Resolve in place, she slipped the note into her skirt pocket and climbed inside the coach.
Chapter Seventeen
Cole relished the late hours. At one time he’d dreaded the night, curled in a corner shivering to sleep or startled awake by the disruptive undercurrent of street life. But now the night lived in his veins, the dark a comfortable companion. He waited, confident Gemma would find a way out of house and to the corner. He’d chosen a location near enough to Stratton House that she need not be afraid, though a misty fog played shadow games between buildings. He pulled the collar of his greatcoat tighter around his neck, his hat brim low, and assessed the cobbles. Empty… almost. A slim silhouette approached. He’d scoop her up before she had the notion to summon fear as he waited only twenty strides from her front door. He didn’t wish for anyone to see her and worried for her safety all the same.
‘Mr Hewitt.’ Her whispered hiss prompted him to smile. Why would she decide on formality when it was the two of them alone in the middle of the night?
‘Gemma.’
She gifted him a secret grin in return. He moved away from the gig and handed her up before settling beside her with ribbons in hand. A quick slap and the horses led the way, the fleeting trip to Wigmore accomplished with haste. He flipped the reins to a lad who waited for that exact purpose and hurried Gemma to his front door, easily accomplished with key in hand. He at once lit lanterns and laid eyes on her as if she allowed him to draw breath by way of having her in his home, all to himself. She looked beautiful, slightly dishevelled, and his imagination suggested her skin held heat from her bed sheets. The idea stoked the embers of desire. Had she lain beneath the covers in wait? The erotic image of her wrapped in linen, silken hair strewn across the pillows, made him harder still.
He intended to share his feelings tonight. He knew not how she would receive his confession but he wouldn’t let hesitation fault his words. She needed to know the depth of his affection.
‘I wasn’t certain you’d come.’
‘And miss the rare opportunity to see you?’
Her silky question amused him, though every word she spoke, every tilt of her lips and blink of her eyes held him in captivation. ‘Someday we won’t have to skulk around in the night.’ He refused to believe otherwise, at least at this moment.
‘I slipped out of the front door after Dobbs went to sleep. With my brother away, the house is quiet and the servants free to retire without worry. I didn’t take time to dress, though.’ She glanced down at her walking gown. ‘I put this on over my night-rail. It seemed the wisest decision.’
Every muscle in his body alerted. She wore nothing more than a night-rail under her gown? Blood raced through his veins and pooled in his groin. Her skin, satin and silk, waited only two layers away. He rubbed his fingertips together in a restless plea.
‘Right.’ He swallowed. ‘I thought it best we talk.’ And then… then they would kiss until he no longer knew his name.
‘I have come for one reason.’
He could suggest a dozen. All of them sinful and wicked. His body ached harder.
She paced a neat line, her slippers on his carpet a fretful beat. What did she mean to say?
‘I’ve given great thought to this decision.’
An uneasy note of alarm clawed its way through his haze of longing. His smile fell away and when they matched eyes, so did hers. She appeared overwrought and not at all cheerful as she was only moments ago in the gig. Perhaps it would be wise if he spoke first.
‘What is it? Have I asked too much of you?’ He knew he walked a fine line. His requests crossed the strictures of propriety ingrained in her since birth. Her birth, his birth… it seemed every thread of past and future was attached to the circumstance of their beginning.
‘No,’ she reassured and stepped closer, her eyes glistening in the lantern light. ‘I don’t know how to categorise this thing we’ve created, this friendship.’
‘Is that what this is? Friendship?’ He forced down a beat of panic in wait of her reply, his fists clenched to keep from reaching for her.
‘No.’ Her eyes flared in alarm. ‘You know the depth of my feelings, yet our…’
‘Relationship,’ he interjected.
