by Julia Quinn
“Yes, well, there may be times when I’m wrong about that. This is one of those times.” He glanced uneasily at the darkened window, aware they could be seen from the courtyard below, and even though the only one likely to see them was McGowan, he hastily jerked the curtains closed. “The point is, you should not be here. I have to take you home.”
“Can I at least dry off a bit before we go?”
He watched in dismay as she lifted her hands to her collar, and as she worked to unfasten the frog that held her evening cloak together, his imagination once again began conjuring delectable images of her soaking wet, sending his arousal rising higher.
He seized her wrists and pulled her hands down, but any thought of hauling her toward the door ended there. “Let me do it,” he said instead.
But the moment he took over the task of undoing her cloak, he appreciated that he was stepping onto very thin ice. As he worked the damp knot through the tight loop, his knuckles brushed the silky skin of her throat and his mind went back to the heady days when they would duck inside a stair cupboard or behind a hedge, and where, in defiance of all proprieties either of them had ever been taught, they’d engaged in some very passionate kissing.
His body was on fire by the time the frog finally came undone. He pulled her sodden cloak off her shoulders and hung it on the coat tree beside the door with a sigh of relief, but as he returned his attention to her, any relief he felt vanished at once.
Her evening gown of shimmering green silk, though damp, wasn’t wet enough to be transparent, but that didn’t matter, for the low-cut bodice drew his gaze like a magnet. He inhaled sharply, the scent of lemon soap filled his nostrils, and his desire deepened and spread.
She felt it, too, for her lips parted a little and her lashes tilted down, and then she stirred. “Lawrence,” she began, but he didn’t let her finish. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her.
Of all the kisses they’d ever shared, this was the sweetest, and he savored it because he knew that as long as he lived, he would never taste anything sweeter. But he also knew he was headed straight for a cliff, and when he fell off, the crash at the bottom would annihilate him. He broke the kiss while he still had the strength.
“Ellie, this has to stop.” He grasped her arms, but he didn’t have quite enough resolve to push her away.
“Does it?” She rose on her toes, bringing her close again. “Why?” she asked, her lips brushing his.
“You’re in a very vulnerable condition right now. So am I,” he added, painfully aware of that particular fact. “And you don’t realize what you’re playing with.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispered, her lips brushing his as she spoke. “Do you think I’ve forgotten the old days when you used to pull me into the stair cupboard?”
Lawrence decided he’d best keep his attention and hers firmly fixed on the present. “Aren’t you supposed to be marrying Lord Bluestone?”
“That was my intention.” She slid her arms up around his neck. “But someone stole my sixpence and jinxed all my plans.”
The touch of her lips and the warmth of her so close was sending desire thrumming through every nerve of his body. His wits were slipping, too, and his sense of honor and duty. Everything in him, in fact, was giving way to the baser side of his nature. Desperate, he grasped her by the arms, shoved her back a step, and let her go. “Ellie, stop trying to seduce me. You don’t know the first thing about it.”
Her laugh interrupted him. “Says the man who spent every summer from the time I was sixteen showing me how it’s done.”
“Yes, but that was different. We were . . .” He paused, swallowing hard, finding it hard to say what needed to be said. “Back when I’d pull you into that stair cupboard, I didn’t think taking liberties of that sort mattered much because I was sure we were to be married. I loved you. Damn it,” he added as pain pierced his chest. “I loved you.”
Some of the pain he felt shimmered across her face. “I loved you, too. I . . .” She paused and swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away. “I still do.”
He stiffened. “That’s a convenient change of heart.”
“I realize that’s how it seems,” she said, but even as she spoke, he could see in her eyes something he hadn’t seen for six long months, something he never thought he’d see again, something that raised his hopes all the way to the sky.
He took a deep, steadying breath, reminding himself how much it had hurt when she’d chosen her loyalty to her father over her love for him. If she made that choice again, he didn’t think he could endure it. “I don’t see why I should believe you.”
“Because I’m here.” When he didn’t reply, she smiled. “Oh, Lawrence, do you really think I didn’t know what might happen if I came to you now?”
He suspected she didn’t have a clue. Despite their stolen moments ducking into stair cupboards and hiding behind hedges, they’d never had the opportunity for the culmination of all that passionate kissing.
When he didn’t reply, she rose on her toes again and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I came alone,” she reminded, touching her lips to one corner of his. “Unchaperoned,” she added, kissing the other side of his mouth. “At night.”
Christ, have mercy, he was coming undone. The only way out of this was to be blunt. “Ellie, I swear, if you stay here one more minute, I’ll lose my head and take your virtue. Right here, on top of my desk.”
“I hope so.” He must have looked doubtful about her sincerity, because she leaned even closer, rose on her toes, and kissed his ear. “That’s why,” she whispered, “before I came, I took off my corset.”
That information pushed him over the edge and sent both his chivalry and his sense of self-preservation to oblivion. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her hard against him, bent his head, and kissed her.
