Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  His lips moved over hers, coaxing while purposely withholding. Ivy felt his grin as she tried to push her tongue past his supple lips. He slipped his hand to the back of her neck and massaged her tense muscles.

  He had done that then too, calming her when she had been ready and eager to give herself to him on the bare floor. They had wandered up to inspect the master suite and Darien had kissed her senseless. When they were both ready to collapse under the urgent need of their young bodies, Darien had maneuvered her to the well-worn carpet, the grand four-poster bed stripped to the slats and covered with a moldy dust cover. He had eased her bodice down, exposing her breasts, sucking and nipping until her body hummed with mindless need. She bucked against the thigh he had inserted between her legs, knowing he could not resist taking her virginity a moment longer.

  He’d pulled up her voluminous skirts and rested his palm, damp and hot, against her thigh. Her rigorous instructions regarding chastity tried to intervene, but Ivy easily dismissed those distant voices. Darien would soon be her husband and nothing would change that.

  He had massaged her thigh, easing higher until he reached her feminine folds. Ivy had gasped at the intimate contact. Darien continued to kiss her deeply, the slow dance of his tongue against hers erasing her shock. The finger he slipped inside her slick passage brought a tightening in every muscle of her body. She picked up his slow rhythm, grinding against him to feel him deeper. His hot breath against her neck urged her on. He eased a second finger inside her and pressed his thumb lightly against the tiny part of her anatomy whose magic she had yet to discover.

  The explosion was instantaneous. After he had held her through the trembling that wracked her body, leaving her limp with exhaustion, she felt the wild beating of his heart against her chest. His full erection pressed urgently through the layers of her skirts he had thoughtfully smoothed down to her ankles.

  As if her memories had no choice but to repeat themselves, yearning for fulfillment, Darien abruptly pulled away from her. Ivy entwined her free hand in his hair, desperate to deepen the kiss despite the drooling infant on her shoulder.

  “I want to carry you over the threshold. For good luck. I’ve never brought a woman here before,” he said as an obvious afterthought, though Ivy realized it was to cover his sudden vulnerability. She should warn him that the dark sweep of his lashes did more to give him away than to hide his sentimental nature.

  Ivy remembered Darien’s reasons for not making love to her that summer afternoon though she had practically begged him to do just that. He told her he wouldn’t until he could have her under his own roof and in a proper bed.

  “We’d be honored,” Ivy said, now eternally grateful for the little stone house and thatched roof.

  Without turning, he pushed the door open with his heel. The bleached wood swayed awkwardly on its hinges, but Darien did not seem to notice. He swept Ivy and Melody into his arms. Though Darien only stood a few inches above her in height, he did not falter in his mission and she felt solidly held as he maneuvered through the narrow doorway, ducking as he entered.

  Heat curled in the pit of her stomach, and something seemed right with waiting so long to finally make love to Darien. The idea that the roof he provided was that of a simple farmer made the act all the purer. Then Ivy thrust the thought aside. There was nothing pure or sweet about her relationship with Darien.

  You have no idea how I secretly coveted your closeness,

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Bloody hell, no!” Darien closed his eyes. The sound he’d been dreading since they left London yesterday spilled from the open window and vibrated the stone walls of his small cottage. “How can something so tiny make such a horrific racket?”

  “Not used to having wee ones around?” Hank set down a crate of kitchen supplies outside the front door. “They can fuss for hours on end. That lass has a set of lungs on her.” Hank handed Darien a dark-brown bottle he pulled from the box. “Thought you might be needing a nip of this.”

  “Thanks for bringing over the food and clean linens.” Darien accepted the well-used bottle and took a good long swig. His throat burned from the raw, locally distilled whiskey that he used to live on. Darien choked and his eyes watered. He corked the bottle and handed it back to Hank. “I promised Ivy I wouldn’t get stumbling drunk. Better take that home with you. Tomorrow I’ll ride into the village and see what I can find for sale. I’ve been meaning to furnish the place.”

  “Aye, home furnishings have been heavy upon your mind as of late.” Hank allowed a rare grin to tug on his weathered features.

  “They aren’t here to stay so don’t look so amused.”

  “I’m just glad they are here at all. Folks were starting to talk that you were getting too attached to the sheep. Would have been nice of you to let us know that you had a ready-made family back in London.”

  “It’s not like that.” Though Darien did not know what exactly to call his relationship with Ivy. “She’s only staying for a month. I’m sure I’ll be miserable to live with the moment she’s gone, so you shouldn’t look so pleased by the turn of events. It’s likely one of the worst mistakes I’ve made in a great while.”

  “You’re due one, I suppose.” Hank glanced through the open door to see if his wife and daughter, who had agreed to nurse Melody, remained occupied in the kitchen. He took a swig from the bottle before he returned it to the crate. “Help me with the chair over here. And don’t worry about going to town. There’s loads of odds and ends stacked in Westhaven House’s spare rooms. You could do up this whole place and nobody would miss a thing. And for a crib, nobody has used the nursery in years. I cold ask old Aggie to send something over. You know she’s going to be itching to get her hands on your little ‘un.”

