THE SENSE OF HONOR
Page 17
The bittersweet reality strengthened her resolve.
“I know,” she sighed. “And I am not asking for promises, Devlin.”
He studied her face with a curious intensity, perhaps because of her words. Or, because it had been the first time she’d spoken his given name. Whatever the reason, she noted the color of his eyes seemed more green than gray-blue now—almost like emerald fire.
Whatever he saw in her expression remained a mystery.
“So be it,” he said.
Their lips touched, softly, sweetly. Their breaths sighed one into the other.
Slow, wet, deep kisses of exploration and arousal erupted into a volcano of intoxicating passion and uncontrollable need. Inarticulate, mewling sounds of pleasure lifted from her throat. Her hunger for him intensified. He pressed forward, groaning low. His agile tongue titillated, leading hers in the dance of Eros.
Pulling back slightly, affording her time to catch her breath, his thumb smoothed her bottom lip. “You are more beautiful each time I look at you, Christiana.”
His eyes lowered, following the slow movement of his hand as it drifted down across her pale skin. He cupped a breast in the palm of his hand then tongued the aroused nipple. She gasped and arched toward his mouth.
One moment he flicked the sensitized, hardened nipple playfully with his teeth, and the next he employed rapid spirals of moist heat. He alternated between soothing and teasing until she felt pulled taut as a bowstring down to her pointed toes. Only then did he draw the distended pebbled berry into his mouth, suckling hard. She cried out, panting, trembling with breathless delight.
Sensations too numerous to consider made it difficult to focus on any one thing. She felt the erotic thrill of his wondrous hands moving all over her naked body. His mouth adored each breast then continued to worship the curve of her shoulder, the length of her arms, her hands, fingers, even the inside of her wrists. It became too much—endless sensual awakenings building layer by layer toward the wondrous release she so desperately craved.
By the time he returned to her mouth, kissing her with a beautiful intensity that made her want to weep, Christiana quivered uncontrollably like an arrow longing to soar across the sky. At the same time, she wanted to taste him, to kiss and explore the mysteries of his body.
She tried to push him onto his back. “Let me touch you,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Not just yet,” he rasped, refusing to relinquish himself into her keeping. Rather, he deftly rolled her onto her back again and began a meticulous descent down the flat plane of her belly. Placing wet, open-mouthed kisses upon now feverish skin, he moved ever near the moist heat pulsing between her thighs.
Closing her eyes, remembering the ecstasy he’d conjured with his fingers in the orchard, she anticipated a repeat performance. However, an entirely different sensation almost made her leap off the bed. Her eyes opened to see his dark head situated between her pale thighs, and his mouth bestowing the most intimate of kisses.
“Devlin,” she gasped. “What are you—”
Initial shock and maidenly embarrassment at his brazen yet glorious adoration vanished. She’d never imagined such scandalous delights possible. Moaning helplessly, her fists clutched handfuls of the silk counterpane.
“Yes,” she sighed, a breathless plea more than an affirmation. Her soft moans echoed into the bedchamber, making her leonine lover all the more voracious. When she thought she could stand no more, his tongue worshipped that elusive, mysterious pearl hidden within the supple shell of her sex. Wave after wave of pleasure swept over her, and she cried out in quaking ripples of rapture.
Drifting slowly back to some semblance of self and reality, she opened her eyes to see him removing his trousers. The length and width of his erection made her dizzy with no small amount of anticipation and apprehension.
Devlin Randolph truly epitomized the magnificent splendor of the male in face and form. And she wanted nothing more at that moment than to touch his body as he’d done hers. The temptation proved so strong that when he returned to the bed, she boldly maneuvered him onto his back.
“What do you want, my sweet?”
“To look at you, and touch you. I have never seen a naked man.”
A low, seductive laugh vibrated from his throat. “Very well, but first, take down your hair for me. I have long imagined it loose and draped about your body.”
