by Olivia Drake
Maybe he really had been thinking of his late wife during that impassioned episode on the parapet. Maybe Ellie had just been a convenient substitute for the outpouring of his emotions.
Her heart endured a painful shriveling. Upon their arrival here at the castle, she’d overheard him comment that she was much prettier from a distance. Perhaps he preferred his women to be dainty and blond, the way he’d described his late wife. And yet … Ellie had seen heat in his eyes when he’d looked at her, too.
She couldn’t bear his return to coldness. He had reverted to being the stranger again, as if the warmth, the laughter, the friendship they’d shared only a few hours ago had never happened.
But it had happened; their closeness had not been a figment of her imagination. And if this was to be their last night at the castle, she couldn’t let him just go away now. Not when this might be her only chance to learn the mysteries of being fully a woman.
Not when she felt full to bursting with desire for him.
She propped the polished stick against a chair and then took the quill and inkpot from him. The brief touch of their hands ignited sparks of pleasure over her skin. Emboldened, she cast a guileless glance up at him from beneath her lashes. “I’m afraid I can’t manage the cane with my hands full, and I really shouldn’t put weight on my ankle. Would you mind helping me over to the bed? I’d like to put these things on the table there.”
He gave her a keen stare. She half expected him to snatch back the pen and ink and take them over to the bed himself. But he didn’t, much to her satisfaction. Instead, he slid his arm around her waist and walked her across the room.
She made sure to lean heavily on him, to let her bosom brush the side of his chest and to bump her hip against his as if by accident. By the time they reached the bed, her legs felt weak as jelly and she truly did need his assistance in standing.
An oil lamp burned low on the bedside table, casting a soft glow over the plumped pillows and the feather quilt. Ellie craved to be lying there in his embrace, happily subject to his ardent kisses and skilled caresses. But her knowledge of how to achieve that goal was woefully inadequate. In all of her illicit imaginings of this moment, she had never thought to be the one to direct the seduction.
He was the scoundrel, after all. Oughtn’t he seize her in his arms and have his wicked way with her?
She quickly set down the items atop the notebook. Before Damien could remove his supporting arm, she turned to face him. Her hands came to rest on the lapels of his coat, and by design, her breasts met the hard wall of his chest. His earthy masculinity made her aware of an insistent pulse beating deep in her core.
She gazed up at him imploringly. “Are you quite certain you won’t stay with me for a time?”
His chest expanded as he took in a lungful of air. “No. No, that wouldn’t be wise. Not at all.”
It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. His large hands encircled her waist as if to set her away from him. Yet he did no such thing. He only stared ferociously at her as if wrestling with an inner demon.
Sensing her chance, Ellie reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand. His skin felt wonderfully rough from the day’s growth of his beard, and she ached for him to touch her in return. “Don’t leave, Damien, please don’t. I want you right here with me. I want you to kiss me again as you did before.”
His jaw clenched beneath her hand. He stared at her with grim concentration, his fingers flexing around her waist. “You can’t know what you’re asking, Ellie. It won’t be just a kiss this time. Give me half a chance, and I’ll strip you naked and ravish you in that bed.”
The vehemence in his tone only made her melt, though it was clear he meant to frighten her away with his plain speaking. She smiled up at him. “I do know what I’m saying. And that is what I want.”
But not even that brazen declaration had the desired effect on him.
He stood rigid, motionless, a fiercely luminous quality to his green-gray eyes. “For God’s sake! I can’t do this, not to you of all women.”
You of all women. What did he mean? That she was special to him? Or simply that he didn’t wish to compound the wrong he’d already done by abducting her?
In a flash, she comprehended the source of his resistance. It all made sense to her now. Damien didn’t want her to be forced into marriage as his first wife had been. He still carried a terrible burden of guilt from the past, and he feared to repeat his mistake. Despite his sordid reputation, he was determined to treat Ellie with respect.
