She dropped her hands from his chest and gathered the bottom of her night-rail. She wore nothing beneath it, the very idea she would bare her body to his gaze enough to cause a trembling to her core, but she wasn’t deterred. She had never felt so alive, so free. Unfettered by rules and decorum. Her heart pounded a ferocious beat as she lifted the fabric over her head and cast it aside.
She burned under the heat of his gaze, his eyes smouldering with too many emotions, his hands restless at his sides.
‘You’re beautiful.’ His voice, gruff and broken, seemed a wonder all its own.
Awareness crackled between them, heat and raw desire, and his hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers, the article shed swiftly until he stood almost as bare as she. He’d retained his smalls and she wondered at that decision. Would he not ravish her completely?
She’d never seen a naked man and his body intrigued more than frightened, the rigid line of muscle beneath the white fabric, large and intimidating. He followed her stare and almost chuckled before he captured her mouth in another demanding kiss, his hand brushing over her skin to find her breast. He groaned into her mouth as he cupped the weight in his palm, his thumb stroking over the tight nipple, so sensitive and responsive to his touch. She grew wet, her body now accustomed to the reaction he caused, but never had she experienced the tingling sensation of want, an unfulfilled ache that begged to be satisfied. She cried out, the smallest sound, and he teased the tip of her breast again before he broke away to pull her down on the bed beneath him where he listed kisses across her jaw, down her neck to the slope of her shoulder. He nipped and licked a path to her breasts, his breath a heated shiver over the damp skin he left behind. She slit her eyes, unwilling to go blindly into this passion, and he leaned over her, the muscles of his arms hard and tight as he supported his weight. She wished to turn her head, kiss the rigid smoothness, but instead she watched him lower his mouth to each breast, the lightning jolt of sensation that shot through her nearly lifting her from the bed. He placed his hand on her shoulder, slid his palm to caress her, while all the while his tongue laved and lavished attention on the tight, rosy tip, caught between his teeth, soothed and suckled.
A pulsing need, greater than anything she’d experienced, settled in her hips. Her body pulsed with want, her breath short, head pressed into the soft comfort of his pillow. She turned to the side and breathed in his scent from the linen: spicy, unmistakably masculine, the fragrance of his shaving soap or cologne, and it caused her hips to wriggle with impatience all the more.
Suspended, she felt joyous and free, a thing of nature, and she nearly wept with the wanting as his kiss explored every inch of her from collarbone to navel. Her fingers dug into his shoulders to secure he never stopped. What was this madness as if she could not contain sensation inside her? It overflowed, her pulse thrummed, breathing stuttered. Would he alleviate this pent-up pressure? Would he touch her as he did before? Her hips shifted again, seeking a desperate means to surcease, and she heard him chuckle against her skin. Good God, she needed him to touch her there. She moaned her displeasure and again his laughter vibrated against her stomach.
‘What is it, sweet Gemma? Impatient, are you? Are you waiting for this?’
His heated whisper met her mouth in another long kiss while he flicked a finger over her sex. She cried out, unaware her body could feel any more alive than it already did. Exquisite torture, unrelenting desire… she had no other name for the sensation coursing through her. She grew wet, so very wet, and the throbbing ache between her legs overpowered all other thought.
Waiting, anticipating he would stroke her sex again and provide the relief for which she begged, she bit into her lower lip. Yet he didn’t. Instead he left her mouth and trailed kisses down her body until the caress of his breath against her thighs brought with it a shiver of recognition.
‘I very well may die from this pleasure.’
His words against her skin were a low growl, but she had no chance to reply. His tongue found her heat and, with eyes closed tight, she became lost in waves of unfathomable delectation.
They lay spent and sated, the only sound the crackling fire in the hearth. Thoughts crowded in, too many to decipher, logic still a distant acquaintance, but he didn’t mind, content to pass the time playing with Gemma’s hair, tossed across his chest where she reclined against his heart.
