An Heiress for All Seasons

by Sophie Jordan

  He kissed her forever, holding her face with both of his hands like she was the most treasured thing in the world to him. Desire pumped thick through her blood. Her hands roamed his arms, his back, reveling in the firm flesh.

  “You are wearing entirely too many clothes,” he growled against her mouth.

  She nodded and made an incoherent sound of approval as his fingers worked the buttons free down the front of her damp bodice. He yanked the jacket of her habit open and tugged it free of her arms with anxious movements. She lifted half up off the bed, eagerly accommodating him. He tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the floor with a smack, and he went to work on her stays. He paused once he had stripped her down to her chemise, sitting back and devouring her with his eyes.

  Her chest lifted high on sawing breaths. His eyes were the color of a winter storm now, icy blue, the dark ring of cobalt almost black. His fierce expression absorbed her—first her face and then her bared shoulders, drifting down to the nearly translucent fabric of her chemise. He cupped her breast through the thin fabric and she moaned as his deft fingers stroked her, working so surely, so confidently. A sharp cry tore from her as he found her nipple and pinched it, rolling it between his fingers.

  “P-Please,” she choked.

  “Please what? Say my name,” he commanded.

  “Will, please,” she begged, without knowing what she was asking.

  His mouth closed over hers again in a blistering kiss. He settled between the voluminous folds of her skirt and she growled, her legs fighting against the heavy fabric, hungry for the feel of him.

  “Violet,” he whispered into her mouth, and the hoarse sound of her name from him undid her. Something snapped then—a fine thread of control severed. Everything became frantic and feverish.

  She dragged her palms down his back and gripped his backside in a desperate move to pull him closer, to bring him against that aching part of her.

  He cursed and lifted off her. Instantly she felt bereft, aching until she realized his intent was to remove the last of her garments. She responded to the swift pressure of his hands directing her to turn one way and then another as he stripped the last of her clothes off.

  Then she was naked.

  Not even Josie had seen her bared in such a way. So exposed and vulnerable. He sat back a moment to observe her, raking her with eyes that burned, scalding her everywhere they looked.

  Propped up on her elbows, she was panting, gasping, and shaking on the bed. The urge to cover herself was there—but not nearly as strong as the urge to have him over her again—his mouth, his hands, all of him.

  “W-Will?” she queried, bewildered at his utter stillness.

  His gaze fastened on her face. “You’re beautiful, Vi.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “And you’re mine.”

  He hopped off the bed in one swift move and divested himself of his trousers. She hardly had time to look her fill of him before he was back over her, his smooth, firm flesh surrounding and sliding against her.

  She gasped at the sensation, the shock of a man naked. Against her. He slid down her body, his mouth everywhere, at her breasts, her stomach, her hips, then lower. There.

  She clutched fistfuls of his hair, arching up off the bed with an astonished cry. “Will, what are you doing—”

  He splayed a hand on her belly, pushing her back down on the bed, his lips moving against her. “Tasting you,” he growled, his tongue working against her and doing delicious, impossible, improper things that left her writhing on the bed. Her hands groped, searching for something to hang on to.

  Then his fingers were there, too, stroking her, finding that secret, buried spot and rubbing it in circles, pinching it, squeezing until small, unrecognizable sounds erupted for some place deep within her.

  He added his mouth again and sucked that tiny button between his lips, scraping it with his teeth until she came apart, until she shuddered and cried out as great ripples of sensation claimed her.

  He came back over her then, his bigger body a hard, wonderful weight on hers even though he braced himself on his elbows on either side of her head. His expression was both tender and feral as he stared down at her, smoothing the hair back from her face.

  He held her gaze as he settled between her thighs, nudging them wider.

  Her stare fluttered down, scanning the tops of his broad shoulders.

  “Look at me.”

  At the whispered command, her eyes snapped back to his stormy gaze.

  “It’s going to hurt for a moment.”

  She nodded, not fully comprehending his words, only lifting her hips instinctively as he she felt him pushing inside her.

  She closed her eyes, her head falling to the side, throat arching as she felt him inch in, stretching and filling the aching core of her.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me, Violet.”

  Opening her eyes, she was instantly snared in his intense blue stare. There was no part of her that didn’t feel claimed and possessed by this man.

  And he wanted that, she realized as his palms flattened with hers, pinning them above her head, their fingers lacing together. She didn’t care. She wanted it, too. This. Him.

  He drove deep, lodging himself inside her, breaching her maidenhead. The pain was fleeting. She was too awed by the sensation of him buried inside her, the pulse and pressure of him within her.

  He held himself there, watching her face. She wiggled her hips, adjusting, experimenting, whimpering as the clenching throb flared to life at her core again. His breath hitched, and he pumped his hips, pulling out and entering her again.

  The friction made her eyes flare wide. “Oh!”

  “It just gets better,” he promised against her mouth, increasing the tempo, driving into her faster, harder. She met his thrusts, crying out at every impact, straining against his hands.

  His fingers tightened around hers, holding fast as his body moved over hers, stoking her to a frenzy. The pressure in her coiled and tightened until it released in a great burst. Colors sharpened. A shrill cry spilled loose from her throat as she arched against him.