But she didn’t want him to coddle her, not now. Now, she simply wanted him. The only way to accomplish that was to break down the wall of his stubborn scruples.
With one finger, she traced the shape of his mouth. “I’m afraid you’ve no choice in the matter,” she murmured. “You see, Damien, it’s part of my compensation. You owe me one night of pleasure.”
Chapter 17
As always, Ellie had surprised him.
In the midst of a self-inflicted battle between honor and lust, Damien felt the mad urge to laugh. Here he was, determined to do one decent act in his misbegotten life, and she was offering herself to him on a silver platter. He ought to vacate her bedchamber at once, never to return. He absolutely ought not to be eyeing her lavish bosom and wondering if a tug on her bodice would allow those beautiful breasts to spring free.
The light touch of her fingertip on his lips was far too provocative, so he caught hold of her wrist to stop her. Didn’t she realize how difficult this was for him? Or maybe the little minx did know.
“I’ve already promised you a cottage and a stipend,” he growled. “We made an agreement, and you can’t add anything more to it.”
“Why not? I don’t recall signing any legal papers.” As if the matter were settled, Ellie began to undo the buttons of his greatcoat. “Besides, in the eyes of society, I’m already ruined. Since people will whisper that I’ve lain with you, why not do so in fact? At least then I will have gained the benefit of experiencing the sin that I am believed to have committed.”
He should step away from those deft fingers. But he was roasting hot. He needed to shed the heavy coat and then bury himself deep inside her body. No, he’d be wiser to take a plunge into the icy depths of the sea. “You’re supposed to save yourself for the man that you marry.”
“Then pray be assured, I have no intention of ever marrying.”
Her calm statement caught him off guard. Why would she say such a thing? Even Veronica had wanted to get married—just not to a bastard rogue like him.
Ellie pushed the greatcoat off his shoulders. As he shrugged out of the sleeves and let the garment fall to the floor, he snarled, “What the devil do you mean, never marry? All women want to marry.”
“I can’t speak for all women, only for myself. And I don’t care to have a husband.” She reached up to work at the knot of his cravat. “After twelve years in my uncle’s house, I’ve had my fill of tending to the demands of other people. I want to live on my own without any entanglements. Why would I trade one form of servitude for another?”
Her frank assessment made him glower down at her in unaccountable ire. He didn’t want to marry again, either. Didn’t that make them a perfect match? She was every scoundrel’s dream, lovely and willing, requiring no commitment from him except to fulfill her sexual desires. Yet perversely, Damien wanted to shake sense into her.
He pulled her fingers away from his neck cloth and imprisoned them beneath his, flat against his chest. “If you truly wish to live alone, that’s precisely why we shouldn’t do this. I could impregnate you, Ellie. You may very well conceive my child.”
She glanced away for a moment, biting her lip. Then she returned her gaze to him, those big brown eyes as direct as ever. “I accept that risk. And if perchance I should find myself in a delicate condition, I’ll raise the child on my own. Never fear, I absolve you of any and all obligation.”
Absolve him! Her assumption of his irresponsibility lit
a powder keg in Damien. He wanted to explode in fury that he would never, ever abandon his own child. Why in hell would she assume that he would?
It was his unsavory reputation, of course. That, and the fact that no one knew about Lily. He had taken great pains to keep his daughter’s existence hidden from the world, to protect her from society gossips who might whisper of her father’s ill-repute. He would not speak of her now, either, not even to exonerate himself in Ellie’s eyes.
She was staring up at him, a faintly quizzical expression on her face as if she sensed his powerful reaction and sought to understand it. He wouldn’t allow her to fathom his thoughts. His private life belonged to him alone. The only knowledge she would elicit from him tonight would be carnal.
If Ellie thought him a rake, then by God, he would be one.
He thrust his fingers into her elegant coiffure, dislodging the pins so that her rich auburn curls cascaded over her shoulders. Bringing his mouth close to hers, he murmured silkily, “Then you shall have what you wish, Ellie. How could any man resist such beauty and fire?”
