Reluctantly he straightened away from her and rested against the stone behind him. “Not as bad as I thought I would.” It was true. His arm was bearable and sleep restored his wits. “Your touch has healing powers.”
“If only my touch had altar-shifting powers,” she said bleakly.
“Where’s Sirius?”
“He left about twenty minutes ago, I suppose. Should we look for him?”
“He’s too smart to get lost.”
Candlelight flared. “I should check the stone.”
“It can wait. Cam will find us.” Richard didn’t say what they both understood—that she was unlikely to locate a convenient lever or button. Lord Neville might be a knave, but he was a deuced clever knave. He’d ensure that their prison was secure.
Richard grabbed her trembling hand. “I need to touch you.”
Her frown melted into the smile he adored. “Yes, so romantic here among the decaying monks. Is that sound the rattling of bones or my beating heart?”
He laughed softly. Oh, she was brave. She was brave and beautiful and far too good for him, which didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight to keep her.
“Anywhere with you is romantic, darling.” He raised her grimy hand and kissed her knuckles.
She shot him a skeptical glance. “I’m sure.”
His courage failed at confessing that he meant it. “It sticks in my craw that Fairbrother got the jewel.”
“Yes.” One word, yet her detached tone pricked his instincts.
“You’re taking the loss very calmly. It’s incredibly valuable.”
She shrugged. “What use is gold here?”
His gaze sharpened. He didn’t trust her neutral expression. “What’s going on, Genevieve?”
“Nothing.” The corners of her lips deepened, bolstering his suspicion.
“Tell me.”
She pulled free. “Lord Neville didn’t get what he bargained for.”
Richard frowned. “You gave him the jewel.”
Amusement warmed her voice. “Do you remember I said that my article would establish my academic reputation?”
It seemed a non sequitur. “Of course.” He remembered every word she’d said.
“My discovery was quite a coup. The Harmsworth Jewel is so famous. Not to mention very beautiful.”
“And precious.”
“And precious.” Her smile intensified. “And a forgery.”
He stared at her in shocked silence. Then he started to laugh.
Genevieve hadn’t been sure how he’d respond to learning that he’d been mistaken about his heirloom. A lesser man—someone like Lord Neville—would be livid. Disappointment or dismay would be perfectly understandable. But when Richard Harmsworth discovered that he’d pursued a chimera, he reacted with an unfettered enjoyment that set her heart singing.
He laughed so hard that he bent over his raised knees. He ran out of breath and still whooped. She should make him stop. Surely this explosive mirth must damage his arm. But she couldn’t bear to.
From the bottom of her soul, words she’d sworn never to say bubbled up, unstoppable as a flood. “Oh, Richard, how I do love you.”
The moment the declaration left her lips, she was frantic to snatch it back. Humiliation closed her throat. Women from Land’s End to John O’Groats must declare their devotion to Richard Harmsworth. She hated that she was just one more silly female head over heels with him.
Abruptly his laughter stopped and he stared at her with an expression she couldn’t interpret. After his hilarity, the echoing silence seemed bottomless.
Furious with herself, she rose on shaky legs and stepped out of the light. Her fists clenched so hard at her sides that the nails scored her palms.
“You love me.”
She’d never heard that tone before. Perhaps he offered her a chance to save her dignity. But having made the admission, she balked at denial. “Yes.”
She stifled the urge to excuse or qualify. Rigid with humiliation, she braced for his response. If he was kind out of pity, she’d vomit.
A slow smile curled his lips. He looked happy. In fact, he looked completely elated. The silence extended until she wanted to scream. Still he smiled as though she was a magical treasure created solely for his delight.
“You love me.”
For heaven’s sake, hadn’t they been through this? “Yes,” she snapped.
He wasn’t usually slow of understanding. Unless he was being deliberately cruel, she couldn’t see why he belabored the point. He relaxed back and stretched his long legs toward her, every line of his body expressing satisfaction. “Well, I think that’s altogether a fine thing.”
“Do you now?” she asked on a dangerous note. She’d imagined nothing could be worse than pity. This strange, sardonic pleasure made her seethe.
He bent his good arm behind his head and regarded her with a lazy amusement that she couldn’t like. How could she possibly love this ruffian? He should be hanged at the crossroads. “By Jove, I do.”
“Well, good for you,” she said bitterly.
His smile became, if anything, more beatific. “Don’t you want to know why it’s a fine thing?”
“Not particularly,” she said sourly.
“It’s quite simple.”
“Like you,” she sniped, clutching unsteady hands in her skirts and telling herself she really, really couldn’t thump him.
“Harsh.” He leaned farther back, as comfortable as if he lolled on one of Sedgemoor’s elegant chaises. “I’ll tell you anyway.”
“I’m all ears,” she said sarcastically.
“I love you too.”
“Charming.”
Then she realized what he’d said. She stared at the beautiful, bedraggled man lounging against the tomb.
His smile developed a wicked edge. “Don’t tell me you’re lost for words. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“What did you say?” she choked out, faltering toward him on legs that felt made of string.
“You heard.”
“I’d like to hear it again.”
