by Emma Wildes
bare chest, he groaned. “Don’t move,” she ordered.
It took some effort to not simply trap her in his arms and roll her onto her back so he could take
possession of her luscious body, but he was curious. He felt the slide of fabric a moment later,
encircling his wrist and he realized incredulously she had bound his arm to the bed. His eyes
flews open. “Brianna, what the devil are you doing?”
“Rendering you helpless to resist me.” She knelt next to him, finishing tying the knot. Slender
fingers grasped his other wrist, urging it back into position. “Though I imagine you could get free
if you truly wished to, so it is more symbolic than anything else.”
It was insane—that’s what it was. He’d never had a woman try to tie him to a bed. “I am almost
afraid to ask this, but symbolic of what?” Colton muttered.
“Trust.” She looped the silk twice just above his hand, and then tied it to the post of the
headboard, her brow knitted in concentration. “Are you comfortable enough?”
His shoulders were propped against the pillows and other than feeling a bit a foolish over being
trussed, naked and fully aroused, to a set of bedposts, he was fine, so he gave a grudging nod.
“Can you please tell me why the issue of trust has arisen?”
Her fine brows rose as she sank back and surveyed her handiwork. “I trust you. It goes without
saying. You are much larger and stronger and if you wished, you could do whatever you pleased
and I would be helpless to stop you.”
“I would never force you to do anything against your will,” he protested, testing the bonds. There
was enough slack he could move his arms a little, but he hardly wanted to tighten the knots into
impossible tangles, so he tried to relax.
“I know.” Brianna looked down at him with a glimmering smile. “I trust you to want to give me
pleasure, and not just take yours. That is what this is about. I wish to give you pleasure.”
“You always give me pleasure.”
That purely female smile deepened to something else, a small dimple appearing in her cheek.
“Yes, but this time I will do all the work. Does that sound appealing?”
It did. A man would have to cease breathing to deny it. She sat next to him on the bed, close
enough he could feel the warmth from her body, her wicked gown revealing more of her beautiful
form than it concealed, rosy nipples peeking from beneath a veil of lace, the downy thatch of
golden hair between her slim thighs enticing him with each movement she made. Her hair, so
pale and shimmering, fell over her bared shoulders to nearly her waist and he ached to touch it, to
bury his fingers in the satiny strands, to see it spilled over the bed as he took her.
“Does it?” Her fingers went to the tie at her bodice and she looked at him under the fringe of her
lush lashes. “Colton?”
He’d forgotten the question. He was pretty sure he’d forgotten to breathe, his gaze riveted on her
hand poised to reveal paradise. “Yes,” he said, his voice just a rasp of sheer need. “Do whatever
you want.”
“I rather hoped you’d say that.” His wife pulled the ribbon free and the filmy garment slid down,
over the full, pale globes of her breasts, past her thighs, and she shifted to remove it completely.
Gloriously nude, Brianna rose on her knees, her hand lifting to trail down his bare chest, past the
tense muscles in his stomach to his stiff cock. He gasped and closed his eyes as she gently circled
him and began to stroke.
Up and down, base to crest, squeezing gently at the top. He felt the fluid of his own discharge
from the distended tip begin to aid her efforts, the slick motion of her hand increasing its erotic
rhythm. His hips lifted spasmodically, his spine arching as he broke out in a sweat. Between his
teeth, Colton said, “You should probably stop or this will be a very short evening.”
“You like this?” Her fingers tightened, just a fraction. Almost a fraction too much, for he was
ready to explode.
“I like it,” he confirmed.
“Then why should I stop?”
He didn’t have a definitive answer since the glide of her hand held him spellbound.
“Do you ever do this yourself?”
The extremely personal question made him open his eyes. It didn’t help matters. The sight of her
caressing him to climax almost made him lose control. Ejaculation was about two heartbeats
away. “What?” he growled.
She looked thoughtful, continuing her erotic torture, the motion of her hand the focus of his
world. “I have never touched myself, but I know women do.”
How the hell does she know that?
It was too much. The image flashed into his brain of Brianna, naked and flushed, bringing herself
to climax, and he went over the edge. Any control he had vanished and he felt the hot rush of
ejaculation over his chest, his cock flexing as he spilled, her hand still working him until he went
lax in the prison of his bonds.
She released him, and when he was able to have a coherent thought, he realized his lovely wife
had an odd expression on her face. She reached out a finger and traced a path through the pool of
hot seed on his skin. “I am not sure I realized that was exactly how it works. I mean I’ve felt you
do that inside me but it’s quite a bit more than I supposed.”
How the hell could she be so innocent and at the same time exhibit more sensuality than any
woman he’d ever known? “I’d rather do it inside you,” he said. “And I intend to if you’ll give me
a minute or two.”
