After Midnight

by Teresa Medeiros

  The hypnotic plunge and retreat of his tongue coaxed her own tongue into chasing him with tantalizing little flicks that implored him to take her mouth more fully, more deeply. He eagerly obliged until they were both breathless with want. Her shyness banished, Caroline’s hands tore at the thin lawn of his shirt.

  Adrian chuckled, delighted by her boldness. Shrugging his way out of the remains of the shirt, he tossed it aside, then divested himself of his trousers, stockings, and boots with equal haste.

  He gently tugged Eloisa’s gown over Caroline’s head, then slipped behind her to unlace her corset.

  “Did you love her?” Caroline asked softly, drawing the chain over her head and gazing down at the fragile cameo.

  Adrian’s grief and guilt and regret were so mingled by now that he could no longer remember. All he could do was plant a tender kiss on her shoulder and tell her, “I thought I did. Until I met you.”

  The cameo slipped from her fingers. She turned in his arms, her lips melding with his in a fierce kiss. As he tore his lips away from hers just long enough to tug the corset and her worn chemise over her head, the wind drove away the last of the clouds, bathing the tower and their entwined bodies in a silvery mist of moonlight.

  “Sweet Lord,” he breathed, the words more prayer than oath as he laid her back among the pillows.

  His eyes devoured her. She was even more lovely than he’d envisioned—all lithe curves and delicately sketched angles. She gazed up at him with her big gray eyes, her hair flowing in a gossamer curtain across his pillow. She looked as if she should be reclining on a bed of moss in an enchanted forest, waiting for the arrival of a unicorn.

  Instead she was waiting for him.

  His gaze lingered on the gentle swell of her rose-tipped breasts, on the silky triangle of curls between her thighs. Although he would have sworn it impossible, they were a shade paler than the hair on her head.

  “Thank God for the moon,” he said. “I was growing ever so weary of the darkness.”

  “I don’t mind it,” Caroline whispered, tenderly stroking her fingertips through the crisp whorls of his chest hair, “as long as I can share it with you.”

  Caroline couldn’t believe they were naked in each other’s arms, yet she felt no need to blush or hide her face. It astonished her even more that her touch could wreak such havoc on this magnificent male creature. When her hand drifted lower, grazing the taut muscles of Adrian’s abdomen, his entire body jerked as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

  He caught her hand in his own, gazing deep into her eyes as he urged it lower. As he pressed her open palm to his fully aroused length, Caroline let out a breathy little moan, finally comprehending the full measure of his desire for her. He was a big man—in more ways than one. Her fingers instinctively curved around him, marveling that something so strong and hard could feel like velvet to the touch.

  Throwing his head back, Adrian groaned through gritted teeth.

  Alarmed, Caroline snatched her hand back. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

  Lacing his fingers through hers, he brought her palm to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to it. “No, angel, you did something very, very right. But if you do it again, this night is going to be over before it’s begun.”

  He lowered his head, but this time it wasn’t her lips he sought, but the rosy peak of one breast. He blew softly, bathing her in the silken mist of his breath, before touching his mouth to her. As his tongue flicked across the turgid bud of her nipple, pleasure purled deep within her, making her whimper and arch against him. Although her breasts still couldn’t compare to Portia’s, they seemed to grow fuller and heavier beneath his skillful caresses. By the time he shifted his attentions to the other breast, she was writhing with some primitive need too deep to articulate.

  Adrian lifted his head to gaze at her over the glistening peaks, his eyes heavy-lidded with a hunger of their own. “When my brother first met you, he insisted that you were full of starch and vinegar.”

  “Did you agree with him?” she asked, her breath coming in short, shaky pants.

  He shook his head, a devilish grin curling one corner of his mouth. “I always knew you were full of honey.”

  To prove his point, he gently sifted through the curls at the juncture of her thighs, his clever fingers unerringly seeking and finding the thick pool of nectar welling from her inner springs.