His smile faded and she saw that under the teasing, he was as serious as she’d ever seen him. “I love you, Genevieve.”
Radiant serenity slowly replaced turmoil. She’d never imagined him saying those words; now they struck her with the pure truth she found when she completed a perfect translation or comprehended the symbols on a carved ivory.
His face darkened with desperation. “If you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds, I swear I’ll combust.”
She didn’t move. She wasn’t sure her legs would support her. “That might be interesting.”
“Genevieve,” he groaned, rising to his knees and extending his good hand toward her. “Stop torturing me. I know I deserve it. I know I’ve been a bad, bad man. But have mercy.”
“Oh, Richard,” she sighed. Her feet hardly touching the ground, she flew across the distance between them.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Genevieve loved him. She loved him.
Richard kissed her, glorying in her untrammeled response. She was magnificent. From the first, she’d sent his soul soaring. She was the only one for him. He ached to become worthy of this gift. He had so bloody much to make up for.
“Take care with your arm,” she said breathlessly. She sprawled across his lap. With tenderness that tore his heart, she rubbed her cheek against his bare chest.
“You’re delicious.” He kissed the curve of her shoulder. “And you’re wearing too many clothes.”
A gasp of shocked laughter escaped her. “We can’t!”
“Of course we can. The monks are past minding.” He pressed his nose to the satiny skin behind her ear. “I love your smell.”
Another of those tremulous gulps of laughter, half-horrified, half-enchanted. “Thank you. I think.”
His teeth scraped down her neck, making her tremble. “Your scent haunts me.”
“Richard, we’re stuck in a crypt. How can you possibly t
hink about… that?”
He lifted his hands to unhook her dress then winced. He’d forgotten his wound. Love was a powerful drug indeed. “For the first time in my life, I’ve told a woman I love her. Against all odds, she says she loves me too. How can I possibly think of anything else?”
She stiffened in his arms, then pushed back to study his face. “The first time?”
The wonder in her eyes made his gut lurch with poignant joy. “The very first time.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I’m glad.”
She linked her hands behind his neck and her kiss carved a rift in his soul. A Genevieve-sized rift. His hold tightened as he kissed her back.
“Let me show you how much I love you,” he whispered, brushing his cheek along hers. He lifted his hips to demonstrate his readiness.
“You make me a wanton,” she said huskily. “What about your arm? This is unwise.”
“I’m a man in love. I don’t need to be wise.”
She cast him a quelling glance. “At least let me undress myself.”
“Just what a fellow likes to hear.”
“Stop flirting,” she said repressively, but her lips curved.
His pulse kicked when she shifted away to shuck off the pinafore. “How can I help it? Ever since I first saw you, so serious and beautiful, poring over your ancient tomes, I’ve wanted to tease you.”
“That’s obvious,” she said drily.
“I couldn’t imagine such a smart girl giving me a second glance.”
Beneath her lashes, she cast him a disbelieving look as she rose on her knees. Reaching behind her, she tugged until her bodice sagged. His mouth went dry and his heart slammed against his ribs. “You’re worth the occasional glance. You’re quite decorative, you know.”
Ridiculously his cheeks heated. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“On my back at least.” She didn’t sound like she minded. The bodice drooped, revealing plain shift and corset. Pearled nipples pressed against the sheer white material. “Don’t tell me you’re blushing.”
“Devil take you, Genevieve.”
This time he couldn’t mistake her amusement. “I begin to think you might love me, if I can make the rakish Sir Richard Harmsworth blush like a schoolboy.”
He grabbed her hand. “Come to me.”
“If I must.” Her ennui was unconvincing.
“Surely you can’t tire of the activity already.” He tugged until she tumbled forward, warm and fragrant.
Laughing, she curved around him, lithe as a cat. But when she met his gaze, worry shadowed her features. “Richard, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Trust me. We’ll manage.” Good God, right now, the pain in his balls outweighed the paltry wound Greengrass had inflicted.
Richard kissed her while his good hand lowered the precarious bodice. They both sighed with pleasure when he palmed one round breast. He smiled against her lips, tasting her gasp as his thumb tested the peak. “I love how you respond.”
“I can’t help myself,” she admitted on another sigh. She rubbed her face across his chest, and the damp heat of her breath added another rich chord to the symphony of arousal.
When she stroked his cock, his hands fisted in the gaping back of her dress. “Damn it, Genevieve—”
Her laugh was husky. “Let me touch you. Let me find out what makes you desperate.”
“You make me desperate.” He leaned against the stone, surrendering his body. The thought of those clever hands discovering his secrets made him giddy.
She slipped off his lap to kneel so close that he barely needed to move to seize her. Clearly she liked playing with fire. She started innocuously, except that her merest touch made him quake. She ran her hand down his neck and along his shoulder.
“Does this hurt?” she whispered.
“Only with wanting you.”
“Good.” A faint smile teased her lips. The urge to kiss her built, but he resisted. He’d promised to show her how much he loved her. If it meant death by pleasure, so be it.
She stroked his clenched fists, learning each bone and sinew. He bit back the demand to hurry.