She yielded at once, her lips parting beneath his in willing accord. She pressed her body closer, inflaming his arousal almost beyond bearing, and he needed to slow down. He was taking her virtue in a musty cubbyhole at Whitehall, but the moment did not have to be as unromantic as their surroundings.
He eased back, tasting her mouth in long, slow kisses, his hands cupping and shaping her breasts through the gown, working to ignite her with the same desire he felt. He must have succeeded, for she moaned low in her throat, and her knees gave way.
He caught her at the waist, and he held her tight against him, still kissing her as he turned them both around in the cramped space. But then he pulled back and his hands slid away.
“You’re not stopping?” she cried in dismay.
“Hell no,” he muttered, and reached for the lamp and inkstand on his desk. He deposited them on the tiny table beside the chair, safely out of the way, then once again moved to stand in front of her. “I’ll only stop if you tell me to, Ellie.”
He leaned to one side, and with one sweeping motion, his arm cleared everything that remained on his desk. Books hit the floor, papers scattered, and she giggled.
“Find that amusing, do you?” he asked.
“Yes, because it’s not the least bit like you to be so heedless with your things.”
“You might give me some credit,” he said as his hands encircled her waist. “At least I remembered to move the lamp first.”
“Yes, burning down Whitehall would have put quite a damper on this evening.”
“To hell with Whitehall,” he said, and lifted her onto the desk. “A fire would give you time to change your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind,” she promised, still laughing as she leaned back to rest her weight on her arms, but when her gaze met his, the intensity in his blue eyes made her breath catch, and her laughter faded away.
“Lift your hips,” he told her, and when she did, he shoved her skirts up, bunching them around her waist. His palm slid across her thigh, hot against the thin muslin of her drawers, and excitement rose up within her, for she remembered what this meant.
“You remember this, don’t yo
u, Ellie?” he murmured as if reading her mind, his hand easing between her legs, inside the gap of her drawers. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she answered, but that one word was all she could manage, because then he touched her most intimate place, and the sheer pleasure of it made words impossible. She moaned, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes as he caressed her, and soon she was breathing in frantic little gasps and the pleasure was rising to a pitch more fevered than anything she’d ever felt before.
Her hips worked frantically against his hand, everything in her seeking something she couldn’t understand or even identify. And then it came, pleasure so acute that she cried out his name. Her thighs closed around his caressing hand, her body striving to gain every exquisite shred of sensation, until, at last, she fell back, panting, against the desk.
He pulled back, and she opened her eyes, her gaze focusing on his hands unbuttoning his trousers. When he pulled them down his hips, she felt a sudden pang of alarm. He seemed to sense it, for his hands stilled. “Ellie, look at me.”
She lifted her gaze to his. His blue eyes seemed dark, unreadable, and even in the soft lamplight, his face bore a harsh expression, almost as if he were in pain. Their breathing mingled in the silence, hers soft and quick, his hard and ragged.
“Tell me you’re still sure about this,” he said, but even as he spoke, he was easing closer, moving to stand between her legs, shoving her skirts higher, and when he touched her again, she gasped, for his touch was scorching hot.
“Tell me,” he ordered, his hands sliding beneath her hips, cupping her buttocks.
“I’m sure.” She nodded, urging him on when he didn’t move. “I’m sure, Lawrence.”
That was all the reassurance he needed. He pulled her to the edge of the desk, and instinctively, she spread her legs wider, sliding her hips against the tip of his hard arousal, reawakening her own desire. She felt deliciously wicked, and she moved with an abandonment that both shamed and excited her.
But then his hands grasped her buttocks, and the hard part of him pressed deeper, entering her. He thrust forward, shoving deep, and she cried out as pain seared her from the inside.
He lifted her from the desk, and instinctively, she sat up, wrapping her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, as he pulled her close and held her there, impaled and shocked, against his body. “It’ll be all right,” he told her, pressing kisses to her face and her hair. “Ellie, Ellie, it’ll be all right.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she murmured against his neck, her voice shaking, her arms tight around his neck.
“I promise it will.” Still holding her, he turned around and perched himself on the edge of the desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Letting you take the lead.” With that enigmatic comment, he leaned back, pulling her with him, guiding her so that she was astride him, and he was once again inside her, with her hands on his shoulders and her knees on either side of his hips.
“There,” he said, smiling a little, though his breathing was ragged. “You’re in charge now.”
“I’m not sure what to do.”
He closed his eyes. “Do what you feel.”
She stirred, wriggling her hips with care, but the pain, thankfully, had subsided. Reassured, she moved again, rocking, trying to accustom herself to the feel of him inside her.
He groaned, and she stopped, unsure. “Lawrence?”
“Don’t stop,” he told her, grasping her hips. “Ellie, for God’s sake, don’t stop.”
She smiled, appreciating what he felt, and she began to think this part might not be so bad after all. She used her body to caress his hard length, up and down, over and over, relishing the way he groaned with pleasure beneath her. She moved faster, then faster still, until his breathing was coming hard and his hips were thrusting up to meet hers.