  He released her hands. Her arms remained limp at her sides as his hand slid along her thigh, bringing it up and around his hip, lifting her leg as he stroked inside of her several more times until he cried out and spent himself, shuddering his release.

  “Violet,” he gasped in her ear, rolling to the side and bringing her with him. Face-to-face, they panted, neither moving.

  She opened her mouth several times to say something but fell silent. What did one say after sharing such intimacy? He watched her face, his eyes tracing her features as though committing to memory.

  She sat up and reached for her clothes.

  He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “No need for that. We won’t be going anywhere until morning, and if you dress, I’ll only be undressing you yet again before the night is done.”

  “Again?” She had not thought this the type of thing one did multiple times in a day, but then what did she know of the act? Her cousin, Marianne, confessed her husband only visited her in the dark and lifted her skirts to perform the necessary deed. They never saw each other naked.

  Apparently Will was not like cousin Marianne’s husband . . . nor would marriage to him be like the one Marianne had. Considering Marianne looked perpetually bored, this was not a bad thing,

  With a start, she realized she was beginning to view marriage to Will as more than a possibility.

  His mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Yes. Again.” His hand held her face, long fingers spearing through her hair. “You and I are only getting started.”

  His mouth closed over hers again, and she let herself be swept away. It was so easy to surrender. Much easier than talking about the future and what precisely this would mean for the both of them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  A distant shout brought Will hard awake. He hopped from the bed, shivering as he left the warm bed and the warm, yielding female body nes
tled against him.

  Scrubbing the heel of his hand against his bleary eyes, he moved to peer out the window. Dec and Max plowed through the snow with several stable lads behind them.

  “Who is it?”

  He turned at the soft voice. “Help has arrived.”

  She was a fetching sight, sleepy-eyed and tousled—a woman well and thoroughly bedded. Anyone would know at a glance. They’d slept very little, dozing into slumber just before dawn. He was responsible for that, unable to keep his hands off her.

  He should have stopped after their first joining and given her untried body time to recover, but he had behaved like a randy youth. “Quickly, dress yourself. They’ll be here any moment.”

  She darted from the bed like the hounds of hell chased her. “What shall they think?” she muttered, bright flags of red staining her cheeks.

  “They’ll think we took shelter amid a storm.”

  Her jaw clenched and he winced at the reddened skin there from the scrape of his bristly jaw. He’d have to be more careful with her delicate skin in the future.

  She shook her head. “Mama must be scandalized—”

  “I’m certain she will be relieved that you are not a frozen corpse lying out on the countryside. In addition to that, I’m certain she will be delighted with our marriage.”

  Violet froze, her hands at the buttons of her riding habit. He held her gaze, daring her to object even as a part of him was nervous that she would. Which was absurd. When had he ever been nervous over a woman?

  She moistened her lips and his gut tightened at the small dart of her tongue along her lips. Lips slightly swollen from the previous night.

  Bloody hell! He was insatiable. He couldn’t understand it entirely. He’d known women. He and Dec and Max had burned a path through countless boudoirs in Town. He’d never feared rejection before. Why should he? There were plenty of willing women happy to share their beds with him. He’d never cared one way or another for one woman. Until now. Until her.

  He only knew that he felt an overwhelming need to possess her, have her, keep her with him always. And he wanted her to feel the same way about him.

  “I suppose,” she murmured, the usual fire that drew him now banked in her eyes. “Marriage is the thing to do after last night.”

  He nodded, wondering why her voice rang so hollowly. “Quite so. After last night there is no escaping that fact.”

  She nodded. “Quite so,” she echoed, removing her cloak from the peg beside the door and swinging it around her shoulders with smart, efficient movements. Cold. Mechanical. Not at all like the Violet he had come to know and crave with every fiber of his being.

  “Very good. I’ll speak with your mother as soon as we reach home.” Nodding, he pulled the door open for her and motioned for her to precede him outside.

  With a nod and bracing breath, she stepped out ahead of him into the cold.

  The snowstorm abated enough for the last of the guests to arrive. They had been trapped just down the road at a nearby inn, but with the sun breaking through the skies, they forged ahead in their carriages.

  With only two days before the Christmas ball, no less than forty people occupied Merlton Hall. The house was full of carols and delicious smells and parlor games. Even now, the sound of merriment could be heard from down the hall. If Violet wasn’t so conflicted, she was certain she would be enjoying herself.

  “So it’s agreed then? We shall make the announcement the night of the ball?” Lady Peregrine fairly bounced where she sat on a wingback chair across from the crackling fireplace in the earl’s office.

  “Agreed.” Will nodded, his voice solemn.

  “I’ve always adored Christmas, but this is turning into the merriest Yuletide I can recollect! I shall have the housekeeper set aside the best champagne. There will be much to toast.” The countess nodded, her turbaned head bobbing happily.

  “Indeed, I shall send word at once for my husband. We agreed he would only make the voyage once Violet secured a groom. We didn’t know how long it would take.”

  Violet winced, unable to meet Will’s gaze at her mother’s crass statement. Secured a groom. She made it sound as though she were procuring fish at market.

