Page 48 of To Dare the Devil

Diable! The devil sent you from hell to tempt the innocent to sin.

“Now do you see, my Evie? My little love.”

He tipped her head back before she could answer. Her gown had a high neck, fastened with what seemed a thousand tiny buttons. One by one, he flicked them undone, kissing each newly revealed inch of flesh as she trembled in his arms. Down and down the buttons went, over her breasts to her waist.

“Louis,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

“Hush,” he murmured, parting the material and staring with hazy desire at the generous swell of her luscious breasts. “Je péris de tant vous désirer, mon amour.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her words breathless.

He brushed his lips over the curve of her breast, close to the lace on her chemise, speaking against her skin. “I’m dying from wanting you so much, my love,” he whispered.

“Oh.” She swayed in his arms. “Louis, I—I can’t stand, I—” she pleaded, so he lashed his arm tighter about her and released his hold on her thigh in favour of cupping her breast. He smiled as she curved her leg about his hip all on her own and rewarded her by pressing his cock against her sex until she moaned. Her blasted corset and too many layers were driving him to distraction, but her breast swelled above its confines as he squeezed and he licked the delicious mound, hearing her breath leave her in a shocked exhalation. Though he knew he was wicked, beyond the pale, he could not resist the temptation. He held her tighter as he ducked his head again and she gave a little cry of pain. Her hands tightened in his hair, pulling, holding on as he raised his head and looked with satisfaction at the mark he’d left on her breast. No matter if this Muir was in the same house as her, she would see that for days and remember him, remember his mouth upon her breast. He could not remember ever experiencing such a devastating need to possess, to claim. It was unlike him, but he could not deny the truth of it. She made him act like a madman, like some primitive version of himself he did not recognise. He, who had always prided himself on his self-control and sophistication, had become nothing but sensation and raw need, marking his place upon her body like a randy boy.

Though he knew he must stop this, now, for the love of God, he did not know how he could let her go. He raised his head, staring at her, knowing he must look wild, for he felt it to his bones.

“What will you say, Evie? When this… this boy asks you to be his wife. What will be your answer?”

Her eyes were hazy with lust, her lips red, still parted, her breath coming in harsh little gasps. She wanted him. At last. She wanted him. All the things he wanted crashed about inside him, the things he wanted to do to her, the ways he needed to love her. Merde, his sweet little innocent Evie, would be shocked to her bones if she knew the things he dreamed of.

“Evie!” He gave her a little shake, and she shook her head with a soft moan.

“H-How can I think when you do such… such… Oh, you are wicked,” she protested weakly, one hand hitting his shoulder in frustration and then curling back about his lapel.

He would go mad. “Damn you, Evie. Do you not understand how I have suffered without you? I need you. Do you hear me? I need you.”

“Do you?” she asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. He closed his eyes and turned into her caress, kissing her palm.

“Oui,” he moaned. “Don’t make me suffer this any longer, ma petite, I beg you.”

“I did not mean to make you suffer. I did not know,” she replied, her expression pained, fear flickering in her eyes.

Louis saw her fear and understood that he was overwhelming her. He ought to have taken more care, used more finesse. But all his usual wiles, as Lady Balderston had called them, had deserted him the moment he had seen her. And then she had run into his arms, and nothing had mattered but that she belonged to him. He had been nothing but want and need and the anger of being left behind, which had taken him by surprise and unleashed his desires.

“I know,” he said, gentling his voice. “And I know I… I ought to have been tender. I want to be, Evie, I will be, but I have been so wretched without you I have gone a little mad.”

“Miss Evie?”

They both stilled as a voice called outside, close to the workshop.

“They’re looking for me,” Evie whispered urgently. “I must go, Louis. If they find you here. Oh, my word, there will be such a scene!”

She pushed him away.

“Wait,” he pleaded, holding on and kissing her again. She resisted for a moment and then melted into him, pressing closer with enthusiasm, curving her arms about his neck. Louis plundered her mouth, dropping his hands to her bottom and hauling her hard against him. Her breath hitched, and he revelled in her submission to him, but even in his overheated state, he could not ignore the people outside, searching for her.

“Your kisses are not nice,” she admitted breathlessly, as he finally consented to let her go.

“I am not nice, or good, or easy, ma petite,” he said, holding her gaze. “But I am entirely yours.”

She swallowed, gazing up at him in wonder. The voice called her again, father down the street, and much as Louis wanted to consign the bastard to the devil, he knew he could not. With reluctance, he reached for the buttons on her dress and began setting her to rights.

“When are you coming home?” he demanded, too aware of the petulant quality of his voice. He sounded like a sulky boy, for the love of God.

“Soon, I think, but I don’t know exactly,” she replied, her eyes upon him as he worked at her buttons. The last one slid into place, and he settled his hands upon her hips, watching her. She avoided his gaze, stroking her hand over his chest, smoothing down his rumpled lapels.

“Did you miss me, at least?” he asked gruffly. “You didn’t say.”