She’d been so busy trying to match him with Temperance that she hadn’t noticed the signs. And when he’d presented her with the flowers, and said all those unexpected things, she’d been so surprised that she hadn’t known what to say.
The direct approach would have been ideal. However, considering that she still wanted Mr. Woodlyn to meet and possibly marry Temperance, the matter required a bit more finesse than utter, open-mouthed astonishment. Which was precisely what she’d offered at first.
Though, thankfully, she’d recovered with a polite “Thank you, Mr. Woodlyn,” accepting an armful of drooping daisies.
Now, she did not know how to proceed.
Lost in thought, she walked the grounds, heading toward the summerhouse on the opposite side of the pond, glad that the duchess, the other guests, and most of the servants were off enjoying the village picnic. She needed to mull over this unfortunate blunder carefully. A bit of luck wouldn’t hurt either.
Seeing a spent dandelion amidst the grasses near the embankment, she bent to pick it up, careful not to disturb the gossamer halo enshrouding the head. Oh, how she wished she could talk to Nicholas and learn his opinion on the matter. Then she closed her eyes and let out a breath.
Opening them again, she watched the seeds take flight in a tiny, haphazard flurry, scattering on the breeze. They drifted lazily toward the surface of the water, landing in a shaft of blinding, golden light.
Blinking to clear the spots from her eyes, she turned away, not seeing the figure approach until he was almost upon her.
And when she did, she startled and sputtered, “Nicholas?”
He cut through the grass with long, angry strides, twigs snapping beneath his boots, coattails flaring behind him. His face was set in a series of hard-slanted lines—the same expression he’d worn each night in her dreams.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he called out, his voice harsh and gravelly when it reached her. “It did not take you long to put those lessons to good use, suiting your own purpose.”
Briar was still a bit dumbfounded and had yet to catch her breath. Blowing out the dandelion had apparently scrambled her wits. “Congratulations?”
He reached her in three more strides, ripping a crumpled paper from the pocket of his coat and holding it aloft. “In your letter to my cousin, you mention a certain classically handsome young cleric. Or have you already forgotten your intended? It seems your affections are rather transitory.”
So he had been paying attention to her letters. Briar had hoped he would. Not for the purpose of misunderstanding, but with the wish that she might linger in his thoughts as well. Though, obviously, there was a matter of confusion as to the purpose of her writing about Mr. Woodlyn.
“Are you here to warn me against him?”
He crumpled the letter in his fist and shook it at her. “A fortnight is hardly enough time to make such a monumental decision. You cannot allow yourself to be swept away in a momentary infatuation.”
She nodded thoughtfully and reached for the letter, peeling his fingers open one by one. Taking the paper in hand, she smoothed out the creases, carefully tucked it back into his pocket, and gave it a pat. “I think you are correct. Marriage is not an institution to be entered into with a foolish heart. As you’ve said, some sparks are blinding and fleeting. And yet, there are also those that flare to life, and are like stars that shine for eons.”
“Romantic nonsense,” he grumbled, his anger diffused to a mere bluster.
If only he could feel what was in her heart, then he would know the truth. But she could not tell him. He’d made a rule, after all.
Angling away, she bent to pick up another spent dandelion and blew on it softly. “Perhaps, but consider the source. I am a believer in luck, in wishes, and in far-fetched possibilities. I’d have thought you’d have known me better by now.”
“I do. That is why I’m here.”
She brushed past him, ambling alongside the pond, smiling when he kept pace beside her. “How was your ride? You look rather windblown.”
“I lost my hat along the way.” He raked a rough hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I cut through a field, and a low hanging branch knocked it free.”
“And you didn’t go back for it?”
“Clearly not.” He swiped a fistful from the tall blades of grass and ripped them into pieces as they walked.
So testy, she thought, biting down on her lip to keep from laughing. Was he so driven to reach her that he might have knocked off his own head along the way?
A determined man will always seek what he desires most. When it matters, no obstacle will stop him.