* * *
Ellie had been perplexed by the tautness of anger on his face. Everything she’d said had been designed to clarify that she was not like his late wife, that she would not trap him into marriage, not under any circumstances. Wasn’t that what men of his ilk wanted? An easy liaison without commitments? Yet she had sensed the rise of ire in him, his eyes taking on a shuttered look that concealed his thoughts.
Then, like a slate wiped clean, the harshness had altered into a look of seductive charm. In one swift move he made a tangle of her carefully arranged curls—and she could not be happier. Now, his fingers were doing delicious things to the sensitive skin of her scalp and neck, while his mouth trailed soft kisses over her face.
Did he truly think of her in terms of beauty and fire?
A sublime longing seared through Ellie and melted her knees. She clung to his broad shoulders and closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the sensations he aroused in her. This was not the same as the mad, impassioned embrace on the parapet, but she liked it just as much. Perhaps even more, she amended, as his lips brushed over hers, his tongue taking provocative sips at her mouth.
Believe me, Ellie, if ever I decide to seduce you, you’ll know it and you’ll want me to do it.
He’d said that to her only the previous day, when she had sprained her ankle. At the time she had scoffed, but not anymore. How very right he had been. She could think of nowhere else she wanted to be than in his arms, every part of her alive with anticipation. More than anything in the world, she wanted him to seduce her just like this.
His hands moved down her back, opening the row of pearl buttons that she’d struggled with for ten minutes to fasten by herself. Damien made much shorter work of them. In a matter of moments, he’d loosened her gown and tugged off the sleeves, letting the silk of her bodice drop to her waist. Cool air caressed her skin. She had purposely left off her corset tonight, so that now only a simple chemise preserved her modesty.
One arm looped around her waist, he turned his attention downward to her bosom. Her overly large breasts jutted against the white linen, the darker nipples visible through the fine fabric. His eyelids were lowered somewhat, and he wore a look of such sober concentration that shyness crept over her.
Was he comparing her to his delicately beautiful wife?
Her arm moved of its own volition in a feeble attempt to shield herself. Haltingly, she murmured, “I’m sorry I’m not … dainty. As a lady ought to be.”
He looked up sharply. One corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. “Sorry? Good God, Ellie. You are an innocent.”
Placing his hand on the outside of her chemise, he cupped one voluptuous globe in his palm, his thumb rubbing idly over the linen-draped tip. “You’re exquisite exactly as you are. See? We’re a perfect fit.” Continuing to stroke her in that exciting manner, he added, “I’ve no doubt we shall fit just as perfectly elsewhere, too.”
A quiver of anticipation suffused her from head to toe. He was referring to the intimate act they would share, Ellie knew. She had only a general idea of how it was accomplished, and his implication made her eager to lift the veil on the mysteries of lovemaking. He teased her again with those small, stirring kisses over her face and throat. Her skin had become acutely sensitive to his touch, and the caress of his fingers on her breasts created a river of heat that flowed downward to enrich the ache between her legs.
“Damien.” Sighing his name, she wreathed her arms around his neck, as much for support as to encourage his kisses. He obliged her with a playful skirmish of their open mouths that left her wanting more. How could he be so controlled? She herself felt possessed by a wild yearning that she knew not how to assuage. When he drew back abruptly, she made a small mewl of protest.
He rubbed his knuckles soothingly down her cheek. “You oughtn’t be standing on that injured ankle.”
“Mmm,” she said, rising on tiptoes to invite another kiss, “it isn’t hurting me at all right now.”
“Nevertheless, I’d prefer to make love to you in bed—without the impediment of clothing.”
With a flick of his fingers, he untied the strings of her petticoat, sending it and her gown slithering to the floor. He swept her up against him and half carried her to the large four-poster, where he drew back the covers and laid her down against the pillows.
Reclining on the cool sheets, she wore only the gossamer chemise, silk stockings, the garnet slippers. Should she remove them? The fleeting thought vanished as Damien straightened up beside the bed.