Despite his rampant desire and an unrelenting erection, honour won out. He never took off his smalls and now they lay under a sheet in a satisfying silence, her eyes closed, though he knew she didn’t sleep.
He was shaken by the experience. There was no other label for it. If only to solve all the problems that surrounded their union, this wasn’t a game to be played. There would be losers and he did not want Gemma hurt in the process.
She shifted, her breasts brushing along his ribs, and he lost the path of his thoughts.
‘I could stay here for ever.’ Her words were a dreamy whisper that prompted his smile.
‘I wouldn’t object.’ It was easy to pretend when they lay snuggled together in bed. He pulled her closer where his arm wrapped around her shoulders and captured her mouth for another delicious kiss. It didn’t take much and his body, still tense from his denial, immediately reacted. ‘But the hour grows late and I should return you home.’
‘Not yet.’ She rose, grasping the edge of the sheet in a belated show of modesty he found adorable. ‘There is something I need to know.’ She couldn’t look more solemn.
‘What is it?’ He braced himself. What could it be? Had she somehow realised he was Goodworth? Adept at solving problems, he easily understood the true intent behind someone’s words and deciphered the hidden threat, but with Gemma he failed, distracted by his vulnerable emotion.
Her expression changed. Her lids lowered and her mouth formed a little pout. ‘I haven’t had my fill. May I?’ Blissfully unaware of the double entendre, her hand, disguised under the sheet, slid over his hip and rested atop his smalls, little barrier to his increasing erection. ‘I would very much like to touch you too.’
All thought processes came to an immediate halt. He had no ready answer to that, though every cell of his being shouted yes. ‘Would you now?’ He was rock hard before he finished the question. He sincerely hoped she knew for what she asked.
Apparently, she did. With careful consideration, she smoothed her fingertips under the waistband and lowered his smalls with such discreet attention it heightened his arousal to a painful level, all the while obscured from view by the linen sheet pulled to his chest.
‘You are hot and hard.’ Her brows furrowed as if she doubted the words. ‘But soft and flexible at the same time.’ The wondrous observation may have proved levity were it not for her curious touch wrapped around his length.
He wouldn’t allow another minute of secrecy and lowered the sheet to his waist, wanting to watch, to remember every stroke and caress of his cock in her hand. He wrapped his fingers atop hers and guided them into a pleasurable rhythm, his muscles strained and breathing short. He raised an arm above his head and gripped the headboard as she leaned in to kiss his chest and shoulder. Her breasts pressed against him in the motion, the sensual rub of her ruched nipples against his arm delectable torture. He’d never last. ‘Stop.’ Her eyes came to his with alarm. ‘Not like this.’ He shifted his weight to the right and swiftly changed position so he caged her in.
‘I knew I was doing it wrong.’
Her innocent admonishment warmed his heart and he leaned down for a long, lingering kiss that began as a chuckle and ended in divine pleasure. Each minute put a greater strain on his vow to behave honourably and at last he surrendered to need and lowered his body so they aligned, the hard weight of his arousal against her silky soft thigh.
‘Oh.’ She smiled, a sweet little curl of the lips.
‘Oh.’ He swallowed that smile and kissed her more deeply.
She opened to him with natural ease and he wast
ed no time, knowing he should go slowly and wanting, wanting so badly to feel himself inside her. She was delicate all over and he couldn’t feel enough, touch or smell enough of everything Gemma. She was a rare, beautiful jewel and he wished to treat her with reverence, but unmanageable desire interfered with the plan.
He paused, his erection pressed against her core, her body slick against his skin, and forced the words out. ‘Are you sure this is what you want, love?’ He waited, unable to breathe.
‘Yes.’ She twined her arms around his neck and pulled his head down. ‘Yes, yes.’
He entered her in stages, wanting to bury himself deep and knowing better, not wishing to hurt or frighten. Still, he was a man and his blood was white hot from waiting and wanting for so very long. When she didn’t object, he pressed farther until he was completely enfolded in her tight wet heat.
