He sucked in his breath as his erection throbbed anew. What seemed like a scant second later they were both undressed; then he was lowering her—naked and flushed with need—to his coat.
He kissed her everywhere he could see, worshiping the softness of her skin, the rose of her areolas, the flush of passion on her cheeks. And then gently, ever so gently, he moved between her legs and pressed his rigid cock to her.
She was wet and waiting, and he slid in until he rested against her maidenhead, surrounded by her heated warmth. She was so deliciously tight, her movements innocently wanton. He gritted his teeth to hold off his reaction and slowly pressed forward.
She grimaced and arched against him.
“Bronwyn,” he managed to gasp out. “This may—”
“Stop talking. Just—” She pressed against him, gorgeously abandoned.
He steeled his jaw and thrust through her maidenhead, capturing her cry with a rain of kisses, silently begging her forgiveness even as his body moved within hers.
A deep ache that was both pleasure and pain filled Bronwyn. She clutched his shoulders, gasping as, through the ache, a powerful need grew to pull him to her, to get closer, to feel him. She slid her hands to his waist, and then his hips. With a sudden effort, she pushed against him, engulfing him completely.
He moaned her name.
Encouraged, she wrapped her legs about his hips and, lifting her own, buried him deep inside her. She did it again and again, the dull ache receding with each stroke. And each time she pulled him inside, a gasp of pleasure was ripped from Alexsey’s lips.
He joined her, thrusting in the rhythm she’d set, their bodies damp as they fiercely pleasured one another. Moments later a wave of pleasure ripped through her, making her cry his name. And this time she took Alexsey with her as they rode wave after wave of passion, finally collapsing together, clinging to one another under the sky.
A long time later, she sighed with happiness. She felt wildly powerful and rather naughty, almost drunk on the sensations coursing through her body. “So that’s what all the fuss is about.”
He chuckled and lifted up on his elbow to smile down at her, his hair falling rakishly into his eyes. “Da, that is what all the fuss is about.”
“It’s—” “Wonderful” was too pallid. “Amazing” was too technical. “Blissful,” she said.
“Yes, it is.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Are you glad you stopped thinking?”
“Oh yes. A million yeses.” She smiled sleepily. “In fact, I may decide to never think again.” Which would be blissful: to never have to consider what-ifs and what-fors, but just be. Suddenly she understood why that held such appeal to so many people.
“I am spent, my love. You have drained me.” He kissed her bare shoulder, then rolled to his back and tucked her against him, her head against his shoulder.
She fit perfectly, and he smiled when she snuggled against his neck, the scent of rosemary and lily tickling his nose.
Not only did he feel replete, but he also felt proud, as if he’d accomplished something uniquely special. He supposed he had; he’d won his way into the arms of the most fascinating woman he’d ever met, and now, he was loath to let the moment pass.
Holding her to him, he brushed her silken hair from her cheek. “We are good together, we two.”
She raised her head to look at him. “May we do it again?”
He laughed. “Of course, though I must recover first. And you will need time, too. You may be sore for a day or two and might not feel like—”
She rolled on top of him, her eyes laughing. “Nyet.” She ran her hands over his chest, his stomach, down to his half-sleeping cock. “I feel like it right now, Alexsey.”
“Sadly, men need time to replenish. Women, not so much.”
She regarded him through half-closed eyes, a wistful expression crossing her face. “How long will it take, for I must return to Ackinnoull soon or someone may come looking for me.”
He wrapped his arms more tightly about her, holding her warm body to his. “It is early still, so you will be safe here, with me. Besides, it is good manners to linger after a romp.” He rubbed his cheek to her hair, tugging her cloak over them like a blanket.
“A romp, eh? That’s what it was?”
“A romp, a tryst, lovemaking . . . call it what you will.”
“Whatever you call it, it was very nice.” She curled against him like a cat warming itself on a rock.
Her chest was pressed to the side of his and he could feel her heart, the beat as steady as she, her skin warm against his. A man could get used to this.
