She’d always wondered if there was more. She’d not wonder after today. She’d know.
There was.
The taut muscles of his arms flexed beneath her hands. She could barely wrap her fingers around half the girth of his arms. Thomas Findlay was not a small man. If she were to fight him, she could do nothing to stop him, but she had no fear. The hands that stroked her held only tenderness.
“So damned beautiful, Duchess.” He didn’t just say the words. He worshiped her with them. And not because she was a duchess, but because he was a man who would starve if not fed.
He consumed her as though his life depended on it.
Loretta arched into him, heady at the sensation of being wanted.
“Open for me, love.” His hand touched her there, cupping her and caressing. When she felt the invasion of his finger, and then two of them, tears threatened to overflow.
Prescott had done his utmost to never touch her that way. He’d only ever taken her in darkness, her gown raised modestly while he moved between her legs.
“What are these? Tears?”
She pinched her eyes closed at his question. He’d halted his assault upon her senses.
“Duchess?”
“Please,” she begged. “Don’t stop.” She couldn’t look at him.
His breath warmed the skin around her eyes. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”
His voice held an odd insecurity coming from this giant of a man. It reached inside and inadvertently touched her heart, and when she opened her eyes, she gazed into a troubled expression. She studied the roughened texture of his skin, the small creases around his eyes for a moment before speaking.
“I’m not afraid.” She admitted. He thought he’d been hurting her or scaring her. “I’m… affected.” How could she explain the tumult caused by his seduction?
One corner of his lips lifted in a sardonic, somewhat disparaging grin. “Affected, Duchess? Only affected? I must be doing something wrong. I want you roused to the height of passion. I want you begging me for more.”
He teased her.
Nobody ever teased her.
“Begging you for more, Mr. Findlay?” She lifted one brow. “But that you will be begging me.” Such boastful words!
But then she pulled his face down and pressed his lips against hers. She wasn’t as graceful in her kiss, as practiced as he, but she sensed he appreciated her efforts. When she slid her tongue past his lips, he sucked it inside of his mouth farther.
She squirmed a bit in frustration, wishing she had the confidence to show him how to touch her. Her lips parted but she lacked the courage to speak her needs.
“Show me,” he goaded, as though reading her mind. “Show me what you want.”
How could she deny his husky command? Not giving herself the opportunity to hold back, she placed her hand on his and raised it to her breast. “Your mouth.” But that he’d understand her wants.
He growled. “Anything.” And then hot, laving, tugging sensations “Anything.” A gentle nip.
And then a not so gentle nip.
He devoured her with an enthusiasm she could not have imagined, fanning the desire he’d already ignited.
Everything he did, every touch, every taste, every move he made focused upon her needs and wants. He’d yet to remove any of his own clothing, and Loretta wasn’t so emboldened as to do it for him.
In no time at all, she was lost to all logic, pressing herself into his hand, gasping and writhing. How did he know? All she knew was sensation. Need and then gratification. And then greater need, sharp, vulgar carnal need.
Until everything spiraled mercilessly, sending her flying into the white explosions behind her eyes. She cried out, clutching him. Riding his hand. Tumbling around inside of her mind.
Ah.
Ah, yes.
CHAPTER SIX
Thomas feathered kisses along her brow. There was nothing else in the world like a woman after she’s experienced her climax.
After she’d come.
She lay beside him, spent, soft and lethargic. The color in her face, the flush on her neck and breasts had him unfastening his falls. He didn’t think he could hold off much longer without embarrassing himself.
Settling himself between her thighs, he placed himself at her opening and slid into her silky wetness. Her heated muscles clutched around him tightly.
He sensed her withdrawal, her reluctance, at once. “Don’t go all duchessy on me now,” he ordered. Likely, guilt was already forming. She’d oppressed such needs for years, her conscience probably was niggling. He watched her open her eyes, expecting to see regret.
“How can duchess be an endearment one minute, and an insult the next?” A light danced behind her eyes as she teased him. Not regret.
Thomas reached up to smooth some stray hair away from her face. Lovely, shiny brown hair with golden glints in it.
“I guess I’m just complicated that way.” He couldn’t hold back the intensity he felt burning inside him.
“Complicated? How so, Mr. Findlay?”
He answered with a deep thrust, causing a gasp to escape her lips. “How’s that for complicated?” And then another thrust.
And another.
Slender arms wrapped around his neck. “Thomas.” She mumbled his name.
He lifted her legs around his waist and pleasured them both this time. Sweetest rhythm in the world, most erotic dance, loveliest embrace of them all. His face buried in her neck, his mouth open to her skin. “Duchess,” he gasped. Not in a million years would he have imagined. “Loretta.”
She began moving with him. Clutching and meeting him as he drove them both. Was that her heartbeat or his own? Closer. He wanted closer to this woman.
He would conquer her and yet forever be her servant.