Beneath his steady gaze, Christiana unpinned her hair, releasing the braided tresses until they fell about her shoulders and waist like a soft, wavy cloak. He then twined a skein of hair about his fist and pulled her toward him. His slow, provocative kiss ferried her away from the shores of reason toward waters she realized were out of her depth.
Then, with a satisfied grin, he cupped his hands beneath his head. “I am at your mercy. What will you do with me?”
“I have no idea.” She answered in a breathless whisper.
He arched a sable brow. “Well, this should prove interesting.”
Hesitant at first, Christiana’s fingertips caressed his body with the gentlest of touches. Then, like a sculptor molding a bit of clay, she lovingly kneaded taut muscles. She wanted to learn by touch the feel of each sinew, the length of each bone, from the breadth of his shoulders to the shape of each heel.
Curious if he found pleasure from her touch, she glanced up and noted his somewhat bemused smile. Whatever he might be thinking, she knew not. But he hadn’t told her to stop.
Feeling more confident, she continued her slowly descending, erotic exploration, adding soft, wet, lingering kisses—just as he had done to her.
Deep moans proclaimed his approval, and the cadence of his breathing increased.
Nearing that rigid part of him saluting her, the muscles in his flat belly contracted hard beneath her mouth. She lifted her gaze again to his face.
His smile had vanished. Instead, he studied her through half-lidded eyes. His lips had parted with labored breathing. He didn’t speak, but if Devlin felt a fraction of the quickening she’d experienced from him, she must go further still, reciprocating the wondrous pleasuring he’d given her.
Christiana gently grasped the powerful length of his virile member and kissed its broad, glistening head. His entire body tensed. At the single, swirling stroke of her tongue, he inhaled sharply and sighed deeply. Encouraged, she continued—learning from the rate of his breathing and the increasingly aroused sounds he made what most heightened Devlin’s pleasure. Yet when she’d discovered a particularly effective technique, he suddenly growled low in his throat and all but tossed her onto her back.
His hard body loomed above her, the expression on his face almost feral. “Forgive me…but you have…pushed me,”—he spoke between ragged breaths—“beyond reason and control. Now, I cannot…wait.”
Before Christiana could think or breathe, he positioned his masterful body and, with one swift, conquering thrust, pressed forward.
Tearing pain sliced through her from the totality of his possession.
Afraid to move lest she make it worse, Christiana concentrated on the frantic beating of her heart, refusing to cry out like some wounded virgin. Instead, she listened to the heavy, rapid breathing of Devlin as he remained still, motionless inside her.
“There will be no more pain, sweetheart,” he managed to say. “I promise.”
She squirmed to find a more comfortable position.
“Remain still,”—he urged—“just give it a moment more.”
Mindful of the rigid, thick, pulsing length lodged inside her body, Christiana bit her bottom lip and waited. The burning sensation gradually subsided, but she felt no pleasure. Devlin still hadn’t moved, and his weight made it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Think of something else, she told herself.
A forgotten memory surfaced. Polly once said there would be blood when a woman’s maidenhead was rendered. How much blood?
“Oh, no!” she cried. “The counterpane.”
“Pain?�
� Devlin lifted his face from nuzzling her neck, confusion etched across tense features. “What pain?”
“The counterpane is silk. It will be ruined.”
“Forget the damn counterpane, sweetheart, and try to remain still a bit longer.” He closed his eyes and groaned something about her being tight.
“Devlin, please tell me you have not become stuck.”
Rising slightly upon his elbows, he eyed her with an odd expression. Then, much to her amazement, he began to laugh, soft and low. And when he laughed, she gasped with pleasure from an altogether different sensation. Unfortunately, ‘twas then he began to withdraw from her body, a little at a time until almost unseated. She held fast to his shoulders, wanting, needing more.
With a slow, seductive smile, he entered her again, repeating the back and forth motion in a rhythmic manner that steadily increased in both tempo and force.
