Seduction & Scandal (31 page)

His fingers continued to stroke her sex and she allowed him to widen her thighs. She was exposed and she could feel his hot stare on her. “I want to put my tongue to you.”

The flat of his tongue raked hot along her, teasing and licking. Her back instinctively arched when his tongue circled her in short, firm strokes. She cried out again, smothering the sound with her hand when his mouth covered her fully, drawing out a moan that sounded foreign to her.

He refused to stop and instead continued to lave and build her up again to a peak that was almost painful in its intensity. Her hips began to move and he no longer had to hold her still, she was grasping him to her, greedily taking all he would give her.

“Jude,” she panted, gripping his hair. “You must stop.”

“Not yet,” he said, drawing his tongue up the length of her sex and pressing it against her swollen clitoris. “I want to make you come this way.”

Raising her shoulders from the floor, Isabella looked down to find Jude's black head between her pale thighs. A strangled sound escaped her throat and he looked up, his eyes wickedly gazing back at her as he slowly licked her. Another muffled cry whispered past her lips and he grinned seductively, still holding her gaze as he continued to pleasure her. Unable to help herself, she reached for him.

He licked fiercely until she felt her body tighten, poised upon a foreign precipice, when he eased himself up on his knees and bent between her thighs, his fingers dancing along her wetness. She thought she would surely die of
pleasure as he slipped his fingers deep inside her, watching while he stroked her, his eyes blazing as she unconsciously whimpered, her body undulating as he rubbed his finger at the crest of her curls.

Then something far thicker and firmer began to stretch her. Closing her eyes, she fought to relax, to savor the feel of him sliding, inch by inch, into her body.

“You're incredibly wet, so extraordinarily beautiful.”

“Jude.” His name was ripped from her throat.

He groaned, filling her further, his fingers biting into her hips. “Open your eyes, and say my name again.”

And she did, just as he thrust his way deep inside her, imbedding himself fully.

Jude could barely move, could hardly even think, save for luxuriate in the exquisite feel of Isabella's body clamping tightly around him. It had never been like this, never this slow and sensual, a feast for his senses.

His hips began to push and, gaining in confidence, Isabella's began to move against him, matching his rhythm. He was totally imbedded inside her, yet he couldn't get close enough or stroke deep enough to satisfy his craving for her.

He watched her arch beneath his strokes, her lashes fluttered closed, fanning against her cheeks, her breasts moving in time to his thrusting. He inhaled her scent—soap and feminine arousal. He felt her rounded hips rotate beneath his hands, felt her thighs encase his waist, could almost taste the sweet nectar of her breasts, could still taste the muskiness of her sex against his tongue.

He cried out, long and deep, and with a rough shout and a final deep, penetrating thrust, his seed splashed deep inside her.

For minutes they sat, clinging to each other, arms clutching and hugging—faces buried in each other's necks—a fine sheen of perspiration trickling down her
back and his chest. Slowly he came back to earth, and saw that Isabella was still secured in his arms.

She was satiated, replete. The faint chiming of bells from the hall clock signaled an hour had passed since he looked up and found her there. She had come to him. And he wasn't letting her go.

“Where are we going?” she mumbled as he covered her with his jacket.

“To bed.”

“Oh,” she said through a yawn, then snuggled up to him as he lifted her in his arms. “But I should be going home, the hour.”

“It's early enough that we have hours yet to love one another.”

She was still satiated, still flushed from his lovemaking, and his heart swelled again.

“Will you tell me your story, then, Isabella? Tell me what you've dreamed of Death doing to you.”

“No.” She squirmed in his arms, embarrassed.

“I have wondered about it, you know. Tell me.”

“No.”

He kissed her and whispered, “I'm going to make you.”

“Oh, no, you're not!”

“Will you not tell me more?” Black asked as he lay with her in his bed.

“There is no more to tell.”

“So the maid comes to him for three nights and tells him a story. And he releases her?”

“Yes.”

“And do they make love?” he asked. And she blushed, and he kissed her.

“Well…I suppose so, but I didn't write that. It's sort of…implied.”

“Are you afraid of the words, little love,” he asked wickedly. “I could help you write it, help you to know what Death was thinking as he was watching his lover.”

“Could you?”

“Mmm,” he whispered as he kissed her ear. “I could. This is how I would start…

“Jude,” she moaned, now thoroughly aroused. But he continued, whispering in her ear as he began to act out the love scene with Death.

