“Such as physical relations?” she stated with an air of indifference, as if she discussed the intimate topic with regularity.
“It is called lovemaking, Cara.” His frown deepened. “And yes, my knowledge far surpasses yours. Unless you have secretly served as ladybird to some anonymous nobleman with a very voluptuous appetite.”
“You know I have not.” Just as she knew without doubt he intended to shock her with his scandalous statement, and she was equally certain that it was time to abandon the remaining vestiges of her prim and proper shell. “But I am willing to learn, if you are prepared to educate me.”
Nonplussed, his brows nearly met his hairline. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked in a small voice.
“Because you are not meant for me.”
She blinked. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I said so.” Lance gave vent to a groan of frustration. “And what of your mystery suitor? Were you mine, I would brook no dalliances with other men.”
“Oh?” She stood and rested hands on hips. “Let me worry about my suitor.”
“If he truly exists.” His narrowed his stare. “I should dearly love to know his name.”
“I think not.”
“Cara...”
“Lance...” she mocked his sigh.
“I refuse to discuss the situation further.”
“I am afraid your protests fall a tad late.”
He exhaled audibly. “Then I am ceasing it this instant.”
Lowering her chin, she inclined her head. “But I am not satisfied.”
“You are now.” Lance pointed to the door. “Leave me.”
“Ah, throwing me out again?” She smiled and remained rooted to the floor.
“This is my home, my bedchamber.” With a curt nod, he said, “I decide who stays or goes.”
“Not this time,” quick as a wink she replied.
“Cara.”
“No.”
“You are so stubborn.” He pounded a pillow. “God help me, you have always been the most intractable woman of my unfortunate acquaintance.”
“Then my behavior should come as no surprise. Now, tell me why you think my regard is misplaced?”
“Because I am no good for you.”
Had he denied his affection, outright and unprompted, she would have considered resigning her cause. Instead, his concerns focused only on his assessment of her supposed reaction to his advances, which she found rather curious. Yet she had not achieved victory, and she would settle for nothing less than his declaration.
“You have to give me a better reason than that.”
“I do not have to do anything.” His dour demeanor spoke volumes, none of which he would appreciate were he aware of her conclusions. “Take my word for it.”
“I will not walk away from you.” Cara paused and reconsidered her tack. If she let him, he would shut her out entirely, barring her from his company. How on earth could she entice him? “I do not know what you see when you look in the mirror, but let me tell you—”
“I am not interested.”
Goodness, it was bad enough to surmount the barrier their lifelong friendship presented, but now she had to deal with his low opinion of himself. “Well, as you are a captive audience, you will just have to listen.”
He glanced at the length of polished oak propped within reach. In a scarce second, she snatched the cane just as he reached for it.
“Give me the walking stick,” he groused.
She thrust her chin in the air and clutched the rod to her bosom. “Not until you hear me out.”
Folding his arms in front of him, Lance stared straight ahead. And he thought she was stubborn? Cara shook her head.
“Aside from being my dearest friend for as long as I can remember, you are trustworthy and loyal.”
“So is my best hound.”
“If you are going to interrupt me, this is going to take longer.” She tapped her foot.
“By all means, please proceed.” He gazed at the canopy.
“You are also one of the bravest men of my acquaintance. You take the worst missions for the Brethren. I know, because papa told me.” She wanted to hold him, to soothe his aches, and to reassure him that all would be well in due course. “There is not a thing I could ask of you that you would not do. You are kind, noble, and generous to a fault. You would make an excellent father—”
“Father? You think I am going to marry you?” Lance laughed sarcastically. “Cara, I hate to disappoint you, but I will never be your husband.”
“You are titled, and you must have an heir, so you must take a wife.” She spread her arms wide. “Why not me?”
“Do you really have to ask? Look at me. I am half the man I used to be. Though I must wed, I will not burden you with such commitment. You mean too much to me.” He halted her protest with an upraised hand. “I value our friendship, and I will not jeopardize that.”
“Dearest, your condition is only temporary.” Once again, it did not escape her notice that he made no denial of an attachment to her. His rejection had everything to do with his newfound handicap and nothing to do with her. “Dr. Handley says there is every hope to believe you will be as you were. But it will not happen overnight.”
“And what if he is wrong?”
“He is not wrong.” She shrugged. “But neither does it matter to me.”
“It matters to me,” he spat in anger. “I will not saddle you with an invalid. And, if must needs, the marquessate can pass to an obscure relation, for all I care.”
Was Cara mistaken, or had he just declared that, if he could not marry her, then he would never wed? How could she convince him that her devotion was unshakeable—rock solid? The answer, when it came to her, seemed so simple, yet the bold maneuver necessitated unwavering gumption. No mere kiss would suffice, as she recalled a particularly poignant exchange with Sabrina.
According to her younger sister, it was only after she bestowed upon Everett her most intimate gift that Sabrina truly considered herself Lady Markham. So it seemed only logical that, for Lance to view Cara as his wife, the circumstance required similar sacrifice. Without a word, she walked to the door.
