by Anne Barton
“I know.” He shot her an apologetic smile. “How have you been since I left yesterday? Did you enjoy yourself at the ball?”
She had, until Huntford mentioned he’d seen Stephen at a gambling hell earlier that day. “It was a pleasant evening,” she said coolly. “I’ve had time to think about things.”
“So have I,” he said. “Would you like to know what I’ve been doing?”
“Actually, I would.” She gave him a pointed look, but was not so naïve as to think that he might tell the truth about spending the evening frittering away money he didn’t have on the roll of dice that were probably cogged. She looked up and spotted Cicely, about one third of the way around the lake. She had to hold herself together for only ten minutes more.
“First, I spoke to my brother, Charles.”
“The marquess?”
Stephen nodded. “I told him that I wanted to help him manage the estate, take on some responsibility. You see, no one has ever expected much from me, and I’ve never given them much reason to. But I do have a few skills—underused though they might be. I’m fairly good with numbers, and I used to spend my summers shadowing my father at Greystone Park, right up until I was fourteen. That was the year he was thrown from his horse—and died.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That must have been awful, to lose your father at such a young age. I got to enjoy eighteen years with Papa, and he spoiled me terribly.”
He reached between them and squeezed her hand. “We have a lot in common, Amelia. More than you think.”
Intent on changing the subject, she said, “What did your brother think about your offer?”
“Charles has to spend most of his time in London these days and had decided to take on an estate manager. I convinced him to let me try the position. I know it’s going to be a lot of work, but I’m looking forward to throwing myself into something that’s productive. It will keep me busy—out of London, and out of trouble.”
Amelia sincerely doubted that. After all, trouble could be found anywhere. It wasn’t like they didn’t have cards and women in Gloucestershire. “Congratulations,” she said. “You’ll make a wonderful estate manager—you have the charisma for it, and the staff will be eager to please you. Your brother obviously trusts you.”
“Thank you,” he said, clearly touched. “I spoke to my mother also.”
Amelia winced. “Was she very upset about your injuries?”
“Yes,” he said guiltily. “Ever since my father’s riding accident, she’s been frightfully protective—especially of me. But I told her that I was done with gambling and fighting.”
Amelia wondered if this conversation had occurred before or after he spent time at the gambling hell. “She must be very relieved.”
“She was more interested in what I had to say about you.”
“About me?” Amelia checked Cicely’s progress—two thirds of the way around the pond. “Why would you tell her about me?”
“Do not worry. I didn’t tell her that I was staying with you, or that we…” He flashed a wicked smile that made her nipples tighten despite the warmth of the evening. “I told her that I’d met the woman I wanted to marry. And that I just had to convince her that it’s what she wants too.”
“Stephen, I—”
“Of course she’s very curious and eager to see you again. She confessed she doesn’t remember you from the ball at Greystone.”
Well, that was definitely for the best.
Amelia’s mind reeled. Stephen had told his mother he planned to marry her? If this was all some ploy to get her to fall into bed with him, it was rather elaborate—even for a rake like him. But he’d still lied about the gambling, and that lie made her question everything.
“I don’t want to officially propose to you until I have the chance to ask your mother’s permission. When will she be home?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. But that is beside the point. Even if I were interested in marriage—which I’m not at all sure about—what makes you think you’re ready to give up your old life?”
“I don’t think of it as giving up anything. I’d be gaining a beautiful wife and a lover and, eventually, if we’re so blessed, a family.”
Tears sprang up in the corners of her eyes, threatening to overflow. Thank goodness Cicely was almost there. “I think you’re more entrenched in your world than you realize.”
His blue eyes turned stormy and troubled. “I’ve already paid off my debt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s good to hear. I couldn’t bear the thought of more beatings—and having all my nursing go to waste. How did you manage to come up with the money?”
“I didn’t. I paid it off with my curricle and two best horses. Walking out of that gaming hell last night was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Wait. “So you admit you were there last night?”
He nodded. “Meeting with the owner, Savage. He released me from my debt in exchange for the curricle. No more surprise attacks from henchmen.”
This changed everything. He hadn’t been lying. And shame on her for assuming the worst about him.
“Stephen, I don’t have much time.” Cicely was only a few yards away. “Can you meet me later tonight? I’ll unlock the gate to our garden and look for you at the rear entrance at midnight.”
He looked at her a little strangely, but said, “If I had to scale a dozen fences and fight off two dozen guard dogs to see you, I would.”
“You know very well we don’t have a dog, and I said I’d unlock the gate.”
Cicely, bless her heart, walked right up to Amelia and extended her hand. “Come, Miss Wimple,” she said firmly. “It’s time for us to go.”
Stephen stood, watching intently as they walked away.
When they were several paces down the path, Cicely said, “I almost feel sorry for Lord Brookes. He’s clearly smitten. Did you see the look on his face?”
Amelia had. His eyes had held the promise of a night of passion.