Another kiss. Deeper than the others. His tongue stroking inside her mouth, mimicking the motions of his cock. Drinking of her. Filling her.
She gasped. She cried out.
He hurried his pace, pounding into her, seeking her very core. He couldn’t go much longer.
And then it hit him hard. Jerking, convulsing, with one last thrust he released himself. Wholeheartedly. A climax unlike any he had ever known.
As he did so, she clutched and pulsed around him. He couldn’t stop tasting her. Loving her. Kissing her.
When he could no longer hold himself up, he collapsed atop this duchess. He’d move off in a moment. But for now, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.
Loretta had known there was more.
So much more.
When Prescott had come to her during those first few years of their marriage, he’d been performing his duty. He’d been dedicated to securing the succession.
She’d always felt like something of a chore.
He’d snuff the candles, push up her gown, spread her legs, and work himself inside her. “You are a good wife,” he’d told her on more than one occasion.
Thomas Findlay had proven her theory to be correct, oh, so very thoroughly. Although much larger than her husband had been, there had been no pain.
He’d prepared her for his entrance. And there had been more.
So much more.
Upon releasing his seed, Prescott would hold himself over her for a moment, withdraw and then leave the room.
It had never been about the two of them. It had always been about the dukedom. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Talk to me, Duchess.” Thomas lay atop her. “You’ve gone awfully quiet on me.”
Loretta opened her eyes and found him watching her intently.
“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t understand what they were doing, other than finding physical pleasure together.
He didn’t seem to appreciate her gratitude. “Thank you?” He raised both brows. “You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever known.”
He would say these words to her with his member yet between her thighs. Blasted man!
“You’ll not ‘Mr. Findlay’ me now,” he growled, causing a girlish giggle to take over her affronted indignation.
“Mister Findlay,” she repeated when her mouth was finally free.
But then he grew serious. “I would thank you, but I think we both found pleasure.” Blue eyes gave her nowhere to hide. At moments like this, she recognized his insecurity with her.
She nodded. Yes. She’d found great pleasure with him. “It’s why I thanked you.” And then she added. “Thomas.”
Even with his hair mussed and sweat drying on his brow, this man’s looks affected her. So ruggedly masculine. A man who had labored. A man who was proud of his labors.
He possessed a self-esteem, the thought came to her from nowhere. She would never have discovered in her husband. Before she could stop herself, she’d reached out and was tracing the strong jaw hovering above her.
“You don’t talk to me enough, Duchess. Damned if I ever knew a woman who talked as little as you.”
“I don’t know that you would wish to hear my thoughts.” For in her mind she constantly found herself comparing him to her husband.
“I’m curious as to what goes on behind those serious eyes of yours. Of what a duchess contemplates after being thoroughly swived by the great industrialist, Thomas Findlay.” Although his words were boastful, she recognized humility behind them.
Her title, her station in life, intimidated him.
“She thinks,” Loretta began, “She thinks she might possibly be sore tomorrow. She thinks she’s never known such exquisite pleasure. She thinks she might want to know such pleasure again…”
And she fears the self-recriminations she will surely experience tomorrow.
“What,” she asked, turning the tables on him, “does the great industrialist, Thomas Findlay think upon swiving the aging Duchess of Prescott?” She’d meant the question as a jest, but suddenly felt vulnerable lying beneath him.
“He thinks,” Thomas began, “that age has never looked better on a woman, let alone a duchess. He thinks…” His throat pulsed as he swallowed hard. “…he’s been given a great gift. And he thinks he might wish to know that same exquisite pleasure again as well. After…” Without breaking his gaze, he slid off her and adjusted himself more comfortably. “…a short nap.”
With his arms around her still, Loretta felt him relax beside her. The windows rattled as a gust of wind shook the small abode. A nap sounded heavenly. She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into his embrace. Just before drifting off, she was vaguely aware of him drawing the blankets up to cover them.
A gift.
He’d said she was a gift.
A chill sweeping through the room pulled her from sleep. But why was she sleeping in the middle of the day? For surely daylight filtered from behind her eyelids.
Loretta opened her eyes and all the indiscretions she’d engaged in swept through her in a rush of shame and something else.
Rebellion?
But she was alone now. Clutching the sheet to her breast—good heavens, she was naked—she crawled off the bed and then padded across the floor to peer outside.
Snow. Millions of large snowflakes swirling so thick that she could hardy make out the trees. Thomas would have gone to check on the horses.
They hadn’t intended to be here this long. He’d instructed the stable lad who’d met them to give them water but they’d still been tethered to the curricle.
The high flyer which they could not use to travel in this weather.
She shivered and then glanced around the cottage. A stove took up most of the corner. Near it, a table with but two mismatched chairs, and of course the bed. Along one wall, a small bookshelf held dozens of books. Atop the shelf sat a candle and flints.
A large gust of wind rattled the windows once again, sending another shiver through her.
