Harriet’s face reddened. “Finesse? What does finesse have to do with anything?”
Chase leaned back against the headboard, adjusting his pillows to a more comfortable level. “It sounds to me as if the problem was more in the execution. As a rule, women enjoy being made a fuss of.”
“You call being abducted ‘made a fuss of’?” she asked, apparently outraged at the thought.
“No. Being swept up on a horse like that knight fellow, Loch-something. I told Stephen that was the trick with a woman with a strong disposition, to overwhelm her with a romantic gesture.”
“Is that what you told him?” she asked grimly.
“Yes. Only I suggested he work his way up to it. I thought he should start with a picnic, but he apparently disagreed.”
“I cannot believe that you would sit there and just admit that you—” The words seemed to lock in her throat, for she struggled mightily before she managed to say in a strangled voice, “I hope you’re satisfied now, Mr. Chase St. John. Not only has Miss Strickton rejected Stephen most cruelly, but her father came to see Mother and demanded that Stephen stay away from the entire family or they would call the constable. Mother was quite embarrassed and poor Stephen! It is a scandal of the worst kind and all because you—”
“Don’t blame me for all of that! Bloody hell, all I did was suggest that the boy take matters into his own hands; I never told him to abduct the chit. If you don’t believe me, ask him.”
“Ask him?”
“Ask him,” Chase said firmly. “He may have gotten the idea from the fact that I mentioned that Loch-fellow, but I never suggested that he do something that ridiculous. And I wouldn’t.”
Harriet’s shoulders slumped. “You wouldn’t?”
“Lord, no! Do I look that wet behind the ears?”
Her gaze flickered over him, once again lowering to his lap. Chase suddenly realized how intimate the setting was; Harriet and he, alone in his room. And here he was, naked and in a warm bed. His body tightened at the thought, and he had to adjust the sheet to cover his reaction.
Her cheeks heated, and she looked away, though she remained close to the bed. “I—I suppose I should have asked Stephen to be more specific. But when he said he’d gotten the idea from you, I assumed the worst. I’m sorry.”
Chase had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. “If you were really sorry, you’d show it.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Show it?”
“With a kiss.”
“I—you—oh! That is quite enough, Mr. St. John.” Her color adorably high, she wheeled to march out of the room, but Chase was too quick.
He had her in his arms and in his lap before she could do more than gasp in surprise.
For an instant, they simply sat there, staring at one another, heat rippling between them in hurried, urgent waves. Chase’s body was taut with need. He had dreamed enough nights about this woman. Finding her here, in his naked lap, was almost more than he could stand.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice soft and breathless.
“No.”
Her eyes sparkled with irritation. “I’m sorry if I wrongly accused you. But if you’d seen Stephen when he’d returned—”
“I’d have told him to get his chin up off the ground and be a man about things.”
“Oh! What do you know about picking your chin up off the ground? You, with your thousands of servants and hundreds of houses?”
“More than you know,” he said, the line of his mouth suddenly grim.
Harriet paused, her irritation melting away before a sudden surge of hot curiosity. Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse of a different Chase St. John than the one usually presented to the world at large. It was almost as if beneath his arrogant, self-satisfied swagger, there was a river of emptiness, of sadness. He was a conundrum, this startlingly handsome man.
Brash and bold on the outside, seemingly interested only in himself, he was nonetheless capable of great kindness and caring. She found her gaze drawn to him; to the tempting line of his mouth, the masculine strength of his throat. To her surprise, a flash of heat burned through her. She could feel the warmth of his bared skin against her arm.
Heavens, but he was enticing. But as tasty as he appeared, he was not from Sticklye-By-The-River. And he was definitely not a part of Garrett Park. She had to remind herself that he never would be.
His gaze met hers and in that instant, something shimmered deep in his eyes, a sparkle that was answered in her own heart. In that moment, something changed, shifted, went from abstract thought to intense action.
“Harriet,” Chase murmured. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her to his bare chest and kissed her.
Chapter 20
Love does not come in a neat package, tied with a bow, and delivered to one’s house. It’s large and roiling, rather like a river, only noisier, infinitely messier, and far harder to control.
The Countess of Greyley to her new sister-in-law, Mrs. Brandon St. John, while knitting stockings for charity
Harriet shivered and closed her eyes. It was madness. Sheer and utter madness.
But somehow, she just didn’t care. She’d never felt such a flush of pure lust. Had never enjoyed the delightful feeling of being desired, passionately and intensely by a man—by any man really. But especially not by a man like Chase St. John.
“Harriet,” he whispered against her ear, his hot breath stirring her hair. “I want you. I want to be with you.” He nuzzled her neck and murmured against her skin, “And in you.”
Harriet bit her lip, her entire body trembling. All her life, she’d been in control, had done what was right, followed the safe and sane path, taken care of others and herself. Now…now she didn’t want any of that. She wanted to be…freer. Unfettered with responsibility and cares.
“Touch me,” he whispered, his breath brushing over her ear. “Put your hands on me.”
The old Harriet would have refused him. It was the right thing to do—to put an end to this lunacy. But the new Harriet splayed her hands over his chest, threading his crisp hairs through her fingers.