Isabella cried out when he raked his tongue down the length of her. “So sweet,” he murmured, his finger slipping inside as his breath caressed her wet flesh. “So damn sweet. And mine, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she breathed, lost in his touch, in the story he weaved. And then he began to move his fingers inside her, and he whispered again, making her more aroused as he continued with his story.

Isabella was still limp in her climax when Jude pressed her forward until her breasts grazed the sheets. He stroked his fingers down the length of her back to her bottom. He repeated the action, this time working up from her buttocks to her neck, his erection stiffening further as she quivered beneath his touch. Gooseflesh rippled along her spine, sweeping along her back and down to the soft globes of her perfect bottom.

“I love you,” he said, stroking her damp flesh. Bringing her hips back to him, he filled her completely in one fluid thrust. She moaned deeply as he pulled out, filling her again, his fingers biting into her hips as he repeated the movement.

Jude was mindless now, watching and listening as he made love to her. The bed creaked and groaned under his thrusts, the sound of skin against skin heightened his
senses, driving him to the precipice. An almost primal surge of possession engulfed him.

His seed spilled forth as he continued to rock against her, her warmth enveloping him, caressing and tightening around him.

“I won't ever let you go, Isabella,” he said against her hair. “No matter what happens, you'll always belong to me.”

“B
LACK,
we have to talk.”

“I thought we had shed all secrets.”

“No, I meant Lucy. Last night. This pendant she keeps raving about.”

He groaned and fell back, and it was then that Isabella saw the brand on his chest that was obscured by his silky hair. It was the shape of a Templar cross.

“Knighton mentioned the Brethren Guardians. Does it mean anything to you?”

He watched her.

“Yes.”

“You're one of them, aren't you?” He glanced away, but she wouldn't let him evade the question. “It's true, isn't it?” she asked. “The story of the three Templars who were entrusted with three artifacts.”

“Yes.”

“Your family carries a pendant. That's what Lucy had.”

“Yes. It contains the seeds from the apple that Eve took from the Tree of Knowledge. They're cursed with the venom of the snake who tempted her.”

“Lucy?”

“Thank God I stopped her before she could take them all.”

“How did Wendell get it?”

He went rigid underneath her. “How did you know it was him?”

“That night he visited us, he was telling Lucy and I
about the Templars, I don't think he knew who they were. But he had the pendant.”

“Go on.”

“Lucy, well, she has been searching for a lover, and she believed the pendant had powers.” She paused, then glanced up at him. “Sussex and Alynwick, they're the other two Templar descendants, aren't they?”

“Yes.”

“And Elizabeth?”

“Merely Sussex's sister. But she knows of the tales, and she aids us when we need it.”

“Jude, you must be careful.”

“I am, my love. But you must know that this isn't over. The pendant while returned to me, is simply not enough. We need to find out who is behind this. The chalice that Sussex is in possession of is still missing.”

“Wendell never mentioned a chalice.”

“Then you won't mention it to him,” he murmured as he kissed her neck. “Our secret.”

“There's more you're not telling me.”

“There is, but it's grown late, Isabella, and you need to get back home, unless you're so eager to bring that scandal you fear so much upon yourself.”

“You're right.” She sighed as her fingers drew little circles on his chest. “But promise me you'll tell me everything tonight.”

“I will. As long as you promise me that you'll let Knighton know in no uncertain terms that his attentions are no longer welcome.”

“Jude, you're jealous.”

“Insanely, and if the sun was not attempting to peek out over the horizon I would take you to bed again, just so you won't forget me while you sleep.”

 

S
TANDING AT THE WINDOW
, Black watched Isabella run across the street. It was still dark, although daylight was
not far off. She was safe enough at this hour. Far safer than if she had been discovered with him beside her early in the morning.

Smiling to himself, he watched her run, remembering how she had felt all soft and womanly in his arms. He'd wanted her again. He feared he would want her every night for the rest of his life.

She disappeared around the house, and he waited for the lamp to be lit in her room. It was the agreed-upon signal that she had made it there safe and sound.

When several long minutes lapsed, Black's body grew taut. When a carriage careened around the corner from Isabella's house, fear assailed him.

“Billings!” he roared. “Send for Sussex, I'll be on horse back.”

