by Sara Bennett
His hand was on her stockinged leg, and he was half-lying across her, his naked chest beneath her hands, his skin against hers. He began to kiss her again, distracting her, but she was still very aware of his fingers on her thigh, moving higher, closer to the hot ache. She could hardly bear it. And then he’d reached the apex of her thighs and was touching her, his gentle, experienced fingers causing chaos. Pleasure was the foremost objective and it began to build, and then his mouth covered hers as she cried out, trembling and gasping as the ecstasy burst inside her.
It seemed to take a long while to return to calm, for her thoughts to become coherent, and for her body to stop its wild tingling.
“So passionate,” he murmured, and she realized he was still touching her.
“Oh.” The tingling was returning already, and with it the needy ache. “I thought . . .”
“That we were finished?” He laughed softly. “Not yet, my love.”
She stroked his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss her fingers, biting them gently. His features were taut, his own desire held in check, and she wondered for a moment whether he would play the gentleman again and get up and walk away from her.
She didn’t want that.
“Show me then,” she whispered.
Something possessive flashed in his eyes and he began to kiss her again with a determination that took her breath away. He reached for her hand and placed it in the center of his chest, drawing it down over his firm skin. There was a scar here, too, she realized, tracing it with her fingers, but he wouldn’t let her linger. He had his own ideas, and placed her hand firmly on the bulge in his breeches.
Averil murmured against his lips. There was no going back now, she was approaching unknown territory, but she didn’t care. She wanted to go there with him. She was no longer the huntress; she was his accomplice in the pursuit of pleasure.
He’d settled himself down on his side, beside her on the chaise longue, and his fingers were stroking her again, building on that hot, aching need. She was gasping and panting, running her own hands over his body. He settled her leg across his hips, opening her to his ministrations, and a moment later she felt him hard against her, the tip of his cock brushing the slick swollen flesh, before he began to push gently, his fingers teasing her in a way that made her forget this new intrusion, so that she was only eager for more. She pushed against him, clumsy at first, mirroring his movements, and he slid easily inside her, her body was so wet and ready for his.
“You’re safe,” he said, his voice a rumble in his chest. “I have you safe, Averil.”
If there was a moment of pain as he breached her maidenhead, she hardly felt it. She was too ready and eager for him for it to matter, and then he was deep inside her, filling her, and the sensation sent her over the edge of ecstasy, her body involuntarily grasping him with inner muscles she hadn’t known existed. He let go with a hoarse cry and pleasure swept over her, too, taking her far from the storm.
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
Averil blinked up at him with sleepy gray eyes. She still seemed dazed from their lovemaking, and Rufus had to admit he felt dazed himself. She was certainly no shrinking violet and had openly enjoyed the physicality of their exchange. He was glad. He’d take pleasure in teaching her the finer points of lovemaking in the years to come. The thought of those years unfolding gave him a warm, satisfied feeling.
Was this happiness?
He’d almost forgotten how it felt.
He supposed he should be grateful to the storm that had driven her into his arms. He’d tried to be the gentleman but in the end it just seemed easier to let fate take its course. Relief swept through him. He’d crossed the bridge and now they were on the other side. They would marry—the decision had been taken out of his hands.
Whatever the future held for them their course was set.
“Of course we’ll be married,” he said. A forgone conclusion.
Her eyes widened and suddenly weren’t so sleepy. “I haven’t agreed to marry you,” she said.
She’d thrown him off-kilter and it took a moment for him to find his voice. “Averil, we have no choice but to marry. What if you’re with child?”
“Oh.” Clearly she hadn’t thought of that, but she still refused to be afraid. “What if I’m not?”
That surprised a laugh out of him, and he pulled her back into his arms, enjoying the feel of her. “Most young ladies would be crying and wailing by now.”
“I am not most young ladies.”
He tilted up her chin to look into her eyes. “No,” he said at last, “you’re not.”
She smiled and stretched up to kiss his lips.
The heat between them was instantaneous and he wondered if he would ever be the same again. She’d brought him alive.
“The storm,” he asked her. “Have you always been afraid of them?”
“Yes. Ever since I can remember. I’ve thought about it and perhaps it has something to do with my mother leaving. I remember . . . well, I think I do, that there was a storm the night she left. She came to my room to say good-bye and I was crying, and then she was gone. Nanny Fredericks tried to comfort me, but it was never the same again.”
“I’m sorry.”
But she shook her head at him. “Hardly your fault. And you know, she wasn’t a very reliable sort of mother. She was very beautiful, but she would always be out somewhere, or rushing off somewhere. I felt as if I could not rely on her. She and my father argued very loudly sometimes. But I suppose people forgave her because she was so beautiful.”
She ran her fingers over the scar on his chest, lightly, but there was a frown between her brows. “Did your wife’s brothers do this, too?”
“Yes. They wanted to kill me or geld me. I was lucky.”
“They blamed you for her death?”