It was heavenly. His skin was warm and inviting, his muscles taut. She heard herself say his name ever so softly, “Chase.” The name slid through her teeth, satin tied with a velvet rope. Her ability to refuse him melted with the sound.
She’d been so aggravated with him when she’d first come to his room. But he’d been right—Stephen was responsible for his acts, not anyone else.
Harriet suddenly wondered why Chase had even bothered to help her brother in the first place. “Why did you—”
He kissed her, his mouth covering hers, his tongue sliding between her lips. Hot and delicious, he overwhelmed her senses, made her forget everything but the feel of him.
He pulled her closer and she grasped his shoulders, his bare skin warm beneath her fingertips. His hands roamed over her back, down to her hips, then up her sides.
Harriet moaned softly just as he cupped her breasts through her gown. Sensuous shivers flashed through her.
“Ah, Harriet,” he whispered again, nipping her chin, her throat, her shoulder.
Never had her plain, rather unsatisfactory name seemed so seductive as when he breathed it through his lips like a prayer of thanks. His hot mouth left a trail of delicate fire everywhere it touched.
She tilted her head back and gave him silent permission to explore the hollows, gasping in pleasure as his breath fanned over her skin.
“Mmmm,” he said in a slightly raspy voice. “You smell of cinnamon and apples.”
“I—I helped Cook with the pies. I think they’ll be very good when—”
“You. Are. Delicious.” His lips touched her throat with each word, and a series of tremors raced through her.
His free hand found her knee and he slowly pulled up her skirts. The thin material slid along her leg, inching past her calf, until he finally slipped his hand beneath. His fingers were unnaturally warm as they skimmed her leg, her thigh.<
br />
Harriet gasped. He was bold and brazen, taking and teasing. His fingers brushed the top of her pantaloons, pushing them aside until his bare fingers slid down her stomach.
Panic flared. She caught his wrist. “No.”
He looked at her then, his eyes so dark they appeared almost black. “Why not?”
Why not? She could think of a thousand reasons why not and only one why—because she wanted him. Wanted him to touch her, to kiss her, to make her mindless with passion. For once in her life, she wanted to lose control and just live.
Her gaze locked on his, she released his hand. “Why not indeed.”
A faint smile curled his lips, his gaze wandering over her face, touching briefly on her eyes, her nose, her upper lip. He bent and placed his lips on hers, holding still, allowing the moment to linger and swell.
Her whole body shivered awake. His hand slid lower then, over her stomach, down between her legs and he touched her in the most intimate of places.
She started then, jerked out of her desire-induced trance. “I ca—”
He kissed her, harder and more demanding than before, overwhelming her protests, overcoming her fears. And all the while, his fingers were never still. He found her most secret place, stroking and touching her, building her desires until they burned and she arched against him, her inhibitions gone in the flash of a moment.
Heaven help her, but she was on fire. She yearned for him, ached for him deep within. He kissed her cheek with the softest of touches, his mouth leaving a damp trail as he traced a line to her ear. His breath fluttered against her earlobe and sent a deluge of delicious tremors through her.
He was slow, deliberate, his intent all too clear—he meant to make her crazy with desire before seducing her in full.
And why not, Harriet decided. She was a woman grown. And in all her years, she’d never met a man like this, one who wore his sensuality like a fig leaf on an ancient statue. She knew what was behind that blasted leaf—she hadn’t lived on a farm for all these years for nothing. Nonetheless, her fingers itched to remove everything that stood between her and him, so that she could get a nice, long look at what lay beneath.
What was a true revelation was how many other weapons of seduction the man had at his disposal. Not only were his hands roaming freely, but his mouth never ceased delivering shivery kisses and delicate nips. His breath sent a flutter of heat down her spine. His skin burned beneath her fingertips, begging to be touched even more.
Harriet was lost. Her body tightened in response to each and every new delight. How she wanted this man.
She could feel his fingers busily unlacing her gown. And before she knew it, he was pushing the neckline free, shoving it down, over her shoulders, to her waist. Mindless with the need to taste him, to feel him, she pulled her arms free of the gown, and wrapped them about his neck.
He pressed a passionate kiss to her neck, his hands cupping, kneading her through the thin material of her shift, driving her wilder.
“Remove it,” he murmured against her ear.
“What?” she asked breathlessly, shifting restlessly, aware of a deep ache within. She wanted more, needed more.
“Your shift,” he said, placing wet kisses along her cheek and neck. “Remove it.”
It was an order, softly made, yet insistent. Harriet didn’t even question. She wanted this, wanted him. She tugged the lace that tied her shift free, and somehow, she never would remember exactly how, she was soon naked and pliant on the bed beneath him. He bent over her, resting on one elbow as his mouth continued to trace a heated path from her neck to her ear and back.
It was erotic, the feel of their limbs entangled with nothing between them. Harriet ran her hands over his broad shoulders, kissing his throat, his chin.
He cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple and causing her to drop her head back and close her eyes. “Harriet, look at me.”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He was so incredibly beautiful, his skin damp with perspiration, his blue eyes vivid, his black hair falling over his brow. Holding her gaze, he dropped his mouth to her breast and laved the peak, his hands now stroking higher, up her thigh, returning to the taut core of her womanhood.