His butler, tired and disheveled, presented himself. “Where shall I direct His Grace, my lord?”

He had no notion. Only knew he had to hurry if he was to catch up to them. Whoever had taken Isabella would die this night.

“My lord?”

“The lodge,” he said, more out of instinct than any real thought.

Then he lunged out of the room and ran to the stables. Lamb was hard on his heels.

“Follow them,” he ordered the dog, and it was only minutes before Black had saddled his horse and was galloping after Lamb who had thankfully scented the carriage.

 

“A
T LAST
,” a voice rasped from behind her at the same time a gloved hand covered her mouth. “About time you pried yourself away from Lord Black.”

Isabella twisted violently, trying to see who the perpetrator was, but a steely arm reached out, slamming her hard against his chest. “Be still,” the voice hissed in her
ear, “or I will bind you.” Isabella continued to squirm, her voice muffled by the stranger's hand. “Now then,” the voice crooned. “You will come nicely and silently if you know what is good for you.”

The villain turned her around to face him, his familiar face shocked her into speechlessness.

“Come now, my dear, you didn't think I'd let you get away that easy, did you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Taking what belongs to me.”

“Wendell, you're mad!”

“Furious,” he said as he pushed her along. “You've cost me, Isabella. Now, I want to know what you've done with it.”

“What the devil do you mean by abducting me from my home?” Isabella grunted inelegantly as she was pushed up into a carriage.

“Silence! I have had enough of your saucy mouth. If you cannot keep it shut, then I'll do the job for you. The only words I want from your lips are the whereabouts of the pendant.”

She froze. Her first instinct was to protect Black—and the others.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Stupid bitch,” Wendell growled, “you know what pendant I'm talking about. The one your lover is to protect. He's one of the Templars—it is the Sheldon family who has housed the pendant for half a millennium.”

Pushed into the carriage, Isabella settled against the squabs, straightened her skirts and glared at her kidnapper. “What do you think you're doing? What the devil has gotten into you?”

He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. “I told you, I'm taking what belongs to me. And you, Isabella, belong to me. So does that pendant. Now, be a good girl, like you
were when I first met you, and tell me where the blazes that pendant is.”

“I don't know.”

“The hell you don't. Lucy, that bitch, got her hands on it first, when it should have been you. Then what?”

“I've no notion what you're talking of.”

His hand struck her face and she cried out, holding her cheek. “The pendant I showed you, or were you daydreaming of Black when you should have been listening to me?”

Dear God, she had to protect Black. Had to.

Gripping her chin, he forced her to look at him. “I grow weary of this game, Isabella. Tell me where the pendant is.”

“I don't know.”

“Does Lucy have it?”

“No.”

“Then who does?”

“I don't know!”

Cruelly, his hand gripped her hair. Sweet heaven, he was hurting her! Never had Knighton treated her so roughly, or spoken so disrespectfully to her. This wasn't the Knighton she had met, this man was far from the rational male she'd once known.

“Tell me now,” he enunciated, tugging once more on her hair.

“Get your hands off me,”
she yelled, letting her anger get the better of her, despite the fact her instincts told her it would only infuriate him further.

“You little bitch,” he seethed, jerking her face up to greet his. “You have the nerve to talk to me in such a way, after you've let
him
treat you like a common whore.”

“Wendell…” She reached for his hand in her hair. “Stop, you're hurting me.”

His hazel eyes darkened with anger. “Jesus,” he swore,
his eyes raking boldly over her. “There's probably not a place left on you that isn't tainted by his touch. I'm right, aren't I? He hasn't left one inch of you unmarked.”

“Knighton, you're out of your mind.”

“Yes.” He smiled coldly. “I'm afraid I am. You were so close to being mine, you see. But you threw it all away to play the whore for him.”

“It isn't like that.”

“I saw you,” he roared, his hand once again fisting in her hair. “The both of you, rutting like animals.” His mouth twisted into an evil grin. “To think I thought you innocent. But you're not. I'll spill all your blood now,” he said, his lips curling. “You're of no use to me. Used, soiled goods,” he spat.

“No!” She tried to twist out of his grasp.

He slapped her again, his face filled with rage. “You've cost me and I'll make you pay. You'll talk,” he said. “I'll make you tell me where the pendant is.”

His voice had gone dark, disturbing, as if someone else—something demonic had invaded his soul.