For several minutes they remained thus, both enjoying the closeness of the moment, but all too soon, Bronwyn sighed and then rolled away. “It grows late. I must dress.”
He reached for her but she eluded him, climbing to her feet and gathering her clothes. “Stay here,” she instructed. “I’ll be back.”
She was gone before he could protest, and he heard her washing in the stream. He gave her some privacy, rising to gather his own clothing. Soon she returned, looking flushed but presentable. With a quick kiss on her swollen lips, he went to the stream, as well.
When he returned, he saw a faintly troubled look on her face.
“Nyet.” He sat on his coat and patted the seat beside him.
“No, what?”
“You may not start thinking yet.” He captured her hand and tugged her down to his side.
“Yes, but—” She turned to look up at him. “Alexsey, what are we doing?”
“Enjoying one another. It seems right, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” But there was doubt in her voice.
Because she wishes for this to mean more? Or because she fears it means too much? He looked into her face, but now, when he most needed to, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her eyes were dark, her brow knit, but no clue rested in her expression. “Perhaps our purpose is simply pleasure,” he said cautiously.
“Perhaps.”
She didn’t look happy, but neither did she look disappointed.
He sighed. “We are making memories, Roza. Memories to enjoy long after this moment is gone.”
Her smile seemed tight. “And you can remember it whenever you smell rosemary.”
He would, too. He would remember this day until the last breath left his body. That was good, wasn’t it?
From far in the woods arose a call.
“Mairi!” Bronwyn grabbed her book from where it sat on the ground, while trying to pat her hair back into some semblance of order, and looked adorably flustered. “I was to help my sister polish the silver. She mustn’t find us here.”
An odd pang went through his heart. “I don’t wish you to leave.”
“I don’t wish to leave, but I must.”
Reluctantly, he found her spectacles and handed them to her. “I must see you again.”
She slid the spectacles onto her nose. “We will. We’re to come to the castle soon. I will see you there.”
“That’s not enough!” He slipped an arm about her waist and tugged her closer. “There is so little time left, and I want to see you alone—not with dozens of people.”
Her lips turned downward. “It’s all we have.”
“I want more. Bronwyn, let me come to you tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean . . . to my bedchamber?”
“Let me spend the night with you, and show you—” How I feel. The words froze his tongue. How do I feel?
She pulled away, shaking her head. “No. That’s—Alexsey, we can’t. We can’t risk getting caught. Besides, my rooms are in the attic. There’s a tree there, but it’s not safe to climb.”
“Bronwyn!” Mairi called, her voice closer. “Where are you?”
Bronwyn tugged her arm free. “I must go.”
He took a step after her. “Send me a note. Tell me where to meet you and I will be there.”
But she was already gone, running down the path, her dogs loping
after her. Only once did she look back, and Alexsey thought he saw the shadow of a smile before she disappeared.
Papillon whined.
“Me, too.” Alexsey stood for a long while, staring down the path. Finally, with nothing left to see, and filled with feelings that warred with one another until he could make no sense of any of them, he started to leave. As he did so, he caught sight of the book he’d brought Bronwyn.
He rescued it from the ground and tucked it into his pocket, then looked around the small, idyllic clearing. No other reminder of the magic that had just occurred remained.
Oddly bereft, he made his way back to his horse, Papillon at his heels.
Lady MacClinton sighed woefully. “Who knows what lies in the hearts of men?”
“Or women,” Lord MacLynd answered. “Their hearts are just as complicated and black as ours.”
—The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth
Two days later, Alexsey stood in the foyer with Strath, Papillon panting at their feet. As they put on their coats, a footman approached. “Pardon me, Yer Highness, bu’ Her Grace, the grand duchess, is askin’ fer ye.”
Alexsey closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. How does she know when I’m on my way to Ackinnoull? He wasn’t sure who was spying for her, but they were remarkably accurate and he was getting damned tired of it. “Tell Her Grace I’m on my way out for a ride with the viscount. I’ll see her when I return.”