‘Is it?’ She returned to her pacing, closer now, her skirt collecting around her legs with each pivot, the encumbrance of underskirts absent. ‘You can’t court me. We must sneak around at night. My brother would suffer a catalepsy if he knew where I was and with whom. Kent wears his title with pride, a burnished medal of honour which disguises the bonds he once had with his family.’ She stuttered to a stop and the unhappiness he saw in her eyes sliced through his heart, extinguishing any words he would offer. ‘You can’t visit my home, walk with me in the park. And Winton…’ She spat his name as if it was bitter poison on her tongue. ‘Winton is slithering about looking for an advantage to gain favour and inveigle…’
‘Winton is easily managed.’ He wouldn’t suggest how at the moment. ‘I don’t wish for you to be distressed.’
‘It all seems so unfair.’ She turned to him and took another step, as if she struggled whether or not to draw closer, perhaps afraid by sheer force of proximity her resolve would weaken.
‘Your brother need not bother with approval. It is his ducal responsibility to guard you from blackguards and bastards.’ His vehement tone forced her to listen. ‘You’d be all the smarter to send me away.’
‘He has no right to keep me bottled in a jar, unable to express my feelings.’ Fresh-born anger laced her reply, an echo of the frustration it embodied.
‘He has every right.’ He took indecision from her, closed the space between them and gathered her delicate hands in his. ‘Much of life is unfair, sweet Gemma, but I know what I feel and I want you to know.’
Her eyes shot to his, wide and glistening, such honest emotion found in the lovely green depths. ‘You have feelings for me?’
‘Almost every kind.’ He stroked his thumb over the back of her palm. ‘I come alive when I’m with you. The rest of my waking hours filled with meaningless minutes I count until I can see you again.’
‘Oh.’ She stared at him and her precious lips trembled. ‘Still, we must end this torture. I fear my brother, I know my maid… they both insist this can never be and in my heart…’
‘What is in your heart?’ He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head upward. ‘Tell me what you want and I will obey.’ Their bodies remained apart but he could feel the heat of her closeness, smell the light honeysuckle scent of her fragrance, and he yearned to capture her lips and convince her with blinding passion, but it couldn’t be that way. She must make the choice.
‘You.’
He waited, unsure he understood.
‘You are in my heart.’ She went up on tiptoe to close the distance between their mouths, and the last fraying thread of control he’d struggled to maintain slipped through his fingers. This would be a kiss to wipe away all doubt. This would be a kiss she’d never regret.
Gemma offered herself, opened her heart and pressed her lips to his. Somehow every resolute decision and determined vow evaporated when she stood near Cole. All was forgotten, what held meaning beyond this moment, understanding her father’s death, resolving her differences with Kent: it all seemed unimportant and inconvenient now. She wanted to feel passion, know wickedness, experience intimacy.
Her body demanded more than her brain and she didn’t question the decision. He was hot, hard, all male, with a commanding power that made his affable kindness that much rarer and appealing. Yet in his eyes, when she looked into their golden-brown depths, she saw secrets, naughty things she was meant to discover, sensual acts he wanted to share and she needed to learn. Her pulse hammered in her wrists just below her skin as it started a race towards a glorious goal.
She crushed her mouth to his, aware she acted in opposition to the words she’d spoken only a breath before, but how she needed to feel hi
s kiss, draw from his heat. Her sudden gesture brought that persistent lock of hair down between them and she smiled into his mouth, opening for him, anxious to taste, breathe him in, join their passion.
Like so many decisions, this too was beyond her control. Driven by desire and curiosity, an insatiable yearning to be closer to him, she hoped he would understand. This was her goodbye, this memory she left with him. She would give of her heart and then take her leave.
His tongue swept in to tangle with hers, the sensual rub an erotic reminder of when he’d touched her below and elicited that strange, overwhelming burst of sensation. She wriggled within his embrace with the memory and his hands slid from her back to her hips, holding her firm. Everywhere their bodies touched burned with heat. Wanting him closer, she wove her fingers through the hair at his nape, silky strands against her skin, and locked him flush to her length, her breasts pressed to the muscles of his chest, the tips sensitive and hard with arousal.
