A Regency Seduction Pt. 02

A/N: It definitely makes more sense to read this after the first part of A Regency Seduction, and even more if you also bother to read A Regency Ravishment, where Phillip was first introduced. Enjoy the rest of his and Vivian's story and please leave a comment so I know what works and what doesn't! x

***

It had been three days. Three days and three nights since Phillip had ravished her in that carriage, four times! And while the experience had left Vivian a changed woman, it had seemed to have no discernible effect on her betrothed, other than an increased ability to avoid her everywhere.

A terse note, telling her to write to him if her circumstances changed, was the sum of his conversation with her. As if she would tell him even if she were with child when he was behaving like this! She had been used to people groaning at the thought of socialising with her; she had wanted it, even, for one does not attain the moniker of The Terrible Bore without working hard towards it. But she did not expect to feel so empty when he joined the numbers of men bent on avoiding her.

Which was why, annoyed at herself and him, she found herself scouring the Viscountess St Vincent's rout for a sight of her absconding fiancé.

Now that she had tasted carnal pleasure, Vivian did not know quite how she was expected to go about the rest of her life as though she had not been changed irrevocably. She devoured her third piece of cake in an attempt to calm her nerves as she stared at all the young misses giggling behind their fans at the eligible bachelors, wondering if they, too, knew, and if that was why they were so eager to get married.

"Millie," she whispered to her fellow wallflower. "Do you remember the wicked books we found in my brother's study?"

Millicent St Vincent's eyes started darting everywhere in agitation. "Do you mean the ones on geography?"

Vivian raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware geography can be wicked. But I actually meant-"

Millicent hushed her. "He's coming," she said, in guilty undertones.

Vivian turned to see her fiancé walking up to her, eyes settled intently on her. She had been in agony for days, hoping she could see him but also fearing her own reaction when she would. And here he was, looking completely unflustered, the villain!

He bowed before them both. "Miss St Vincent, you are a sight as always. Lady Vivian, you are-"

"-here too," she finished for him, wanting to murder him.

He looked like simply being in front of her was causing him pain, so sullenly was he looking at her. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

Vivian beamed angelically at him, clamping down on the annoyance she felt at him. Finally, she spoke. "You may not."

While her friend snorted inadvertently, Vivian got up and began to walk off, but he was too quick for her, grabbing on to her tightly.

"I say, you cannot go around giving your own fiancé the cut," he said in a furious whisper. "It is simply not done."

"Well, perhaps I do not wish to dance with someone who gets that ill-tempered look on his face simply at the notion of standing up with me!" She shot back, hating herself for betraying emotion.

His scowl deepened. "I am ill-tempered at the notion of dancing. Doing it with you has made it slightly more bearable."

Her heart did a little dance as she fought to keep her voice airy. "So why are you dancing at all?"

"To get you in the thick of things." He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenwards. "If I cannot stop you from writing about my family, I can at least help you mingle and eavesdrop on other couples, so you have someone else to write about."

"I have not written about anyone in weeks!"

"But you will," he grumbled.

There was no point in explaining to him that if Mrs Pennyworth suddenly stopped writing about the Musgraves and the Wentworths after her betrothal to him, it would look awfully suspicious. She then tried to explain to him that she got all the best on-dits by remaining on the fringes of the dance floor, like an innocent wallflower, but he was not ready to listen.

Sighing, she took her place in front of him and curtsied as the band struck up a lively tune. But just as they were about to start, Captain and Mrs Wentworth belatedly joined the group, right beside them.

"Vivian, how lovely to see you again," Anne gushed warmly. "I told Oliver it is horrendously unfashionable to dance all of one's sets with one's spouse, but he insisted on making up for lost time. I am glad you have joined us too, cousin."

Phillip's scowl blackened his entire face. "I suddenly feel disinclined to dance."

"Surely not!" Vivian wanted to laugh at this turn of events. "You leaving me on the dance floor would cause such a scandal."

His mumbles were lost to her as the dance began in earnest, with her focusing on internally counting her steps and Phillip moving effortlessly, all the while glaring at a spot somewhere above her head.

