by The Bargain
"Beautiful," he murmured as his eyes lingered on her face a moment, then fell to her lush breasts, "so beautiful."
His shirt joined the cravat on the floor, and as she drank in the stark male beauty of him—the broad shoulders, the muscular chest covered with whorls of dark chestnut hair—Ashleigh could wait no longer. Reaching up her arms to him, she cried, "Brett, please! I... I need you!"
He made a sound like a low growl in his throat and instantly joined her on the bed. Pulling her to him, he exulted in the feel of her bare breasts against his skin, their nipples already hard with desire. "So anxious, my love?" he murmured huskily into her hair. "But we shouldn't rush it, you know," he added as he raised his head to capture her eyes. "We—" he brushed her lips lightly, teasingly, with his "—have," he added as his mouth trailed down her throat, "...a lifetime...." The word barely left his lips before they found the aching peak of one rosy-tipped breast and drew it into his mouth.
Ashleigh felt a jolt of pleasure sluice through her, moving from where he held her with his mouth to the juncture of her thighs. With a moan, she drove her fingers into his curls, while at the same time she began to twist and writhe under the sensations that were assaulting her body. "Brett," she gasped, "oh, Brett, hurry!"
Brett heard her, felt her response, and was enflamed by it. He wanted to go slowly, to savor what they'd waited for for so long, but it seemed she would have none of it.
With a shaky laugh, he raised his head to look at her again. "So it's to be love in a hurry, is it? Faith, but you're a delicious wanton, my darling," he teased, "but I think we ought to take... our... time...." His thumbs were teasing too, as they brushed her nipples, and Ashleigh moaned again, deep in her throat.
Then his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that didn't stop. His tongue found the seam between her lips and slipped between as she parted them for him, hungrily, her own tongue darting to meet his. Tongue meeting tongue, they tasted of each other, withdrew, then tasted again.
His hand moved to her bodice and he rolled with her, pulling her against him with the other while he finished the work he'd begun earlier and removed her gown. Her petticoats soon followed, and then he was kneeling beside her on the bed as he slipped off her kid dancing slippers. His fingers went to the top of a silk stocking and he began to bare her leg, bending to plant feather-light kisses along the exposed flesh until the silk fell away and he was tasting the delicious curves of her toes, sucking on them, slipping between them with his tongue.
The sensation was unlike any she'd ever felt. Her body tingled in a thousand places, but all joined to drive a burning message to the core of her femininity where she felt moisture gathering, making her ready for him.
But Brett took his time, sharply quelling his own need, to give her pleasure. Murmuring her name and his love for her again and again, he repeated the process with the other stocking, raising her toes to his mouth once again.
He stroked her calves with his hands, and then her thighs. One hand trailed across her flat abdomen before coming to rest on the nest of raven curls below.
Ashleigh sucked in her breath at this touch and heard him laugh lightly. Then she saw him above her again, and his eyes found hers while a hand cupped her breast and the one below gently parted her thighs, and then his finger slid between, entering her slippery warmth.
"Oh!" she gasped and saw him smile.
"Oh, what, love?" he whispered. His eyes were hard with desire and focused relentlessly on her face as he withdrew his finger and passed it over the tiny bud above. "Tell me," he persisted as he stroked the pulsing nub once, twice, a third time.... "Tell me what pleasures you, Ashleigh, and I'll—"
"Brett!" she cried, and then she was beyond words. Intense spirals of pleasure began emanating from deep within her, flinging her into a world where there was only Brett and his touch. She felt her whole body shake with it, her thighs eagerly parting yet farther for him, her hands reaching about his neck to pull him closer. Ah, she had to have him closer!
And finally Brett could wait no longer. Satisfied that he had brought her to the brink of fulfillment, he now prepared to join her in the ultimate pleasure. He pulled away only long enough to remove the rest of his clothes, then wrapped her in an embrace that was fierce, his need shuddering through him as he murmured into her hair, "Oh, God, Ashleigh! I cannot get enough of you! Sweet, sweet wife of my heart, my life, how I need you... God, how I love you!"