“They preferred to blame me than her. I suppose I understand it. She was beautiful and they loved her, and when she left me and ran off with someone else . . . She was a free spirit and they blamed me for that, too. I was young, Averil. I was impulsive. I let her go and thought good riddance, but then when I received an urgent message that she was about to have a child—my child—and the man she was with had abandoned her . . . I tried to save her, but it was too late.”
Averil was still frowning. “We sound alike,” she said. “Both scarred by beautiful women. Only you can’t see mine.” Then she bent her head and ran the tip of her tongue over the line of puckered flesh, and he caught his breath. Her hair tickled him, and his body went hard again. Her fingers stroked the hard length of him, and he tried not to grab her and take her as he longed to, letting her satisfy her curiosity about him. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she looked up at him, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling.
“I don’t want to be the sort of woman who closes her eyes and thinks of England whenever you come to my bed,” she said bluntly. “I want to please you, Rufus, just as you please me.”
He really wondered if he could take any more.
“I love you,” she added, defiantly.
He felt as if she’d knocked him sideways. “Do you?” he murmured, and reached to smooth her hair back from her face. “I love you, too, Averil. Wildly. Passionately. Although I probably shouldn’t.”
She made a restless movement. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” Her breast was naked against his chest and, distracted, he reached to touch the pink nipple, watching it peak.
“You think you’re not good enough for me. You have some outlandish idea that you shouldn’t have me because of your past. That doesn’t matter to me, Rufus. I see you as you are, not as others see you.”
He tried not to smile but she was onto him, moving away, covering herself.
“And now you think I’m a naïve young lady,” she muttered crossly, beginning to do up her buttons.
“No, I don’t.” He covered her hands with his, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I think you know your own mind, my l
ove, but whether that is a good thing . . . You were speaking of your mother, and how she ran off, how she made mistakes. I don’t want you to see this as a mistake in the years to come. I want you to be happy. I want us both to be happy.”
She searched his face and then she smiled. “I am happy. We will be happy.”
He pulled her back into his arms, kissing her mouth, his hands sliding inside her half-buttoned bodice. Her lush curves were his for the taking and he meant to take advantage. It was too late for regrets, he’d chosen his path, and he would take her down the aisle. His bride, his wife, his heiress.
She was gasping and kissing him back, and he arranged her on his lap, so that he had free access to her body. She didn’t demur, in fact she hurried to help him, and when he entered her this time she was hot and eager and sweet. He thought this would be a quick encounter, but instead he found himself drawing it out, moving slowly, languidly, taking his time.
Her eyes widened as she reached her peak, the gray darkening, the gold flecks brighter.
Rufus watched her slide into ecstasy and knew he would never tire of it. Even as he climaxed himself he was thinking of the next time, and the time after that, and all the years ahead of them.
Averil wondered if it was possible to feel any happier than she did right now. Her doubts were gone. Rufus was her man. He’d asked her to marry him but she didn’t want it to be something he felt obliged to do. She wanted it to be something he wanted to do, in his heart, and it seemed that was so. He loved her and they would be so happy together.
Suddenly she stopped and listened. “The rain has gone.”
“Yes.” He kissed her temple, on the little mole there he said drove him to distraction, and unfolded himself from the chaise longue, before reaching to help her up, too. “We should get back before questions are asked.”
“Yes, I suppose we should.”
It was later than she’d thought and she hoped Beth wasn’t worrying. Perhaps they could sneak into the castle without being seen? Beth’s eyes were very sharp, and suddenly Averil wasn’t quite as tranquil about matters. When Beth was worried her calm left her and she could be a little hysterical.
The horse and carriage were safe in the barn, and on their way back to the castle, Rufus held her hand in his and she leaned against his shoulder, enjoying the closeness, reliving their lovemaking, telling herself confidently that she could handle Beth.
“We will announce our engagement at dinner,” he said.
“Rufus, there’s no need to rush. I told you, I—”
“I want to rush. I don’t want you changing your mind,” he said, with his wicked smile. “You’re mine now, Averil.”
Averil felt as if she was happier than she’d ever been. She was in love with a man who loved her and was completely comfortable with her unconventional way of life. Not many men would take in their stride her preoccupation with soiled doves. But Rufus did. She knew he would support her.
She leaned up to kiss him, surprised at the spurt of heat that made her body tingle. Perhaps he was right and they should marry as soon as possible. She didn’t know if she could go back to pretending to be an innocent young lady now. Besides, if they married she would have her fortune to spend as she wished. Surely that was a good thing?
The castle loomed up before them, solid and rather bleak against the gray remains of the storm. For some reason it made her shiver, as though it were a warning. A foretelling of what was to come.
Averil told herself not to be silly. Southbrook Castle would be hers after she married Rufus. She would be mistress here. She would be able to repair that crumbling tower and tidy the garden and . . . But her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she saw Beth and James come out of the door to meet them.
It was Beth her gaze fixed on. Her companion was hurrying down the stone stairs in such a reckless manner that Averil knew she had been working herself up into a state. This was not good.
“Averil! I was so worried about you,” she cried out as they drew up in the carriage.
