The Passions 0f Lord Trevethow (The Cornish Dukes Book 2)

by Bronwyn Scott

  Stockings off, she lifted hands to her hair and pulled out the pins, one by one, until the rest of it fell. She looked innocent and wicked all at once, her hair falling forward and loose like a schoolgirl’s, but her eyes blazed like a woman who knew what she wanted. ‘You’ll have to help me with the rest.’ Her tongue licked her lips in invitation. ‘I can’t manage the gown alone.’

  Temptation whispered between them: come undress me, come touch me, come be with me as you wanted to be in the meadow on the heath, naked, skin to skin.

  Cassian went to her, working her laces loose, pushing her dress from her shoulders, her chemise, her stays, all discarded until his mouth could feast on bare skin, until he could hold her naked against him, soft buttocks to his hard groin, filling his hands with her breasts, each caress bringing pleasure to them both. His thumbs ran across her nipples and she gave a mewl of delight at the sensation.

  He moved his hand lower to her curls, intent on bringing her pleasure as they stood. She covered his hand with her own and turned in his arms. ‘Not until you’re naked, too,’ she whispered against his lips, her hands working his cravat loose and unwinding it. ‘Whoever said women wore too many clothes never undressed a man. Cravat, coat, waistcoat, shirt, boots, breeches. There are so many layers between me and the man I want.’

  ‘Be thankful I don’t wear smalls.’ Cassian laughed against her mouth.

  ‘You think to shock me,’ she whispered in feigned horror. ‘You forget, I already knew that. I’ve already held you in my hand, in my mouth, straight from your trousers.’ Dear heavens, he’d spend far too soon if she continued talking like that. He was rock hard with wanting as it was.

  ‘Pen,’ Cassian replied in a voice that cracked from desire. ‘Do you think you could hurry?’

  ‘Waiting is the best part,’ she teased, pushing down his trousers.

  ‘No,’ Cassian ground out, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into a corner. ‘This is the best part.’ He drew her close and danced her through the room to the chamber beyond, the one with the bed. It was time for him to take charge of this seduction.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pen disagreed. She rather thought that the best part was seeing Cassian Truscott entirely naked, all broad shoulders and muscle narrowing to a lean waist and long, hard legs. His was a body that clearly espoused the benefits of outdoor living. No London gentleman of her acquaintance had physique that even hinted at a body like that beneath their tailored clothes.

  A moment later, she rethought her position. Maybe this was the best part—the way he pressed her back to the pillows and came up over her, covering her with the power of his big body. His walnut-dark hair fell forward, framing his face, giving him the look of a savage. A trill of excitement raced through her as his hands bracketed her head on either side, carrying his weight. She liked the thought of being his captive.

  ‘What are you thinking, minx? You’ve the look of mischief about you.’

  Pen licked her lips. ‘I never noticed how long your hair was.’ It wasn’t a blatant lie...she had been thinking that too.

  ‘Hmm...’ Cassian teased. ‘Somehow I doubt that’s all that was going on in your head.’

  Pen wiggled beneath him. ‘I was thinking that I wouldn’t mind being your captive.’

  Cassian gave low growl of a chuckle and reached for her wrists, drawing them above her head and shackling them with his hand. ‘No more talk, captive.’ He moved against her in blatant prelude of what was to come, hips to hips, his hardness to her softness, and her thighs opened of their own accord as if his being there was the most natural thing in the world. ‘Are you sure, Pen?’ he whispered hoarsely. It was a last bid for caution, for surety.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. At her core this was what she wanted no matter what happened afterwards, this was right. This was what they’d intended at the cottage, what would have happened had her father not taken her away so abruptly. It was as if fate had ordained they would be together. This had not been avoided, only delayed.

  Pen felt his hand move between them, low at her entrance, his fingers testing, caressing, intimately, searching for readiness. Oh, he would find her ready enough. She was warm and she was wet, proof that her wanting was in more than words. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and breathed at his ear, ‘Cassian, I want you.’

