Shayla Black Page 8

  Then he bit at her aching nipples, gently abrading. The ache multiplied, and Maddie cried out with need. She tossed her head back, arching her breasts closer to his magical mouth.

  Dear God, how was she going to withstand such pleasure?

  The tight clench between her thighs coiled mercilessly. Hot want joined the fray, creating a throb that pulsed with demand. She tried to wind her legs around him, but the width of the chair frustrated her. Still, she pressed herself against every inch of his steely erection, which had grown thicker, heavier, and rocked against him.

  “Brock...” she cried out throatily.

  He grabbed her hips and moved against her. She threw her head back with a moan as sensation cascaded over her. God, she wanted nothing more than to feel him deep inside her, satisfying this hungry, growing desire.

  “What do you want, Maddie?” His normally smooth voice was as rough as gravel.

  She simply moaned, uncertain what to say.

  “You’ll have to tell me,” he coaxed, then flicked his tongue across each of her sensitive nipples, standing up for his attention. “Tell me.”

  “You,” she panted, arching toward his mouth. “I want you.”

  He slid his hands beneath her skirts, fingers trailing fire up her thighs. The back of his knuckles brushed her wet, aching flesh. She gasped, staring at him, silently begging for more.

  “What do you want from me?” he coaxed, then laved one tingling breast again as he cupped the other in his hand, rolling the hard tip between his fingers.

  Maddie swayed closer, arching against him, still rocking against his stiff arousal. She needed relief from the unrelenting ache, but he was only making the desire grow hotter, higher.

  “Make the ache stop. Fill me. Make love to me.” Without awaiting his reply, she reached for his shirt and ripped the buttons free, running frantic hands against the taut flesh of his chest. “Please.”

  Brock nipped her neck with his seeking mouth. “God, I want to, Maddie. So damn badly. You have no idea.”

  As she shoved his shirt over his head, their naked chests met. Maddie gasped and pressed feverish kisses over his steely shoulder, up his neck, tasting the salty tang of his skin.

  “I will take you constantly. Repeatedly. Over and over. I’ll give you more pleasure than you dreamed,” he vowed.

  Yes. A thousand times yes. Blood roared through her body, and she felt the rise of tension and pleasure between her legs coming to some peak she didn’t understand. Brock nipped hungrily at her breasts, and her sex clenched with empty, aching need. He could make it better. He could give her what she needed.

  “Please…” she begged, feeling dizzy and overcome.

  “You never have to ask, Maddie. I’ll give you anything you want. Fuck you day and night. All you have to do is marry me.”

  His words pierced Maddie’s haze of lust. “What?”

  “Marry me.”

  Her heart skidded to a stop. Lord, how had she allowed herself to get so carried away in his arms?

  Feeling stricken, Maddie scrambled off his lap, legs trembling beneath her. She struggled with her chemise and stared at him in accusation. “Don’t you want me?”

  He stood and reached for his shirt. Maddie was horrified to see she’d torn away most of the buttons. The slabs of his muscled chest lay exposed, his skin burnished and taut. Lower, she saw the thick proof of his desire through his breeches, rigid and irrefutable.

  How had she lost control of herself so quickly? He had played her body so completely. Furious tears pricked her eyes.

  “You can see very well that I want you.”

  He reached out, knuckles skimming the swollen tips of her breasts, which she had not been able to cover. Need screamed inside her again. She bit her lip against the pleasure.

  “Marry me, Maddie. I swear, I’ll give you all you desire and more.”

  Feeling betrayed by him, by her own body, she backed away, fumbling with the ties of her chemise. “No. Never.”

  “Then you have the answer to your question.” Anger hummed in Brock’s voice.

  With that, he retrieved his coat and gloves, then slammed out the door, disappearing into the night.

  #

  Brock felt Maddie’s tense fingers graze his arm as he escorted her into Lord and Lady Moore’s ballroom.