Her maid would be worried when she did not return this evening. Millie would send word up to the manor informing Dev and Sophia.
What would they think? Had they even known she’d gone along today? What would they imagine? Surely Mr. Findlay… Thomas… had told them of the journey to inspect the estate. They’d realize she was safe with him, would they not?
The chill in the air drew her out of her contemplations, and she located her dress and chemise. Upon unravelling the material, she struggled for a few minutes before finally managing to get herself decently covered.
The laces needed tying, however, and the skirt had wrinkled terribly.
She’d not dressed herself in decades. When she touched her hair, she could not help but groan. The sleek chignon Millie had made up earlier that morning must now resemble a bird’s nest!
A search of the bed revealed most of the pins had fallen out during… She bit her lip.
What had she done? Running her fingers through her hair, she located the remaining pins. She pulled her comb from her reticule, but wished for a glass. Perhaps she could affect something presentable.
Thomas gave the horse one more vigorous rub with the towel and then stepped back. He’d not expected the snow.
He’d not expected the duchess…
His hand shook slightly as he hung the damp cloth on a hook.
After watching her sleep for a while, he’d grown restless. What had this meant to her? She was a blooming duchess for Christ’s sake!
He’d climbed out of the bed and then dressed quickly when he saw the snow falling outside. Stupid of him to have brought the curricle. He should not have gambled that the weather would hold.
He needed to return to the cottage… return to her. Would she be cold and distant once again? Would she have reminded herself of her station in life? Would she have reminded herself of his?
Or would she be the warm vulnerable woman he’d made love to?
A man of action, he pulled his jacket around himself and dashed out the stable door into the storm. He could barely see his way to the path, the flurries having turned to something of a snowy tempest.
His son-in-law would inform the others at Eden’s Court that the duchess was quite safe with him. Thomas needn’t worry in that direction.
Head down, he picked his way through the cluster of trees that hid the cottage. Perhaps she still slept.
He could join her in the small bed once again…
More than likely, though, she’d awakened and was already fretting about their circumstances. Thomas raised his hand to clutch at his hat as a frigid gust of wind threatened to carry it away.
Trouble was, he liked the duchess.
Quite a bit. But were any of her feelings engaged?
From what he could surmise, her marriage had taught her nothing of love, or pleasure for that matter. Or passion. Had she hungered for it all these years? So much so that she might be willing to embark upon an affair with the first man who came along?
The cottage appeared in the distance, through the white wall of driven snow, at least he surmised it was the cottage.
Of all the women for him to engage his affections, why did she have to be a blooming duchess? A nabob.
He shook off his resentment, stomped his feet, and ducked through the door as quickly as possible.
She’d awakened.
His throat thickened as he took in her disheveled appearance and hesitant expression. Rich brown hair falling nearly to her waist, her gown unfastened with the seams showing. Meeting his gaze, she bit her lip and smiled hesitantly.
“Sophia will be so happy to have snow for the holidays.”
His heart skipped a beat at her thoroughly proper observation. She was not full of recriminations.
Yet.
“Christmas isn’t for over a week yet,” he pointed out. “It very well may melt before then.”
He stomped his feet to remove some of the snow and debris from his boots, but did not remove his jacket.
Even inside the cottage, the chill had taken hold. Locating her wrap, he picked it up and carried it over to drop upon her shoulders.
“I’ll get a fire going, but you might want to warm up under the blanket on the bed.” Someone had stacked wood not far from the stove. Thomas busied himself doing something practical.
Heat. They would need heat. They had plenty of wine and food left over in the basket they’d brought along, the cooks at Eden’s Court having outdone themselves, so he needn’t worry about rations. He’d spotted a well nearby. Perhaps he could make up some tea…
He wasn’t certain yet if he’d like to curse the storm or welcome it.
“The horses are well?”
Thomas struck the flint and waited for the flame to take hold before answering her. He imagined this to be uncharted territory for the both of them.
“Fine, fine. Got a good look at the stable while I was at it.” He rose and finally turned to meet her gaze. “And how are you, Duchess?” He would squash any awkwardness immediately. He brushed the wood dust from his hands and strode across the room.
She did not resist him as he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin.
“I am…” Her arms slid up his chest to encircle his neck. “I am confused.”
He’d not had such a sweet smelling woman in his arm in ages. Soft, fragile.
“Ah, I expected you might be.” But he surprisingly found himself aroused again. “Tonight doesn’t have to be complicated though.” He’d take whatever she was willing to give.
She snuggled closer. “It does not, does it?”
Upon which words he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed.
“As pretty as you look in any color, I must say I was happy to see you wearing something other than black this morning.” Thomas dropped a kiss on the back of her neck scratching her skin with the beginnings of a beard.
They had not fallen asleep afterwards this time, instead lying together, listening to the crackling fire in the stove. Loretta did not know if it was the shadows or the isolation that invited intimate conversation.
Hell Hath Frozen Over Page 5