Then with a sudden hoarse cry, he pulled her down to him and wrapped his arms around her back as his hips thrust hard against hers. Shudders rocked him, and then he groaned, low and deep, and she knew he was feeling the same delicious pleasure he’d already given her. He thrust against her several more times, then went still, his hold on her easing.
She sat up, smiling down into his face as he opened his eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked, reaching up to cup her cheek.
She nodded. “I think so. You?”
“God, yes.” He lifted himself toward her, and she met him halfway. She kissed his mouth.
“Well, it’s done now,” he said, his hands caressing her cheeks as he once more sank back against the desk. “Your virtue’s utterly gone.”
“Yes,” she agreed, and she laughed, joy rising within her and spreading outward, farther and wider, until she felt as if it could fill the world. “So it is.”
He didn’t laugh with her. Instead, he frowned, and her happiness dimmed a fraction. “Any regrets?” she asked softly.
“Only one.” Still cupping her cheek with one hand, he reached beneath him with the other and pulled a pen from under his body. “Next time we make love,” he said as he tossed the pen over her head to hit the door behind her, “we’re damn well doing it in a bed.”
Chapter 9
The rain had stopped by the time Ellie and Lawrence departed his offices, and despite the late hour, he easily secured a hackney to take them home. They did not talk much on the way, and Ellie was glad of it. She feared that any conversation would inevitably lead to a discussion of her father, and she did not want that to intrude on the happiness she felt at this moment.
Nonetheless, as they drew closer and closer to home, the more she felt her joy receding and the cold, hard realities of her future intruding.
She had no illusions about what had happened tonight. She believed Lawrence’s assurance that he would proceed with his case, and though she no longer resented him for the choice he’d made six months ago, she also knew the devastating effect his choice would have on her family.
She also had no illusions about her father, not anymore. She now faced a future where her beloved parent was a scoundrel and a war criminal and her family was shamed and disgraced by association, but there was no going back.
“What about you, Ellie?” Lawrence’s voice broke into her pensive thoughts, and she looked up to find him watching her with a somber, thoughtful expression.
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, smiling a little. “I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
“You asked me earlier if I had any regrets about what happened. I don’t. But do you?”
She didn’t even need time to consider. “No. None.”
That pleased him, she could tell, for though his countenance remained grave, he reached for her hand and kissed it. Before he could reply, however, the carriage came to a halt.
Ellie peeked out between the drawn curtains, and in the dim light of dawn, she could see the plain stone façade of the back side of her home. “Good thing you told the driver to pull to the back,” she said as she let the curtain fall back into place. “It’s already growing light outside.”
“I won’t help you down,” Lawrence said. “We might not be right at your front door, but nonetheless, it wouldn’t do for me to be seen with you at this hour. Not that it matters, I suppose,” he added, then lifted her hand in his and kissed it again. “Since you’re going to marry me.”
Those words sent a strange shiver of foreboding along her spine, but she forced a smile, not wanting him to see what she felt. “That’s not a very romantic proposal.”
He looked at her over the top of her glove. “I’ll offer a better one once I’ve obtained the license,” he said, kissed her hand again, and let her go as the driver opened the door.
She exited the vehicle and went down the stairwell to the servants’ entrance as the hackney drove on. Morrell had left the back door unlatched, just as she’d promised, and Ellie slipped inside the house as quietly as possible.
Not even the kitchen maid was up ye
t, fortunately, and Ellie was able to duck up the servants’ staircase and get to her room without encountering anyone. As Lawrence had said, it didn’t really matter if her reputation was compromised at this point, but as she undressed, Ellie couldn’t shake the vague sense of apprehension that had come over her in the hackney at Lawrence’s words about matrimony. She had no time to determine the cause of her uneasiness, however, for as she slid into bed, exhaustion overrode all other considerations, and she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
It was nearly lunchtime when she awoke, still groggy and heavy-headed. She had her meal brought up on a tray, and after an omelet, a fillet of sole, and several cups of strong tea, she felt much better.
She inquired of Morrell where her father might be, and was relieved to learn he’d gone to his club. The last thing she wanted right now was to see him and pretend that her question hadn’t opened up an abyss between them that could never be breached. Even worse, if he had realized she knew the truth, she’d have to endure his efforts to explain, or worse, justify himself.
She dressed, then went out with Bunty, paying calls and shopping to occupy her afternoon. Still, she couldn’t avoid her father forever, and eventually she was forced to return to Portman Square. The earl, the butler told her, had returned, but only for an hour, and then he’d gone out again, taking with him a trunk and a valise.
Ellie stared at the butler in shock, for of all the things she’d thought her father might do, leaving wasn’t one of them. “Did he say where he was going, Brandon?”
“No, my lady. But he left a note for you in the drawing room.”
She was up the stairs and in the drawing room within fifteen seconds, and sure enough, there was a note on the mantel, tucked between the clock and the spill vase. She opened it, dread opening inside her as she unfolded the single sheet of paper.
My dearest Ellie,
By the time you read this, I will be well on my way to Dover. By sunset, I will be on a ship, bound for parts unknown. Given the dire circumstances I face, living out my days in some obscure corner of the world is the best course.