She held her breath, remembering what he’d said a fortnight ago. Could it be possible that he came all this way to stop her from marrying Mr. Woodlyn? And perhaps because he felt more for her than a mere tutor would?
Turning her head, she scrutinized him, hair spiked, brow furrowed, mouth petulant. She laid a hand on his arm, and reached up to set him back to rights, standing close enough to feel their clothes brush, bodies press, to catch his familiar scent. She drew in a breath, her fingers combing through the thick strands, heat rising from his scalp. “I’ve missed you.”
His eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring, but he said nothing. He kept his arms at his sides, a fierce tension emanating from him.
“And just so you know,” she began, daring to draw closer still, to smooth away those furrows from his brow, “you’re the only man who holds any claim over my affect—”
His mouth closed over hers at once. Hands stealing to her nape and her waist, he pulled her against him. And she went willingly, yielding.
It felt like decades since they’d kissed. Eons. The world had been broken apart and formed all over again. And now they were the only two people in existence.
He tore his mouth free on a growl. Pressing his cheek to hers, he went still as if he felt the continents shift beneath them, too, and needed to steady his footing. Waves of palpable indecision surrounded him as he held her, but he did not share his thoughts. He simply breathed her in, drawing in her scent as surely as she was drawing in his. Apparently, in this newly formed world, they were too primitive to form words.
Then he kissed her again, even hungrier this time, needy. His hands gripped her dress by the fistfuls, fitting her against him, letting her feel all the differences between their bodies.
This was a language of their own making, an unspoken communication. This felt like I’ve missed you, too. Let’s never wait this long again. Let’s slide our bodies against each other like this. Isn’t this nice?
She murmured her agreement, nodding against his lips, clinging to him, desperate to be closer. Here, beside the primordial pond, they were brand-new and exploring the terrain of each other, reveling in the hard ridges that nestled perfectly into soft valleys, and supple hillocks yielding to firm, broad expanses. They fit together like they were created for each other.
Was this what it was always like between men and women?
But she already knew the answer. It wasn’t.
This was something rare, something few people found. And she didn’t know why he’d waited so long to teach her the most important lesson of all—this is what it will always be like with us. Only with us.
“Yes,” she said on a sigh, breathing the word into his mouth, feeling his tongue take hold of it, swallow it down. “More.”
He growled again, tearing his mouth away long enough to look around them. Then taking her by the hand, he strode the short distance toward the summerhouse, not pausing until they were inside the sunlit room. The sweet scent of the lake and of sunbaked days was more concentrated here, blown in through the open windows, lingering in the walls and the painted wood floors beneath their feet.
Spinning in his arms, she launched herself at him and held tightly to his shoulders. She pressed a dozen unspoken I love yous to his lips, letting her kisses tell him everything she’d been holding inside. He grunted, staggering ba
ck a step from the force of her onslaught.
A sudden breeze blew harder and kicked the door closed behind them. They both startled but, seeing that they were alone, dove right back into kissing. And they were in a frenzy now. Mouths and tongues tangled together. Teeth scraped wantonly over lips and throats. Hands tugged at knots and buttons until garments sagged. Clothes were not permitted in this new world.
Nicholas shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat with hasty jerking motions, while she pulled the tails of his shirtfront free an instant before he whisked it overhead. And for a moment, she forgot her own name.
Her imagination had not done him justice. He was so hard and sculpted, so completely male, so . . . glorious. She could only stare—and touch—in wonder. Unable to hold back, her hands glided over the corded muscles of his shoulders, squeezing against firm flesh that would not give. She marveled at his form, her senses giddy with awareness.
“I . . . you . . .” Clearly, she was having language troubles. She tried again, but not with a great deal more success. “Your nipples are darker than mine.”
Those dusky discs drew taut beneath her fingertips, ruching like mushroom caps. He expelled a strained breath, his chest and abdomen muscles jolting to life, bunching beneath her hands. Fingers splayed, she roamed down the mat of crisp black hair that covered his broad chest and trailed in a thinner line down his flat abdomen, to form a T—the first written letter of the inhabitants of this new world. And further down, her curious, greedy gaze dipped to the heavy bulge filling the fall front of his fawn breeches.