He moved his palms to cradle her face, angle his mouth in perfect position, the roughened stroke of his fingers and texture against her cheek an arousing surprise, skin to skin, so different but inordinately pleasurable.
Like her best intentions, things unravelled quickly. Every touch became urgent, every stroke of his tongue against hers reached deep to her core. His kiss was insistent, hungry, and it wound around her like a rope, tighter and tighter, with demand and desire woven so she couldn’t break loose and never wished to. Her mind blissfully dismissed logical thought and allowed her senses command, the sensual abrasion of his chin against hers, the pressure of his hands hot through the fabric of her gown, the smooth masculine twitch of his muscles with every breath. This man was potent virility and devastating charm and she wanted him like she wanted little else in life. Just this one experience. To treasure. For always.
He broke away, his breathing ragged, the heat of each exhale against her cheek. He placed his hand against her cheek in the barest caress, his fingers trembling, this man who exuded control and power. When he spoke in a low, husky murmur, it echoed within her soul.
‘I cannot be any other than what I was born to be. I am a bastard. I have no family to speak of, no bloodlines or heritage, but I know my mind and more so my heart.’
‘No.’ She gave a dismissing shake, their heads pressed together. ‘You can be whoever you like.’
He looked like he might laugh and his reaction confused her. ‘Here.’ She placed her palm against his chest. ‘Where it counts. Without complication of labels and titles.’
He didn’t immediately reply.
‘Mayhap I am more like you than I once believed.’
There seemed no room between them for words. He swept her up, secure in his arms, and turned towards the stairs, carrying her to his bedchamber in a rush of passion. He placed her on his bed, a massive structure with four carved posts that nearly scraped the ceiling, navy blue covers, and a thick mattress where she sank amidst the linens, her pulse strumming a chaotic song of wishing and wanting. With a fluid stroke he discarded her slippers, his boots; all the while she watched, eyes glued to his every action.
Breathe.
She demanded her body to listen.
Breathe.
Too late.
Too hot.
A fire blazed in the hearth but she burned from within. Any pleading with emotion proved useless. Cole stood before her, devastatingly handsome, hair dishevelled from where she’d gripped him tight, his eyes pierced with the intense gleam of desire. She would offer herself as a gift before she walked out of his life, but let there be no mistake, this was no selfless act. She wanted him, needed him. Needed to feel his hands explore her body, touch her intimately until they melted into each other, one soul combined, together in her heart always.
‘I want you.’ She spoke the words as they formed, and something altered in his expression; his jaw clenched as if he struggled with control, his fists curled and flexed, restless at his sides.
‘There’s no coming back to the beginning once we reach the end.’ His voice sounded strained and she wondered if he already regretted bringing her upstairs.
‘If this is not what you want…’ She rose on her knees, confused and near hurt by his reaction.
‘I want you, Gemma. More than you’ll ever understand.’ He cleared his throat, his words having gone gravelly. ‘But it must be your decision.’
She offered her hand and smiled.
In this she was sure.
Gemma stared up at him, her lips formed in the lopsided tilt he’d come to adore, and his heart pounded with the magnitude of her gesture. She would offer him her innocence? He was undeserving, though he wasn’t insane. He wouldn’t decline. His body ached for her, inside and out. The disjointed thought that it had been years since he’d made love… no, wait, he’d never made love. The acts of his past, nothing more than meaningless rutting until his decision to abstain, for fear he’d add to the unwanted children of the streets. Somehow it came to this moment.
How beautiful she looked, a dream he didn’t dare envision come to life in his bedchamber. Her eyes caught the lamplight, shimmering green as emeralds. Someday she would have beautiful children, lovely eyes and fair hair. He liked children. The odd, piercing acknowledgement threatened to distract but he wouldn’t allow it.