He searched her face, desperate for any indication he should withdraw, but there was none. Her glittering gaze locked with his as he began to move, slowly at first, carefully, until the last vestiges of control evaporated and he lost himself in the satiny caress of her body against his, the tantalising rub of her breasts against his chest, her soft sweet moans of pleasure. He’d restricted himself to oral pleasure and the like for so long, it was as though he experienced intercourse for the first time. Some long-forgotten awareness whispered this is making love.
Overcome, so overcome, he barely withheld his climax with a desperation he never knew he owned, refusing to stop because to stop would mean the end of immeasurable pleasure, and together they two were creating a precious bond that was far rarer than any miracle.
He thrust an arm forward and gripped the bedpost in an act of endurance, wanting the inordinate bliss to last as long as possible, only to lose the battle on a guttural groan a moment later. Knowing his climax was inevitable, he withdrew, forced himself to the mattress beside her and collapsed, bracing his weight on his arms and kissing the side of her neck, his heart drumming like it would burst from his chest. He remained there, unwilling to break the moment, until he felt the trickle of a tear against his temple and jerked his head up.
‘Did I hurt you?’
She was crying, tears traced her flushed cheeks and his heart almost stopped altogether for the sight of her sadness.
‘No.’ She smiled though her lips trembled. ‘Not at all.’
The moment lanced through the haze of his satisfaction and he watched her, eyes keen. Deuces, she was a continual surprise. He hastily used the sheet to clean the result of their intimacy and rolled to the side as he continued. ‘That was… I hope for you…’ He paused, unsure what he meant to say. Past liaisons had never required words afterwards. ‘I never felt that way. I’m sure I’m…’ He caught himself. What was he thinking? She would think him ridiculous. He should reassure he wasn’t some green lad falling in love over a tumble in bed. He caught her confused expression in his peripheral vision. ‘That was fine.’
‘That was wonderful.’ Her voice held a note of awe he wouldn’t soon forget.
‘A good memory then.’ His throat closed on the words, almost as if his body attempted to keep them from reaching the air.
‘What?’ Her smile dropped away.
He couldn’t stop now. She was too good for him by far. He should treasure this time together and count himself lucky. ‘You know what I mean. You will marry well someday and have beautiful blonde-haired babies, and one day you will forget me, and I forgive you, though I will never forget you. Do you understand? You were meant for better things.’ He could hear his pulse, loud in his ears, attempting to shut out the sound of his voice. What was he doing? It was as though he had no control over his brain. What nonsense had he spewed, encouraged by fear, preservation or insanity?
‘I should go. It’s very late.’ Scrambling from the bed, she wiped damp tears from her cheeks and gathered her clothing from the floor. ‘I can manage. You should dress. We need to leave as soon as possible.’
Her clipped orders accompanied her rush about the room, collecting her slippers and plaiting her hair with the speed of a hummingbird. He didn’t move, unable to process this immediate scuttle when they’d languished in bed for over an hour.
‘Gemma.’
She paused, but he could see the wheels of her mind spinning, her fingers caught in her skirts to flatten the folds in a frenetic pattern. ‘What is it?’ Her voice lacked certainty. Where had her conviction gone?
‘Allow me to collect my clothing and I will return you, but please tell me first if you are all right?’ He was to blame for her cursory dismissal of their intimacy and sudden fluctuation of temperament, so he moved to ready as quickly as possible because it would ease her distress.
‘Yes.’ She shook her head in contradiction. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to worry were they to find me gone.’
Finished, he grabbed his boots but, before sitting on the bed, the same place they cuddled and shared a cherished evening, he clasped her upper arms and brought her into his embrace, placing a kiss atop her head in hope to smooth the jagged edges he’d created. ‘You have my heart now, sweet Gemma. Keep it well.’
She sighed, another sign he could not read, for he was ill equipped at interpreting tender feelings and understanding relationships, so he released her and pulled on his boots, anxious to escort her home.