The footman was pale, his hands shaking. “I’m sorry, Yer Highness, bu’ Her Grace ordered me na’ to take no fer an answer, an’ if’n I did—” He gulped and then whispered the words as if it might make them less powerful, “She said if I returned wit’oot ye, she’d turn me into a goat.”
Alexsey’s jaw tightened. “Did she?”
The footman nodded, his gaze wide and pleading. “Oy’ve no wish t’ be a goat.”
“I would imagine not.”
“Bloody hell!” Strath made a frustrated noise. “Your grandmother . . . I’m glad she’s not mine.”
“Most people are.” He turned to the footman. “Tell her you searched high and low and I wasn’t to be found. She won’t turn you into anything if she thinks you simply couldn’t find me.”
The footman cleared his throat. “One more thin’, Yer Highness. It seemed Her Grace was havin’ a difficult time tryin’ to breathe. She was almost panting, sort of catchin’ her breath, as it were. She looked pale, too.”
Strath instantly frowned. “That is different. Alexsey, you must go to her.”
Alexsey gave a short laugh. “Nonsense.” He looked at the footman. “Her Grace told you to say that if I balked, didn’t she?”
The footman shifted from foot to foot, his expression one of sheer misery.
“And she paid you a few pounds, too, I’ll wager.”
The footman couldn’t have looked more miserable. “Five, Yer Highness.”
“I thought so. She can wait, then. I’ve an errand to run.” And a woman to see, one I’ve been thinking about for two days and nights now.
Strath shook his head. “Alexsey, as much as it pains me to say this, you should go to your grandmother. She’s old. What if this once she really is ill? You would never forgive yourself.”
Bloody hell. Is everyone trying to keep me from Bronwyn? But one look at the genuine concern on the viscount’s face made Alexsey sigh. “Damn it.” He swallowed the impulse to kick at the stairs to vent his frustration. “Fine. You go on ahead; I’ll catch up soon.”
Strath nodded unhappily. “That’s the second time in two days this has happened. I wonder what she is up to?”
“I wonder, indeed.” But Alexsey knew. He waved off the footman, who offered to take his coat. “I’ll keep the damn thing on, for I’m not staying long.” He snapped a look at Papillon and gestured to the viscount. “Go with Strath.”
Papillon sat.
Strath shook his head. “Even the dog spurns me. I feel the need for a strong glass of spirits and it’s early morning yet.”
Alexsey snapped his fingers again. “Go!”
Head hanging, Papillon went to stand with Strath.
“I’m always a second choice.” Strath tugged on his gloves. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I would wait for you, but if my uncle sees me loitering about with nothing to do, I’ll never leave the castle. He’s taken to talking about the improvements he’d like made to this wretched castle, and I can’t bear another four-hour conversation about the drainage issues caused by the slope of the roof on the south side.”
Alexsey nodded. “My apologies, Strath. I will see you shortly.” With that, he stalked off.
Since his tryst with Bronwyn in the woods two days ago, he’d been trying his damnedest to see her again, but fate and, he suspected, his grandmother were against him.
He reached the landing and followed the footman down the wing toward his grandmother’s suite. Tata Natasha had been in rare form these last two days. The first day, while he’d still been muddled from his tryst with Bronwyn, his grandmother had pressed him into service for what was supposed to be a quick trip to a nearby village to purchase some lace.
What Tata Natasha had failed to tell him was that she’d invited Miss Carolina Acheson to join them. A wealthy debutante used to being made much of, Miss Acheson was none too pleased when Alexsey—recognizing Tata Natasha’s heavy-handed attempts at matchmaking—summarily ignored her. The young lady wasn’t shy about letting her feelings be known, and the entire trip quickly became a pain in the ass.