“I want that pendant, and your blood filling the chalice. That's the only way to get what I need.”

Brushing her hair from her face, she winced at the throbbing pain in her cheek. If the swelling was any indication, her eye would soon be swollen shut. Gingerly, she probed the side of her face. The puffiness was firm and, she suspected, grotesquely bruised.

What had provoked Knighton to such violence? He'd never once raised his voice to her let alone his hand.

She stole a look at her captor from beneath the veil of her hair. He looked pale and nervous. His hands were clenched in his lap and his eyes fixed firmly out the window. He looked so different now, haunted, brooding—utterly dangerous as he rubbed his temples.

“Christ, look at your face.”

She lowered her head, shielding her bruises with her
hair, hating how the anger in his voice made her shake. Never had she felt submissive before a man.

“Why did you make me hit you? Look at me,” he commanded, tilting her chin up with his finger.

She whimpered when her eyes met his in the waning light. She was terrified of him, frightened to death to be alone with him—to be so far away from Jude.

“If only you would have listened to me and just told me where to search for the pendant, I would not have had to do this.” His finger traced her lips, which were puffy from the blow.

“Wendell, you're frightening me.”

“Good. I'll stop when you tell me where the pendant is.”

“It has an unholy call upon you, doesn't it?”

“Shut up,” he snarled, but Isabella saw the fear in his eyes.

“You can't stop it, can you? Don't you see how evil it is? It's making you mad.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It'll make me famous. Rich. The most powerful archaeologist in the world.”

“You'll bring nothing but evil upon the earth.”

His gaze widened, and he gripped her chin once again. “You know much, Isabella, for someone who claimed she had no idea of what I was speaking.”

“You're ill, Wendell,” she pleaded as she held on to his wrists. “Please, let me go. I'll help you to get better.”

He was mad. Utterly deranged. Had he always been like this? Why had she never seen this side of him before?

He was dangerously demented, and she had to think of a way to escape him. She shuddered to think of what he would do to her once he had her locked away, solely to himself. She had to think of a plan, she couldn't afford to waste precious time until Jude could find her. Perhaps he hadn't yet even realized she was gone.

Would Jude come for her? Bile rose in her throat as
she thought of losing him, and she gagged on the acidic taste.

She had to think—had to be logical about this, she couldn't let her paralyzing fear prevent her from planning her escape.

“I will tie you up and beat the information out of you,” he growled as the carriage slowed and finally came to a stop. The door opened and Wendell shoved her out, but kept a cruel hold on her arm. Something hard pressed into her side as he pushed for forward.

“Scream and I'll put a bullet into you, do you understand?”

Nodding, she allowed Knighton to lead her up the stone steps. He was taking her to the Masonic lodge and no doubt to her doom.

What sort of torture awaited her inside?

On the steps, she faltered, her hem catching on her boot. “Damn you,” Knighton hissed as he fell down to his knees.

“My hem,” she pleaded. “You haven't allowed me to hold it up.”

But she saw an opportunity and took it. While he was on his knees, she kicked him and he fell to the side, the gun spinning and falling down two steps, which made Knighton lunge. Isabella took that opportunity to run.

Raising her skirts, she ran up the steps and around the side of the building where she was grabbed by a steely arm.

“Lady Isabella.” His shocked tone told her how awful her wounds must look.

Sussex.

“Good God, what are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving after searching the lodge. What is Knighton doing here?”

“He attacked me. He's gone mad looking for the pendant.”

“So Black has told you everything?”

“As much as I need to know. Knighton wants the pendant and he's going to do whatever he has to do to get it.”

The sound of pounding hooves echoed off the buildings. Black and his huge ebony stallion, and Isabella tried to scream out a warning, but Sussex clamped a hand over her mouth.

“No noise. Black can handle himself.”

A pistol fired, the horse reared and Isabella pushed forward, but Sussex held her still. She watched as Jude's large body fell from the horse.

“I've got you now,” Knighton taunted. “You're as much as dead, Black, and when I am done killing you, I'll turn to Isabella. I'll drain her blood, spill it all and I'll keep the pendant.”

Rolling beneath the carriage, Black reached into his greatcoat, just as Wendell came running down the steep steps, pistol in hand.

Isabella could only hope that Knighton wasn't a crack shot, because Jude was vulnerable. He was too big a target, and beneath the carriage, he was essentially trapped.