"Much as I enjoy your scowls, Sir Phillip, I do believe we should at least attempt to make some conversation."

Phillip looked at her warily. "What are you trying to get out of me?"

"Nothing!" She affected a look of indignation. "I merely wish to get to know my fiancé better. Tell me, what drives you? What is it that you crave?"

At her last word, delivered to him with a knowing glance, his green eyes narrowed, suspicion and want warring over his features. "Are you intent on finding a chink in my armour? Because it will not work. I will marry you, Vivian."

She stumbled over her steps, but he righted her with his firm grip, his heat seeping into her body and lending her strength. "I suppose it is my ... family that spurs me to do all that I do," he finally admitted.

"You would take on Napoleon himself for them," she murmured approvingly.

"Not just them, shrew. Now that we are to wed, you, too, have my protection."

Uncomfortable with his affection, she trilled. "I scarcely need your protection, you turnip. No, no, do not scowl. Come, let us be friends. You would have my protection too, were I of a mind to marry."

Before he could respond to her goading, she was led away by Viscount Huntley.

"I say, Lady Vivian," Huntley said jovially, "it's very nice to see you actually participate in society, instead of simply seeking to entice away our women to your cause."

She beamed at him sweetly. "Why, the only reason I am dancing tonight is so that I can entice all the men to my cause too."

That had sounded far more flirtatious than she had intended. Huntley's eyes popped out of their sockets and he handed her over to Wentworth hastily.

Wentworth twirled her. "What did you do to Musgrave? He has not frowned this much since, well ..."

"Since you duelled him?" she asked innocently. "Or was it when you finally brought back his cousin to London with your natural child in tow?"

"Ah," Wentworth grinned, "I see now why he's vexed. Word to the wise, Lady Vivian, he seems harmless, but so did I, once upon a time."

And then he gave her a look that chilled her to the bone, before handing her back to Phillip.

"What was that about?" Her fiancé grumped.

Vivian shook off the chill. Wentworth had this effect on everyone. "He was offering me tips in the bedchamber so I do not die of boredom from being with an inexperienced nodcock like you."

"I'll show you inexperienced, you ... shrew!"

"Alas, your schoolboy fantasies will have to wait another time, for I am not likely to step into any more carriages with you."

The dance ended, and she calmly curtsied and walked off.

Part of her wondered if he would follow her and drag her to the nearest empty carriage, a smaller part wished it, even, but he let her pass.

...

She felt restless that night, tossing and turning, tension coiling in her stomach. It did not help that the wayward branches of the tree outside her room were hitting the window incessantly. She really needed to inform the servants to trim them again.

Tap tap tap.

Ignoring the sound, she squeezed her thighs together, hoping to relieve the need growing at her core. When that did not work, she touched herself there, hesitantly at first but then increasing the pressure as her body started to writhe and crave more. Her eyes fluttered close of their own accord; her breathing became ragged. She pushed a finger inside herself, just as Phillip had.

Tap tap tap.

She remembered his smouldering frowns, and the way his touch had seared her skin. Memories of his hooded eyes, gazing at her so sinfully while he fucked her with his fingers, the way he whispered her name so reverently, overwhelmed her, until her pleasure crested and she came with his name on her lips.

The pleasure died as suddenly as it had overtaken her, as the tree outside continued its rapping.

"Stop it," she griped.

"Let me in!" The tree replied impatiently.

Vivian jumped out of bed with a start and hurried to her window. There he was, her betrothed, sitting on a branch outside her window and looking mightily pleased with himself. It was so rare to see him smile instead of sulk that her heart almost leapt at the sight, before she regained control over it.

"Phillip!" she whispered furiously, before opening the window and pulling him inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I say, that's no way to greet your affianced".

"It is if he refuses to meet at a polite hour instead."

Phillip groaned. "I do not like you enough to sit through hours of your mother's wittering about the wedding, shrew."

"Don't you talk about my mother that way!"

"Don't you tell me what to do!"

Her grim face met his scowling one, and in an instant, they had come together, lips slanting to devour the other.

"Mmpf," she said, in between kisses. "Why were you so rude to me at the rout?"

