by Gini Rifkin
She sat up and stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. “How gallant. You think this is your fault? I doubted you, was infuriated by your long absence. It was childish and petty, and no one is to blame but me.” She reached up and smoothed her fingers across his mustache. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day you came to Royston Hall.”
The simple caress broke his ironclad promise to keep his distance. He drew her close and kissed her—slowly, deeply, savoring what before had only been contemplation. Then he released her. “And I’ve wanted to do that on several occasions.”
“I wish you hadn’t waited so long.” Her warm breath teased across his neck and ear as she leaned against him. “I don’t want to be married in name only,” she murmured. “Make love to me, Walker. We’ve every right.”
Her bold proposal took him by surprise. Often enough he’d imagined what he’d like to do with her and to her. But it would change things immensely. The marriage had been designed to restore her reputation. If they made love, it would be extremely hard, perhaps impossible to annul or revoke the contract. This had not been part of the plan.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” he warned. “What you suggest will drastically change both out lives.”
“I should hope for the better and not the worse. Either way, as stated in our vows, we must stay together until death do us part. When you were gone to Brighton, I pined for you, and when I was not infuriated with you, I was ill with worry. I didn’t realize until you were gone, I had already given you my heart, now you must come take the rest of me. I want to know you in every way, be yours in every way.
She rested her hand upon his thigh then grazed her fingers across his crotch.
Damn good intensions, they would go to plan B.
****
Trelayne could no longer resist the desire torturing her body. She wanted—needed to be made love to. The craving gripped her more mightily than last evening’s opium and champagne. It was beyond a physical craving, it was an outcry of the soul.
Like a rushing river, the prurient information secretly researched with Penelope flooded her mind, drowning out all other thought and reason. She touched Walker, knowing her ministrations were pushing him over the line. His mouth found hers, this time rough with need, exploring and conquering her mouth, a portent of what was to come when they truly joined. Nothing had ever seemed so right.
Unbuttoning his shirt, she eased her hands beneath the fabric and traced the contours of his body, her palms grazing his nipples. With a groan, he slid his hands to the back of her dress. Tiny pearl buttons flew in every direction as he made short work of the obstinate fastenings. Yielding to her appeal, it seemed nothing would now deter him from what he wanted—from what they both wanted.
She had abandoned her corset this morning, and now with the bedraggled lavender dress fabric out of the way, he set to work removing her camisole. Cool air licked at her skin, colliding with the hot need burning in her belly. It nearly stole her breath away. Walker nuzzled her neck, rained kisses downward to her collarbone, his hands firmly cupping her breast. She held onto him tightly, the only thing solid in a world gone spinning out of control.
The part of her yet unexplored grew tight and pulsing. What would it be like when he touched her there? At the mere thought, wetness was added to the aching delight, and she sighed and rubbed her body against his.
He drew back, cold fear replacing the warmth of his caress. Had he changed his mind? Then he rose from the divan, tugged her upright, and swept her off her feet.
Renewed eagerness rushed through her as he laid her down in the middle of the bed. Standing before her, his gaze never leaving her face, he proceeded to remove his clothing. In record time, he was down to his trousers and boots. Glorious to look upon, twinges of anticipation accentuated the space between her legs, already begging for relief.
Turning, he leaned back against the bed, tugged off his boots, then dropped his breeches. When he turned back, her eyes widened at the sight of him, big and hard and ready to fulfill all her expectations.
Easing onto the bed, he stretched out beside her and tugged at the dress material gathered about her waist. Frantically, she shimmied free of the fabric, snagging her pantaloons along the way. Extricated from those as well, she offered up her naked body to his sight and touch.
“You’re every bit as beautiful as I dreamed you would be,” he whispered.
Had she really filled his musing? He had certainly overtaken her daydreams. Thoughts of him even tamed her most recent nightmare, banishing the monster to a dark inaccessible corner.
“Have you often thought about me then?”
“On many a lonely night,” he admitted.
As if she were made of porcelain, he glided a curled finger along her cheek.
Taking his hand in hers, she slid it down to cover one of her breasts, and with a moan arched up against his palm. Tonight, she didn’t wish to be cherished, she wanted to be ravished. As if reading her mind, he slid his other hand between her thighs, turning her moan to a gasp.
Leaning over, he captured her mouth, his tongue and fingers probing, exploring, delighting—arousing her body to near delirium. Then stilling his motions, he pressed his cheek against hers. “The first time hurts,” he said softly, stroking her without hesitation, “but only for a little while.”
“I don’t care. I need you, all of you.”
No words did he speak as his thumb pressed against the nub that pulsed at the apex of her thighs. She rubbed against his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. It felt better than she ever imagined. He played her body with skill and patience as if she were a fine instrument and he knew exactly what song waited in her soul to be set free. As she spiraled into a world that existed only for the two of them, he eased her legs apart and covered her body with his. She could feel the tip of him, hard and ready, touching her, tempting her, easing forward, now retreating.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he urged.
