by Gayle Callen
He leaned over her, and she was falling back into the pillows, taking him down with her. His weight on top of her was a revelation, exciting, masterful.
He spread kisses across her face and down her body, taking her breasts into his hands as he took turns licking them. He drew her nipple into his mouth, savoring, moaning against her, whispering words she didn’t understand, didn’t need to understand. He was giving everything he had to her, as he always had.
As he played with her breasts, his free hand slid down over her belly and brushed her curls. She convulsed, shocked by the intensity of these new feelings. But though it felt wicked, she didn’t stop him, only opened her legs so he could show her everything.
He parted her wet folds, using his fingers to tease and torment. Her body felt uncontrollable, writhing with each startling caress. He circled and rubbed, matching his movements with his tongue on her breasts. Sensations burned hot inside her, swelling, rising, until she didn’t think her body could contain such wondrous pleasure.
And then he simply stopped, sliding off the bed. She cried out, reaching for him, almost ashamed of how much she wanted him to continue. He unbuttoned his trousers and drawers, bending to pull them off before he crawled back on top of her. She had a quick impression of his sex pointing to where it should be as he settled between her thighs. She felt the press of him intimately, the length of his penis a hard ridge rubbing where his fingers had just been.
She shuddered as the quieting sensations roared back to life inside her.
“It will only hurt this once,” he said regretfully.
The hard tip of him slid against her uncomfortably, and she tried not to tense. His face was strained above her, even as he held himself up so she wasn’t crushed into the mattress. She felt her body’s resistance, the beginning of pain, and then with a thrust he broke through and buried himself inside her.
He froze, shuddering, breathing hard, watching her face. “Are you all right?”
“I—I think so. Is it over?”
And then he gave her the most wicked grin, something she’d never seen before these last weeks, something she now cherished.
“This is only the beginning,” he said, then covered her mouth with his as he began to move inside her.
Her awkwardness faded away as she assimilated the rhythm of his body, moving against him. Each thrust, each press of his pelvis against hers, made her body tighten again with that rising tension she couldn’t even describe in her mind.
“My sweet,” he said against her mouth, “it is bliss to be inside you at last.”
At last, she thought, thinking of the years she’d wasted not knowing the true Peter. That was her last coherent thought, as her instincts took over, her body undulating with his.
And then everything seemed to crash together inside her, emotions and sensations battling against each other, showering her in the most exquisite sensation of joy and release and satisfaction.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth opened her eyes to watch as Peter let go of his tremulous control, arched his back, and sank back inside, shuddering, his strokes gradually slowing. She thought she’d given him the same pleasure he’d offered her, and the satisfaction surprised her.
But he didn’t leave her body, and she took in the sensations of them joined so intimately, the perspiration that mingled on their skin. Her thighs hugged his hips hard; her breasts pillowed his chest.
At last he lifted his head, propping himself on his elbows, and looked down at her, his smile tender. He brushed a curl from her forehead and kissed it back into place.
He looked so content—she wanted to be, too. But did he love her? They could never go back to what they’d been before. Her willing ruination was the final proof that she would never be the “good girl” again. But sharing that wild side with Peter felt wonderful, felt . . . right.
Her feelings were too deep and complicated to be called friendship—it had to be love. Real love, not the fixation she’d had on William.
She realized she’d never truly been in love with William at all. Was her pursuit of him a foolish whim, a way to have what she wanted, regardless of what William wanted?
Peter watched the play of emotions on Elizabeth’s face. He wanted to stop her from thinking, make her live in the moment, to see how they could be with each other.
But he knew her—she wouldn’t blindly accept the truth, not when she thought she had her life so perfectly planned. He wanted her love—but it had to be about him, and not because she felt guilty for what they’d done together these past weeks, or guilty because she thought she’d hurt him. If she was to love him, all of him, she had to know everything. And if the truth turned her away from him? He hesitated, but he had to take the risk.
He lifted himself off her and rolled to the side, gathering her against him.
“Peter—”
“No, I have something to say. I’ve never told you this, and now that you’ve offered one of the most important gifts you have to give, I need you to know the truth. Will you listen?”
Her head resting on his shoulder, she nodded, then laid her hand upon his chest. Pulling the counterpane up, he covered their lower bodies, then covered her hand with his own.
“My words can never leave this room. I promised your cousin Matthew and his wife my utmost discretion.”
Alert now, the languidness of her body dissipating, she watched him solemnly. “I promise.”
“My scar isn’t from a hunting accident,” he said without preamble. “It happened because of a foolish belief that I knew best, that I could help your family—and prove myself to you.”
She inhaled swiftly but said nothing.
“I discovered a very incriminating fact right after Matthew returned from India. He was handling it himself, but I didn’t know that at the time.”
“Handling what?” she whispered.
He saw the fear growing in her eyes. “Hush, my sweet, it’s over now and all is well. But last autumn I discovered a note from a blackmailer who was attempting to force Emily to do his bidding.”