“Ahhh,” she moaned. “Ohhh, my…”
The sexual awakening Devlin saw in Christiana’s eyes heightened his already desperate hunger for her, driving him to thrust and withdraw with almost savage intensity. Instinctively, she responded with a wondrous, sensual, undulating motion unlike anything he’d encountered by the most skilled courtesans.
His appreciative groans echoed into the room.
Even the ancient bed creaked with admiration.
All the while he made love to her, whispering words of encouragement and praise, Devlin watched Christiana—learning what she enjoyed, amazed by the power of her passion and lack of inhibition. Intoxicating, lush, erotic sounds lifted from her throat, firing his blood. His restraint failing fast, Devlin focused on bringing Christiana pleasure first. God, but he’d never had such a responsive, fiery, and eager to please lover. But when she suddenly arched upwards, kissing and licking the straining cords of his neck, his need for release made waiting impossible.
With a growl, he quickened his thrusts, each penetration hard and deep. Holding fast to his shoulders, her gaze steady upon his face, he felt her body tremble with imminent release. A heartbeat later, he savored Christiana’s cry of pleasure as she contracted wildly around his painfully engorged cock.
Devlin inhaled quickly between clenched teeth. He must withdraw. Now, before it was too late. But a supreme sense of possession drove him onward with unrelenting need to claim Christiana so completely that no other man could ever take his place. With a muffled shout, he soared with her—inside her. The force of his release proved so powerful he could almost visualize his seed flooding the very depths of her womb.
After the residual pulsing had subsided, their sated bodies—resplendent and tranquil amidst the lingering warmth of sexual satisfaction—separated. Devlin gathered her gently into his arms, and held her close. For the longest time, neither spoke. He lifted the delicate hand she rested upon his chest and kissed it.
She faced him, balanced on an elbow. “Devlin, is it always so wondrous?”
“The degree of pleasure depends on the lovers, and the desire they feel for one another.” When she didn’t respond, he raised her chin with his forefinger, softly kissing her passion-swollen lips. “And no, I have never known such profound pleasure.”
She smiled and cuddled against him, resting her arm across his chest. “For certain the male body is a marvel.”
Devlin knew he’d lost himself in sexual excess, tutoring Christiana in various positions and ways to find pleasure in the act of lovemaking. He had explained she’d be tender, that they should be mindful of how new she was to such intimacy. She refused to listen, wanting him with a desperation and hunger that mirrored his own.
It wasn’t until night had descended like a black velvet blanket across a starlit sky that—thoroughly sated and physically spent—he watched her finally settle down and attempt to sleep. They’d not even emerged from their haven for nourishment, preferring to feed their passion for one another. Later they would sneak down to the kitchen and have a feast. For now, Christiana needed sleep. He only hoped she’d not regret making love with him in the morning.
He looked down at her head nestled sweetly upon his shoulder. “Why did you gift me with your innocence, Christiana?”
“I wanted you to be the one,” she whispered.
A lump formed in his throat to see the glistening of tears in her eyes. He smoothed silky strands of her luxurious hair away from her face, cupped the delicate underside of her neck, and drew her to him. Their lips touched—a soft, sweet, abiding tenderness that eclipsed the wild passion of their most recent coupling.
“Sleep beside me now, sweetheart,” he whispered. “The night is not yet over, and this dream has only just begun.”
In a matter of moments, she drifted into a peaceful slumber. But sleep eluded him. He stared at the ancient carved canopy above his head, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. The sound made him smile with a peace and contentment such as he’d never known. What was the power she had over him?
He studied her face at rest—the delicate raven winged brows and long eyelashes, the luminous quality of her ivory complexion, the perfect shape of her nose, and rose petal soft pink lips. Much as he found her the most alluring, beautiful woman he’d ever encountered, he could no longer ignore the fact his feelings for her were soul deep.
How can I possibly lose her? Or, let any other man take my place in her bed? She has become part of my soul. She belongs with me—now and forever.