“Finally, you have come to your senses.” Lance snorted behind her. “Run away, Cara. Flee. Why should you not? You are not the cripple in this room.”
The raw anguish in his voice almost halted her in her tracks, and she yearned to console him, but she remained strong and stayed her course. Appraising the weaknesses in her hastily sketched plan, she propped the cane against the wall, well beyond his reach. In her chest, her heart beat an anxious accompaniment to her padded footfalls, as she crossed the elegant master bedchamber she hoped to share some day.
All too soon, she stood before the door. With her hand on the knob, she stared at the oak panels. She had one chance to make her play. One opportunity to stand for the man she intended to marry and the life of which she dreamed.
It was now or never.
Do or die.
In that moment, she found the key in the lock—and twisted. The bolt slid home with a definitive click. At her back, the bedchamber fell conspicuously silent, as she withdrew the embroidered kerchief from its hiding place.
Cara turned on her heel and strolled to the foot of the bed, mustering courage with each successive step. She caught his gaze, and trapped it with her own, because she required his full attention.
“So you believe yourself unworthy?”
With his brow a mass of furrows, Lance nodded once.
With trembling hands, she slipped free the top button of her bodice and then moved her nimble fingers to the second, as she smiled with hard won confidence. The kerchief dislodged from her grip and dropped to the floor, with his embroidered initials face-up, and she considered it a good omen.
“All right, my hero. Now let me show you what I think.”
ONE-KNIGHT STAND
CHAPTER NINE
With her bodice unbuttoned, Cara inhaled
a deep breath, crossed her arms, grasped the folds of her skirts, and pulled her dress over her head. It was a scene Lance had lived countless times in his dreams. But the half naked woman that stood before him was no vision, at least, in the metaphorical sense. In truth, she defined his reality and captivated his senses, in every way possible.
As he sat in bed, composing myriad protests, none of which he possessed sufficient strength to deliver, he studied every feminine curve and each subtle nuance that was uniquely Cara’s. Although warnings bells pealed in his brain, and polite decorum demanded he avert his stare, he simply could not resist her allure, because the societal ingénue most of the ton referred to as Miss Perfect was temptation personified.
Conveying an air of unutterably endearing derring-do, she boldly met his gaze, all but challenging him to deny her, as she strolled to the side of the bed and kicked off her slippers. With a feminine smile and a charming blush, she bent a knee and rested her dainty foot on the bedside chair. When she unfastened her garter, he could have wept. But it was the slow, tortuous removal of her stockings, baring inch by glorious inch of her creamy flesh, which brought him to the brink of insanity.
At last, clad only in a sheer chemise, which left nothing to his imagination, Cara loomed at the edge of the mattress.
“Lie to me—to my face, if you dare.” Then she whisked the flimsy slip of lawn from her body and stood before him as God fashioned her. “Tell me you do not want me.”
A relentless tug of war raged within him, and his insides twisted and churned, as he devised one objection after another. But the beast below his belly button successfully flanked every suitable rejoinder on the limits of propriety, rendering him mute. Bloody hell, he had a broken leg—he was not dead.
“Turn around,” he commanded, through a haze of raw lust, scarcely recognizing his own voice.
Whatever he had thought to say, that was not it. She did as he bade, rotating in full, leaving nothing unseen, and he committed everything about that single fragment of time to memory.
With skin of pure alabaster, ruche-tipped breasts, a trim waist, generous hips, and a sumptuously rounded bottom, Cara was indeed exquisite.
“You are so beautiful.” His mouth watered.
“As are you, my hero.” She favored him with a flirty grin and then bit her lip when her gaze fell on a particularly protuberant six inches of his anatomy, which stretched the confines of his silk robe and could, no doubt, support the weight of the most cumbersome sheet of canvas from his ship’s rigging. But it was her next move that sent him spiraling to dangerous heights of passion.
With nary a hint of fear or hesitation, she stepped to the platform and eased to the mattress. On all fours, she crawled to him, and then she tucked her legs beneath her and sat on her ankles.
The triangle of black curls at the juncture of her thighs manifested an inexorable lure, and Lance closed his eyes. “Cara, I do not know what—”
“Shh.” She slipped her hand through the opening of his robe and touched him where he wanted it most. “Please, do not fight me.”
“Hell and the Reaper.” Reclining in the pillows, he groaned in admiration of her decadent massage, before shifting his hips in concert with her rhythm to extend the luscious slip and slide. “How did you know?”
“Sabrina taught me,” she whispered.
“She did what?” He caught her wrist and halted her play. “Tell me Brie’s tutelage did not involve Everett.”
“Of course not.” She scoffed. “We used a banana. It was very educational.”
“I can imagine.” In his mind Lance composed a bawdy picture of the Douglas sisters engaged in their licentious labors, and he chuckled. “And I never knew you were so resourceful.”
Then it struck him.
None other than Cara Felicity Douglas, the subject of his youthful fantasies, perched nude in his bed.
That singular realization worked on him in ways he could never have anticipated. As always, he recalled his failures and his guilt and mentally defined his current predicament a betrayal of his cousin’s memory.