She couldn’t wait to hold him to that promise.
Chapter 14
Miss W. is teetering on the brink of ruin.
Perhaps she should at least feign a bit of regret or angst.
—from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple
The gate was unlocked, as Amelia had promised.
There was just enough moonlight for Stephen to make out the narrow stone path leading to the house. He’d dressed in dark clothes and pulled the brim of his hat low over his face, because if anyone spotted him creeping up to the house at midnight it would look like… well, it would look exactly like what it was—a midnight assignation.
He narrowly missed tripping over a bench and he might have trampled a flower or two, but his first attempt at sneaking into a lady’s residence seemed to be going relatively well.
Then the back door swung open.
He froze, held his breath.
Amelia emerged, ethereal in a white robe, her hair twined in a loose braid hanging over her shoulder. The sight of her made his chest squeeze. “Come,” she said, waving him in.
He joined her in two strides, then closed the door behind them. Inside, it was even darker. Amelia put a finger to his lips, and he applauded himself for resisting the very strong urge to take that succulent finger into his mouth. In fact, now that he was alone with her, in the dark, he was resisting all sorts of urges.
She took his hand and tugged, leading him down a passage. The air was thick with the homey smell of cooked onions and potatoes, hinting that the kitchen was nearby. Next, they navigated their way up three staircases and down the corridor toward her bedchamber.
They slipped inside and he locked the door.
“Amelia.” He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her till she didn’t know her name.
“I’ve missed you.”
She walked farther into the room and leaned her back against the bedpost. “But you saw me only a few hours ago.”
He
closed the distance between them, pulling her hips toward his. “But you were pushing me away. I thought I was losing you. Tell me I’m not.”
She laid a cool palm on his cheek. “You’re not.”
“So, my groveling worked?”
“What?” An adorable crease appeared between her eyes.
“You liked my note?”
“I like everything about you—your zest for life, your compassion, and your devotion to your family. I love the way you make me laugh and the way you make me feel. You make me want to give up my gossip rags and rejoin the world.”
He slid the ribbon off the end of her braid and raked his fingers through her silky curls. “There’s nothing wrong with gossip rags. But I’d rather be in them than reading them.”
“I think I would too.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re ready to rejoin the world—preferably, with me at your side—but I hope you’re not in a hurry.” He nuzzled her neck and nipped at her shoulder as he undid the tie at the front of her robe. “Because I’ve grown fond of your room.”
She slid the robe off her shoulders and let it pool around her feet. “It has much to recommend it. There’s a cozy fire, plenty of sherry, and this.” She patted the bed and climbed onto the mattress. “More comfortable than the floor.”
He snorted. “I have no complaints about the floor.”
“Neither do I. I just thought that tonight you should… take off your boots.”
“Jesus, Amelia.” He removed his boots in record time and joined her on the bed. But before anyone shed any more articles of clothing and while he still had a brain in his head, he needed to ask her something. He sat beside her and laced his fingers through hers. “I know I shouldn’t have read your journal.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“But now that I did, I need to know about that last entry. Am I really just a diversion to you? Because I want this”—he squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it—“to mean something. It does to me.”
“Oh, it does to me too. I only wrote that because I was trying to protect myself.”
“From what? You should know I’m no threat.”
“You misunderstand. I was trying to convince myself that I could be happy sharing just a night with you. Selfishly, I want more. Much more.”
“That’s good,” he growled. “Because I want to spend every night for the rest of my life with you. Starting with tonight.”
“I want that too, but”—hesitation clouded her face, and he gave her an encouraging nod—“but how can you be so sure? You’ve been with women before… and each time you’ve moved on. What’s different this time?”
“It’s simple. I love you.”
She swallowed. “You do?”
“How could I not? You’re compassionate and funny and you challenge me to be more than some caricature of a gambling, drinking, whoring rake. I wasn’t even enjoying myself, only doing what people seemed to expect of me. I was tired of acting the part… and you saw through it.”
“It wasn’t very hard,” she said, smiling. Boldly, she shifted herself onto his lap, straddling him. His heart pounded. “I love you, Stephen. I didn’t think there was a man alive who could change my mind about marriage. But you can be very persuasive.”
“Darling, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I’m counting on you to show me.”
“It will be my pleasure.” He slid a hand up her thigh, and she quivered in response. “I want to see you—all of you.”
She smiled shyly, then shattered the effect by lifting the hem of her gown up and over her head. She sat facing him, gloriously naked.
The lamp beside her bed cast shadows over her mouthwatering body—the swell of her breasts, the indent at her waist, and the curve of her sweet bottom. She rested her hands on his shoulders, letting him drink in the sight of her. The fire in her eyes and the proud angle of her chin; her wild curls and serene smile—so perfectly Amelia.
She slid off him and reclined on her side, stretching long, lithe legs across the bed. “I want to see all of you too.”
