by Laura Landon
He let out a husky cry, then moved his mouth to suckle at her breasts. She gasped and dropped her head back on her shoulders, then arched up to meet him.
His hands moved over her. The feel of him on her flesh sent her soaring to a strange place. To a place where her mind no longer controlled her body. A place where his touch and caress were all that was important. A place where bending to his will, following where he led, was the only choice.
He took a step forward, forcing her to step back. She went gladly, willingly. He moved another step and another, until the bed stopped them from going farther.
“Lie down,” he said, undoing the buttons and slipping out of his trousers while she got onto the bed. When he was as naked as she, he lay down beside her and looked at her. There was something tender in his gaze. Something that wiped away her fear, gave her courage to go through with this. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. Wasn’t as if there was an alternative.
“I’m glad you were the one tonight,” he said, and he kissed her again while his hands moved over her breasts and her stomach. Then lower to the throbbing center of her. To the place that ached for his touch.
She cupped her palm to his cheek and brought his lips down to meet hers. He kissed her again then touched her with greater intimacy. She nearly bolted off the bed.
This was what Genny had explained to her. The place where he would enter her. The place she had to let him invade so she would no longer be a virgin. She rubbed her hands over his flesh, pulling him closer. Urging him to complete the act.
“Take me. Now.”
“Not yet,” he said with a ragged gasp. “You’re not ready.”
She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him she was. But she couldn’t find the words. His mouth had settled on her breast again while his fingers touched her, rubbing that sensitive spot until she almost shattered. She writhed in wild abandon, whimpering until she was nearly in tears. She was desperate for something. And he alone knew what that something was.
“Please. Oh, please.”
“Yes. I can’t wait,” he gasped, a film of perspiration covering his forehead. “I want you too badly.”
Without hesitation, he positioned himself over her and entered her in one long thrust. The barrier broke and Grace clamped her lips together to muffle the cry of pain.
“What the—”
His body jerked upward and he bellowed a cry of denial. She could see the turmoil on his face as his mind struggled to understand what had just happened. Grace saw the recognition in his gaze, his eyes wide with confusion and disbelief.
“It’s all right. Please. Don’t stop.”
He looked down on her, the fury evident in his gaze. But she couldn’t let him stop. She couldn’t let this be all there was. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him, refusing to let him roll away from her the way she knew he wanted.
“Please, don’t stop. Love me. Just this once.”
He stared at her as if evaluating what his mind was telling him, then lowered his mouth and kissed her.
The mating of their lips was tentative, hesitant. Then he kissed her again, deeper, as if he realized how desperately she wanted him. Almost as if he wanted her just as much.
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yes.”
He moved inside her, slowly, tenderly at first, then faster and faster until she could do nothing but hold him and let him take her on a journey to the stars.
She was desperate to have him. Desperate to give him as much of herself as she could. She matched him thrust for thrust and clung to him as he pushed her to the madness of mindless ecstasy. He drove into her again and again until she cried out her completion.
She was still gasping for air, her hands clutching his shoulders, her legs wrapped around him, when he stiffened above her. With a violent shudder, he let out a lusty cry and found his release.
He collapsed against her and she held him close, refusing to release him. Refusing to separate herself from him.
She heard his gasps for air as she ran her hands over the rippling muscles of his shoulders and down his arms, skimming lightly over the sheen of perspiration that evidenced the ferocity of their lovemaking.
Then she lifted her face and kissed his flesh while tears of elation and sorrow streamed down her cheeks.
Vincent awoke alone in bed.
He opened his eyes slowly, then looked around the room, trying to remember where he was and who he’d been with. He felt like hell. His head throbbed from a combination of the whiskey he’d had before he’d arrived and whatever it was Genevieve had put in his drink.
And it came back to him in a rush. The girl. Their incredible night of lovemaking. Her hands touching him, her lips kissing him, her legs wrapped around him, enveloping him. Her soft, willing body. The barrier he’d broken.
Bloody hell!
His mind raced to the hours he’d spent with her in his arms. He’d been powerless from the minute he’d kissed her.
Lost to her from the minute he’d touched her. Desperate to bury himself deep within her and never let her go. And that was where he’d found his release. Deep inside her.
He remembered taking her that first time and remembered taking her again later. Remembered her pulling him to her, remembered her urging him to move harder, faster. Remembered her crying out her release.
Remembered spilling his seed inside her.
The memory left him cold. A rush of panic washed over him, stealing the breath from his body.
His head bolted off the pillow and he looked around the room, thinking perhaps she might still be there. Knowing she wouldn’t be. Only her robe still lay in a puddle on the floor where it had landed when he’d pushed it from her body.
He was desperate to find her.
He threw back the covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. His first attempt to stand ended in defeat and he sank back dizzily. He cradled his head in his hands until his vision cleared. When the world righted itself, he eased himself to his feet and reached for his clothes. He was just buttoning his waistcoat when there was a knock on the door. Genevieve stood in the open archway.