  “It’s not that I’m not grateful for your offer to raid my father’s home…” Darien rubbed his forehead, wishing he would have thought this through with a bit more clarity. “Westhaven does not know about the baby and I want to keep it that way. And I beg you not to tell Agatha, either. Ivy wants to raise the baby abroad and…”

  Hank nodded, but Darien could tell by the stern set of his brow he was disappointed that Darien was not taking more responsibility for the situation. Darien instinctively decided not to reveal anything about the child, even to Hank. Truly, he was still not sure if the child was even Ivy’s. One minute she appeared shocked to be holding the wiggling crying thing, and the next, positively motherly, as if she would give her very life for the girl.

  “Nobody will hear a word from me. And the Westhaven House staff is bloody well tight lipped.” Hank handed Darien a rush-bottomed chair he unloaded from the wagon full of womanly odds and ends.

  Thankfully, he knew his father’s employees to be the model of discretion, or he would have learned more about what happened on the night of Philip’s death a long time ago.

  Darien headed into the house hauling the chair but was waylaid by Ivy, a red-faced Melody nestled in her arms. “Evelyn thinks Melody might take sheep’s milk. She wouldn’t feed from Hannah.”

  “We have sheep’s milk.” Darien set down the chair, still slightly stunned by the sight of a living breathing Ivy standing on his front lawn. Even the fact that she cradled another’s man’s unhappy baby could not diminish his awed pleasure. “I’ll fetch some right away.”

  “Thank you.” She sighed, bouncing Melody in her arms. The child wiggled and squirmed, and released occasional high-pitched wails with the deafening power of a fog horn.

  “First I’ll bring in the rocking chair I spotted in the wagon, love. It might calm her.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Though he only meant to comfort her, the stunned look on her face proved he probably went too far in using the once familiar endearment.

  Instead of scolding him, her gaze filled with sadness and longing. Not the effect he had been hoping for. “Thank you. For everything. Your home is beautiful.”

  Melody gave an earsplitting scream, and then another, and another. “Rock
ing chair. Please.” Ivy went inside, jostling Melody with each step.

  Darien nodded, noting that she was the only beautiful thing on his dilapidated sheep farm. And the reason he suddenly considered the roof over his head a home.

  ***

  Ivy ran her fingertips over the flowering vines carved upon the posts of Darien’s enormous bed. She picked up the single candle he had used to guide her and Melody up the narrow stairway. Though the bed swallowed most of the space, leaving only enough room for a mix-matched chest of drawers and Melody’s crib, the bed was by far the finest thing in Darien’s possession.

  Piled atop the bed were several patchwork quilts. The sheets had obviously been freshly changed and the smell of lavender hung in the air.

  “Is she still sleeping?” Darien said in a low voice that startled Ivy. She would have to discover how he managed to silently maneuver the protesting pine steps leading up to the second floor carrying an armful of wood.

  He gingerly traversed the short distance to the fireplace without his boots sounding on the bare wooden floor. A glance at his stocking feet showed that he had thoughtfully removed them. The room needed a rug and she would see to that tomorrow. With Melody settled for the night, or at least the next few hours, Ivy turned, unable to put off the inevitable conversation they must have.

  Darien stoked the low fire then paused to glance at Melody tucked in the crib at the side of the bed. Evelyn’s oldest child had recently grown out of the willow wood crib marked and gnawed upon by nine other siblings.

  “She really took to the ewe milk. I’ll get some more at first light.” Darien paused over the sleeping Melody.

  “I shall need you to help me undress. I don’t have a maid and I can’t unlace the dress without one.” She showed him her back and her feeble attempt to attack the lacings herself. The move might have been more seductive if she did not still have on her creased traveling gown, ripe with sweat and sour milk.

  “Of course.” Darien’s husky voice warned her that he hadn’t noticed anything but being asked to help her undress.

  She kept her back to Darien, hoping what she felt she must say would be easier. The intimacy of their shared efforts to make his rustic cottage semi-livable seemed more dangerous than silk sheets and champagne.

  “So this appears to be the only bed?” She allowed an inviting purr to creep into her voice. This was Darien, after all.

  “I had it made for us. I intended to surprise you with it on our wedding night.”

  “What? My God, Darien. And you kept it!” She turned abruptly, clutching the gown he had recently unlaced to keep it from falling to the ground. Good Lord, seduction could never be simple and uncomplicated with Darien. “Do you still love me?”

  She blurted the question she had been too fearful to know the answer to before she could stop herself. Though she had meant to be more delicate, Darien of all people would appreciate her brutal candor. Unfortunately, she was not sure if she was ready for his.

  Instead of revealing what was in his heart, he turned and strode to the door. “It won’t be the first time I’ve slept on the kitchen floor. It used to be the only dry place in the house before I fixed the roof.”

  “I want you, Darien. For all the reasons I shouldn’t.” Ivy should let him go for both their sanity, but she couldn’t.

  “I’m just glad that you want me.” He stopped at the door and slowly turned, half-grinned, half-leered. “I don’t care why.”

  Ivy laughed a bit hysterically, but sobered instantly. She forced all her sincerity into her gaze, allowing him to read in her eyes what she didn’t understand herself. “Do you still love me?”