Flattening her palms across his pectorals, she buried her nose between them. She rubbed her face against the light covering of hair, then opened her lips on his skin, tasting him with a voluptuous enjoyment that made his teeth grind. His heart beat so hard, surely she must feel it.
Lower and lower she ventured. Hands and lips driving him insane. By the time she fumbled at his breeches, his breath emerged in great noisy gusts. Every sense concentrated on his cock. He wanted her to touch him more than he wanted air.
With agonizing slowness, she opened his breeches.
He loved the way she discovered her sensual power. He even loved the way she took her time, excruciating as it was. Then he realized that the torture only started. Tentatively she stroked him. He bit back a groan and she whipped her hand away.
“I’m sorry.”
His smile must be a rictus grin. “Don’t stop.”
There was a pause. Then the soft slide of her fingers, from tip to base and back again. He couldn’t shift his gaze from what she did.
She soon got the idea, thank God. Her depredations became more confident. She lingered at the tip, testing the betraying dampness. If he begged her to kiss him there, she’d be revolted. Probably just as well. Her clumsy yet hellishly arousing fingers made him see stars. If she put her mouth on him, he’d explode.
After an eon of provocation, her fingers curled around him. A shuddering sigh escaped him as she ran her fist up and down his length, before she intensified the agony by relaxing and tightening her hold. He groaned and tilted his head back against the stone. Fire burned behind his eyes. He hardly knew where he was.
He caught her hand. “Take off your drawers.”
To his surprise, she complied immediately. Then he looked into her face and understood that touching him had inflamed her too. She tugged her dress over her head, revealing shift and stays. She removed her hairpins, letting her hair flow around her shoulders.
He wanted her to take off everything. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to explore her body. Eternity wasn’t enough time. But he was so eager, he stretched out his hand. “Come to me, my love. I hunger for you.”
Her expression softened. A sliding movement, a graceful dip and she straddled his lap. His cock rose eagerly between her thighs. Her hands settled on his shoulders as she regarded him with a troubled frown. “This feels bizarre.”
His good hand caught her supple waist. “You’ll like it. You get to be in charge.”
Her lips curved, although the way her skin tightened over her features indicated that she too tested the edges of control. “In that case, I probably will like it.”
“Bring yourself down on me.”
“Like riding?”
Despite his impatience, he laughed softly. “Exactly like riding.” He paused. “No, more fun than riding.”
“That’s a big claim. I like riding.”
“So do I.” He leaned in to ravish her mouth. “I’m all yours.”
She looked dazzled. He loved the way she flung herself headlong into passion. Her thighs gripped him as she rose. Her torn petticoat hid their joining, but he felt every move. Dear God, how he felt her.
When her humid heat grazed his cock’s sensitive tip, he groaned and bit her shoulder. Her skin was dewy and she gasped in ragged little spurts.
“Take me, Genevieve,” he grated, and he wasn’t sure whether he meant answer this desire or take him forever.
Both.
“I take you.” It sounded like a vow.
The moment dissolved into bliss as finally she descended. She was wet and ready, although he’d done little to prepare her. Her body offered exquisite resistance. Her muscles clung and released. She paused, breathing in whimpers.
“Are you all right?” he asked roughly, seizing her hips in shaking hands. His injured arm objected, but he was past heed
ing anything but Genevieve.
“Yes.” She didn’t sound certain.
He felt her tension. She clutched his bare shoulders. The scent of arousal mingled with the dust of ages. He closed his eyes against the darkness, diving into deeper darkness inside his head. The need to thrust was a pounding demand. But he wanted to show her that in loving him, she lost nothing of herself.
“Do it, my darling,” he pleaded. She quivered on an instant of hesitation then sank fully over him, taking him deep.
Genevieve released her breath in a sob of satisfaction. The solid power of Richard’s body inside hers answered heart and soul as much as physical need. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, his skin sleek beneath her palms. He pulsed inside her, breathtakingly virile.
“I love you, Richard,” she said softly.
His expression was unguarded as it rarely was. She read wonder and joy in his eyes. “And I love you, Genevieve.”
With a naturalness she’d never have imagined moments ago, she rose, relishing the thick, silky slide of his body. Teasing, she lingered at the peak before slowly descending. Again that completion. She leaned forward and kissed him hard, a fierce battle of tongues, lips and teeth.
She became a creature of instinct, rising and falling like the tide, the rhythm pulsing through her blood. Her ears filled with the sounds of lovemaking. The succulent meeting of bodies. Hoarse breathing. Her thundering heartbeat. These tumbling, tormenting sensations still astounded her. Her body tensed, seeking its incendiary goal. Tighter and tighter. Higher and higher.
Richard sank his teeth into her shoulder again and she shivered, but still relief hovered beyond her grasp. She bent her face into his damp, tangled hair, inhaling male musk and lemon verbena. Her movements turned clumsy, frenzied. Then he lifted hard as she lowered, and blackness exploded into a million stars.
She cried out at the shining waves rippling through her. Her muscles clamped around him and he groaned against her neck as he juddered into her.
The sky rained fire. For an eternity, they joined inside the inferno. Then, shaking, she fell against him, his arms surrounding her with love.
A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin) Page 27