“Emily? But she’s Matthew’s wife! What could a blackmailer have to threaten her?”
“Because when she first came to live with you, after Matthew’s supposed death, she wasn’t his wife.”
The pain that shuddered Elizabeth’s beautiful dark eyes hurt as much as his own.
“I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled.
“Do not judge her harshly. Matthew does not—he loves her. She was a desperate woman, alone in the world, with a cruel man trying to force himself on her. She’d met Matthew before he’d gone to India, and he told her if she ever needed help, to come to all of you. And she did, not realizing that her vicar had sent word ahead to expect Matthew’s wife. The vicar was trying to protect her, and she was forced to go along with his deception.”
“I remember when we first met her—her terrible illness, and how it seemed to take a long time to recover. But you’re saying she was . . . lying to us?”
“You don’t know what Emily had been through, how much she hated hurting all of you, whom she’d grown to love.”
“But . . . when Matthew said his wounds took some of his memory, that he couldn’t remember being married—”
“He was lying. He had his memory, and he planned to get the truth from Emily.”
“How terrible for him!”
“Considering there was an instant attraction between them, I wouldn’t feel so terrible for Matthew,” he said dryly. “They fell deeply in love, two people who’d experienced so many terrible things in life.” He took a deep breath. “But now you need to know my part in all of it.”
She touched his arm, her fingers tracing the ragged scar. “Tell me Matthew didn’t—”
“Of course not! I found the letter the blackmailer wrote to Emily. I thought she was willfully swindling your family. I followed her and saw her meet with Stanwood, the man who’d once tried to rape her. I didn’t know that at the time, but it do
esn’t excuse me from my culpability. I should have gone to Matthew then, but I thought I could be the hero,” he said bitterly. “I wanted to help the family, but maybe I was only helping myself. I met with Stanwood, who convinced me that Emily was making a laughingstock of your family, that she deserved to be exposed, to pay for what she’d done.”
“You didn’t know what kind of man he was.”
“I should have. Maybe I didn’t want to see it. He offered me money to leave a note for her inside the house.” Peter swallowed and closed his eyes, the words hard to say even with the passage of time and Matthew’s and Emily’s forgiveness. “I told myself I wouldn’t take payment, that helping your family was all that mattered. Maybe I only wanted to be more important than I was, a crowing rooster next door to the dukedom, just like my father always behaved. But . . . I don’t know what I would have done about the money in the end.” That was the truth he’d buried inside, that he’d never wanted to contemplate.
“Peter, you don’t mean that!”
“I do. It was . . . the lowest point in my life. I felt like my future kept getting smaller all the time. I was the younger son, with no prospect of inheritance, for it was all entailed with the estate. Much as I knew I would always have a place with James, what could I offer a wife?”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” she demanded, coming up on her elbow so she was even with his face. “I thought you trusted me with everything.”
“How could I complain about feeling like a failure, Elizabeth? To you of all people—to the woman I loved, but could never have?”
Elizabeth stared into Peter’s harsh face, seeing a man who kept his deepest pain from her. He was bound so tightly to her family, yet always on the outside, convinced by his father that as a young son, a commoner, he could never be good enough.
“Let me finish it,” he said gruffly, sitting up against the pillows and letting go of her.
She continued to watch him, pulling the counterpane higher because it felt indecent to be naked at such a painful moment.
“Then I discovered Stanwood’s true motives when I found Emily’s maid dead, after Emily and Matthew had left on their honeymoon.”
“I remember her! She died at an inn, and they suspected a violent lover, but never found him. The poor girl.”
He nodded. “At last I knew what kind of man Stanwood was, that the Lelands were in real danger. I followed Stanwood, tried to stop him, but he shot me and left me for dead.”
She tried to reach for him, but he held her back, the truth continuing to tumble out of him.
“I wasn’t unconscious long, and I was able to follow him to the inn where Matthew and Emily stopped on their way north. They were going to Scotland to be married.”
“I’ll never tell a soul,” she whispered. “But your arm—you’re lucky you didn’t bleed to death.”
“How can you have any concern for me? Because of my silence, Stanwood was able to steal Emily away from Matthew. He planned to use her against the family, extort money. She almost died trying to get away from him. I’ll never forget the sound of her screaming as she struggled at the edge of a bridge over rushing water. I was too far away. Thank God Matthew reached her in time. Stanwood fell from the bridge and drowned.”
Elizabeth let out a shaky breath, not even realizing she’d been holding it. His words created such a terrifying picture in her mind, it was easy to forget that Emily and Matthew were safe and happy now.
“They forgave me,” Peter continued in a weary voice. “It was more than I ever deserved. Matthew wanted me to be happy, to find my own life. He offered to help me, teach me what he knew about investing and the coming of the railways, something my conservative brother had always avoided. He introduced me to Lord Thurlow, which is how I became a part of Southern Railway.”