“I was perfectly all right,” Averil assured her. “Lord Southbrook was with me, and the storm soon passed.”
But Beth was closer now, and her eyes narrowed. Suspicion drew down her brows. “Wasn’t Mister McInnes there, too?” she asked sharply.
“He couldn’t come,” Averil replied blithely. “Really, Beth, everything was perfectly fine. Don’t fuss so.” She climbed down with James’s help, and quickly headed for the stairs. “I’m rather damp from the rain. I want to change,” she called over her shoulder.
But Beth was right behind her, like a little terrier, refusing to let go.
“Averil, I-I am trying not to believe what I am thinking but I’m finding it very difficult.” Her voice was rising. “Tell me nothing happened and I will believe you, but do not lie to me!”
They were inside the castle now and Beth’s voice echoed up into the cavernous ceiling above them. Averil realized that her hopes of going to her room and shutting herself in to dream about the feel of Rufus’s mouth on hers and his voice murmuring her name, were looking less and less likely.
What was looking more and more likely was that there was going to be a scene.
“Beth, please,” she murmured. “I will talk to you later. Not here.”
“Why not here?” Beth retorted. “Right here, in this falling-down castle that Lord Southbrook loves so much. Averil, have you lost your senses entirely? I’ve tried to warn you but you ignored me and now I fear it is too late!” She was wringing her hands.
James and Rufus had followed them in now. Rufus looked grim-faced, and before Averil could respond to her companion’s words, he stepped forward and said, “Averil and I are to be married. As soon as possible. I hope you will be pleased for us.”
Beth’s eyes grew even wilder. “Married!” She turned on James. “Did you know about this?”
James seemed to shrink into himself, like a boy being scolded. “Well, I . . . I suppose I thought . . . You know, old girl, Rufus would never do anything ungentlemanly.”
“I’m not your ‘old girl’,” she hissed, “and Rufus clearly has.”
James looked startled. “Rufus?” he said, turning to his nephew. “Have you seduced Lady Averil? Was that really the thing, dear boy?” He turned back to Beth. “But you do see there’s nothing for it now, don’t you? They’ll have to be married. Rufus is right.”
Beth gaped at him, too furious to speak, but Averil had no such problem.
“He didn’t seduce me, I seduced him,” she said firmly.
A gleam of laughter came into Rufus’s eyes but he snuffed it out. “Averil,” he warned, “this isn’t the time to argue about who seduced whom.”
James was looking from one to the other in amazed delight.
“Well, that should soothe your scruples, nephew,” he declared, sounding like an overexcited schoolboy. “If she seduced you, you can’t be accused of pursuing her for her money, can you?”
The silence was absolute.
“What do you mean? Pursuing me for my money?” Averil asked, her voice sounding sharp and unfamiliar. But she knew already the answer to her question. The grave expression on the earl’s face, the guilty expression on his uncle’s, and Beth clearly fighting the urge to cry, they all told the story. Suddenly she remembered that moment during the storm, when she’d felt something in Rufus change, that sense that he was taking an irrevocable step, as if he was setting something irreversible in motion.
She’d trusted him, but he’d been lying to her all along.
“Averil,” he said, and there was an urgency in his voice as he moved closer to her. She let him take her hands in his, but did not return his grasp. Her heart felt suspended, broken. She was like the garden outside, battered and bruised by the storm.
“Averil,” he tried again. “I love you. I meant what I said. I want to marry you. The money . . . it was always secondary.”
“So you’re not in need of an heiress then?”
He gave a b
itter laugh. “I won’t pretend I’m not in need of a wealthy wife. I won’t lie to you.”
“No?” Her temper was rising.
“Averil,” he said softly, but not as if he was expecting her to listen.
“My dear girl,” James burst out, “it was all my fault. I put the idea in his head and really he didn’t want to do it.”
“But somehow he swallowed his disgust?”
“The Southbrooks always marry money,” James explained in what he thought was a kind voice. “To marry for love . . . it isn’t done in our world, Averil.”
“James, shut up,” his nephew said furiously.
“And to think I imagined your attempts to hide your poverty from me were endearing. I thought you were too proud to admit it. But it was really to hoodwink me, wasn’t it? Pretend you didn’t need my money when, in fact, that was the one thing, the only thing, you wanted.” There were tears spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks, but this time she didn’t care that she was crying in front of Rufus. “How could you? How could you use me like this? I’m leaving and I don’t want to see you ever again.”
“Averil,” he said, but she didn’t hear the pain in his voice, only his regret at losing the Heiress.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she threw at him. “You’ll find someone else. Another rich, foolish woman to love you. Only this time my advice is to be honest with her. At least then there can be no unreal expectations.”
He was pale, his eyes burning coals, his hands clenched at his sides. Now he was sorry, she thought, but she wouldn’t let herself soften toward him. It was too late. He’d broken her heart and made her feel like a fool, and all she wanted to do was to get far away from him, but in her hurt and despair there was one more thing she wanted to say.
