And then she did.
Her head fell back onto his knees as a strangled cry left her lips.
At no point had she thought Adonis capable of bringing her to such ecstasy, of practicing such patience and such fierce determination to see to it she was pleasured beyond anything she had experienced before. His ministrations had her seeking his body, seeking something to hold onto in the maelstrom that suggested it might continue well into the night.
When his lips and teeth latched onto one nipple, she reflexively jerked away from him. His manhood nearly left her body before she settled back onto it. No sooner had she come down when he kissed the other nipple. Her body jerked up in response, her breath catching at the unexpected assault. When she felt more than heard his guttural reaction, she understood what she could do to see to his completion. Lifting and lowering herself, she reveled as she watched Adonis give up the control he had managed to maintain the entire time he had been in her bed.
His hands moved to grip her hips, guiding and finally helping her until his entire body suddenly stilled and his breath caught. His face contorted and the muscles of his arms bunched the very moment before Lydia felt a wash of warmth settle into her lower body. The same moment her own body seemed to bloom with exquisite pleasure.
Whimpering and gasping for air, she slowly settled atop Adonis’ body, aware of how his hands guided her down until she was securely atop him and her head ended up on one of his shoulders.
Allowing a deep breath, Adonis kissed her forehead, closed his eyes, and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
Lydia sighed quietly, rather stunned over what had just happened. No wonder some wives wanted to sleep with their husbands, she thought. No wonder widows sought a bedmate during their mourning period.
What have I been missing? she wondered in dismay. Had her husband really been that poor a lover? And Oliver, too? She shook the thought of Oliver from her mind, not wanting to give the rake a moment more of her thoughts. But Adonis? He had spent the last hour worshipping her body at the same time he coaxed every ounce of pleasure from her. He had been unselfish, caring, …
Loving.
The thought brought her up short, but at the same time something tugged in her chest.
Had Jasper thought the man capable of replacing him? In her bed as well as in her heart?
Or had he even thought that far ahead that day on the battlefield?
The afterglow of their lovemaking kept her warm for a time, but soon she sought the cover of quilts. She managed to pull several over her bare back and most of Adonis. The bit of exertion and the late hour had her exhausted, though.
“May I stay here?”
The whisper sounded loud, and if she’d had the strength, Lydia would have lifted her head to regard Adonis with a look that suggested he was insane to ask. Instead, she said, “Of course. Besides, you must. I’m not about to move from where I am.”
Beneath her body, she felt the burble of a chuckle make its way to his throat. “Good night, my lady,” he whispered.
“Good night, Adonis,” she murmured and finally closed her eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A Conversation in the Middle of the Night
A few hours later
Lydia felt a heartbeat that wasn’t her own. Pressed against her cheek, the pulse, strong and even, had provided a sense of comfort for hours. Now, though, its pace had suddenly increased, and she sensed the body that held it wished to move.
“Are you well, my lady?”
The whispered words had Lydia lifting her head from Adonis’ chest. “I suppose I am,” she replied with a sigh. At some point in her dreams, she had cried—her final tears for the loss of Jasper—but her sobs had long since ceased, her dried tears having left salty tracks in their wake. “And you?”
Adonis took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head, rather startled to find the one that had been wrapped around Lydia’s shoulder was so warm. No wonder men spoke of women warming their beds, he thought absently, quickly moving his arms back below the quilts that covered the bed and the soft body of warmth stretched along his left side. “I am. I admit to a bit of embarrassment, though.”
Lydia lifted her head again. “Why is that?”
The beautiful man blinked the sleep from his eyes. “I truly did not mean to ever join you in your bed, my lady,” he murmured. “I thought only to sit in a chair and watch over you.” Every night for the rest of my life.
Sighing, Lydia settled her head back into the small of his shoulder, rather surprised she didn’t feel the least bit of embarrassment about allowing Adonis to share her bed. He was certainly a better bedmate than Oliver, who thrashed about in his sleep and tended to cast the covers off the bed until she finally had to wake him and send him on his way.
How could I have taken him as a lover? she wondered in retrospect. The specter of loneliness certainly led to poor choices at times.
Was this one of those times? Here she was, pressed up against a naked man who seemed to have lost part of his mind and yet hadn’t, really. Once he took his leave of her house—it was well past dawn—half the neighborhood would think she had taken a lover.
“Thank you for telling me about Jasper.”
Adonis managed a grunt in response. “I cursed him, you must know.”
Lydia held her breath, not expecting the words. “Oh?”
“He forced me to make a promise he knew I would feel honor-bound to keep. If I lived,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “I suppose he knew my wounds weren’t going to kill me even though I prayed for death.” He paused for several seconds before continuing, rather surprised at how lucid his thoughts were just then, as if a thick fog had lifted from his brain. “Until a few days ago, I cursed the bastard every day for a year, and now …” He paused and allowed another sigh. “I feel like such a fool.” His arm, once again wrapped around her shoulders, pulled her almost entirely atop his body. “How did he know, do you suppose?” he asked as the back of one knuckle traced its way down Lydia’s arm.
