Page 10 of To Tame a Wicked Widow

Fuck.

“I see,” he mused, even as his cock strained frantically against his trousers. “And how many times have you wet it with cunt juice and pushed it deep into that rounded backside of yours?”

Madeline shivered. “I haven’t. Not yet. I only bought it the day before you arrived.”

“Well then. Let us remedy—”

A brisk knock at the door made them both jump. He shoved the dildo into a drawer, and Madeline scooted around the other side of the desk. By the gods, the house bloody well better be on fire. “Enter!” he barked.

Winifred, Faith, and the three Smyths traipsed in.

“Time for the musicale,” said Faith, glaring at Madeline. “I hope you are ready.”

“Of course,” said Madeline with a sigh.

“You’re looking a little flushed, dear,” said Penelope Smyth, Madeline’s sister-in-law. “Can we hope that his lordship’s stern instruction will see an improvement in your behavior?”

Ethan met Madeline’s gaze. “Lady Upcott does seem to respond well to stern instruction.”

Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked away. “Shall we go? The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can leave.”

“Terrible thing to say,” said Mark Smythe, Madeline’s brother. “My lord, are you sure we can’t tempt you to attend? Good food to be had. Best of all, no charge.”

“Alas, I have ledgers to read.”

And punch a wall over.

“Ah,” said the other man, turning up his nose. “Damned creditors, keep turning up and expecting to be paid. They should be horsewhipped for disturbing a gentleman. Well, we’ll leave you alone, then. Come along, ladies.”

Madeline shot him a regretful look over her shoulder but followed the others from the chamber.

In the stark quiet of the room, even more austere without her warmth and laughter, Ethan sat back in his chair and rested his chin on his hand. Others would call it pure insanity, but the more time he spent with Madeline the more he wanted, and he found himself wanting to make some sort of declaration. It might have been a week, but it felt like he’d known her forever and that they could literally talk about anything. As for the fucking, he’d never imagined it could be so good, with a strong indication that it would get better and better.

If only he had something to offer her other than a hard cock and a barely solvent title.

Anger surged, and he swept a hand across the desk, sending an empty silver inkpot crashing to the floor.

Damn his circumstances to hell.

* * *

One more moment in this drawing room, and she would be carted away to Bedlam.

Gritting her teeth, Madeline took a tiny sip of warm lemonade. If Lady Portia were here, she would have told all of them to go to the devil. Clayton would stay only to sketch the most annoying attendees as farm animals. Beatrice would probably tear her own gown hem as an excuse to retire. And yet she, Madeline Upcott, England’s infamous Wicked Widow, couldn’t make herself leave.

It was so much worse knowing right now she could be experiencing the ecstasy of both Ethan’s cock and Florentine leather. Instead, she stood surrounded by vacuous chatter while her mother, Penelope, plus Faith and Winifred took turns shoving her in the direction of men they considered eligible. When they weren’t scolding her for eating a second berry tart because no prospective husband wanted a glutton, of course.

Ethan didn’t seem to mind her appetite. Although in fairness, she did need the sustenance to support their hours and hours of bedding and banter and laughing.

Good grief, how she enjoyed his company. And although her head warned the bubble of perfection would burst eventually, her body remained greedy for his stern words and sure touch. Was it his scholarly pursuits that made him such a fast learner, and able to remember in minute detail exactly how and where she liked to be pleasured? His travels were certainly responsible for his lack of prudery or set ways in what might be appropriate for a woman to say or read or experience.

Truth be told, she wanted so much more than an affair from Ethan. But he was so damned young. And had only been with one woman. It would be ridiculous to ask him to settle down into marriage and children after a week’s liaison, no matter how extraordinary the week had been.

“Good afternoon, Lady Upcott. Shocking weather we are enduring, what.”

Madeline turned and forced herself to smile at some unknown dandy wearing far too much lace and reeking of perfume. The weather was unexceptionally cool and damp for October, but judging by the peevish tone, nothing pleased this older gentleman. “Good afternoon. Tis true, winter is fast approaching.”

“I’ll be returning to London, soon enough. Wish I had property somewhere other than Surrey. Ghastly county. And nothing of note ever happens in Guildford. Well, apart from your dear relatives descending. About time they did; no good comes of a woman given freedom, that is a fact.”