“You forget, darling.” Her voice was a low sensual purr. “I happen to know you can, well, do this
more than once in a short amount of time. Here, let me clean you off and then see what I can do
to help.”
She used her peignoir to swab the stickiness from his torso and then she stretched out on top of
his supine body and kissed him. Slow, soft kisses with delicate little swipes of her tongue against
his lips, wiggling just enough against him in a manner so effective he felt the returning swell of
his erection in record time. The sorcery continued, her supple body moving, arousing, her arms
clasped around his neck as they lay skin to skin in a position so sexual, so intimate, he felt
moved, and it was more than just the returning hardness of his cock. Brianna kissed his neck, his
jaw, the shell of his ear, her breath warm and moist, her breasts cushioned against his chest. Her
nipples were jeweled peaks and he longed to taste them, to suck them deep until she made that
special little sound he loved.
True to her promise, she made love to him.
When he was ready, she straddled his hips and lowered herself onto his throbbing shaft, her silky
heat slowly taking him deep. Colton found himself for the first time in his life fascinated by the
look on a woman’s face as he was inside her, not just by the sensation the act itself evoked.
Brianna moved and wooed exquisite feeling as she rode his hips, her hands braced on his
shoulders, the faint furrow of concentration on her brow as arousing as the symmetrical sway of
her breasts with the motion of their bodies.
Still bound with his arms above his head, he could do nothing for her, but he needn’t have
worried. She climaxed first, her mouth parting, her lithe form going tense as her inner muscles
clenche
d and she made a sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp.
It undid him, and his powerless body responded, his hips surging upward so he could deposit his
seed against her womb. When she collapsed against his chest, he managed to say, “Untie me.”
“When I can move, I will,” she mumbled against his damp skin. “That could be in about a
century or so.”
There was no help for it; he chuckled. “I have a vision of your maid coming in tomorrow and
finding us like this. I am not sure how I would explain it.”
“I’ll try to revive enough to release you.” Brianna lifted her head and gave him a heart-stopping,
teasing smile. “Though I am tempted to keep you my prisoner.”
He was already too much her captive. “That sounds pleasant enough,” he said in a husky tone.
She reached up and slid loose the knot confining his right wrist. “I warn you, I am not done with
your birthday gift yet.”
Colton gave a theatrical groan. “I am not eighteen any longer. Have mercy.”
“It will require no more stamina, I promise.” She loosened his other wrist, wrestling with the tie.
Something in the tone of her voice and the averted angle of her profile gave him pause. “Is that
so?” he asked slowly. “You can only imagine my anticipation. So far this has been an evening of
pleasant surprises.”
“I rather hope you will find this pleasant, Your Grace.”
The use of his title was usually an indication he was in trouble of some kind. Colton peered at his
wife, trying to read her expression.
“I love you.”
He went entirely still. Paralyzed. Immobile.
She whispered again. “I love you. I’ve wanted to say it before but there never seems to be the
right time. I thought perhaps I should finally tell you.”
I love you.
“I’ve known,” she went on, when he didn’t speak or move, “since the second we met. And I
really believe that is true. Actually, it might have been before we were formally introduced. I
looked across the room and saw you and just knew.”
Good God.
“Could you possibly say something?” Brianna looked at him with those beautiful dark blue eyes,
her mouth trembling just a little.
No, he couldn’t. He literally could not speak. Instead, he caught her to him, taking her lips in a
crushing, soul-shattering kiss.
Chapter Sixteen
Instead of attempting to move around the obstacles in your way, occasionally it is necessary to
bump into them. It is the same with love.
From the chapter titled: “The Philosophy of Romance”
“I understand Lord Robert left quite early.”
Rebecca looked up sharply, not sure how to interpret Loretta Newman’s remark. Or if there even
was an interpretation. Maybe the woman was just making conversation.
“Did he?” Rebecca picked up a piece of toast and took a small bite.
“At dawn’s light. It’s a nasty day for travel, isn’t it?” Mrs. Newman glanced at the window,
which showed streaks of moisture. The morning was dismal and gray, but at least it coincided
with the end of the party, not the beginning. When Rebecca had risen and gone down to breakfast
in the vast dining room, she’d discovered Robert had been as good as his word and departed for
London hours before, despite the drizzle falling steadily from sooty skies.
“At least we had lots of lovely sunshine during our stay.” It was a banal remark. She hoped the
pretty widow was just making casual conversation, but her subject selection made Rebecca wary.
They sat in relative privacy at the end of the long table, two of the last guests to come down for
the morning meal. Rebecca was fairly sure she’d slept not more than an hour, not certain if that
glorious kiss was something to celebrate or simply destined to become a bittersweet memory.
