nestled just above the curve of her bottom. His tongue began stroking softly, drawing as much pleasure from her body as he could.
He moved to her other breast, licking and sucking over the thin material until she could no longer think straight.
Too soon, she felt him straighten, her damp nightgown now clinging to her.
“My lord…”
He let out a low sound of amusement, and she could have sworn he whispered he was anything but before he walked her backward until her thighs brushed against the edge of the bed.
“Sit.”
Camilla did, her body tingling and eager for his next kiss.
She couldn’t see him, but she felt his gaze on her, searing and heavy like a physical caress. She knew with certainty that if she could see him, there wouldn’t be anything cold or dark in his eyes now. He would be ravenous, filled with need. Just like her.
Perhaps that was why he wanted her eyes covered—so she wouldn’t know the effect she had on him. She loved and loathed the blindfold—loved how it allowed her to anticipate his next move and loathed that she couldn’t watch him perform it.
“Unless you’d like me to stop, I’m going to kiss you again, Camilla.”
“Please,” her voice was low and husky, “don’t stop.”
He firmly pressed her back until she lay across the bed. Strong hands closed around her ankles, tugging her closer to the edge of the mattress.
His touch sent shivers of pleasures through her.
Silence stretched, the air growing thick with tension.
Camilla wondered if he was staring down at her, and if he was, what his expression looked like now.
Another whisper of movement. Was he kneeling?
She jolted at the unexpected sensation of his mouth on her leg, her gasps turning sharp and uneven. He traced little lines of pleasure from her ankle to her calf, tasting his way upward.
Her breath caught when he paused behind her knee. His powerful hands settled on either thigh, palms flattened there for a moment, rubbing gently. Comforting. Seducing.
Camilla fidgeted, wanting to see him.
Then his hands were moving again, slowly pushing her thighs apart, exposing her aching flesh. She stilled. She’d forgotten that she’d taken her underwear off, wanting to sleep with nothing between her skin and soft lace.
He cursed, and she wasn’t sure he’d meant to. The harsh word igniting her desire even more.
Then he waited, as if testing to see if she would balk. A woman of her station was taught to demur, to deny her passions. To feel shame when she shouldn’t.
The blindfold made her bold.
She slowly widened her legs. Cool air kissed her most sensitive area, her heart pounding as she waited to see what he would do next.
He groaned, as if he could no longer hold himself back, the sound a tortured growl of pure need.
Then his mouth closed over her sex. The first swirl of his tongue was delicate, chaste almost. The second was criminal. His stroke more powerful, demanding. A lazy lick that turned decidedly wicked.
Camilla arched up from the bed, moaning as his tongue parted the folds of her, swirling and then stroking deeper.
“Fuck,” he said, pausing for a moment to kiss the inside of her thigh. “You taste incredible.”
His mouth was on her again, his teeth grazing the bundle of nerves.
A slight nip, a jerk of her body, then he lapped up her desire. It was pleasure with an edge of pain, and nothing had ever felt so good. Her body throbbed as he suckled her flesh, spreading her legs wider so he could feast like a king. He teased her by kissing along her inner thighs, grazing over her sex to the other leg, his breath hot against her arousal.
He certainly liked drawing out each move until she almost cursed.
He blew across her clit, then pressed another chaste kiss to it. Teasing. Maddening. Her flesh growing so slick and engorged it almost hurt.
“Please.” She fisted the sheets, trying to remember why moaning was a bad idea.
“So proper and polite,” he purred against her, his tongue touching her lightly.
She bucked as his mouth closed on her again, his tongue curling slightly inside her.
He did not seem to share her worry about noise. His groan was more animal than human when his tongue touched her again.
Then he kissed her again there, his tongue sliding over the most glorious place she’d ever felt, alternating between flicking and lathing. She arched up from the bed again, panting.
He kept up that wondrously sinful lathing, but her body needed more. She wanted him deeper. Inside her. Pounding in time to that growing, throbbing, aching sensation.
“Oh, my…”
He penetrated her with his tongue, driving deep inside her, and she swallowed a cry of pleasure. His tongue was glorious, thrusting, stroking. Heat bolted up her spine.
The Lord of Syn was making love to her with his wicked mouth. Camilla’s legs opened wider, needing him to press closer, the fire lashing along her body as he owned her with his sinful kiss.
“Oh, my God.”
Another growl.
“I assure you He has nothing to do with this.”
Synton’s hands hardened their hold on her hips, keeping her in place. As if she would move away now. She’d stay prone for all eternity as long as he kept doing that with his unholy, lovely mouth.
She still couldn’t see him, but the image filled her mind—Synton kneeling between her legs, hands buried in her lacy nightgown, head bent to her as if he were an acolyte to her body.
Her hips bucked upward, needing more.
Synton tended to her with renewed vigor, his warm tongue gliding over and inside her with such perfection that Camilla didn’t care if God or the devil himself was involved. This man could drag her down to hell and she’d gladly burn for eternity.
She wanted him to go deeper, to never stop.
He replaced his tongue with his fingers, sliding them across her folds.
It felt so good, Camilla had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out. She thrashed as that delicious feeling continued to crest into a wave of pleasure, gripping the sheets so tightly she feared they’d shred.
Synton gently hoisted her legs over his shoulders, pinning her to the bed with one large hand as he feasted.
“Come for me, Camilla.”
It was a command.
“Come all over my tongue. Now.”
And she loved it.
Each glorious stroke had that bundle of nerves growing tighter, hotter, coiled and ready to send fire through her veins as her release found her.
Camilla rocked her hips forward, fingers threading into his hair, tugging his face closer, earning a growl of approval that vibrated so deeply, she went tumbling over the edge, her body taking flight as pleasure rippled through her in one hot wave after the last. She’d orgasmed before, but this was unlike anything else. This made her want to stay in this bedchamber forever.
He didn’t let up, his fingers and tongue continuing to ride her through the sensation until another orgasm barreled through her. She cried out as the next orgasm sent her straight out of her body, floating somewhere far away.
Synton’s ministrations slowed to languid strokes, not stopping until the final wave broke, leaving Camilla feeling boneless and spent. She collapsed back, breathing heavily.
“That…” Was a religious experience. If he was the Lord of Syn, she’d happily become the worst sinner there was.
He kissed her inner thigh one last time, then gently set her trembling legs down.
She felt the heat of him leave. His jacket rustled, the air stirred. Then all was quiet.
He couldn’t have…
Camilla sat up, ripped off the blindfold, and blinked. The room was empty. She stared around her, emotions whirling from one extreme to the next.
There was no way he’d done that and then left. Without a word.
“Synton,” she hissed, furious.
And unless she’d been in some suspended stupor from his talented mouth, he’d moved faster than anyone should be able to.
Still, he didn’t return.
The immeasurable ass had in fact given her an orgasm to end all orgasms, then left.
She stared at the door, body still trembling from the aftershocks, wondering how Synton could go from such burning passion to cold indifference that swiftly.
If he was playing a game with her, he would regret it.
Camilla decided right then that instead of showing him how angry she was, she, too, could play. She’d adopt his mask of indifference. Let him be humbled too.
She tossed herself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, rethinking the whole encounter. It took far longer to get her annoyance under control than she cared to admit. But once she did, she puzzled his behavior out more clearly.
The blindfold.
The mention of only tonight.
The abrupt departure.
In some way, she was certain, he’d bared himself more than she had.
There was something he desperately didn’t want her to see, which only made her more curious to unravel the mystery of his past. Forbidden things always intrigued her.
And Lord Synton, mercurial moods, gruffness and all, was very tempting indeed.