  He’d been half-certain Maddie would turn down the invitation from her mother’s cousin. He’d been even more certain she would find a way to avoid accompanying him. He supposed his terse note yesterday hadn’t been bad strategy, since she’d had little time to consider his demand. The fact it accompanied a new and very expensive dress in exotic bronze that made her glow radiantly had not hurt his cause. But it was killing him to wonder if she’d worn the lacy undergarments he had sent with the dress.

  Remembering the taste of her breast in his mouth and her wet flesh through his breeches, he almost wished they were back at that damned cottage. Unfortunately, the restraint he had exercised three nights ago had cost him many hours of lost sleep and erotic dreams. He’d even had a difficult time focusing yesterday when he’d met with his brilliant engineer.

  Being all alone with Maddie would only give his crumbling resistance a ripe opportunity to collapse. The gasping wonder of her response had fired his blood into a searing need. Her response made him certain that no other man had aroused her so thoroughly. And that made him ache all the more.

  Brock shoved the thought away before he embarrassed himself in polite company. Tonight was business. Duke of Cropthorne was in attendance. Finally, he hoped to share drinks, a game of cards, and meaningful conversation with the man about his favorite subject, money.

  As they descended the stairs, the butler announced them. “The Viscountess of Wolcott and Mr. Brock Taylor.”

  Instantly, heads swerved in their direction. He heard a gasp or two. Maddie lifted her chin, mouth grim. He pulled her closer. The ton needed to see them together, to get used to the idea that one of their own stood at his side. Now that they’d been seen together in public twice in a short period, gossip about a pending wedding was sure to start. He smiled.

  Lady Moore made her way through the throng to greet Maddie, her face composed, if curious. “Lady Wolcott, how wonderful to see you out and about again. I’d begun to think we would lose you to Hampstead forever.”

  Maddie turned on her smile, transforming her into a stunning beauty, complete with a lush ruby mouth. “It seems an age since I’ve seen you. Thank you for the invitation. Do you know Mr. Taylor?”

  “I do not,” said Lady Moore crisply.

  Maddie turned to him. “Mr. Taylor, meet Lady Moore.”

  Brock took up the lady’s hand and brought it to his lips for a proper greeting. “How pleasant to meet you, my lady.”

  “Mr. Taylor.” She nodded and extracted her hand, clearly wishing him elsewhere.

  Not that Brock was surprised. Social acceptance would not happen overnight. He could be patient.

  Without another word to Brock, Lady Moore turned back to Maddie. “And Aimee, how is the little darling?”

  “Wonderful. She’s energetic and talkative, but such a dear.”

  “Splendid. Please refresh yourselves.” She pointed to a room down the hall containing a full table of pastries and delectable treats. “I must greet the rest of my guests.”

  With that, Lady Moore turned away and disappeared into the crowd again.

  Brock smiled wryly. “Apparently I am not her favorite guest.”

  “Did you expect to be? Look around. People are stunned.”

  Indeed, Brock could see with a glance that most of the ballroom stared. Ladies whispered behind fans and dance cards, while gentlemen merely cast him glances ranging from disapproving to curious.

  He laughed. “You know what we must do, don’t you?”

  “Leave?”

  His grin widened. “No. We must dance.”

  Brock led her to the floor, nearly filled with couples lined up in a waltz, and spun her round
to join the others. He ignored the crowd’s stares and whispers.

  His hands met Maddie’s just as their gazes connected. He felt a zing of awareness, an instant urge to remove her dress and bare all her silken secrets just before he slid the aching length of his cock inside her. Her scent of jasmine and vanilla swirled around him. Lord, he wanted her. Desire was fast becoming a madness he could scarcely fight.

  “Where did you learn to dance?” Surprise widened her gray eyes.

  Brock toyed with the idea of telling her that he, as a grown man, had hired people to teach him every social grace. Why remind her that he had not been born wealthy?

  “You look beautiful, Maddie.”

  Her gaze grew guarded at his compliment. “I truly think we should leave.”

  “Nonsense.” He pulled her closer, and sent her an amused smile. “I’m just settling in.”

  #

  Later that evening, Brock approached the card table, his heart thundering. There sat the Duke of Cropthorne, playing cards with another gent. Quietly, Brock sat beside the man whose help—and money—he needed for the railroad and waited for his opportunity.