He shed his jacked and ripped off his shirt so fast that she giggled. But as he took off his breeches and drawers, her gaze turned heavy-lidded and sultry.
Stephen’s blood thrummed in anticipation. He wanted to pull her beneath him and make her his. Forever. But he had to make this good for her.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
He sprawled out next to her, hauled her close, and kissed her. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and caressed her breasts, loving the warm weight of them and the feel of her hard nipples poking his palms.
She slid a long, smooth leg between his and wriggled against him like a seductress.
“You are very good at this already.” His voice was ragged, like he’d run up four flights of stairs. “God help me when you have a bit more experience.”
She chuckled and kissed a path across his chest before licking one flat nipple and then the other. He had to stop her before he lost all control of the situation.
“I want you to lie back,” he said, “and put your arms above your head.”
She settled her head against the silk-encased pillow and crossed her wrists above her head. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed the soft skin below her ear. “Now just relax. Close your eyes, if you like. Feel.”
He drew a succulent nipple into his mouth and stroked her bottom, hips, and thighs. She moaned softly, but still he kept his touch light, drifting closer to her sex, and then away. His fingers skimmed the tops of her thighs and then eased her legs apart. When she started to bring her knees together, he kissed her until she was loose and relaxed—and open to him.
He drew lazy circles on her belly and slowly, slowly slid his hand down to caress the thatch of curls covering her mound. She gasped and sank her fingers into the pillow above her head.
“I want you to remember this night, always,” he said. “I want to make you feel… amazing.”
“I’m ready,” she said with a grin.
And she was. He touched the slick folds at her entrance and found her swollen and wet. As he let his fingers explore, he studied her face and her body. She arched her back when he found her sweet spot, and he set up a rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to release.
Each time she whimpered with pleasure, his own desire grew.
“I’m going to taste you again,” he said. “Like before.”
“No,” she pleaded. “I don’t… want you to… stop.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when she came. “Stephen!” she cried, panting as she bucked against his hand.
When her body was limp and sated, he rolled her toward him and cupped her bottom, pulling her hips toward his.
“I love the way you make me feel,” she said.
“And how is that?”
“Free. Powerful. Adored.”
He brushed a thumb across her lips. “You are all those things—and you always will be. Whether you’re married or single is irrelevant.”
She arched a brow. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“Never,” he growled.
“Good.” She rolled on top of him, her brunette waves tickling his chest. “Because marriage to you is sounding better by the minute. I think I need another taste of what it will be like.”
Chapter 15
Lord B. is perilously close to losing his status as London’s premiere rake…
—from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple
Amelia was overwhelmed by foreign sensations. She was sitting on top of a naked man, for goodness’ sake. And she liked it.
She could feel his sex, hard and large behind her bottom, and while the thought of joining with him was daunting, she trusted Stephen.
She leaned over him and let the sensitive tips of her breasts graze the hard wall of his chest. Heat filled her belly, and a soft, insistent pulsing began
in her loins.
He rolled her onto her back and raised himself up on his arms over her. His broad shoulders and sculpted torso filled her vision, making her mouth go dry. He looked so powerful, so intense—and yet, there was a tenderness in his blue eyes that touched her soul.
“I want you, Amelia. Not just here and now, but always. I want a lifetime of nights like this, and a lifetime of days—with you. I love you.”
His words made her heart trip in her chest. He still hadn’t come right out and, well… proposed, but for now, his love was enough. “I want that too.”
“Thank God.” He kissed her like he was drowning and she was air. She was drowning too—desperate for more of him.
She knew what was to come next—what went where, and so forth—but she couldn’t even imagine how it would feel. The information she had on the subject was secondhand and highly suspect, but by all accounts—and based on her own observations—it was going to hurt.
Sensing her apprehension, he said, “We’ll go slowly. We have all the time in the world.” And he stoked her desire. Clutching a fistful of her hair, he kissed the side of her neck and worked his way down to her breasts, suckling her gently at first, then harder, till little shocks of pleasure coursed through her. He cupped her mound and teased her wet, swollen lips apart with his fingers, then eased one inside of her.
Her breath hitched in her throat as he set up a rhythm that left her aching and yearning for something more.
He withdrew his finger, positioned himself at her entrance, and kissed her forehead. Every muscle in his body seemed tightly coiled and ready to spring. He pushed forward a little, gauging the fit, his face a mask of concern.
“Do not worry.” She cradled his still bruised face in her palms. “I know it will hurt a bit, but I want this. I want you.”
He nodded, and thrust slowly but firmly, filling and stretching her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he thrust some more, and then, at last, he was inside her.
Raining kisses over her face, he whispered her name again and again. And then he began to move. He cupped her bottom in his hands and thrust—long, measured strokes that rekindled all the desire she’d felt before. She arched her back and moved with him, meeting him thrust for thrust and matching his pace. They moved faster and faster until her ears filled with the sound of her blood pounding and her body hovered on the edge of bliss.