  Caroline threw back her head, gasping at the bold intimacy of his touch. She was no longer fool enough to believe he had the hands of a workman. They might be broad and powerful, but they were as skilled as any artist’s, molding her to his will with each deft brush of his fingertips. He petted and teased and stroked her, parting the delicate petals to expose the extraordinarily sensitive bud nestled between them.

  “There now,” he whispered in her ear, the callused pad of his thumb circling that sweet nubbin of flesh with exquisite care. “You’ve taken care of everyone else for so long, my sweet Caroline. Let me take care of you.”

  It wasn’t as if she had any choice. She lay in a near swoon in his embrace, ravished by the waves of sensation fanning out from his touch.

  As his thumb continued to work its dark magic, two of his fingers dipped lower—circling, stroking, gently spreading the tight little hollow at her very core, as if to prepare her for some unspeakable delight only he could deliver.

  “Please,” she choked out, not even knowing what she was begging for, but wanting it more than anything else she had ever sought. She whipped her head back and forth on the pillow, nearly incoherent with need. “Oh, please…”

  Not even in her wildest dreams had she imagined that her plea would result in Adrian sliding down her body with sensual languor until the delectable heat of his mouth was where his thumb had been.

  Although she gasped with mortification, her thighs fell apart, inviting him to have his way with her in any way he chose. She had once accused him of enslaving women with his dark powers of seduction, but in her innocence she had never guessed how eagerly she would go into his chains or how binding they would be.

  His tongue flicked over her distended flesh, devouring her as if she was the only sustenance he would never need. She had no defenses against a hunger this primal, this powerful. As he made good on his vow to taste every drop of nectar her sweet flesh had to offer, all she could do was clutch the rough silk of his hair in her hands and surrender herself to him, body and soul. Only then did his tongue double its rhythm; only then did he slide one broad finger deep inside of her.

  A wave of ecstasy, as thick and hot as the sweetest of nectars, surged through her shuddering body. She arched against him, crying out his name. He rose up to catch her broken cry in his mouth, kissing her wildly.

  His weight shifted and suddenly it wasn’t his thumb nestled in the damp softness of her curls. It wasn’t his fingers poised to bury themselves in her yielding softness.

  “Caroline,” he muttered against her lips. “My sweet, sweet Caroline…I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Then don’t,” she whispered, framing his face in her hands and forcing him to meet her pleading gaze. “Just love me.”

  She didn’t have to ask him twice. He rubbed himself between those tender petals until he was slick with her dew, then positioned himself against the part of her that was aching to receive him. Using exquisite restraint, he penetrated her an inch at a time. Only when her whimpers deepened to moans did he surge against her, shattering the last of her body’s resistance and burying himself to the hilt in her welcoming softness.

  Adrian felt his entire body shudder as Caroline gloved him in ecstasy. He had mistaken her for moonlight, but she was sunlight, illuminating and warming all of the dark and lonely corners of his soul. Burying his face against her throat, he held himself still for as long as he could, trying to give her untried body time to adjust to his ruthless invasion.

  As her pain faded to a dull ache, Caroline’s eyes widened at the raw shock of his
possession. He was on top of her; he was inside of her; his mastery was complete. Yet she was the one who possessed the power to drive him half mad with nothing more than the restless arch of her hips, the desperate scrape of her fingernails down the small of his back.

  Accepting her invitation with a hoarse groan, he began to move deep within her, taking her innocence, but giving her something infinitely more precious. He glided in and out of her like a powerful tide drawn by the will of the moon. This was a different sort of pleasure from the tremors of pure bliss he’d sent spilling through her only minutes before—stronger, more primal. She gave and he took. He gave and she took. He made her a woman while she made him her man. She clung to him, murmuring his name in a breathless litany, as his measured strokes gave way to a pounding, relentless rhythm that banished all thought, all reason, leaving only sensation.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t endure another second of such sweet torture, he angled his hips so that each plunging stroke brought him to bear against that taut nubbin at the crux of her curls.