  It was all the permission he needed to press forward, to press into her. ‘Hold on to me, Pen,’ he urged at her gasp, the pain of the breaching catching her by surprise. She felt him still, felt her body stretch to accommodate him so he could press on. Her body learned him as he moved, his pace like a gentle wave on the shore, surge and ebb, surge and ebb until he was there at her core, filling her completely, her body shaping around him until he was part of her.

  He moved within her, and she gave an exclamation of wonderment. There was no more pain, just...pleasure. If pleasure felt like something, this was it. She looked up into his face, his eyes dark, his strong jaw set with the tension of passion restrained as he moved, evidence that desire was riding him hard, each thrust driving him towards pleasure’s brink as much as it drove her. Wherever they were going, they were going together. She held him to her, with her arms about his neck, her legs about his waist like a vice as if she could lock him in place, keep him within her for ever. Her hips picked up the rhythm, joining him as his thrusts came harder, no more the long, languorous surge and ebb, but shorter, faster strokes full of exigence. They gave themselves over to the relentless urgency of them until they were there at pleasure’s cliff, falling into warm abyss.

  * * *

  Pen knew, before she opened her eyes, she was in uncharted territory. This was not a place on her maps. She’d never known anything like it and she’d never find her way back on her own. This was a journey for two and perhaps not for just any two, but a journey specifically for her and Cassian and no other.

  Pen opened her eyes slowly, savouring the idea of lying in bed, naked, in the middle of the day, with him. This might be the best part, watching Cassian sleep, his strong face in rare, relaxed repose. She reached for a sheet to wrap about herself and slipped from the bed. She was content to let him sleep, but her own mind was too awake for drowsing. There was too much to think about, to reflect on.

  Pen padded out to the parlour, careful not to wake him. She wandered the small room, running her fingers over the small collection of books on the shelf. A person could tell a lot about another by the things they surrounded themselves with. He read books about travel, accounts of far-off places, not unlike herself. She had her atlases; he had his travelogues. The similarity made her smile. The only difference was that these books were sort of a remembrance for him, a way to recall the things he’d seen and done in person whereas, for her, the atlases were all she had. In the corner, leaning against the wall, was a leather cylinder, the kind used for storing rolled-up documents like maps. She left it for now, moving her tour around the room to the little machines scattered on empty spaces.

  On a small table by the window sat a vertical wheel that rotated when the handle was turned, not unlike a miller’s water wheel, only this one carried little people in its buckets. On the windowsill sat a brightly painted canopy under which a circle of painted porcelain horses could rotate. She picked up the piece, searching for the winding mechanism. Once found, Pen set it back down on the sill and watched the horses turn. They moved not only around the base, but up and down as well to a tinkly little tune. She understood what this and the wheel were; they were hopes for his pleasure garden, attractions he wanted to create for his guests just as Vauxhall had created the Cascade. Her lover was an ambitious man.

  Her lover. She liked the sound of that. When she’d awoken this morning she’d not had a lover. But now, she did. Outside, beyond the window, it was still daylight, of course, although it seemed odd. More time should have passed considering the significance of what had happened. She’d made love with
Cassian Truscott, lain naked in his bed. What did it mean? Anything? Everything? What did she want it to mean? Her little tour of his parlour had revealed so much to her about this man. He was clever and creative. The park he dreamed of was a work of the heart for him.

  Her gaze returned to bookcase and the cylinder in the corner. This time, she didn’t resist curiosity’s lure. She picked it up and opened the lid, squinting to see inside. There were papers, long thick papers like the type maps were drawn on! Surely Cassian wouldn’t mind if she looked. Pen took the tube to the table and carefully removed the rolled papers. She spread them on the table, anchoring each end with a paperweight. Oh, it was a map!

  Pen studied it, her finger tracing the neat lettering beneath each object as she whispered each word out loud. Turkish pavilion, the Pavilion of Kuban, and there, right at the edge, overlooking the sea, was the word ‘coaster’. Her breath caught as she realised what she was looking at. This was Cassian’s Pleasure Garden, plotted out in minute detail. Seeing it on paper made it all the more real. He truly meant for this to happen. This was not an intangible dream, a theory.