Nicholas lifted her hands away and used them to pull her closer. He nuzzled her, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her neck, nipping her tender skin, tasting the susceptible niche, and sending shivers all the way to her toes.
“I think we should compare, don’t you?” Of course, the moment he was able to speak, he said the most rakish thing, his voice husky and deep.
Reaching the edge of her sleeve, he tugged, drawing her dress down one shoulder and then the other. Then he slipped a finger beneath the tapes of her stays and chemise, and pressed his nose against her skin, breathing in as he glided over this newly exposed flesh, telling her that she smelled like sunlight and fresh linens and that he could never, never get enough.
She clutched him, fingers threading in his hair as his lips grazed a path along the ribbon border to the dip between her breasts. And then he licked her there.
Her entire body clenched, her nipples growing taut, their pale-pink peaks protruding through the cambric just above the gusseted cups of her stays. Reflexively, she pressed her legs together, and felt a responding kick of pleasure between her thighs and low in her stomach.
Then he did it again, slower this time, pressing his tongue flat and licking deep. Constricted by her sleeves, she arched toward him to get closer. He caught her by the waist, allowing her to bend without risk of falling as he nuzzled her garments out of his way, exposing her to the light.
A hot breath staggered out of him, fanning over her nipple, drawing it tighter still. She was aching now, might actually die if he didn’t end the wondrous torment. But he seemed to know this and closed his mouth over the tip. She arched against him on a strangled sob, jolting with pleasure as he suckled the bud deep into his mouth.
A hungry groan rumbled in his throat as he walked her back toward the chaise longue. But before he laid her down, he lifted her dress away, freeing her arms. A few tugs, and her stays followed. Her chemise, next. And she was naked aside from her stockings and slippers.
He stopped, mouth open on a series of panting breaths as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He looked ready to devour every curve, valley, and swell. A garbled sound tore from his throat, telling her without words that he liked the look of her, too, but in that moment, he did not move. One hand lingered at the small of her back, and the other held suspended, hovering inches from her breast, as if he’d forgotten how to proceed.
Reaching up, she took his hand and molded it over her breast, the warmth coaxing her flesh to a new ripeness. This seemed to break him out of a trance.
All at once she was hauled against a wall of heated flesh, crisp dark curls teasing her breasts and midriff. Butter-soft leather met her thighs and pressed against her sex as he lowered her onto the tufted raw silk of the chaise. He didn’t seem to have any trouble remembering now.
Arching up, she gripped his shoulders as he kissed her throat, her bare breasts, the underside of her jaw, her lips. He elicited tingles wherever he touched and grazed and kissed. And he was everywhere, mouth and hands molding over her contours, tasting every dip, exploring every mound, counting every rib. Briar was breathless and whimpering, eyes closed, and writhing with pleasure. Sensation merged together until she was one bundle of ecstasy that was likely to explode at any moment. And then she felt the gentle brush of his hand on her inner thigh.
She went still, her focus narrowing to the heat of his breath on her neck. To the sound of his low, reverent murmurs and illicit promises. And to the touch of his fingertips sifting through her curls. She held him tight, his firm back muscles bunching beneath her hands. And he hesitated long enough for her to feel the faintest tremble roll through him.
A rake bent on seduction would hardly tremble. But perhaps a man, who was just as overcome with need as she was, might.
Briar turned her head to meet his lips and kissed him with fervor, feeding him every ounce of love bottled inside her. She tasted the rawness of his groan as he caressed her slick, furled flesh. Helpless, wanton mewls tore from her throat. His movements weren’t as practiced as they’d been in the carriage. These were more frantic, urgent, and answered the wild tremors racing through her. Her hips undulated, seeking. She wanted to shatter in his arms, to feel his finger push deep inside her like he’d done before.
He pulled back, instead, gripping her hip and breathing hard against her lips as if trying to gain control. But that was the last thing she wanted. She needed him to bare himself the same way she was doing.