She did as he asked, taking him in a bit farther, ebbing and flowing—again and again. Each time more of him joined with her, each time more of her belonged to him. Bearing his weight on his forearms he framed her face with his hands and crushed his mouth against hers. Then with a groan and a shudder he gave her full measure. Pain replaced what had felt so good, and a tear slipped from her eye. He stilled his movements and kissed it away. As he began to ease out of her, she grabbed his backside with both hands and thrust upward keeping him in place. The thought of him inside of her renewed desire, a balm to the sting, a spark to the embers waiting to burst into flame and burn out of control. She never wanted to let him go.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, “don’t ever stop.”
He set the pace, tantalizingly slow, and with each stroke she expanded, opening like a flower. Greedily, she took him in without hesitation. Then their tempo increased like the crescendo of a waltz, and she felt as if she were spinning faster and faster. There was nothing dainty about it now, only animal passion, hard and powerful. Moans of delight gathering volume and intensity, the demands of their bodies overruling all else. Gasping for breath, she knew she was moments away from something wonderful, something she wanted with every fiber of her being.
“Oh, Walker,” she screamed in delight.
Where their bodies joined as one, a throbbing explosion of unknown pleasure peaked and spread outward. It curled her toes and near stopped her heartbeat.
Walker groaned out something unintelligible and slammed into her, crushing her into the mattress, penetrating deeper, grinding his hips against her. Then he collapsed on top of her. Still big and hard and filling her fully, she pulsed and contracted around him.
“We’ve done it now, Trelayne,” he said, his voice calm yet somehow filled with concern. “There’ll be no easy way to break this marriage.”
“Yes,” she murmured, “we’ve certainly have done it. And it was wonderful.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucien threw the figurine ag
ainst the wall, sending a cloud of splintered glass arching through the air. In the rays of the morning sun, it flittered downward like crystal rain.
Beatrice jumped and scurried from the room. She was smart to do so. Following another night of debauchery, he had a roaring hangover, and it was all because of Trelayne’s betrayal. This morning he sought someone, anyone, upon whom to take out his frustration and pain. Yes, pain. A torturous agony. On the evening of the Gala, Trelayne had sneaked away in the night like a common whore, leaving him standing stupefied and unfulfilled.
At first, in shock and disbelief, he thought she might have wandered off while he answered the bogus summons and waited like a fool at the front desk. But he knew she had been too incapacitated. Then he entertained the idea Spring Heeled Jack had gotten to her. But that didn’t make sense either. It had been a well-planned scheme, and someone had been her accomplice.
Yesterday morning he’d gone to Royston Hall only to be told she had gone away with her aunt. Another lie. Old Merrick, tightlipped as ever, offered no further information. So last night he’d gone on a bender, trying to forget, trying to save his sanity.
She had to have returned by now. Grabbing his coat, he slammed out of the flat. He’d get to the bottom of this yet. It was early morning and a not a suitable hour for a gentleman to visit. Who gave a damn? Not him. Not any more. He was through trying to do things according to protocol. Admittedly, he and Trelayne shouldn’t have been together at the Bond in the first place; still, he would demand an answer for her reprehensible behavior.
****
Dismounting, he secured his horse adjacent to the carriage waiting outside of Trelayne’s home. As he charged toward the house, the door opened and a woman took her leave, a spring in her step, a great silly smile upon her lips. It was Penelope, Trelayne’s closest friend. The woman was a nuisance, and had been a constant stumbling block in his campaign.
“Miss Penelope,” he said, forcing a civil tone into his voice. “You look as lovely as ever.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lanteen.” She paused, and although it seemed impossible, her smile broadened. “If you’ve come to see Miss Trelayne, I’m afraid you shall be disappointed. She isn’t here.”
“Still not in residence? Perhaps you would know when she is expected to return.”
“It’s rather difficult to say,” Penelope all but squealed, her hands clasped at chest-level as if to contain her excitement. “She’s on her honeymoon.”
He staggered backward. Surely he’d heard incorrectly. “I don’t understand,” he managed to utter.
“She’s run off to Gretna Green with Captain Garrison.”
Fury grappled with disbelief, exploding in his brain, blurring the world around him. He could barely suppress the bellow of rage clamoring for release in his throat. Fist clenched, he took a step forward. Penelope reared back, gripped her skirt with both hands, and fled to her waiting carriage.
Inhaling several deep breaths in an effort to stave off complete madness, he watched the billowing clouds of dust erupt in the wake of her coach as it raced down the lane. Married—the bitch. And to Garrison. But he was supposed to be dead. Grimsby had failed again.
He stormed about, first one direction then another, trying to talk himself down from incapacitating rage to mere hateful revenge. If she wouldn’t come to him a virgin, she would come to him a widow. One way or another, he would still have her.
****
Married…she was married. She was Mrs. Walker Garrison. And last night they had made mad passionate love. She was ecstatic, felt as if she had discovered the most well kept secret in the world. No one else could possibly know such joy.
She opened her eyes and peered around the bridal suite. A glimmer of morning sunlight peeked through the curtain lace, promising a beautiful day, surely a good portent for a beautiful life. Shifting her gaze to the sitting area, she spotted an array of food waiting on the nearby table—but it wasn’t food for which she hungered.