He grasped her hand, placed a kiss to her palm and enveloped it tight. ‘Are you sure, Gemma?’ He could not bear her regret at the end of the evening. Dismay would obliterate the magnificent beauty of this night.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her smile unwavering.
‘I am honoured.’ He dropped her hands, his fingers at work on the buttons of his shirt, and it heated his blood how her eyes followed his every movement. Had she never seen a man undressed? What was her experience with kisses and caresses? How would she receive him? Would she make noise as they made love or remain quiet, eyes closed, lips tight, passion held in check? His mind spun with myriad images, all of them sensual and satisfying, each of them a suggestion for the next time, the future, a life full of lovemaking and happiness. A fool’s dream.
He dropped his shoulder and released his shirt, not ready to remove his trousers, determined to go slow and make it last, prolong the anticipation and savour every nuance of Gemma in his bed. The latter part of that decision made his cock throb with want.
Perhaps he wouldn’t wait too long.
Fever-fierce heat pumped through him as he approached her, poised on his bed and ready. He swallowed hard.
To hell with waiting.
He was done for.
He yearned to devour her every inch, kiss, nip, lick, taste from top to bottom, and then claim her, buried deep in her wet heat. Make her his. Keep her. The one precious treasure in his life. To protect with honour until death. His love. For her.
His thoughts scattered, his emotions intense and disordered. But she did that to him. Destroyed all coherence and at the same time completed every void.
He rested one knee on the mattress, the sudden dip causing her to fall forward, and she braced herself with a hand on his chest. He covered her palm, held there so she might know how hard his heart pounded.
Leaning in he took her mouth with a hungry kiss, wild and urgent and at the same time deep and long, coaxing her upward until she knelt on the edge, her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her mouth sealed to his in a kiss that could last for ever. He skimmed his fingers down her spine, traced the arch of her back and cupped her backside. Oh, the glory in barely any clothing; still, the gown was too much. He furled the skirt upward, breaking contact so he could remove it with impatient frustration, her sweet white night-rail beneath an aphrodisiac, silk ribbons and dainty pink embroidery. She looked a confection for him to devour, and all the while hot, demanding desire coursed through his veins, hammering away at his control.
He couldn’t act on that need.
He would be gentle and patient.
He smoothed a palm over her bottom, the
cotton gown a flimsy barrier, yet he wanted to feel her skin, touch her velvety softness. She was pure and untouched, everything he wasn’t, and in that realisation, nothing made sense any more. Not his past or his future, nor her in his bed. He’d yearned and he’d dreamed and now she was here, despite they’d only met weeks ago, months perhaps; time had no significance, having ceased when they kissed. It seemed like he’d wanted her for ever, an eternity of wanting, and now here she was, the answer to his every desire.
She pulled away from his kiss and he feared he’d scared her, but no. She smiled, her palms coasting over his chest, exploring his skin before she rested her cheek and listened to his heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Gemma surrendered to desire. Cole stood before her, his intense expression softened by the admiration in his eyes. She coasted her palms over his shoulders, down his strong arms. Every slope and ridge of muscle beneath her fingertips caused a thrilling flutter in her belly. Firelight played across the smooth planes of his chest, the skin shadowed by hard definition. He might claim to be bastard-born from humble beginnings, but she knew the soul within the man. Someone who moved with enviable confidence more assured than any titled peer, eloquent in his perceptions.
Still, now in his bedchamber, a different man faced her. A wicked rake and dangerous rogue, whose sultry expression revealed the fact she evoked those passions, a heady potion more powerful than his kiss.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, skimmed down her back and caressed her bottom and she no longer wished to think or reason. She could become a different person too, an illusion or apparition. Not the daughter of a duke or the sister of a noble. Not a proper lady, reserved companion, but a woman; first and foremost a woman with desires and wants and, most of all, passion. How she yearned to surrender to sensation and ignore all else except primitive longing.
Into the Hall of Vice Page 18