And with this he raised himself above her trembling frame and pushed her thighs apart with his own, his turgid, throbbing maleness seeking entry. And then he drove it home.
A renewed surge of desire came on the heels of Ashleigh's pleasure of moments before, and just when she thought she couldn't bear it, she felt him enter her, and the feeling was so intense, she cried his name aloud.
But Brett captured her cry with his mouth as he thrust, then thrust again, then harder, still, as he felt her body arc up to meet his in perfect rhythm.
Again and again, their bodies pulsed together, man joined to woman, she, sheathed around him, he, deep inside her in the age-old movements that, for the two of them, were also fresh and new and wondrous.
Finally Ashleigh felt herself spinning, spiraling in a vortex of pleasure so intense, she could do naught but give herself up to it. She heard Brett hoarsely call her name, urging her on with him, and all the while she felt she was getting closer... closer....
And then it happened. A white-hot shaft of pleasure drew her mind from her body, her sense from her feeling, and all about her the universe danced at her feet while time itself stood still. Brett cried her name and she felt him convulse, felt his seed pumping into her, seeking a home, and then she was sobbing her pleasure, her love for him, until she thought she would never stop.
Minutes passed, and the ticking of the clock on the mantel began to make itself heard over their ragged breathing. Sated and replete, they lay on their sides, facing each other with their thighs entwined, their bodies still locked together as one.
Ashleigh's face was buried in his shoulder, her swirling hair, long since loosed from its pins, tangled about their shoulders and arms. He took her hand and raised her fingers to his lips, where he began to kiss each one with exquisite tenderness.
"I love you," he whispered as his lips brushed each delicate tip, "I love you... love you... love you...."
Ashleigh opened her lips against his shoulder, uttering a soft, ecstatic cry. "Oh, Brett!" she managed. "My Brett!" Then, wonderingly, "Are you really mine, my darling?"
He raised his head and braced himself on one elbow to look at her. "For as long as you want me, love," he breathed.
"Forever," came the hushed reply.
Brett closed his eyes, drinking in the scent of her, then the warm, musky scent of their lovemaking. He swallowed past the lump of emotion that lodged in his throat when he thought of all they'd suddenly found together, and of how close they'd come to missing it.
He opened his eyes to find Ashleigh gazing at him, a look of total adoration on her face, and he smiled into her eyes, then kissed each one tenderly.
"Never," he told her solemnly, "if I live to be a hundred and ten, will I ever forget this night... this night of miracles, with you at its center. In some ways, this is the beginning of my life, love. Whatever went before has little meaning, compared to now."
He pulled away from her then, and feeling him slipping from her encasing warmth, Ashleigh nearly cried out. But he quickly drew her attention as he smiled and ran his fingers along the chain that encircled his neck.
When he'd removed it, she saw that a whole locket replaced the half that had once been there. He smiled and parted it to show her the miniature portrait of the child he'd been.
"My mother thought I should have the other half," he murmured.
But then she saw him slip another object from the chain, and, before she knew it, he was taking her left hand, grasping its third finger, and slipping it on. It was her wedding ring—the one she'd dashed into a corn
er of this very room in anger!
The ring in place, he slowly, almost reverently, bent his head and kissed her finger. Then his head came up and his eyes locked with hers.
"With this ring, I thee wed," he whispered huskily.
"And I, thee," she answered, tears of joy brimming in her eyes.
"And know this, my love," he murmured softly. "From now until I draw my final breath, you are my life... you, and the child brought forth from this strange and wondrous love at last gone right... and the children God, in his infinite wisdom, might see fit to bless us with in the future. Nothing else matters.... Can you believe that?"
Ashleigh's answer was a kiss that stole his breath away. "Nothing else matters," she echoed in a breathless whisper, "nothing...."