Loretta reached for the marmalade. “Well, yes, the weather was generous. The company also
delightful. The Duchess did an admirable job for one so young and new to her consequence. It is
quite an illustrious family to marry into, after all. I’m sure you’d agree, since you aspire to marry
into it yourself.”
Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t such a frank comment. Rebecca took a spoonful of shirred
eggs to excuse her immediate lack of response. Then she dabbed at her lips with her napkin and
murmured, “Lord Damien would make a fine husband.”
“No.” Mrs. Newman shook her head, a sly smile on her mouth. “He would make a fine husband
in your parents’ estimation. Let’s be frank with each other. Robert is the one who draws you.”
So she had a list of people who had noticed her interest in the youngest Northfield son. Her
father. Damien. Now Mrs. Newman. How many others? Brianna hadn’t said anything, but then
again, she was preoccupied with seducing her duke.
“I am sure,” Rebecca said with as much equanimity as possible, since she was flustered and
irritated with Loretta’s presumption at beginning such a discussion, “you understand why, since
he also draws you.”
“I see we are now conversing woman to woman.”
“Apparently so.”
There was a pause while Loretta sipped her tea. Then she set it deliberately aside. “You aren’t as
unassuming as I first thought. And since we are being so open with one another, I do wish you
luck. Admittedly, when we first arrived I thought Lord Robert might be a most pleasant . . .
distraction, but I began to see his interest lay elsewhere. For what it is worth, from the way he’s
acting, I believe there is hope you might succeed and bring him up to scratch. Now, if you will
excuse me, I think my carriage should be ready for my departure.”
More than slightly astounded, Rebecca watched her go.
She simply had to talk to Damien. Hurriedly she rose and left the dining room, leaving the rest of
her breakfast uneaten.
Lord Damien, she was informed by the very formal butler, was with the Duke in his study.
Her heart sank. It defied the imagination to picture rapping on the door of the Duke of Rolthven’s
study and blithely asking to speak to his brother. Rebecca was fairly certain that even Brianna
didn’t interrupt her husband when he was sequestered away and working. It was also perfectly
possible Robert had said nothing of the kiss, anyway. Maybe he’d just expressed annoyance over
Damien’s subversive matchmaking attempt and let it go.
So what did she do now?
. . . you aren’t like . . .
No, she wasn’t. She was nothing like the experienced beauties the notorious Robert Northfield
normally pursued. Yet he was attracted to her anyway. Enough he’d kissed her in a way that
would have fulfilled any young woman’s fantasies. She would remember the touch of his mouth,
warm and tender on hers, until she took her last breath. It hadn’t been fiery or passionate, nothing
designed to sweep her away and overwhelm her—instead it had been perfect. Unless she was a
complete besotted fool—and she wasn’t sure the description didn’t fit—she thought it had been
different for him also. There was a certain reverence in the light touch of his hand at her waist,
and she could swear the emotion in his face had been genuine.
In short, she thought maybe he was as confused as she was—and for an experienced rogue, that
was saying something.
Rebe
cca squared her shoulders. “Would it be possible for me to see the Duchess?”
The Rolthven butler, stately and white haired, inclined his head. “I believe she is in the foyer,
bidding farewell to some of the guests, my lady.”
She was indeed, Rebecca found a few minutes later, the ticking of the clock echoing in her soul.
When Lord Emerson bowed and left the room, she waited until the footman closed the door after
the departing gentleman before she said in the same informal rush she’d used when they were
younger, “I need a favor, Bri.”
Brianna caught the urgency in her tone. “Of course,” she said simply. “Anything. What is it?”
This was truly taking a chance, but Rebecca was past caring. “Would you mind intruding on your
husband and Damien in the Duke’s study for me? I don’t quite have the nerve to knock on the
door and ask myself, but I really must speak with him.”
Her friend’s mouth parted in surprise. “Certainly, I will, if you wish. Which one do you need to
speak with?”
Rebecca stifled a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, I probably am not making much sense, but my
parents will be down directly so we can get on our way, and, well, I need to see Lord Damien if
possible for a moment.”
There was a slight hesitation when it was obvious Brianna wanted to ask her why, but she proved
to be the best kind of friend. She merely nodded. “The morning room will be deserted right now.
Colton’s grandmother only uses it to answer her correspondence. Would that suit?”
“Perfectly, thank you.” Grateful did not describe Rebecca’s feelings because she had never really
been this rattled before in her life.
All that introspection during the night had brought home some very startling convictions.
The most compelling of all was that she wanted only to marry for love.
And the conclusion if that incident was the only time in her life Robert kissed her, she would be
forever bereft.
Following the footman Brianna instructed to escort her, Rebecca found herself in a small,
charming space with a delicate veneered desk nestled by a window, the dreary outside scene of
rain-streaked glass and wet gardens lightened by pale yellow walls. She paced over and stared
out, wondering just what she was going to ask.
