The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell (Scandalous House of Calydon 2)

She glowed warm and vibrant. And he knew she would match him as a lover in all ways. He knew she must be sore, but she was enjoying her sensuality too much, in the wicked lust that arced between them, to stop. No one had ever taken him with such raw, unmatched passion. And that was what she did—she took him, as surely as he had taken her last night. He was mesmerized. And he gave full control over to her.

She bit her lips and bore down inexorably on him. Sliding up and down until she sat boldly astride him, fully seated to the hilt. And then she rode him.

She rode with guilelessness, with sheer wantonness, and with a freedom that utterly captivated him, and he tumbled with her when she fell.

At last, he had met a woman who would match his needs.

Finally, a woman who had captured his heart.

…

Phillipa snuggled into the warmth of Anthony’s embrace, unable to move. He drew the coverlet over them when she shivered. The silence between them was comfortable, and she smiled in the darkness, filled with contentment. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, and they both laughed softly.

He pressed another kiss at her nape. “Are you ready to talk about it? About this secret you hold so close?”

His calm question surprised her, but didn’t upset her. If he had demanded or berated, she would have retreated behind her usual wall of doubt. But his air of relaxed curiosity made her want to answer. She wanted no more secrets between them.

“I had a lover in Boston,” she said softly. “We were childhood friends, and the older I grew the more curious I became about everything. Especially between men and women.” She turned into Anthony’s arms, needing to see his face. He shifted so he sprawled on his back. She did not resist the arms that drew her down, so that she lay in the crook of his embrace.

“We were best of friends, more than anything else. He introduced me to small adventures. He taught me how to swim in the lakes that I’d been forbidden from, how to ride astride. We were so close it grew into more than friendship. We shared our first kiss together, then more, and eventually our explorations led to us making love.”

She inhaled. Brandon had been her first in everything. First bloom of love, first tentative kiss, and when she discovered her parents intended to uproot her from her known world to move to London, she gave herself to him. It had been sweet, painful, a little messy, and very poignant.

“It was more out of defiance than real love, hoping that my parents would leave me behind to wed him. Brandon and I made grand plans together of where we would travel and what we’d explore. They were more my dreams than his. He knew I wanted to see the world, so he urged me to go with my parents, promising to follow by my twenty-first birthday.”

“What happened on your twenty-first birthday?”

“Nothing yet. I’m still only twenty. When I turn twenty-one, I will claim the inheritance my grandmother left me. I planned that we would use it to tour the continents.” She twined her fingers through Anthony’s. The slow, steady beat of his pulse reassured her.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“My family made me feel so ashamed. I endured Papa slapping me, calling me a harlot, and my mother’s wrenching sobs. Mama drew the curtains as if there had been a death in our family, and all she spoke about was the shame. Never mind that the person who had seen us together was Mama herself.”

Anthony’s hand rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

“By the time we reached London, I felt suffocated under their guilt and expectations. All I heard was how I’d ruined myself and my chances of ever being loved. My aunt tried to arrange a suitable match for my hand. She introduced me to Lord Orwell.”

Anthony’s muscles tensed. “I assume he presented himself as charming, elegant, wealthy, and everything a young lady ought to dream of in a husband,” he drawled.

“Indeed. And my aunt kept singing his praises. I admitted that I found him likable. I attended the opera with him, took early morning rides, and even went on several picnics. My father invested heavily in several of his ventures, to strengthen the connection. After two months of courtship, Orwell made an offer for my hand.”

“Even though I had a desperate desire to travel, I was tempted. But I found it distressing to accept a man’s proposal, knowing I’d already had a lover. Believing him to be a gentleman, someone I could trust, I confided in him. I told him about Brandon.” She cringed, remembering his violent reaction. His hands around her throat and his cruel taunts.

Anthony made a growling noise. “I can only imagine his anger.”

“He turned ugly. I instantly ceased to be a lady to him. I realized then that everyone would feel the same way. My own family insisted I was impure. Orwell made me feel much worse.” She closed her eyes as the awful memories swept over her.

Anthony’s muscles grew even more rigid. “What did the blackguard do?”