  Caroline cried out as her body exploded in a frenzy of delight. Feeling that irresistible tug, Adrian went crashing against the shore with her, a guttural groan escaping his throat as he surrendered both his seed and his soul into her keeping.

  Caroline sat on her knees at the foot of the bed, gazing at her moonlit reflection in Adrian’s mirror. Although the woman with the tumbled hair and kiss-swollen lips might have been a stranger, she had seen that look before—in the eyes of the woman on the Lover’s Walk at Vauxhall. She now knew the secret that drove lovers to rendezvous on those dark and shadowy walks. She had tasted the pleasures they hungered for and been left thoroughly satisfied, yet longing for more.

  As if sensing her wayward thoughts, Adrian rose up behind her.

  As his strong, muscular arms enfolded her, she clutched the sheet she’d wrapped around her even more tightly, seized by a belated surge of modesty. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “Until you slipped out of my arms and my dreams.”

  Melting against him, she tilted her head to give his warm lips freer access to the downy skin beneath her ear. “What were you dreaming about?”

  “This.” He slipped his arms beneath the sheet, filling his hands with her naked breasts.

  Caroline gasped as he gave her breasts a gentle squeeze, then began to tease her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. They ripened beneath his touch, greedily absorbing every ounce of the pleasure he sought to give her. Letting the sheet slide away until she was once more naked in his arms, she reached around to cup the back of his head in her palm and turned her head, desperate to steal a kiss from his questing lips.

  “If you must know,” he murmured, tasting the corner of her mouth with his tongue, “I was dozing off when it suddenly occurred to me that I forgot to check you for stakes. You could have very well murdered me in my sleep.”

  Caroline arched against him, feeling the impressive proof of his desire nestled against the softness of her bottom. “As far as I can tell, my lord, you’re the only one who’s armed around here.”

  She felt his mouth curve in a wicked smile. “Does that mean I get to stake you?”

  “You already have.” Dragging her lips away from his, Caroline met his eyes in the mirror. “Right through the heart.”

  Groaning, he pressed his palm against the very heart of her femininity, claiming it for his own. She watched him in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of his longest finger disappearing into her nether curls, disappearing into her. Utterly undone by that exquisite pressure, she arched against him, inviting an even deeper invasion. Only too eager to oblige, he rose up on his knees, driving himself deep into her melting softness.

  Caroline moaned, the faint soreness from their first encounter only heightening the sensation of being impaled upon some unyielding staff designed solely to pleasure her. The sensual creature in the mirror was even more of a stranger to her now, willing to writhe and claw and beg to get what she needed. Her moist lips were parted, her eyes glazed over with want.

  Adrian used the callused pad of his finger to provide an irresistible counterpoint to the commanding thrusts of his hips. Soon she was the one riding him, the one controlling the rhythm of his long, deep strokes. His love had banished the last of her shyness, transformed her into a temptress—a bold enchantress who didn’t just beg for satisfaction, but demanded it. Shivering pulses of pleasure fanned out from his touch, building with each deft flick of his fingertip, each sinuous rise and fall of her hips.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” he panted in her ear. “Take the pleasure and the power. Claim it for your own.”

  As that pleasure swelled to a crescendo, Adrian’s name broke from her lips, half sob, half scream. Filling his hands with the softness of her breasts, he went rigid, his entire body shuddering with the same rapture that wracked her womb.

  She collapsed in his arms, so dazed with delight that it took her a long moment to realize his body was no longer shuddering with rapture, but laughter.

  “Why are you laughing?” she demanded, not the least bit amused to think she had done something foolish or clumsy enough to provoke his mirth.

  He wrapped his arms even more tightly around her, his eyes glowing with tenderness as they met hers in the mirror. “I was just thinking about all of the times Julian berated me for keeping this mirror because I was too ham-fisted to tie my cravat without it.”