He peeled off his coat and waistcoat, letting them fall where they might. As he reached up his arms to strip the white linen shirt over his head, Ellie rolled onto her side and watched in utter enthrallment. She had always wondered if the marble statues of Greek gods had been exaggerated by the sculptor; surely the subject had been carved to appear larger than life. But Damien could have been a model for a masterpiece of classical art. He had a powerful torso, his arms and shoulders were defined by taut muscles, his chest was a broad expanse with a scattering of black hair that disappeared into his waistband.
The mattress dipped as he sat down to tug off his boots, dropping each with a thud onto the carpet. Clad in only his breeches, he turned to brace one arm on either side of her. Their gazes held for an eloquent moment. The only sounds were the snapping of the fire and the beating of her heart in her ears. His green-gray eyes revealed a concentrated ardor, along with something else, something she couldn’t define.
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Ellie,” he said gruffly. “You can still change your mind.”
He was granting her a choice. Even now, he was being considerate of her sensibilities. He didn’t want her to make a mistake that she might regret for the rest of her life. Reaching up, she lightly touched the rigid set of his jaw. “I want this, Damien. I want you. So very much.”
He searched her eyes for another moment, and whatever he was seeking must have satisfied him. The tension in his expression eased and he gave her a scoundrel’s smile that promised exciting things to come. Then he joined their mouths in a deep, meltingly intimate kiss.
Succumbing to temptation, she explored the hard planes and angles of his upper body. His skin was hot, smooth in places and rough with hair in others. She loved the solidity of his muscles, the firmness of his chest abrading her breasts. All of her senses felt alive and vibrant. Never had she known that a man’s taste could be so delicious, or that his scent could stimulate her passion.
How incredible to reflect that a week ago, she hadn’t even met him. Damien seemed a part of her now, an extension of her own body, as if they were bound by some inexplicable force. She could no more send him away than she could stop the swift thrum of her pulse beat.
He kissed a scorching path down over her chemise, then proceeded to remove her shoes and garters, lingering over the task of rolling down her silk stockings, one at a time. The brush of his fingers on her th
ighs and calves was exquisite torture. In her naïveté, Ellie had not known that lovemaking could be unhurried and prolonged, with every action savored. It was fulfilling—and it was tormenting, too, a splendid frustration that honed her desire for him. At last, when her legs were bare and he had finished worshiping them, he tugged up the hem of her chemise.
Ellie shifted position to help him draw it over her head. Then she sank back against the pillows as he gazed over her nakedness. She felt no shame, only a sense of rightness in letting him look upon her. The keen appreciation in his eyes made her feel beautiful, admired, womanly in a way she’d never before known.
He ran his fingertips over the hills of her breasts, then down over the plain of her belly and around the curve of her hips. “I’m glad now that you wore those shapeless sacks,” he said, his voice deep and raspy. “No other man has ever seen you like this.”
The look he gave her was fierce and profound. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, and she sensed that he was keeping his own passions under strict control. But she didn’t want him to be disciplined. She wanted him to give free rein to the madness that he’d displayed out on the parapet.
“Make love to me, Damien. Please.”
He still wore his breeches, and when she fumbled to unfasten them, he caught hold of her hands. A strained chuckle came from deep in his chest. “Patience. Else this will be over too swiftly.”
He lay down alongside Ellie and idly stroked her, his fingers gliding down her arm, then over her hips and breasts, while skirting the one place that burned the most for him. Was it wicked to wish that he would touch her there? She wanted to ask him, but couldn’t quite formulate the words. Surely such a request was far too indecorous for a lady …
Lowering his mouth to her breasts, he suckled each one in turn, his teeth lightly nipping while she sighed with pleasure. She combed her fingers through the tumbled strands of his hair. How novel to gaze down at his dark head ministering to her bare bosom. The lust he provoked in her transcended all rules of propriety.