And then speech ceased as they found themselves in each other's arms again, and words became unnecessary, and nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Ashleigh relaxed against the plush squabs lining the seats of Brett's brougham while it sped along the road leading to Kent. She smiled as she observed the handsome profile of her husband, who was sitting across from her and gazing out the window; she was remembering another time she'd sat in this carriage and studied him thusly, and she couldn't help thinking of the differences in their positions then and now.
Was it really almost a year since they'd met? So much had happened in that time, and yet it scarcely seemed possible. And sometimes it still didn't seem possible that the beloved profile she viewed once belonged to a man as brooding and remote as a distant star. Today that face seemed ever at ease and given to ready laughter. His wonderful turquoise eyes, once so mocking and cold, now danced with good humor and smiled their perpetual warmth at the whole world.
Love, she thought as she hugged his adored presence to her, in her mind, it can make all things possible.
She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring a recollection of their last hours alone together. He had awakened her in the predawn this morning, with a delicious nuzzling of her ear and then that susceptible area where her neck and shoulder joined; at the same time his hands had been most industrious, one playing with the peaks of her breasts while the other had slipped between her thighs to seek softer flesh.
Thus she had been awakened, barely finding consciousness before realizing she was already hot and moist between her thighs for him, prompting a sleepy demand, to Brett's grinning delight, that he take her immediately—which, of course, he obliged. Later, she'd found herself blushing at her wanton antics, but Brett had merely laughed and held her close, saying it was time she ceased to be disturbed by a part of her nature he cherished. And she was forced to admit he was right; she should hardly be surprised by it, when such had been a regular occurrence with them during the month they'd remained in London, the month since that wonderful night after the cotillion at Almack's.
The pages of her mind flipped back over the days that had passed since then. After spending the first week largely closeted together in their private rooms—almost satisfying their hunger for each other after the separations that had gone before, she mused with a smile—they had ventured out to attend the various balls and parties at which their presence was eagerly requested. To Ashleigh's astonishment, the duke and duchess of Ravensford had suddenly become the darlings of the ton! Their romantic and, some thought, glamorous story both intrigued and fascinated that closed society that detested the mundane and was always ready to be amused and charmed by the lives of its more interesting members.
A frown marred her brow as she reminded herself that sometimes this interest did not extend to amusement or being charmed; sometimes it brought harsh censure and disdain. To wit, many of their acquaintances were shocked and horrified by the news that the poet Shelley had abandoned his pregnant wife, Harriet, to elope with his mistress, Mary Godwin—who was also carrying his child! Though Shelley had never exactly been one of the haut ton, he was born of the upper classes, and if his behavior had been eyebrow-raising before, he was a social pariah now.
And then there were the dark rumors about one of English society's former darlings: Lord Byron, who had wed Sir Ralph Milbanke's daughter in January, was known to be having marital difficulties. This in itself was no cause for scandal, but if the ugly gossip was to be believed, a major source of their troubles could be traced to Byron's involvement with a house-guest of theirs at Piccadilly Terrace, and the woman was none other than Mrs. Augusta Leigh, the poet's half sister! And although the rumors hadn't reached the proportions of a fullblown scandal yet, Brett, who was acquainted with Byron and some of his intimates, said he feared it was just a matter of time until they would.
Even the prince regent wasn't immune to gossip. Most of the country was scandalized by the shocking manner in which he treated his wife, poor woman. Prinny had always made no bones about the fact that he hated her, but lately he had taken to forbidding her to appear at any number of public and private places—not to mention most official functions. Yes, Prinny was quite beastly to Princess Caroline, and Ashleigh felt deeply sorry for her. Fortunately the common folk pitied her, too, and had begun to protest against George's treatment of the princess, and Ashleigh suspected it was only the country's current panic over the renewed war with Napoleon that kept Prinny safe from outright public displays against his behavior.