Worse, they found neither the lace nor the village his grandmother had described, and the snooty Miss Acheson made certain they were all aware that she was tired, hungry, and cold. Her temper didn’t fare any better when a heavy rain struck on the way home and the carriage ended up bogged down on a narrow lane, two of their four wheels sunk axle deep in mud.
After two solid hours of pushing and pulling, Alexsey and the groom had managed to get the carriage free, but it had been well after dark when they’d pulled into the lane that led to Tulloch Castle, far too late to visit Bronwyn. Adding to his already foul mood, Miss Acheson had succumbed to tears long before they reached the castle, and Tata had spoken quite sharply to her in lieu of a good-bye, leaving him to placate the nearly hysterical woman while a footman ran to fetch her doting mama.
By the time all was said and done, all Alexsey had wanted was a hot bath and to never see his grandmother—or Miss Acheson—again.
The next day had dawned, and with it his growing desire to see Bronwyn. He’d decided to join the hunting party with Strath and break off from the rest and ride to Ackinnoull.
He never made it. He’d barely sat down for breakfast when the first summons from his grandmother had come. A giggly miss named Lady Jane, who Alexsey had already decided had the intelligence of a dead squirrel, had informed him that his grandmother was ill and needed him immediately.
He’d thought it might be a ploy, but he was honor-bound to go see the old woman. He’d made his excuses to the others in the breakfast room and left for his grandmother’s, only to discover Lady Jane at his elbow, having been ordered to escort him like some sort of frill-bedecked guard with an annoying tendency to hang upon his arm as they walked.
When he’d arrived in Tata Natasha’s suite, he’d discovered her sitting up in bed looking regal and well, and it quickly became apparent that she was only sick of his independence. He’d politely made his inquiries after her health, had pretended sympathy when she’d complained of vague aches and pains that were keeping her in bed. To free himself from her for the rest of the day, he’d agreed to fetch her a bottle of “Olympian Dew” and something called “Gorland’s Lotion,” both of which she’d vowed she must have or she couldn’t rise from her bed.
Alexsey had intended on handing her task off to a footman, only to be circumvented when his grandmother had insisted that Lady Jane accompany him. Never one to mince words, Tata Natasha let Alexsey know that the giggly girl was the daughter of a wealthy earl, and
that any insult could be cause for an international incident.
It was a ridiculous assertion, but Tata had said it in front of the blasted wench, who hadn’t had the sense to be insulted when she should have. Instead, the woman had looked so thrilled at the prospect of merely riding in the carriage with him that Alexsey, his sympathy stirred, had agreed to the trip, vowing to make it as short as possible.
Thus, instead of visiting Ackinnoull as he’d wished, he’d found himself dashing off a note to be delivered to Bronwyn before driving to the nearest town to fetch Tata’s potions, a prattling Lady Jane at his side. He’d discovered in short succession that Lady Jane loved fashion, the color blue, French braids, pink lemonade, small dogs, and bonnets almost as much as she hated politics, books, opera music, and museums. He’d never been so bored in all his life.
Though he’d done his best to discourage Lady Jane’s bubbly belief that she was a witty conversationalist, it had been to no avail. She’d talked from the second they’d climbed into the carriage to the second he took his leave of her in the foyer. She’d even talked as he’d walked away, noting her love of clocks.
Even more frustrating than Lady Jane’s prattle was the massive storm that had gathered while he’d been on his mission. It broke a few moments after his return, with thunder so strong that the guests were agog to note how they could feel it even when deep inside the castle walls. Risking a horse in such weather was pure folly, so his visit to Ackinnoull had to be postponed yet again. Thus, another opportunity to visit Bronwyn was lost. As the storm crashed over the castle, he wondered what Bronwyn was thinking. He could only hope she didn’t believe his absence was in any way connected to the consummation of their relationship.
So this morning, in a supreme effort, he’d decided to leave the castle before Tata Natasha was awake. He and Strath had arisen at an ungodly hour before the sun was even up. Sadly, it appeared he’d underestimated her conniving.
The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) Page 22