She gasped, her head thrown back, her hair coming unbound. Chase soaked in the sight of her face as she gave herself to the passion. Her face flushed, her eyes glistened, her face softened with wonder. No vestige was left of the plainspoken, logically bound Harriet that he’d come to admire. In her place was a tempting siren with lush brown hair, a kiss-swollen mouth, and eyes that shimmered with desire.
He had to have her. Now. Never had he lusted for any woman, especially not an innocent. The thought held him for a moment. She was an innocent, but she was also in his bed, her face awash with pleasure, with need. Everyone at Garrett Park looked to her for their comfort. Perhaps it was time someone looked to hers.
With a renewed vow to make this moment the most incredible of her life, to show her how wonderful, how beautiful he found her, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her softly, deeply. He put every bit of himself into that kiss, mingling his soul with hers.
She responded without hesitation, opening, writhing, clutching at his shoulders. Finally, panting heavily, he broke the kiss and lifted on his elbow to look at her.
Chase couldn’t move. He’d known that beneath her plain gowns, Harriet was an attractive woman. But seeing her now, completely naked, her delicately made, but strongly wrought, body outlined against the sheets, was almost more than he could bear. She was beautiful, perfectly made.
Her legs were curvaceous, her waist narrow above her slender hips. Her small breasts were tipped with rose-colored nipples that drew his gaze and made his mouth water.
“You are beautiful,” he breathed. “So beautiful.”
In answer, she lifted up on her elbows to tilt her face to his. Her thick brown hair flowed about her shoulders and clung to the shadowed hollows of her neck. She grasped his neck with one hand and pulled him closer, the warmth from her palm sending a tingle of heat through him.
He splayed his hands over her shoulders and arms, marveling at the seductively carved collarbone that was displayed there. She was no soft, overfed miss, but a woman of strength, of delicately made muscles and finely wrought sinew.
His body tightened almost painfully. He could no longer think coherently about anything. Anything but this woman and her creamy thighs. He had to have her. Have her and make her his. The desire to brand her, to mark her as his own and no one else’s, raced through him and all coherent thought fled at the onslaught of primitive emotion.
Chase lifted himself and poised above her, his hands tangled in her hair. “Love me, Harriet. Let me come in.”
Her thighs widened and she gripped him close. Chase lowered himself into her slowly, so slowly that she stirred impatiently, shifting beneath him as if trying to pull him into her.
He held still, savoring his entry, reveling in the heat and tightness. Suddenly, he could take it no more and he pushed deep within.
She gasped, her eyes widening.
Chase could have killed himself then and there. She was a virgin. Somehow, in the erotic dance that had held them in thrall, he’d allowed himself to forget that fact.
He pulled her close and whispered softly in her ear, “Easy, love. Easy.”
Slowly, she relaxed beneath him. Chase kept whispering, long strings of soft words, of warm sentiments, of heated promises. He kept his hands busy, stroking her here, soothing her there. Within moments, she began to stir restlessly, to press against him, her pain forgotten in the onslaught of desire.
Ah yes. She was a passionate woman. He could see it in the way her chest rose and fell, her small breasts puckering as if begging for a touch. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to first one nipple, then the next, pulling gently while she gasped in pleasure.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to move inside her. He let her set the pace, her lithe body growing more moist,
more demanding. God, but she was a sweet piece, hot and lush, more desirable than any woman he’d ever known. Chase gritted his teeth and fought to maintain control. It was the most erotic moment of his life, the feel of this woman beneath him. For the love of Hera, but he’d never experienced such a heated encounter.
How was it that a country chit completely devoid of experience could make him crazed with desire while countless women with other, far more exotic notions, left him less than inspired?
What was it about Harriet Ward that made her bolder, more colorful, more intriguing than any London-born and -bred mistress?
Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. Fascinating. Scintillating. He reveled in her nearness, in the strength of her body, in the lithe grace of her form. He cupped her closer to him, losing himself inside her silken softness.
She was lost, eyes closed, gasping for breath as her body moved demandingly, hips thrusting, feet firmly planted on the mattress. She was magnificent, her unalleviated passion pushing Chase to the edges of his own control.
Suddenly, her eyes widened and she gasped, her body clenching about him, the silky tug yanking him over the edge. Chase ground his teeth, but it was too late. His body reacted before he could withdraw and he climaxed deep inside her.
For several moments they remained where they were, entangled, arms about each other, his face pressed against her hair, her legs still tight about his waist.
It was achingly sweet, that moment. And Chase, for the first time in his life, didn’t feel an overwhelming compulsion to jump up from the bed and make good his escape.
All he wanted to do was stay right where he was, holding Harriet as their bodies quieted. He was agonizingly aware of her slender hips beneath his, of her breath on his shoulder, of her hair tangled on the pillow, of the smell of her silken skin.
All of it seeped through him and made him wish they could stay just like this, hidden and warm, safe and sated for the rest of their lives.
After a long moment, Harriet shifted against the pillows, her sigh warm on his neck. “We must get up.”
How to Treat a Lady Page 22