So she soothed him with sure touches, skimming down his shoulders and over his chest. This time, she followed the hair tapering downward and didn’t pause at the waist of his breeches, but rolled the flat of her hand over the hard ridge she discovered there.
He hissed, arching reflexively, squeezing her waist. “Briar.”
But he did not stop her. He let her explore him over the fabric, press her hand over the thick length of him, extending her arm to reach the taut mound at the base. His breaths quickened in labored rushes of heat against her temples as he endured her fascinated, untutored squeezes and caresses. Yet the instant she fumbled with the fastenings, he took hold of her wrists.
“There would be no going back from this,” he said, his dark eyes imploring her to understand.
She smiled, lifting her head to press her lips to his. “I’ve known that for a while. I suppose you’re a bit slower at understanding these things. But don’t worry, I’m willing to provide lessons in exchange for—”
Nicholas didn’t let her finish. Always interrupting her with a kiss, his lips curved in a grin, teeth nipping her bottom lip in reprimand. Still, somehow, it made the moment all the more tender, their gentle play, the ease they’d always shared, only enhanced.
He kissed her breathless again, endless long pulls, wet and tantalizing. The pleasure of light fingertip brushes against her nipples nearly made her forget her pursuit a moment ago. Nearly. But she remembered it soon enough and nothing would dissuade her from unfastening the placard, and sliding her hand inside to find him.
All of him.
And when she did, they both stopped breathing. Their gazes locked, mouths open, lips touching. His solid, heated flesh jolted and instinctively she gripped him, or tried to, her thumb unable to meet her finger. She watched the dark fan of his lashes lower, squeezing tight as if he were in pain.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you. How to please you.”
He took several gulps of air before he spoke, his voice
raw and shaky. “Every—everything you do”—another ragged breath—“pleases me.”
She smiled at his admission, and slid her hand up, fascinated by the smoothness over the granite-like hardness, the heated blood rushing beneath her palm. His eyes were still closed, furrows on his brow, jaw clenched. He was enduring agony to satisfy her curiosity, and she felt another surge of love as she reluctantly released his prodigious flesh.
Then skimming her hands along the solid muscles of his back, she pulled him into an embrace, her open mouth coasting over his throat, tasting the salt of his sweat.
He kissed her temple softly, then lifted her higher on the chaise. Shifting, he gently prodded her thighs apart with his knees. She complied, surprised to feel her legs tremble as he settled between them. He soothed her with tender touches, making her forget all about silly trembling legs as his hands drifted over her, cupping her breasts, abrading the tips with the pad of his thumb. A gentle pinch arced through her, curling her toes as his hips moved in slow circles, thick flesh nudging against the heavy, liquid pulse.
“Briar,” he said, his lips grazing hers, “lock your gaze on mine, and keep it there, hmm?”
She nodded and he lowered over her, the weight of him causing her breath to catch on a pleasurable gasp. Lifting her knees, instinctively she wanted to cradle him, to keep him there. Clearly pleased by this, a low, satisfied hum vibrated in his throat. Arm bent beside her head, he trailed his fingertips through the loose locks of her unbound hair and his eyes turned to velvety cocoa.
He shifted again, pushing his flesh forward, seeking entrance, bit by bit, letting her adjust. Before this moment, she’d assumed that her body was made to welcome his. After all, women and men had been doing this successfully for a great number of years. But now, she was getting the sense that this might not be as easy as she’d thought.
Even at the first tender prodding, she felt her body resist, clamping tight around the intruding flesh.
Seeking reassurance, she lifted her head and kissed him again, eyelids lowering but still locked. Attuned to her every feeling, his lips brushed hers in small sweeps, replicating her kiss as if she were made of froth, the best part of a cup of chocolate. And he pushed again, deeper, enough to feel the sting of it. She sucked a breath from his mouth and he took one from hers. He continued to kiss her with those slow, methodical sweeps, keeping her craving the firm pressure. And he wedged deeper still, another sting, a faint burn.
Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking) Page 25