Peter looked so guilty—but how could he believe she’d set herself up as judge of another person, after all she’d done? And her motives were nothing but selfish, where at least Peter thought he was protecting her family. And whatever he said about his monetary motives, she didn’t believe it. She knew him too well; he wouldn’t have taken money in exchange for betraying Emily.
“Peter, you say Matthew and Emily forgave you, but I don’t think you’ve forgiven yourself. You made yourself over this last year, becoming a rake, letting everyone think the worst of you, because you believe the worst of yourself. When are you going to put the past behind you?”
He slid to the edge of the bed and reached for his trousers.
“Are you going?” she asked quietly.
“I have to. You need to think about everything I’ve said.”
She told herself to look away while he dressed, but she didn’t. Every movement of his body fascinated her. As he was slipping on his coat, he turned to face her, and it was then he seemed to realize she’d been watching all along.
Oh, what was she supposed to do? Would he forgive himself enough to be a part of her family? Or perhaps he wouldn’t believe she could love him.
Peter walked toward the doors leading to the balcony. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next fight?”
“We’re going to fight?” she asked, having forgotten all their plans after his lovemaking.
He arched a brow. “We’re showing the world our engagement is crumbling, remember?”
“Oh . . . yes.” She’d wanted to end the engagement, free Peter from her clutches, and solve her own problems. But tonight she’d bound him to her even tighter, selfishly perhaps, but she couldn’t regret it. Did he? Was that why he’d told her his dark secret?
“Good night, Elizabeth.” And he stepped out through the billowing draperies.
Peter didn’t sleep that night, as if reciting his sins had churned everything up he thought he’d suppressed. He spent a lot of time pacing his room or trying to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. He played the evening over and over in his mind, wondering if he’d made the right decisions. He’d gone to her, knowing he meant to take her to bed, knowing he meant to force a decision.
Had he thought she’d reject him, ending their relationship?
Instead, she’d looked too deeply within him, and made him examine what he’d become.
He didn’t like any of his motives where Elizabeth was concerned.
He had to make things right, to somehow prove—to both of them—that they belonged together, that they could be happy as man and wife. He didn’t want her to feel that she’d only married him because she had recklessly allowed him into her bed.
Elizabeth deserved happiness; he needed to give her that. He would have to risk his future, risk everything, by giving her exactly what she thought she wanted—William. If she returned to Peter, he would know at last that she truly loved him.
Chapter 22
In the morning, Peter rode to the Gibson home, but found the baron already gone. Lucy must have heard his voice as he spoke to the butler in the small entrance hall, for she came through a far door and smiled at him.
“Good morning, Mr. Derby! Did I hear that you were paying a call on my brother?”
“I am. Do you know when he’ll return?”
The butler bowed and stepped out of the hall.
Lucy grinned. “It’s because of you he’s gone, you know.”
“Me?”
“It’s been ‘the railway this’ and ‘the railway that’ ever since he’s become acquainted with you. He won’t let his secretary investigate for him. He went to Southern Railway to inquire about purchasing shares, and was told there was a meeting for new investors this morning. And that’s where he’s gone.”
Peter bowed over her hand. “Thank you, Miss Gibson.”
As he turned to go, she called, “Wait, Mr. Derby. Can you tell me—is this about Elizabeth?”
With his hand on the door he regarded her. He knew that she would want Elizabeth’s happiness whether her brother were involved or not. But he was not going to confide in her.
He smiled. “It seems like everyt
hing I do these days is about Elizabeth, isn’t it?” He bowed and left her looking bemused.
At Southern Railway, located in the warehouse district of London’s West End, the small outer office was crowded with a half dozen men, several seated on the few chairs and three others talking in a small group. The clerk sat behind his desk, and when he saw Peter, nodded toward the inner office.
Peter shook his head and looked about for Gibson, who smiled and stood up when Peter noticed him.
“Good morning, Mr. Derby. As you can see, I decided to take your advice.”
“And good advice it is, if I say so myself. Lord Gibson, would you step into the corridor and speak with me privately?”
His smile not dimming one bit, Gibson followed Peter back through the door into the narrow, dimly lit corridor.
“My lord,” Peter said, “this is of a personal nature, but I felt I had to inform you.”
“Yes, Mr. Derby?” he asked, his smile fading but still there, in the faint curve of his lips.
“You know that I am engaged to Lady Elizabeth Cabot. It is . . . more of a struggle than I thought it would be. We are having some issues and I’m not certain we can resolve them.”
Gibson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m gratified that you felt the need to confide in me, but—”
“It’s not that I need a confidant,” Peter said. “It’s simply that you deserve to know something I just discovered. Lady Elizabeth has looked favorably upon you for a long time. I believe she turned to me because you did not show any interest in her.”
Gibson’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Peter. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want her to be happy.”
“I would not feel right courting her while she was engaged,” Gibson said slowly.
“Then you’re interested?” Peter asked, as his gut churned with worry about the consequences of his decision.
“Of course. Now that I’ve decided to follow your lead in investing, such a large dowry would certainly aid my efforts.”