“I do not think—” All protest died in his throat when she straddled him and sank to his lap.
“Then do not think,” Cara murmured against his lips.
In that instant, something inside him fractured.
The cold, dull pain of the past yielded to soothing, seductive warmth unlike any Lance had ever known. The tide turned, and in a swift move, he wrapped his arms about her waist and hauled her against him. Summoning the finesse of a lifetime, he seized control of their kiss, plundering her lips, and then laid siege to her mouth.
Given his ardent attack, he expected a modicum of resistance from the gently bred, soon-to-be ex-virgin, but she flayed the last vestiges of his defenses with her sultry surrender, and in his arms an erotic enchantress was born.
When Cara scored her nails to the back of his neck and thrust her hips in time with his movements, he groaned in appreciation of her efforts. And while he would have preferred to take his time and school her in the art of lovemaking, heaven help him, he was hungry.
“Lance, please.” She sighed and then nipped his shoulder. “I am hurting.”
“Come closer, sweet Cara.” He cupped her bottom and guided her in preparation for his intimate invasion. “Are you sure about this? You do understand that, once I take you, I will be your only option?”
“You have always been my only option—” She gasped when he slipped a finger inside her.
“Ah, you are already wet for me.” Reveling in the undeniable knowledge that she wanted him, he plumbed her moist flesh. “But what about your mystery suitor?”
“I am yours, my hero.” Cara bit her lip and gave vent to a plaintive cry when he pushed deeper still. “Now and forever, I am yours.”
That simple statement, six elementary words when considered on their own, but taken together as a whole a powerful promise that set his course for a voluptuous journey. Without further equivocation, he said, “Kiss me.”
In that instant, the girl of his dreams came at Lance with an appetite that startled even him, and she would have toppled them to the floor had they not been safely ensconced in his bed. As their tongues met and dueled in a fiery battle, he feared he might melt into the mattress. Searing heat poured through his veins and pooled in his loins, as she all but devoured him. Availing himself of the intentional distraction, he grasped her hips and pushed her down as he thrust, and his Jolly Roger sailed into her honey harbor.
Cara broke their kiss and stared him straight in the eye. For a second, he thought she might scream. Instead, she inhaled a shaky breath and then favored him with the loveliest smile he had ever seen.
“No going back?” she inquired, with a charming blush in her cheeks.
He shook his head. “No going back, my lady.”
“Then I am truly yours.”
Her unabashedly happy expression rendered him inexpressibly bewitched. “So it seems.”
With his arm as an anchor, he leaned over her and suckled her breasts, teasing her pert nipples with playful bites, before burying his face in the cleft of her bosom. And Cara applauded his talents with a chorus of lusty exhalations that he savored as a priceless treasure.
“You like that, do you not?” He repeated the illicit caress.
“Yes. It is—oh.” He covered her mouth with his hand, smothering what promised to be quite a roof-rattling scream.
“You know, I have always wondered how you might communicate your pleasure.” He nudged her in the decadent dance as old as time. “Most women either shout their exultation or convey their desire through quiet sighs.”
“Indeed?” His Cara proved a fast learner, as she assumed control of their coupling, alternating between awkward pumping motions and a delicious bump and grind that left him gritting his teeth against a raucous affirmation of her abilities.
“But you present an irresistible combination of both.” He brought her arms to rest on his shoulders and growled when
she hugged him close.
“Is that bad?” she asked, as he rubbed his nose to hers.
“No.” He clenched his jaw when she rose on her knees and then reversed her tack, slowly welcoming him anew, until his flesh seated deep within hers. “But as much as I covet your screams, today, that cannot be, as you would no doubt raise the household. Once we are wed, you may bring the walls down about us.”
With something between a sob and a sigh, Cara framed his face, set her lips to his, and rode him hell bent for leather into heretofore-unrivaled bliss. And although he longed to extend the experience, because her precious gift of maidenhood was a rare jewel not to be rushed, he could not contain the emotions raging within him. When he thought he could take no more, and completion beckoned, Miss Perfect gave her cry of release into his mouth, as he surrendered to wave upon wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
For several unguarded minutes, they held each other, as remnants of their passion shimmered in the air as a gentle spring shower. Unwilling to relinquish his heaven on earth, he replayed their first union, again and again, in his mind. It had been fire and ice, sultry but sweet, torrid yet tender. Indeed, their joining had been superb, exceptional enough to astonish even him.
An unholy crash reverberated from the hall, just beyond his suite, and Lance came alert in an instant.
In his lap, Cara started. “What—”
“Shh.” He cradled her head, and nuzzled her, as she rested her cheek to his shoulder.
“Perhaps I should dress, before we are discovered.” She shifted, rousing his still very healthy, unusually stubborn erection.
“I think not.” He tilted his hips, rocking her in more ways than one, as evidenced by her uncharacteristically robust moan. “Because I want you again.”
Wide-eyed, she met his stare. “Is it permissible?”
“Quite so, my dear. And I think it a tad late for concern.” He could not help but chuckle at the naïveté of her query. “Trust me, you are well and thoroughly compromised, but I am fully prepared to make amends.”
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