Could a spy really have known Adonis would carry out a promise that had been wrung from him in a moment of desperation? A moment of vulnerability?
Lydia shivered as his finger traced its path and finally settled over the back of her hand. Holding her breath a moment, she wondered what he was talking about. “Know what?” she whispered.
“That I would fall in love with you? Despite knowing there could be nothing between us?”
Closing her eyes, Lydia considered the quiet question, rather surprised at how the few words could have such a profound effect on her. Jasper knew so much more than he ever shared with her, or probably anyone, for that matter. He knew things about people. About the men in Parliament. About other aristocrats. About the royal families of Europe. He sometimes knew what she’d been thinking even before she realized it herself.
“Perhaps,” she finally murmured. “He did seem to know everything.” She took a deep breath and let it out, aware of how sleepy she suddenly felt before his other question finally registered. “What did you mean when you said there can be nothing between us?” Lydia lifted herself onto an elbow and turned to regard him. “What are you doing here if not to …?”
“I didn’t intend to seduce you, if that’s what you’re about to accuse me of doing,” he whispered. Although he had seen Lydia’s body completely naked in the dim light from a dying fire, paid witness to the perfect engorged nipples, plump breasts and rounded hips as she rode him to completion, he still found it difficult to tear his gaze away from her pale collarbones and the space below.
Lydia couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that settled over her just then. “Are you married?” She had asked him before and remembered his startled response—how he had nearly toppled over at her suggestion—but she thought it prudent to ask again. Especially now that he seemed entirely there, his thoughts on the here and now.
“Of course not,” Adonis replied, his other arm wrapping around her shoulders
to pull her down atop him so her head ended up just below his chin. He inhaled deeply, allowing the scents of orange blossom and spice to fill his nostrils. “I rather doubt there’s a woman in all of London who would wish to marry an old fogey. My leg will never be … healed properly,” he murmured. “I don’t know that I’ll ever have the full use of it.”
“You have a rather limited understanding of most of the women in London,” Lydia remarked, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Given how beautiful he was, most women would hardly notice his limp.
“And what say you?” Adonis whispered, his words nearly swallowed up by the darkness. At some point, he had closed the bed curtains, as much for warmth as to keep his presence secret from an awakening household of servants.
“Well, I no longer find you as much of an annoyance as I once did,” she hedged, her grin widening. When Adonis didn’t make a sound in reply, she lifted her head, rather shocked when she realized how close her lips were to his. “But it is a bit bothersome that you’re so damned beautiful.” She felt a jerk beneath her body, a sign her words had some effect on the man.
“Would you have paid me any mind at all if I weren’t?” he countered, his manner nearly as playful as hers.
Lydia arched an eyebrow. “As I recall, I didn’t pay you any mind at all until I caught you breathing on me at the museum,” she argued in a hoarse whisper.
Adonis closed his eyes and inhaled again, intoxicated by her scent. “About that. I owe you an apology. My behavior was probably most … odd,” he murmured. “It was the first time I saw you up close, and I wasn’t expecting you to be so gorgeous.” He was about to use the word ‘bewitching’ again, but thought better of it. She certainly hadn’t liked hearing it at the theatre.
Jerking a bit at hearing his claim, Lydia regarded him with disbelief. “Pray tell, what were you expecting?” she wondered, realizing his expectations had to have been set by anything Jasper might have told him the last night of his life.
She felt his attempt at a shrug, rather stunned when she realized she was almost entirely atop him. She could feel his every move beneath her body, feel the warmth of his body permeate hers, feel the hard ridge of his arousal where it pressed against the top of one of her thighs.
“An older woman, certainly.”
“Well, I am nearly nine-and-twenty,” she countered, deciding the truth was best. Besides, something told her the man knew far more about her than she did about him. He had spent hours in Jasper’s company. Who knew what Jasper had said when death was imminent?
Adonis cleared his throat. “As I said, I was expecting an older woman. We’re talking about Barrymore here. I didn’t know he had excellent taste in women. That you’d have a brain behind that gorgeous face, and a luscious body to go with it.” He stopped speaking suddenly and seemed to concentrate on something beyond her shoulder. When Lydia’s hand waved in front of his face, he blinked and returned his attention to her. “He was a spy. He had no business taking a wife.” He paused and seemed to consider something for a moment. “Unless he needed you for a cover in one of his operations,” he murmured, unaware of how his words would sound to her.
Stunned, Lydia stared at Adonis for several seconds before she suddenly struggled to remove her body from atop his, her murmured, “No, no, no, no,” increasing in volume with each denial.
Adonis tightened his hold on her, the steel bands of his arms preventing her from leaving his body. “And now I’ve gone and made a cake of it,” he whispered when her attempts to thrash at him finally ceased.
Tears once again traced down Lydia’s cheeks. Jasper had been a viscount, and Lydia knew he had taken his seat in Parliament despite his frequent trips away from the capital. He was in the army …
Lydia sucked in a breath and swallowed a sob. Jasper had a younger brother, the man who was now the viscount. Julian had taken that seat in Parliament, rather proud to carry on a tradition that had been passed down through five generations of Barrymores. Indeed, everything about the life of an aristocrat that Jasper had eschewed or been unable to partake in due to his service to Crown and country had been adopted by his brother. Julian should have been born first, she thought after a moment.