  “Indeed, Mr. Howard must be here for the wedding and that shall give us plenty of time to plan properly. It must be at St. James.”

  Mama giggled and clapped, her face flushed with her excitement and Violet wanted to crawl into a hole.

  Still fighting to keep her gaze off Will where he casually leaned against his desk, she rose to her feet, “If you’ll excuse me. It’s been a long day.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Lady Peregrine nodded sympathetically. “We can discuss this later. We have plenty of time.”

  Nodding, she turned to leave. In doing so, her gaze caught Will’s. He watched her with an intent expression, his eyes drilling into her. She commanded her limbs to move, to flee. Even as she departed, she could hear their mothers launching into a discussion of the wedding.

  At least they were happy.

  She, on the other hand, didn’t know what she was feeling. Safe in her room, she allowed Josie to help her undress for the evening, her thoughts churning.

  “Thank you, Josie. That will be all.”

  Her maid left and she approached the double doors to peer out the glass at the winter landscape. She supposed she should feel guilty. Perhaps even ashamed of herself. She was giving up on Mr. Weston after she had promised him that she would return to marry him. If she were honest with herself, there hadn’t been anything of substance between them. The idea of him had intrigued her more than anything else. She recognized that now.

  And yet she was still giving up on Mr. Weston to marry a fortune hunter.

  Without guilt. Without shame. The moment he had kissed her in that cottage, she had known this would be the outcome. She had accepted that. Resigned herself to the fact that she would marry a man who only wanted her for her fortune. If not for Howard Iron Works, Will would not have asked for her hand. Somehow, even knowing this, she would learn to live with herself.

  Sighing, she dropped her forehead to rest against the cold glass, staring into the snow and feeling suddenly weary.

  “Going to bed early, aren’t you? You’re missing the festivities.”

  She whirled around with a gasp, everything in her coming instantly alert at the sight of him in her bedchamber. “Will! What are you doing in here?”

  She had not even heard him enter the room. He approached slowly, his strides long, measured. Like a predator closing in on its prey. “You don’t seem like you’re enjoying yourself. And you’ve been avoiding me. Again. Did you think I would not notice?”

  She belted her robe and shook her head, inching away from the French doors, deliberately keeping space between her and the bed. She sidled along the wall, palms skimming the surface. “I’m fine. Merely tired. You shouldn’t be here, what if someone saw you enter my room? What if they see you leave?”

  “No one did. No one will. And even if they did, our marriage is imminent.” His eyes were intense again, drilling into her in that searching way. “Correct?” he pressed.

  She blinked. He almost sounded uncertain. “Our mothers are planning the grand event even now, are they not?”

  “But what of you? What are you planning? What do you want?”

  “I-I,” she faltered. She wanted to marry a man who loved her. She wanted to marry him. Unfortunately, the two did not seem inclusive. Shaking her head, she started past him. “Now you ask that? Isn’t it enough that I’m marrying you? What more do you want from me?”

  He seized her by the shoulders and pushed her back against the wall. “I want you to want this, but I’m getting the decided impression that you don’t.”

  “I made it clear in the cottage what I wanted.”

  Something sparked in his gaze. Those flashing blue eyes slid over her. His hand moved to the tiny ribbon at the front of her nightgown. “This then?” he asked, lowering his mouth
to her neck. His hot breath fanned against the shell of her ear as his hand dipped inside her nightgown to cup her breast. “You want this. I know it . . . I can tell by the way your eyes flare, your breath hitches.”

  “Y-Yes, no,” she moaned, her head falling back on the wall as his thumb rolled over her nipple.

  “If this is what you want, I can give you this.”

  It wasn’t all she wanted. She wanted so much more. And yet it was a start.

  His hand moved to the front of his trousers, freeing himself before coming back to her and hiking her nightgown up to her hips. He lifted her off her feet, wrapping her thighs around his waist and entering her in one slick thrust.

  She cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders as he withdrew and surged deep inside her again, pushing her higher against the wall. She clung to him as he moved in and out of her, his hands cupping her bottom. It was swift and furious, each stroke pushing her closer and closer to a precipice.

  She bit down on him through his jacket to muffle the little sounds escaping her.

  “God, Vi, you’re made for me.”

  She came apart in his arms, her cry lost in the hard press of his shoulder. As she drifted back down to earth she marveled at herself—at this creature she had become. Had she always been this? So wild and wanton? It only took a man like him to come along and expose her true self?

  He plunged several more times until his own release took him. He shuddered against her, his hands clenching where he gripped her bottom. Their chests rose and fell against each other, their panting breaths mingling.

  She lifted her head to find him waiting, watching her. After a moment of his heavy scrutiny, she patted his shoulder with a shaking hand. “Would you mind putting me down now?

  He obliged, allowing her to slide down the length of him. He didn’t move right away, which was probably a good thing. Her legs had the consistency of jam. Her hands fluttered between them, like birds unsure where to land. After such intimacy, it was silly that she should feel so hesitant about touching him. Even now she practically felt the hammer of his heart vibrating from his chest into hers.