  She felt his eyes on her before she even looked up. She smiled and turned. Cassian was watching her, dressed in a paisley silk robe that hung open loose, teasing her with his nakedness. She breathed her approval, ‘It’s beautiful.’

  * * *

  She’d found it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Cassian crossed the room. ‘You’ve been snooping, minx.’ It was part-jest, part-scold. She’d helped herself to his secrets without asking. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if this particular secret didn’t mean so much to them. This was the one that could break them and he didn’t want to be broken, not yet, not after this afternoon, not when, in his mind, there was no going back.

  Her admiring smile wavered. ‘Do you mind? I didn’t think you would.’ He’d made her hesitant, doubtful of them. She’d thought they were closer than that. He hated himself for it. He’d worked so hard to earn her trust, her respect, her admiration, her love, and in a single sentence he’d managed to put a dent in it. Perhaps it was a sign of how fragile their relationship still was, how new. He’d been right when he’d told Inigo it was too soon to tell her, that he needed to wait for the right time and the time wasn’t yet.

  But if not now, then when?

  His conscience poked at him. There would come a time when it was too late to tell her. There was such a possibility of waiting too long and that would be just as damaging as telling her too soon.

  He wrapped his arms about her and drew her against him, nuzzling her neck. ‘No, I don’t mind.’ It was only a small lie. What did it matter if she saw the map? He’d already told her about it. He was overreacting. His only excuse was that he knew just how close to the edge they skated on the issue. ‘I haven’t shared my grand design with very many people, that’s all. I suppose I’m protective of it.’

  And you, he thought. I am protective of you and us and what we could have together if given the chance.

  She leaned her head back against him, unaware of the internal turmoil this moment caused him. Her smile was back. ‘Did Richard Penlerick see it?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice cracked on the word without warning. That she’d known to ask touched him to the core. She’d listened to him, deeply, not just to the story he’d shared, but she’d listened to how much Richard had meant to him.

  She turned in his arms and took his face between her hands. ‘Then why isn’t it built? This is clearly not some wild imagining. You’ve travelled the world, studied parks and entertainments. You’ve put considerable time and energy into this, thinking about it, designing it. But not implementing it?’

  Another moment of truth. He couldn’t seem to get away from them. ‘No land, at least not the right piece of land,’ he added when it seemed she was going to correct him. Of course, the Dukedom of Hayle had land, but not the land he needed. ‘I need centrally located land so I can maximise access to and for a labour force and for supplies as well, yet I need space around it for new businesses to develop, for those entrepreneurs who want to try their hand at innkeeping. The setting must be picturesque, a view worth leaving London for, something that shows Cornwall at its best. And,’ he added to his lengthy list of requirements, ‘I don’t want to displace anyone. It defeats the purpose if we take land away from people, which rules out most of the Hayle holdings. I don’t mean to dispossess our farmers and tenants.’

  ‘You’re very specific. Have you thought of building near Truro?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve discarded that idea since it’s too far to help the people at home. The people in the Hayle environs won’t be helped by a pleasure garden three hours away in Truro.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I see your dilemma.’ She ran her nails down his chest and he shivered delightfully. She moved against him, her hips brushing his groin in suggestion. ‘Sometimes when I have a problem, I think about something else and, while I’m busy thinking about that something else, a solution presents itself. Perhaps we should think of solving a different problem.’ He could think of several problems he was about to have very shortly.

  ‘Like how to get you out of that sheet you’re wearing,’ Cassian growled playfully. ‘I could spin you out of it, or I could lay you down and roll you out of it, or...’