She was a devil. No, she was worse. But not identifying a worse heresy, she labelled herself the worst demon conjured. She’d intended to say goodbye. She’d meant to tell Cole how much she cared for him and how impossible their relationship proved, and instead she had behaved with dishonourable and selfish motives, more so a greedy heart. Wanting, wishing, for one single night with him to comfort when his name was used in conversation or she remembered, and oh, how she would remember.
The wonderful man had feared he’d hurt her, whispered apologies and reassurances when he’d noticed her tears and mumbled a string of nonsense for lack of how to understand her reaction. Her tears were wept for the sheer joy of their union, the beauty of their joining, and how she wished she could explain now instead of blindly walking away without a word.
No, she was a coward more than a devil, afraid of her true feelings, fearful of choosing the man she loved over the strictures which guided her life. A hypocrite, to some degree no better than her brother, who turned his head from the unpleasant issues.
She wiped her tears, safe in her bed at Stratton House, no one the wiser for her discretion this evening, except she’d left her heart with Cole, her soul, and she would never be whole again. It wasn’t the physical attraction, though that was so beautiful and powerful it bore importance one couldn’t ignore. No, deep in her heart, where she ached with torment and regret, she knew she loved him wholly and would never love another with the same ferocity.
A fresh set of tears burned the back of her lids and she allowed them freedom, rightful punishment for her stupidity. She’d thought to find the strength from lovemaking to walk away with an everlasting memory, and instead her body craved his touch and missed his handsome smile.
The day advanced but her disposition didn’t improve. Taking a tray in her room she visited Rosalind early, luring her into the gardens with a promise they would look for butterflies and ladybugs, though her sister was not so easily fooled and likely perceived Gemma’s poorly hidden distress.
Seated in silence on a marble bench surrounded by cowslip and foxglove, their eyes turned to the slates as the clipped cadence of boot heels snagged their collective attention. Kent approached, his expression strained. Apparently, he’d returned earlier than expected and now sought Gemma. Otherwise he rarely ventured into the gardens.
‘Ladies.’ He forced some semblance of a smile. ‘I would speak to you, Gemma.’
‘You may speak freely in front of Rosalind.’ She gathered her sister’s small hand in her own. ‘Unless you’ve come with troubling news.’
‘Very well.’ He eyed Rosalind, but she didn’t leave. Instead she
wandered partway into the blooms, her concentration on a search for ladybugs, but Gemma held no doubt she listened with a keen ear.
‘I believed my instructions clearly spoken.’ He did not sit. She found he preferred his commanding position most of all.
‘I have not disobeyed.’ She looked at him directly.
‘Winton has informed me you ventured to Rotten Row and watched the riders.’
‘I did.’ Was this how their conversation would proceed? An interrogation where he waited for her to admit wrong?
‘I expressly told you to avoid anyone who could mar your reputation, yet I understand Hewitt and others passed on horseback.’
She wanted to laugh, though she was smart enough to know better and far too angry with Winton’s maniacal interference. ‘I cannot contrive to know who and when each rider will test his horsemanship. I needed to stretch my legs and found a walk along the Serpentine a suitable respite.’ She applauded herself mentally for an even tone and fine command. An image of Cole’s powerful presence atop his horse, the exhilaration of receiving his message and the subsequent events all too fresh, her tears were anxious to overflow. ‘Nothing untoward occurred and, as you’ve instructed, Nan accompanied me.’ Perhaps that would appease him.
‘Nan slept in the carriage. I am not so easily fooled.’ His tone expressed abject disapproval.
Damn Winton. He played with fire to what end. ‘Is Winton assigned to shadow me?’ She looked at her slippers and nudged a grey pebble with the toe.
‘I cannot spend time overseeing all my responsibilities and Winton has graciously offered to keep you under his wing, more to protect you from a poor choice or foolish infatuation than to shadow you.’
‘Winton is the poor choice.’ He is a lecherous snake who would like me under his entire body, not just his wing.
Into the Hall of Vice Page 19