  Feeling as contented as a cat, Caroline lay curled up in Adrian’s arms, watching a hazy beam of morning sunlight creep toward the bed. As he combed his fingers through her tumbled hair, it was all she could do to keep from purring. She nestled her cheek against his chest, marveling at the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear.

  His chuckle was a deep rumble. “What is it, sweeting? Are you listening for a heart you’re still not convinced I have?”

  She stroked the golden fleece on his chest, twining one of the crisp whorls around her finger. “I’m just glad it wasn’t broken when Vivienne threw you over for Constable Larkin.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I must admit that your sister’s devotion to the good constable didn’t come as a complete surprise.”

  Caroline sat up on one elbow, gazing at him through narrowed eyes. Although he blinked at her in boyish innocence, he still managed to look like a sleek jungle cat that had just wolfed down a rather large and bony canary.

  “Why, you shameless wretch!” she breathed. “You knew all along that Vivienne was in love with Larkin, didn’t you?” Thinking of all the guilt she’d suffered on her sister’s account, she wailed, “Why in the name of heaven didn’t you tell me?”

  “If I’d have told you before you found out about Julian, you would have given her and Larkin your blessing and gone away.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, gazing deep into her eyes. “Not only would I have lost Vivienne, I would have lost you as well.”

  She brushed his hand away, refusing to be seduced by his soulful gaze. “And if you had told me after I found out about Julian and Duvalier, you wouldn’t have had any leverage to keep me from telling Vivienne all about your wicked scheme.” She flopped back onto the pillow and shook her head, torn between outrage and admiration. “You, my lord, are a scoundrel and a reprobate!”

  Adrian rose up to lean over her, his eyes sparkling with devilment. “You weren’t even privy to my most nefarious plot of all.”

  “And what would that be?” Her stern tone couldn’t quite hide her growing breathlessness as he began to lavish feather-soft butterfly kisses along the curve of her jaw.

  His lips glided down her throat, punctuating each word with a kiss. “My diabolical plot to get you out of that accursed dress before there was any chance of Duvalier seeing you.” He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, molding it into the perfect shape for his tongue to swirl around the quickening bud of her nipple.

  Caroline gasped, her temper softened by a melting rush
of desire. “I might not approve of your motives,” she said breathlessly, twining her fingers through the raw silk of his hair, “but I can’t dispute the effectiveness of your methods.”

  The tantalizing warmth of his lips had just closed around her breast when a sharp rap came on the door.

  Caroline groaned. “If Portia has tracked me down here, you have my permission to toss her in the dungeon.”

  Adrian lifted his head. “What if it’s Wilbury? He’s a staunch defender of propriety, you know. If he finds out you’ve compromised me, he’ll insist that you make an honest man out of me.”

  She grinned up at him. “That would be a refreshing change, now wouldn’t it?”

  “Impertinent miss,” Adrian growled, tickling her ribs. Not even her shrieks of laughter could drown out a fresh round of pounding on the door.

  Muttering an oath beneath his breath, Adrian rolled off of her and stalked over to the gilded screen in the corner to retrieve his dressing gown.

  He swept the ruby velvet garment around him and knotted the belt, leaving Caroline to sigh over the finely muscled length of his calves.

  As she drew the quilt up to her chin and blew a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes, he stalked to the door and swung it open. It wasn’t Portia or Wilbury who stood there, but Constable Larkin.

  Running a hand through his rumpled hair, Adrian sighed. “If you’ve come to call me out on Miss Cabot’s behalf, Alastair, there’s no need. I plan to marry her just as soon as I can procure a special license from the archbishop. I have no intention of my heir being born a mere eight months after our nuptials.”

  Caroline touched a hand to her stomach beneath the sheet, wondering if Adrian could have already put his babe inside of her. The possibility made her heart soar with joy.

  But as he stepped aside and she saw the look on Larkin’s face, it went plunging all the way to her toes.

  “I haven’t come about Caroline, but about Portia,” Larkin said, his face gray and drawn. “She’s missing. We fear she may have run away.”