  ‘Or, I could just slip out of it.’ Pen gave a single tug to the sheet and it fell to her feet, leaving her gloriously, deliciously naked, like Venus from the sea. There’d not been time before to really study her, he’d been too intent on the bedding, but there was time now, time to take in her breasts, high and firm and yet full enough to fill his hands, the flare of her hips, the caramel hair between her thighs. Oh, she was a delight to look upon and an even greater delight to bed in her eagerness and her curiosity.

  ‘Come back to bed with me—’ Cassian swept her up in his arms ‘—I like solving problems this way.’ He settled her on the bed and drew her on top of him. ‘Would you like the reins this time?’

  ‘Can I?’ Her eyes widened in excitement.

  ‘Most definitely. I think, for the man, the sensation is even greater this way.’ Cassian lifted her hips and helped her into position. She eased down his length and swept her hair over one shoulder, looking like the world’s greatest temptress. She wriggled, testing the fit.

  ‘I didn’t know it could be this way.’ She was suddenly shy as Cassian settled his hands at her hips. ‘I didn’t know people talked about lovemaking like this, as though it’s not a duty, but a privilege, a feast for the senses.’

  Cassian levered up on his elbows, careful not to dislodge her. ‘It can be like this and better. It can be any way we want. In bed, we make our own rules.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’ She pushed at his chest, knocking him back against the pillows. ‘Do you know what else I like the sound of? You taking your pleasure and knowing I was the one to give it to you.’ She began to move and Cassian was happy to oblige, pleased to make all the sounds she required.

  He let the lovemaking exhaust him, drain him of all strength, of all thought, of all worry. He lived only in the abyss of climax where his body was capable of surviving only moment to moment. He didn’t want to think beyond the now, didn’t want to contemplate what happened next. Next was complicated. Now was not. Next had consequences, Now did not.

  ‘Cassian—’ her drowsy voice broke through his pleasant fog ‘—I was thinking.’

  ‘You have the strength to think?’ Cassian jested. ‘I do not.’ He played with her hair, idly sifting it through his fingers, his mind not fully functioning, not wanting to. He wanted to lie in this pleasant state for a while longer.

  ‘A little.’ Her head was nestled in the hollow of his shoulder and she shifted to look up at him. ‘I have land that would be perfect for your gardens. It’s part of my dowry. Thirty-two acres on the coast not far from Redruth.’

  Cassian’s fingers stilled, his
mind forced into full awareness of the moment. He did not want to think about the damn land now. ‘Is this a proposal, honey?’ He tried to play it off with humour, but Pen was in earnest.

  ‘No, you’ve already proposed. You said you were just waiting until I was ready. I am telling you, Cassian, that I am ready. Propose to me. Go to my father and ask for my hand. I will say yes. We’ll be married, we can lie abed all afternoon every day of the week and you’ll have your land.’

  ‘And what will you have in exchange, Pen?’ Cassian rose up on one arm. Why was he arguing? Wasn’t this what he wanted? His land was within reach and Pen was within reach. He wouldn’t even have to tell her about the land, about why he’d been courting Redruth’s daughter specifically. She was giving it voluntarily—she was his partner in all of this. He hadn’t needed to seduce it out of her after all. There needn’t be any trickery. It could not have worked out better. So why did he feel dirty? ‘You don’t think it’s too fast any more?’ he hedged.

  ‘It’s been over a month since my debut, we’ve been together almost every day since then and, in truth, we’ve known each other longer than that, just as you said,’ Pen insisted.

  ‘But what about your doubts regarding me?’ Cassian pressed. He needed her to be sure.

  ‘You said you came to London because there was nothing left to do but pursue your duty. I believe you.’ Pen reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. ‘You proved yourself worthy. You’ve shown me the world and you’ve shown me what a life with you could be like. This is what I want, Cassian. You are what I want. Together, we are going to make a whole new world.’ When she put it like that, they seemed unstoppable.

  ‘Very well, then, Penrose Prideaux, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ It was too good to be true. Cassian didn’t allow himself to think about the other end of that adage. When Pen whispered yes, tears shining in her eyes, and he rolled her beneath him in celebration, it was easier and much more pleasant to think that love had triumphed against the odds.