With startling clarity, he understood why he’d remained a bachelor for thirty years. This was what he’d waited for, to find the one woman he’d love for the remainder of his life. He didn’t want a marriage where he searched endlessly in the beds of other women to find something missing in his life. He’d had enough clandestine affairs and mistresses to last a lifetime.
He wanted Christiana.
He wanted her to look at him in ways only he understood—whether they dined alone at Fairhaven, his family estate, or in a crowded London ballroom.
He wanted to hear her laughter when she was happy. Wanted to comfort and protect her when she was sad. Wanted her to talk with him, and challenge him.
He wanted her soft touch on his skin, her breath mingling with his.
By God, he wanted more than just one night.
He wanted a lifetime.
A lifetime to feel their passion-misted bodies entwined together. He wanted to see her belly swell with his child. The latter realization proved the magnitude of his affection for her. And the future he wanted with her.
Looking down at the woman sleeping in his arms, Devlin smiled.
Christiana Tatum would not be his mistress. She would be his wife.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Tell me what company thou keepest,
And I’ll tell thee what thou art.”
~ Cervantes
(1547-1616)
Don Quixote
With a startled gasp, Christiana bolted upright in bed, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness of Devlin’s bedchamber. Even the fire in the hearth was almost out.
Dear God, the smuggling run.
Quickly looking to her side, she saw Devlin sleeping, his breathing slow and steady. She ached to touch his shadowed jaw, to kiss his sensuous lips now at rest, but feared he might wake and pull her once more into his arms. As much as she hated to admit it, the dream had ended and the reality of her life had returned—cold and stark.
As quietly as possible, she left the warm bed and searched for her discarded clothing. Donning her chemise, she draped her gown and corset over her arm then gathered her stockings and shoes. She crossed to the window, and looked out at the clear, moonlit night. The familiar cry of the wind beckoned like the wailing of a banshee.
Tears blurred her vision. “God protect us, Blackjack.”
Devlin had awakened the moment Christiana slipped from his bed. At first, he thought her embarrassed or perhaps concerned what the other servants might think were she to spend the entire night with him. Now, however, he wanted to know only one thing.r />
Who the devil is Blackjack?
Feigning sleep, he watched Christiana walk to the door of his bedchamber, and slowly pull back the latch. He assumed she’d slip out the door, but instead crossed back toward the hearth with a deliberate stride. Kneeling, she placed her bundle of clothing on the floor. Next, gathering her hair, she swiftly braided it into one thick rope and twisted it around until she’d fashioned a tight knot at the base of her neck.
As if sensing being observed, she glanced back at the bed. Devlin quickly closed his eyes and concentrated on his acting—including a soft snore for good measure. He heard a strange sound—like the muffled echo of distant thunder. A moment later, a whoosh of cold, musty air made him open his eyes.
The secret passageway.
Oblivious to his nakedness, Devlin leapt from the bed. But when he reached the fireplace, the secret door had closed. Not knowing the mechanism Christiana used to operate the panel, he looked to where she’d been kneeling. The key must be inside the hearth. He swore under his breath. On her way out, his darling Christiana had stoked the fire to such an extent she now made it impossible for him to reach inside and search for the hidden latch.
“If she thinks I am not about to follow, she best think again,” he muttered under his breath. He’d not let her slip away so easily. Dressing quickly, he silently vowed to find out exactly what Christiana was up to this night. Granted, he may not be able to access the secret passageway, but how difficult could it be to find someone named Blackjack.
Silence filled The Mermaid Inn when the tall stranger entered. All eyes followed as he sauntered over to an empty table, and caught the eye of a voluptuous serving wench.
Seated at a corner table, a disguised Christiana almost choked on the brandy wine she’d been drinking. She stared at the man who’d been sleeping when she left his bed a short while ago. A sharp elbow in the side brought attention back to her smuggling companions.