“You slept late, Your Grace.”
Raeborn gave her his most intimidating glower, but she knew him too well to be cowed by it. The smile didn’t leave her face.
“It’s been a long time since you stayed the night. Years, in fact.”
“Where is she?”
“Would you care to join me for breakfast before you leave?”
“Where is she?”
He heard her sigh. “She’s gone.”
His heart lurched in his breast. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
Genevieve shrugged her shoulders. “She left early this morning.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace.”
“You have to. You know everything about each and every one of your girls.”
Genevieve didn’t answer, and he looked at the stoic expression on her face. “She is one of your girls, isn’t she?”
Genevieve turned away from him.
Raeborn felt a niggling desperation. He reached for a cup of hot coffee someone had left on the table earlier and drank some. “What did you put in my drink, Genny?”
She didn’t answer.
“What?”
She walked to the open window and looked out. “Just something to help you relax. Nothing that could hurt you or make you do anything you ordinarily wouldn’t.”
He couldn’t believe this. He needed to think but couldn’t. His head thundered as if two teams of horses were racing through it. He rubbed his hands against his temples. “What’s her name? Her real name!”
“I can’t tell you that, Raeborn.”
“Why not?”
“I gave my word.”
“I don’t give a damn about your word. She was a virgin.”
“I know.”
“Then you know I have to find her. I could have left her pregnant!”
> A confused expression covered Genny’s face. “That’s not likely. You always pull away before you spill your seed. You never—”
Vincent raked his fingers through his hair. “Well, I didn’t with her!”
A suffocating silence hung over them. “I see.” She reached out her hand and braced it against the settee.
“Now tell me who she is. I have to know.”
Genny shook her head.
“She may have conceived!”
“That is her problem, Raeborn. She knew the risks when she came here.”
He stared at her, unable to believe she was saying something so cold, so heartless.
“Why?” he asked, pinning her with his glare. “Why’d she do it?”
“Do what? Give away her virginity?”
“Yes.”
“Because she had no other choice.”
“She’s ruined!”
Genevieve dropped her hands to her sides. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yes. She’s ruined.”
A long, agonizing silence stretched between them. In frustration, Raeborn slashed his hand through the air. “Why me?”
Genevieve smiled. “Who better, Your Grace? You were my choice. I knew you would be gentle with her and I thought—” She paused. “I thought there would be the least risk of a pregnancy with you.” She smiled a halfhearted smile. “Perhaps that is still the case.”
“I want to know her name. I need to find her. Talk to her.”
Genny faced him squarely. “She doesn’t want to be found.”
“Then she bloody well shouldn’t have slept with me! You more than anyone know that.”
Genny held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to the window. “Perhaps you did not plant a babe inside her. It does not happen every time. Especially the first.”
Raeborn fisted his hands. When he spoke, his words hissed through clenched teeth. “I want to know who she is. I need to make sure.”
The famous madam waited a long time as if considering the meaning behind his words. “I will think about it.”
“No! You’ll damn well tell me.”
Genevieve slashed her hand between them. “I will think about it. If you’re still concerned, come back in two weeks.”
“Two!”
“Yes.”
“No! I’ll give you one week. And only one.”
She sucked in a harsh breath. “Very well. One. But I can’t promise I will tell you where you can find her. I will have to think about it.”
Genevieve looked at him, her chin thrust outward in fierce determination. “You are not the only one who risked much last night, Raeborn. You are not the only one who could come out the loser.”
Genevieve walked past him, the clean smell of gardenias and roses lingering behind her. “One week, Your Grace. If you are still concerned.”
Raeborn stared at the closed door and rubbed his temples.
And he’d thought yesterday had been a bad day!
Chapter 5
The walls trembled from the shouting coming from her father’s study. Grace sat in her room with the door closed and the drapes pulled. To the outside world she knew it looked like she was hiding, that she was a coward. Perhaps that was true. She’d already done so many things that required bravery, surely she was allowed just one moment of cowardice.
The voices grew louder, then stopped. But the silence also held a certain terror.
She waited.
She was almost thankful when the angry voices continued. She knew that when the fury stopped they would send for her. Her father would demand she tell Baron Fentington there’d been some mistake. That she’d lied. That of course she was still a virgin.
She clutched her hands around her middle and rocked back and forth, unable to ignore the erratic jumping of her heart in that little indentation at the base of her throat.
She knew what she’d done and did not regret it. She’d thought the act itself would be the most terrifying, the most humiliating. But it had been far from terrifying even though the man Hannah had sent to her had been commanding in size. What he’d done to her had been anything but humiliating.
His dark features and large stature had frightened her at first, but then he’d touched her. His touch had been gentle, his voice soothing, his words comforting.
And he’d kissed her.