She reached for Walker. He wasn’t there. Had it been a dream? She jerked upright and squirmed in discomfort. The space between her legs where last night’s ecstasy had ruled now burned and hurt. Was this the price one paid every time for the delight of coupling? Or was it just because it was her first time? It had better be the latter because she planned on many repeat performances.
Where was her man, her husband, her lover? She pushed aside the covers and eased from the bed. Wrapped in a quilt, she padded across the thick Persian carpet in the sleeping area and glanced through the archway to the sitting room. There he was, standing before the hearth. Dressed only in trousers, he bent to add more wood to the fire. The muscles of his shoulders and back flexed as he performed the simple task, and at the sight of his near naked body, a shock of remembered images and newfound delights feathered through her.
He glanced up, straightened, and smiled. When a knock sounded at the door, his expression turned to a quirky grin. Without a word of explanation, he went to answer the summons. Not wishing to be caught undressed, she scurried to the water closet, leaving the door ajar to watch through the crack.
Two men entered, lumbering beneath the weight of a copper-bathing tub. Several women followed, carrying buckets of steaming hot water.
“Over here, beside the hearth,” Walker instructed. The women filled the tub near to overflowing, all the while giggling and casting sideways glances about the room.
“Thank you. We’ll not be needing anything else this morning.”
Walker followed the little group as they left, handing out shillings as if they were farthings, before shutting and locking the door behind them.
Still ensconced in the water closet, she took the opportunity for morning relief then raked a comb through her tangle of hair. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, a sudden shyness overwhelmed her. What had seemed so natural last evening in the dark, took on new proportions in the light of day. Would Walker still find her irresistible, still want her as much as she wanted him?
A whisper of a knock sounded upon the door. “Come, Mrs. Garrison, before the water gets cold.”
She peered out. He reached in, took her by the hand, and led her toward the tub. Tugging the quilt from around her body, he left her standing naked—naked and praying not to be found lacking. His gaze meandered the length of her. A half-smile possessed his mouth, and a heated expression flamed in his eyes.
“Marriage agrees with you, wife,” he said. “You look even more beautiful this morning.”
A wave of relief washed over her, and she smiled back. He’d known just the right thing to say. Even though it had been an arranged marriage—a testimony to his honor for saving hers—she had a feeling spending the rest of her life with this man might be the best thing ever to happen to her.
“It’s you that agrees with me,” she countered, “not the institution of marriage.”
Playing her hands across his chest, she delighted in the feel of short dark hair beneath her palms, and renewed hunger for his body pounded through hers. Apparently, raw desire was an emotion requiring frequent feeding.
Their gazes locked, and she wanted to jump headfirst into the blue/gray depths, wanted to see the world from his side. He captured her face between his hands, and swooping forward took her lips by storm, his mouth demanding. His hands slid downward to her arms, now around to her backside. She pressed her hips against his, and felt his hardness through his trousers. He nuzzled her neck, and there was no mistaking his enthusiasm as she rubbed up against him.
As if inspired by her response, he slid to his knees, wedged one hand between her thighs, and dotted little kisses across her belly. His mustache grazed and tickled, and head back, she smiled and held him close, running her fingers through his hair, tousling, twisting, near pulling as she reveled in the spasms of delight racing through her midsection.
When he stroked the tender skin leading to the depths of her body, she nearly lost her footing. Just in time, he scrambled to his feet, cradled her in his ar
ms, and lowered her into the tub. Like a warm ocean, the water sluiced over her, soothing yet invigorating. The soreness between her legs eased, and her nipples hardened as she leaned back and floated in the warm liquid embrace.
Walker knelt at her side. Employing a large sponge, he explored a random path down, around, and across her body. Watching her face, he wedged the nubby fibers between her thighs, massaging and rasping, stimulating the place that now throbbed with desire rather than discomfort.
She floundered, the water reaching her chin, but he slid his free arm beneath her shoulders holding her up, holding her in place. “Be easy, Mrs. Garrison,” he cautioned, nipping at the lobe of her ear and gently tonguing the rim. “Put yourself completely in my hands.” Hands that were doing wondrous things to her body.
She relaxed and her hips rose. Abandoning the sponge, he sought to please her with his touch. For a moment the pain returned then her body responded, opening for him, opening for the pleasure she wanted and remembered. He stroked her gently then demandingly. Leaning over the tub, he sought her lips, plundering her mouth as his fingers slid in and out, conquering her body.
The hot water heightened the pleasure, and his thumb teased on the outside, roughing the point where all delight blossomed and grew. Nothing she’d read in a book compared to the rapture overtaking her now.
Walker eased back, watching her, his breath coming faster as if pleasing her was pleasing him. Hot desire ripped through her from the top of her head to tips of her toes.
Out of control, she gripped the sides of the tub, thrusting her hips upward. Drawing her hard against his chest, Walker brought her over the horizon for which she reached.
Panting and moaning she clung to him as he rocked her back to reality.
“Oh, Walker. I thought for a moment I might die and I didn’t care.”
“That was just the beginning,” he said against her cheek. “Now we shall make proper love.” Liberating her from the tub, he carried her toward the bed.
“But I’m soaking wet,” she sputtered.