As for the war, all anyone could do was remember that Boney had been defeated once before, and hope for the best. Under the command of the duke of Wellington, Britain had joined with her allies, Austria, Prussia and Russia, to raise a million men, who were moving toward the Little Corporal's armies—somewhere near the Belgian border, Brett thought— and many felt there would soon be a major confrontation.
Thank God the conflict with America is over! she thought, and her mind drifted to Patrick and Megan. Those two lovebirds were currently on their way to Ireland to visit with Megan's family. They'd promised to return to England briefly for Ashleigh's birthday next month, but their ultimate destination was America, where they planned to live permanently, on Patrick's plantation in Virginia. Ashleigh and Brett missed them terribly already, and plans were afoot to visit them there in a year or so.
And Mary will probably be the next to leave us, she thought sadly, and with her, the children. But for the moment, at least, Brett's mother and her little ones were accompanying them to Kent. Ashleigh glanced out the window as she felt the carriage negotiate a sharp bend in the road and spotted the three additional carriages that comprised the entourage that was traveling to Ravensford Hall. Neither Brett nor Mary felt it was safe for her and the others to return to Italy these days, and even though word had come from Father Umberto—who had returned—that the villa was almost completely restored, the decision had been made for Mary and the children to remain in England until peace came again.
Moreover, Mary had referred cryptically to some unfinished business she had in this country, though try as she might, Ashleigh had been unable to coax any more out of her on the subject. It was as if—
"Penny for your thoughts, love."
Ashleigh looked up to find Brett smiling at her; his heavy-lidded gaze was lazily seductive, and Ashleigh suddenly felt tingles along her spine.
"Oh, I, um—" she flushed "—I forget what they were!"
Low laughter and a look that left no doubt as to his thoughts made her blush bright pink.
"I'll wager your current thoughts are worth much more than a penny, sweet," he teased.
"Brett!" she chastised, then blushed even harder as she saw his eyes drop to her breasts, whose nipples, in her suddenly aroused state, had peaked and thrust outward under the thin fabric of her summer gown. "You know you... you only have to look at me a certain way and—and—"
"Come here," he ordered softly, and patted the seat beside him.
"Brett, not in the carriage!"
He grinned, and the turquoise gaze was mesmerizing. "Ashleigh, either you come here or I'll come there, though at present, I admit, these tight breeches make it difficu
lt for me to move."
Glancing down at the apparel in question, she found herself going from pink to scarlet.
He laughed again, his eyes teasing and utterly seductive as they held hers. "Now," he said quietly, "are you going to come over here or do I come and get you?"
Ashleigh felt her breathing go shallow as she nodded. Then she pulled herself up by one of the carriage straps and made the transfer. Or almost.
Brett's arm reached out, and before she knew it, she was sitting on his lap, and then his arms were around her, and then... oh, then!
His mouth went unerringly to one of the peaks that thrust impudently outward while a hand found its way under her skirts and upward, between her thighs.
"Brett!" she exclaimed, and then she moaned. He drew her nipple into his mouth, right through the damp material, while his hand found her woman's place and slowly, inexorably, made it magic.
"I've been wanting to do this ever since we left London," he murmured against her breast. "Oh, God, you're sweet, my Ashleigh... so damned sweet!"
Ashleigh's self-consciousness, which had been fading fast, fell away completely with these intimate caresses. She became aware of Brett's hardness beneath her buttocks and, deciding two could play his game, began to wriggle enticingly on his lap.
His mouth came away from her with a gasp. Then he looked up, and a bold grin slashed across his face. "You little minx! You're asking for trouble, you know."
"Am I?" She grinned back at him as she took a forefinger and slowly traced the curve of his lower lip.
Sucking in his breath, Brett closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back against the seat. Then both arms came around her and drew her against his chest.
"You know," he breathed, "I only thought to play a while and not go any further, but the way you have me feeling now, I swear, I'm ready to take you right here, on the floor of the carriage."
Ashleigh giggled and maneuvered onto the seat next to him. "It was only a matter of what's good for the goose being good for the gander, Your Grace."