  At first, Cropthorne did not lift his head from his cards. His sleek black hair was cut to razor perfection. His equally black brows slashed over dark eyes that revealed no expression. Though fashionably dressed, the precision and severity of his garments conveyed his exacting standards. Cropthorne never engaged in any activity that might cause tongues to wag. Ever.

  Perhaps the duke would not speak to him. To approach him, Brock would breach etiquette, which was bound to lift a brow or two.

  “I’m done for the evening,” Cropthorne said suddenly, pushing his cards across the table with a disgusted sigh. “Damnable luck.”

  The man at his side shot Cropthorne a happy smirk, then scooped up his winnings. “You do not have your father’s luck with cards, your grace.”

  “Because I do not cheat.”

  With an awkward nod, the gent murmured a farewell and left.

  “Perhaps I can improve your luck,” Brock said into the thick silence.

  Cropthorne turned his way. “Can you, Mr. Taylor?”

  Surprise blindsided Brock.

  It must have shown because Cropthorne laughed. “Yes, I know who you are.”

  He stared at the man, wondering when and how Cropthorne had become acquainted with his name. No matter. Here was his opportunity.

  “Don’t be surprised. Everyone wants to know somebody who can make money multiply faster than rabbits. Drink?” He motioned to a servant.

  “Indeed.” Brock took champagne from the tray and sipped.

  “How do you plan to change my luck?” Cropthorne asked without preamble.

  “Railroads. London to Birmingham. I am looking for a partner.”

  Cropthorne said nothing, clearly mulling the thought.

  “The industrial possibilities are endless,” Brock added. “First class passenger service could be quite plush and fares charged in accordance. We could provide second class service that caters to the working class. The line could eventually be extended to the Scottish border and perhaps into Edinburgh. We will line the route with profitable hotels. Within a year or two, we should be fully functional. I have consulted with some very shrewd people, engineers, experts on commerce. I’ve little doubt you would make your money back in three years or less.”

  “Getting started is an expensive proposition.” There was no objection in Cropthorne’s voice, just fact.

  “With limitless gains to be had. I’ve hired a brilliant engineer. He has a revolutionary engine design that far outclasses anything currently in use.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “The land is nearly secured, just awaiting funds.” And Maddie’s agreement to be his wife. “I’ve gained the Royal assent necessary, had the parcels surveyed and the track designed using the latest technology.”

  “Impressive,” he said without sounding impressed at all.

  Refusing to be put off, Brock continued, “Rail travel is developing now. People will make money, exponential returns on their investments, I believe.”

  “Why me?”

  “After the unfortunate incident with the mines, I thought you might be looking for a lucrative investment.”

  A cynical smile tugged at the corners of Cropthorne’s wide mouth. “How did you hear about that? Damn, I tried like the devil to keep it quiet.”

  Brock shrugged. It was his turn to smile. “Let’s just say I make it my business to learn these things.” It was one reason making money came more easily to him than most.

  “I’ll think on it,” Cropthorne said finally.

  Holding in a sigh, Brock produced a card and handed it to the other man. He supposed any answer other than a flat refusal had promise. “Call upon me when you decide, but it must be soon. We have competition. I want to start quickly.”

  Hopeful, Brock left the room to seek Maddie. She wasn’t hard to spot, dressed in such an unusual shade. Looking around, Brock noted with pride she was the only woman in the room who could carry such a color. The rest had to settle for insipid pastels and pray the color didn’t overpower them.

  Beside Maddie stood a woman, tall with chestnut hair, wearing one of the aforementioned pale shades he disliked. The two women exchanged words, an argument from the look of Maddie’s tense profile. He edged closer, certain she had not yet spotted him.

  “In under an hour, you have become the subject for gossip,” hissed the other woman. “Lady Litchfield looked askance at me. You know if she cuts me, my season will be ruined. Ruined, I tell you! Colin would be shuddering in his very grave if he could see this travesty.”