“He kissed me. For the first time. Then he made promises of the lavish lifestyle I would live, and how he would provide for me. It took a few minutes to dawn on me that he wanted to establish me as his mistress. I was no longer suitable for marriage. I was soiled goods and could only be his mistress. I said no.”

“And he didn’t take kindly to your rejection.” Anthony’s arms tightened around her.

She lay silent for a few minutes, feeling safe, truly protected, for the first time since leaving Boston. “He became a nightmare after that. He hounded me at every turn. He accosted me at balls, trying to force kisses. He said if I did not come to him, he would let it be known I’m a harlot. He would not relent. He resorted to using my father’s heavy investments in his schemes as blackmail. He threatened to tell his wealthy friends my father was not an honest man to work with, ruining his business. I was terrified. I needed to escape the vile blackguard. So, I devised a plan.”

Anthony peered down at her with a scowl. “What plan?”

“I wrote Brandon to remind him of his promise. But he replied that he’d gotten married. I should have been devastated, but truthfully I was more annoyed my plans had been foiled. So, I resolved to travel alone instead, with a paid companion. My twenty-first birthday is in a couple days.” She sighed and fell into the daydreams that had sustained her over the past difficult months. “So, you see? My inheritance will let me leave London and do as I wish. I shall tour the continents and have as many adventures as possible. When I marry, it shan’t be to someone from London’s haute monde.”

Anthony’s body had grown still beneath her. “Yes. I see.”

She stifled a yawn, exhaustion draining her. “I foolishly believed I could ignore Orwell’s advances until then. I never imagined that he would kidnap me. I was so afraid.” She glanced up at him with a smile. “And then my gallant knight rode up on his white horse and rescued me.”

“Odin is black,” Anthony said evenly.

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. After last night, his sensual touch had replaced the fear and distaste of Orwell’s. Anthony’s easy acceptance of her impurity still left her stunned. She instinctively knew he would not hold her in contempt, even now, after she’d confessed everything. “By the way, how did you know I was abducted?”

“I had a trail put on you. I was not comfortable with how Orwell hounded you.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. She probably should be miffed at his arrogant interference. But she wasn’t. If not for his concern, her life would now be an unbearable nightmare. If she were alive at all. “I will always be in your debt, Lord Anthony.”

Another yawn rushed from her.

“We will continue this discussion later,” he said. “Including your debt to me.” He shifted her closer, wrapping her in his arms. “But for now, sleep.”

It felt perfectly natural, and so right, to place her cheek against the crook of his neck and do as he commanded. And so, she did.

Chapter Thirteen

The lush expanse of Anthony’s estate awed Phillipa. The dark green, rolling lushness of the lawns stole h

er breath. Rows of flowers sprawled in majestic beauty, surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges. Dozens of elm trees lined the stately driveway. Several French gardens were scattered about in wild disarray, completing the charming effect. In the light of day, what had seemed like a large manor house was in fact an elegant mansion.

Upon rousing, she had slipped from the bed, grateful to see her clothes stitched, ironed, and laid out for her. Then heat had seared her entire body realizing that the maid must have seen her wrapped in Anthony’s arms.

After a long, warm bath, she had made her way down the massive hallway and winding staircase, to the sunroom where the butler directed her. It was aptly named, facing east where the sun rose, with an entire wall of windows. The yellow, green, and silver decor of the room was stunning in its elegance, and yet, the room invited comfort.

Footmen had paraded in with eggs, bacon, cheese, cakes, and tea, to fill the sideboard. But it was the fragrant aroma of coffee that had roused her from her worrying thoughts. She had queried the footman, and had been pleased to have recognized the heady roasted scent of Jamaican blue mountain coffee, a favorite of hers.

She’d eaten her fill and waited with a feeling akin to dread for Anthony to descend. The beauty of his property could not soothe the riotous emotions that jangled inside her. Joy that he had made love to her without disdain. She felt no shame at her own part in their bed play. Though she blushed recalling all the ways he had taken her. She had never expected that making love could be so tumultuous, so delicious.