Grace touched her fingers to her lips and held them there. She’d never been kissed like that before. She laughed. She’d never really been kissed before. When she was sixteen one of Squire MacKenzie’s sons had placed his mouth on hers, but he hadn’t kissed her. Not like she’d been kissed by the stranger. Not a kiss where her legs seemed to melt beneath her and her heart thundered in her breast. Not a kiss where his mouth opened atop hers and his tongue searched out hers. Every fear and trepidation had faded when he kissed her, and she’d found herself filled with a desire so intense she couldn’t control her actions. A desire she thought perhaps he’d felt as desperately as she.
She couldn’t believe she’d done the things she had with him. Found it even harder to believe she’d let him do to her what he had.
Grace closed her eyes until her rapid breathing slowed. Oh, but it had been wonderful.
She refused to forget what it had felt like when he pushed her gown from her shoulders. What it felt like when he held her and touched her and kissed her. When he placed her on the bed and came over her. When he lowered his magnificently muscled body and entered her. She refused to forget even one small detail of that night. Even the pain. It was all part of her experience.
For one night, one brief and wonderful night, she’d been held in a man’s arms and loved.
Oh, she knew he didn’t love her—he didn’t even know her name, just as she didn’t know his. But he’d held her and kissed her and taken her as a man takes a woman. He hadn’t been repulsed by her because she wasn’t a great beauty, or been put off because she wasn’t so very young any longer. She was, after all, nearing thirty. He’d only been confused when he realized she was a virgin. But he’d continued making love to her as if he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d tried.
Yes, she had this one beautiful memory to cherish. She would never forget even one small detail of it. Never forget one moment of the time she’d spent in her stranger’s arms. Never regret what she’d done. No matter what the consequences, it would be better than the certainty she would have faced had she not done something so drastic.
Grace leaned her head back against the cushioned chair and closed her eyes. She let herself remember his face, his dark scowl, his hooded expression, his high, broad cheekbones and wide, angular chin. He was every inch a strong, powerful male. Every inch rugged masculinity. She smiled, then sat up in alarm.
It was quiet below.
She clenched her hands in her lap and tried to keep her breathing even and slow. She said a quick, silent prayer that she’d done enough. That she was now unsuitable to become Baron Fentington’s wife. That she would not have to come up with another, more desperate plan to escape a marriage that would be a living hell.
She ground her teeth together when she thought of Fentington. He thought no one knew. Thought his dark secrets were his own and no one was wise to his perverted acts. Thought he could keep his depravity hidden behind his outward show of religious piety. But Grace knew.
She and Hannah had grown up together. Had been best friends. She’d heard too many horror stories not to know what her life would be if she married him—the beatings, the endless hours on her knees in submission and prayer, his sexual depravity. From Hannah she’d even heard as fact that the baron’s last wife had taken her own life to escape his cruelty. Had risked eternity in hell rather than a hell here on earth.
No. She would not marry him. But it was her father who concerned her more. He had successfully married off all six of his other daughters. Only Grace, the oldest, remained. The one not quite as pretty or quite as outgoing. The one more content to play her music and read her books than learn to flirt
. The one who usually stood off to the side at any gathering and whose intelligence frightened most men away.
The one he’d made sure no one wanted so she would be left behind to be the mother her sisters no longer had.
She knew she’d always been a disappointment to him, but surely when his temper cooled he would realize she could not marry but would be more content single. Surely he would realize their home, Warren Abbey, needed a mistress to run it. That he needed her to be a comfort to him in his old age. He would let her stay here.
Surely he would.
Grace lifted her head at the soft knock at the door and inhaled a deep breath.
“Your father wants you to come to his study, my lady.”
Grace looked at the serious expression on the maid’s face and repressed a shudder. “Thank you, Esther.”
“Baron Fentington is with him.”
Grace steeled her resolve, then walked out the door with the same numbness as a prisoner going to the gallows. She braced her shoulders, taking each step with resolute determination. She would not give in on this. She would not let him force her into marriage. Not to Fentington. Not to anyone so reprehensible.
She made her way across the tiled foyer, suddenly feeling very sure of herself even though her stomach churned as if a hundred swirling whirlpools were rushing in opposite directions. She reached out her trembling hand and opened the door.
Her father, the Earl of Portsmont, stood behind his desk, waiting for her. His eyes were glazed with such fury that for the first time in her life she was afraid of him. Baron Fentington stood at the window with his back to her.
“Papa. Lord Fentington.”
Neither spoke. Her father remained silent, as if his temper wouldn’t allow him to utter any words. Fentington refused to acknowledge her presence, as if turning to greet her was so reprehensible he wouldn’t soil his tongue by uttering such blasphemy.
“Come here,” her father demanded, stepping out from behind his dark oak desk. He looked as angry as she could ever recall, as near to murder as she’d ever seen. He kept his hands fisted at his sides as if ready to strike out at something, someone. An angry muscle worked at the side of his face and he kept his jaw clamped so tightly he spoke through clenched teeth.