  Brock saw Maddie glare at the other woman. “Roberta, Lady Litchfield wounds people every season. You shall not be the last, I am sure. As for your brother, he has been gone for three years. You couldn’t possibly believe his opinion—or yours—would sway anything I do now.”

  “I shouldn’t expect so, given the fact you hardly cared for his good opinion while he lived. As his sister, I was often privy to the intimate details of his life. I know you never cared for him,” the thin woman hurled in accusation.

  Brock stood frozen in place. Was it possible Maddie had not loved Sedgewick? If so, why the hell had she married the bastard, instead of awaiting his own return? Position, he reminded himself. A title. Blue blood.

  “How much did you care for Wallace before his death, Roberta?” challenged Maddie.

  “My late husband was twice my age and the match was arranged. Hardly the same thing at all. You only married Colin because you wanted to be a viscountess.”

  Maddie said nothing. The sinking stone of dread in his stomach told Brock that Lady Dudley’s accusation held true.

  Colin’s sister looked ready to stomp her feet in frustration. “Why did you bring Mr. Taylor here? He is completely beneath the Sedgewick name, which you still bear. Unless...Mr. Taylor is investing on your behalf. And you’ve…what? Brought him here as a favor for growing your funds? To be sure, everyone wants his financial advice, but not his society.”

  Brock gritted his teeth.

  “It might interest you to know that Mr. Taylor is highly intelligent and excellent with conversation beyond the financial. In fact, I believe he spoke to Cropthorne earlier this evening.” Maddie smiled tightly.” But I came here to see Lady Moore, and my actions are none your affair.”

  Brock blinked and stared. Despite the difficult position he put her in, the potent mixture of blame and lust brewing between them, she had defended him to her shrewish sister-in-law. She had found some of his good qualities. That warmed something deep in his chest.

  “Do y-you have feelings for the man?” She cocked a vicious brow. “He was a servant. Your servant once. This reflects badly on the Sedgewick reputation, on me.”

  “You seem to think everything is about you, Roberta. You might be surprised to learn that isn’t so.”

  On that stinging note, Maddie turned from the woman and nearly w
alked into him. Brock steadied her with gentle hands, wishing he could pull her into his arms in front of everyone, protect her and express his gratitude.

  “I want to leave.” Maddie clutched his arm, her pale complexion and lips tight.

  “Of course,” he murmured, truly studying her. He frowned at her heavy lids and the dark smudges beneath her pale gray eyes that had not been there last week. “You look exhausted.”

  She gave him a tired laugh. “Roberta has that effect on me.”

  As they gathered their cloaks and departed, he replayed the incident in his head. Did Maddie indeed have feelings for him? Perhaps so. Before tonight, he would have wondered how he could use those to his advantage. He certainly would have stifled any urge he had to protect Maddie from the very family she had abandoned him for and deemed good enough to marry into.

  Now...he had a healthy urge to verbally pound Lady Dudley into the highly polished dance floor. Which told him that he cared about Maddie, as well. As he led her away from the party, Brock couldn’t help but wonder, where did that leave them now?

  #

  Kent Wainwright, Viscount Belwick, stared at Lady Dudley as she watched Brock Taylor and his lady leave the ball. Roberta’s full-lipped pout more than hinted at her displeasure. He smiled as she tossed her head in agitation, sending the strands of her glossy dark hair fluttering around her delicate profile. If anyone had ever looked ready to talk, it was Lady Dudley.

  He inched back to approach her from behind, then leaned in to whisper, “Shocking, isn’t it?”

  Roberta whirled to face him. “Pardon me? Oh, Lord Belwick. I did not see you there.”

  “Not at all.” He took her hand and brought it just short of his lips. “I said, isn’t Brock Taylor’s presence at a ton event like this shocking?”

  “Exactly what I told my sister-in-law. Does she listen? Of course not! She hardly cares how I shall be talked about.”

  Ah, so Brock’s lady was Madeline Sedgewick. Interesting, indeed. Rumor had it Taylor used to work for Lady Madeline’s father, and that Taylor had been dismissed without reference. At the time, he had hardly paid attention, for he had never imagined a mere stable hand would ever be a competitor to open England to railroads.