He grinned then, tugging at her heartstrings again. "Wanted to see how you would react. Did you call out my name when you climaxed just now?" His grin was mixed with something else -- curiosity and yes, hunger.

"I do not know of what you talk," she said frigidly. "Now, as you can see, I am supposed to be abed and not taking visitors."

His eyes glimmered with need. "You will be more than ready to take me when I am done with you."

"Phillip!" She admonished, but she secretly thrilled at what he was about to do.

He put his finger on her lips to silence her, before slipping it inside her mouth. Without thinking, she sucked on it, causing his breathing to hitch.

His hooded gaze raked over her body. "But will I carry you back to bed, or should I push you against the wall? Tell me, Vivian, how do you want me to fuck you?"

"I do not want you to fuck me at all, or kiss me for that matter!" She shot back, spitting his finger out. "I am not some vessel for your pleasure, to take wantonly when we are alone and then ignore when in public."

"I would kiss you in public too, you shrew, but then you would have to marry me the very next day, would you not?"

She flushed and backed away from him. "There is more to courtship than kissing!"

He stopped smiling, heat burning his gaze. "Do you wish me to court you?"

"No," she said hotly, "just ... leave!"

"Not until I have had my fill of you," he returned, striding towards her, until he suddenly wobbled.

It was the briefest of seconds. She saw his gaze go from heated to surprised as he began to fall forwards. She caught him before he hit the ground, staggering under his weight but eventually righting herself. "I always did wish to catch a gentleman who swooned into my arms," she remarked dryly.

But his face was contorted in pain and she suddenly realised that he had not tripped, but crumpled because of his knee. She tried to guide him towards the nearest chair but he pushed away from her and limped there all by himself. She watched him as he breathed heavily, clearly trying to control his emotions.

"Phillip," she started, but he held a hand up, and sensing his need to be alone, she withdrew into her dressing room. A part of her longed to comfort him, but he would likely feel emasculated. Why did men have to be so very stubborn?

When she returned, he was still on the chair, brooding into the fire. The empty flask by his side was proof that he had been drinking. She could smell the whisky in the air, mingling with his usually clean scent of tobacco and soap. Somehow, she knew he would not take kindly to her attempts at humour. He did not stir, though he had undoubtedly heard the soft padding of her feet on the floor. She crawled to her knees and sat beside him on the ground, imploring him to look at her, to understand that it took every ounce of strength in her to allow herself to be so vulnerable in front of him.

"You treat everything as a joke," he finally said, every word dripping with bitterness. "You seek to demean me with your careless words, uttered and penned, but do you not see how low I am sunk already?"

"Phillip, you are inebriated," she began in soothing tones. "We can talk once-"

He did not let her complete. "Wentworth humiliated me, that day. He ruined my cousin and forced her into hiding, and then he shot me before I could even aim my pistol, so fast was he. He later told me that the only reason he had not killed me was because he had wished to remain in England to continue his hunt for Anne. And I promised myself that I would never allow anyone else to do to me what he did."

"Phillip," her heart was aching for him, the young man who had witnessed so much pain in life, "he was a bounder and a cad, but he was grieving Anne's loss. Surely you could find it in your heart to forgive him, now that they are so happy."

"That's just it, isn't it?" he retorted, slurring his words a little. "How could I forgive him when you kept bringing up his misdeeds and my humiliation every so often? For years, I could not so much as step foot outside without the newssheets tearing me apart, calling me the Murderous Baronet and the Cuckolded Cousin."

She flushed, getting up in annoyance. "I never said any of those things. Indeed, I denied them!"

"But they only found out about the duel and everything that followed because of you. Because you - you damned fool - had access to the gossip normally restricted to members of the ton, and then you published it for the masses to read."

In that moment, her heart truly shattered. She had been so sure of the righteousness of what she was doing, happy to tear apart the ladies and gentlemen (but especially the gentlemen) of the beau monde, that she never stopped to think of the consequences of her actions. She remembered the caricature she had drawn of Phillip and Wentworth, the former looking defeated and small, the latter looking villainous as he twirled an imaginary moustache, while the terrifying looking spectre of Anne Musgrave loomed over their heads. Phillip's mother had taken ill and not shown her face in society for months afterwards.