  “Yes,” he paused. “And no.” He walked back to her, then brushed her cheek as if he intended to comfort her, which was not what Ivy had expected at all. She lowered her gaze slightly taken aback by the tightness in her throat.

  “I’m not the same man I once was.” He slid his hand around to the back of her neck and kissed her gently on the jaw.

  “Nor am I the same woman,” she said more stiffly than she intended. “But I’m sure you’ll never be able to forget that.”

  He loosened the dress from her hands. The gown formed a cotton pool at their feet. Darien wrapped an arm firmly around her lower back and guided her against his chest in a full-bodied hug that seared past her remaining corset and petticoats. Ivy slipped her arms around his waist. He removed his coat and she could feel the strong muscles of his back through the thin cotton. His heart thudded and her nipples hardened with each beat. And he hadn’t even properly kissed her yet.

  “You are even better than I once imagined,” he said huskily into her hair. His erection grew against her hip, and she could not resist slipping her hands lower but stopped herself before she grabbed his muscular flanks. Instead, she balled her hands in his shirt and yanked him more tightly against her. She wiggled her hips against his, then turned her face to his, ready to be ravaged. Suddenly, their emotional bondage seemed to matter little compared to the immediate need of her body.

  “I have been waiting ten years for this. I don’t intend to wait much longer.” He stared at her mouth but still didn’t kiss her.

  Every time he mentioned their shared history, Ivy could not stop the shock of a loss she had never come to accept. She touched his face with her fingertips, his full lower lip.

  “Darien, we cannot carry on exactly where we left off.”

  “It won’t be the same.” He grabbed her wrist, pressed his mouth against the tender center of her palm. “But having you even for a night is proving so much more enjoyable than the ghost of what was. I know the difference, Ivy, if that’s what concerns you.”

  She nodded. But did she know the difference between what they were and what they could still enjoy in the present? For this one night, she didn’t really want to contemplate all she had lost with her first and only love.

  But then he cupped her bottom with both hands, lifting her slightly off her toes. His warm fingers seared through her sheer summer underclothes, forcing her to cling to him. He maneuvered her against his hard cock and covered her mouth with his. His tongue entwined roughly with hers and a husky moan escaped from the back of his throat. The pure hunger in his kiss made Ivy’s knees weaken.

  Darien abruptly broke the kiss, setting her on her heels, a respectable distance away.

  “Not so fast, Miss Templeton,” he said, out of breath. He lightly gripped her fingers as if he were leading her onto the dance floor. “Let’s see what you have under all that cotton and whale bone first, shall we?”

  He guided her out of the puddle of her crumpled gown on the floor, then twirled her while managing to free the ties of her petticoat. The garment dropped to the floor and she turned to face him.

  “Impressive.” Holding his gaze, Ivy sauntered toward him. He tugged his shirt from his breeches and pulled it over his head. When she casually reached to help him with the buttons at his waistband, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

  “Don’t,” he said with unmistakable anger in his voice.

  She straightened and blinked. “Don’t what?”

  He stared down at her, his gaze hungry, his nostrils flared. He had not changed his mind about wanting her, that was for certain.

  “You don’t have to seduce me.” He slowly let go of her wrist as if he hadn’t intended to do such a thing in the first place. “I’m sorry, but I don’t expect you to ply me with your talents. You are not on retainer.”

  “I never thought I was.” She turned away, not only hurt by his words, but the truth in them. She reminded herself that his father was indeed paying her to be with Darien. “Perhaps this is a bad idea.”

  He came up behind her, brushed her hair aside and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. The kisses he trailed across her shoulder melted her false show of resistance. He smoothed his rough hands down her arms and then found the lacing of her corset.

  “I want to seduce you. And perhaps I fear I’m just a wee bit over my head.�
�� A playful brogue slipped into his words. He could speak the King’s English better than she. Nor was he a simple country fool, no matter how much he seemed to like playing the part.

  She kept her back to him, fearing her hesitation would show on her face. What in God’s Name was she doing? He would never forget her betrayal. Ivy feared their purely carnal mating would leave her hollow in the morning, tarnishing the memory of what had been.

  He efficiently removed her corset then slid his hands around her waist, then cupped the fullness of her breasts with both hands. Ivy leaned against him hoping he wouldn’t notice how she trembled. He must not know her at all if he thought she was apt at playing the role of seductress, especially with him. He kneaded her breasts and her traitorous body ached with need, despite her lingering reservations. She grew wet and bit her lip to keep from moaning. His fingers brushed her nipples, but only teased with light caresses.

  “Am I supposed to act like the timid virgin?” Her heavy breaths pressed her breasts more fully against his light touch. Each inhale sent erotic jolts down to her tightening sex.

  “I don’t want you to act like anything at all.”

  He snuggled more intimately behind her and she could feel the heat of his erection against her backside. He slid his hand over her stomach and cupped her mound, pushing the hard ridge of his palm against her clitoris, massaging her in rhythmic circles. He did not discover that slick transition herding sheep on a lonely Devon moor.

  Ivy melted against him. She arched her back slightly and rubbed against the hard ridge nestled against her bottom.