Her thoughts went back to Adonis’ implication that she had only become Jasper’s wife because he needed a cover. It was true the man never courted her in a manner most would think normal, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary, either.
“What are you saying? That I was … part of some kind of arrangement?” she whispered. Then she remembered Chamberlain’s explanation. Jasper needed a wife because there were rumors he might be a homosexual.
Adonis used his free hand to reach up and scrub his face before he considered how to respond. Truth be told, he knew exactly why Jasper Barrymore had taken a wife. It wasn’t as if the Foreign Office forbid marriage among its ranks, but it certainly wasn’t encouraged, either. With Jasper’s death, Adonis knew the spy’s brother would inherit the viscountcy, and having already sired two sons, Julian Barrymore had already seen to a clear line of succession. But Adonis supposed for the sake of appearances, a viscount needed to appear as if he were doing his duty with respect to his title.
And to quell the rumors.
“I cannot presume to know Barrymore’s reasons, my lady, nor his orders. But I suppose he needed to make it look as if he was carrying out his duty as an aristocrat. Take a wife. Sire an heir.” He allowed his words to fade when he realized they only seemed to sadden Lydia. He hugged her a bit harder just then. “I can only assure you he went to his grave having felt affection for you. He loved you, and regretted most deeply not having told you so.” He rubbed a hand over her bare back, his warm palm calming her a bit. “I have no intention of making the same mistake, however, so I will say it again. I love you.”
Weary and suddenly so tired she could barely hold up her head, Lydia finally allowed a nod and allowed herself to settle onto his body. “I believe you. Now go back to sleep, Adonis,” she murmured.
“Yes, my love,” Adonis whispered, a slight smile touching his lips as he closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Adonis Gets His Wish
Later that morning
“What are you drawing?” Lydia wondered, pushing away the hair from her face. Bleary-eyed, she found she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Adonis still in bed next to her. She was fairly certain he was still naked as well—at least, he was from the waist up. The bed linen covered the rest of his toned body, although most of what was beneath could be discerned through relief. She dare not move the hand nearest him in the event it would come in contact with his warm skin. The man seemed to radiate warmth even when he wasn’t trying to seduce her.
Half sitting, half reclining, he was leaning against the headboard, a sketchpad resting on one raised linen-covered knee. The sounds of a pencil or charcoal could be heard scratching the surface of the rough paper.
Adonis regarded her with an appreciative glance. “Good morning, gorgeous.”
Lydia couldn’t help the thrill that shot through her body just then. The man was incorrigible. “May I see?” she asked as she raised herself onto one elbow.
He angled the sketchpad and aimed it in her direction. “How long should the chain be, do you suppose?” he asked in a whisper.
Lydia started at the image. It was done in exactly the same style as the one that Chamberlain had on his desk, the one of Jasper’s death on the battlefield. “You’re the one who did the drawing Chamberlain showed me,” she murmured quietly.
Adonis frowned as he turned his attention to her, the drawing forgotten. “He showed it to you?” he asked quietly. “You weren’t meant to see that. It’s rather … gruesome and …”
“Necessary,” she interrupted. “It answered several questions I had about how my husband died. I never would have known if I hadn’t seen it,” she reasoned. “Thank you for documenting the scene so completely.”
Adonis seemed to think on her response for a t
ime. “You’re welcome, then.” Before he could get lost in thought, he pointed to the new drawing. “How long should the chain be, do you think?” he repeated. This drawing was a rendition of a naked Adonis in recline, with the lines of bone and muscle shaded in perfect relief. Lydia was reminded of the statue they had studied at the British Museum the first day she had met him.
Had it only been a week?
Even his genitals were depicted, although not in the manner she had first seen his.
Just last night?
That memory had her entire body shivering in response. She quickly tamped down the thought and instead concentrated on the shackle that had been added around one of the man’s ankles. The last link of a short chain was attached to a ring on the shackle.
“Is he supposed to be a slave?” she asked, her brows furrowing as her gaze went from the drawing to his face. Goodness, but the resemblance was amazing. Just as he had looked at the museum when he attempted to strike the same pose as the Adonis statue, Sir Donald looked exactly the same as what appeared in the rendering.
Well, except for the shackle.
“Something like that,” Adonis replied with an arched eyebrow, his manner not the least bit teasing.
Lydia blinked. “A man leg-shackled,” she murmured, suddenly thinking of the drawing in a different light. “Is that supposed to be you when you’re married, mayhap?” The question came out a bit harsher than she intended, almost sarcastic in its tone.
Adonis allowed a slight shrug. “I prefer to think of him as a slave to love,” he finally said, setting aside the sketchpad and charcoal. He reached over to the nightstand and captured a bath linen, wiping his hands and leaving smears of charcoal in the soft fabric.
The Enigma of a Spy (Regency Rendezvous Book 10) Page 19