"I have wronged you," she whispered, ashamed of herself. "I am so sorry, Phillip. I - I was a young miss, but that is no excuse."

"No, it isn't," he said brusquely as he stood up and started backing her to the wall. "And a part of me wants desperately to cause you the same hurt, to ruin you before society and then repudiate you once you are heavy with my child. But I will not, Vivian, for I am not the monster you think all men to be. I will, however, stop you from further ruining anyone else with your petty gossip."

Her back hit the wall, its firm hardness lending her strength. She struggled to regain her calm as his drunken breath washed over her. "Sir Phillip Musgrave, I may have hurt you, but I do not ruin good people. My writings have kept many a young woman from making a mistake by marrying a scoundrel, simply by exposing his wrongs to society. I have never penned an untruth and I have stayed true to the principles of journalistic integrity. Your personal issues with Mrs Pennyworth blind you to-"

He gripped her shoulders with power, glaring down at her. "You thrive in the safety of anonymity, amidst the splendour of the ton. You crave control, and when not exercising it in your personal life, you wish to shape the minds of the people. But I crave control too, and I will not rest until I have exerted my authority on every aspect of your life."

So saying, he kissed her, a brutal caress devoid of passion and full of anger.

She pushed back against him but was no match for the muscled arms on either side of her, pinning her to the wall. Upset, she bit his lip, hoping to draw blood.

Angrily, he pulled back and tugged her hair, forcing her to bare her throat to him. "I am done tolerating your rebellion. You will fall in line, or else-"

She kicked him again, aiming for his knee.

With a growl, he pushed her to the rug next to the fire, allowing himself to fall upon her. "Enough!" he rumbled.

"Let me go!" She was starting to get scared now. This was not the Phillip of the carriage, the one who had seduced her so gently.

As if reading her thoughts, he smiled cruelly. "I have tried being kind to you, but it appears you only respond to brute strength."

"I will scream," she whispered furiously. "I will wake the whole house."

"And what will that get you except leg-shackled to me?" He ripped out his cravat and gagged her with it. "There, just to save you from your worst impulses."

As she tried, and failed, to yell every curse she knew in the dictionary at him, he licked the side of her jaw before biting her earlobe. His rough hands pulled at her chemise until it ripped. And then they were upon her, exploring and massaging every curve, every plane. He sucked at the hollow between her throat and her shoulder, making her gasp, before pulling at her nipple painfully.

"Tonight," he growled, "you will get a taste of what life as a disobedient wife will be with me."

And then he thrust into her, without warning. Her sex was dripping with juices, but that did not numb the pain. The way he was taking her was primal and wild, tearing her apart with every pump, balancing her on the razor thin edge between pain and pleasure.

She told herself she would not cry, but she could not stop her eyes from getting teary as she gazed into his, glittering with lust and fury. In that moment, she hated him, every bit of him. She hated how he was drawing pleasure out of her even as she resisted. She hated how good he was making her feel. She hated how the pain was subsiding and the ecstasy mounting.

His hand found her pleasure pearl and started to circle it roughly, before allowing his nail to scrape over it. And that was her undoing. With another muffled scream, she fell apart, convulsing and shaking as her body released its tension with an unprecedented force. She clenched her sex around him, anticipating that he would finally spend his own seed and liberate her from this feral coupling.

But he was showing no signs of stopping. Still glaring, he claimed her lips with his own, sucking and biting on them before pushing his tongue in. His cock thrust into her in tandem with his tongue and it made her go wild. His hand was still at her nub, rubbing it even though she was beyond sensitive and could not take anymore. And then he pinched it, hard, and she came again. This time, he came with her, riding her to the end until he was finally soft.

As she lay on the floor, thoroughly sated, he gave her a grim, victorious smile.

Anger and bile rose through her, making her despise the wretched man for thinking he could dominate her and fuck her into submission. She freed herself from his embrace and untied her gag. Then she glared at him with the full power of a woman who knew her worth.

"I will never, ever marry you," she spat at him. "Get out of my sight before I shoot you in your other knee for having taken me against my will. You will never touch or speak to me again."