WANTON

by Cheryl Holt

  She rested a palm on his cheek.

  “Don’t leave,” she quietly pleaded.

  He smiled a heartbreaking smile. “When you look at me like that, it’s hard to say no to you.”

  “Good.”

  He leaned nearer. “So don’t look at me like that.”

  “I have to. I believe I’ve finally found the means to make you behave.”

  “In your dreams, Miss Hubbard.”

  “Yes, in my very vivid, very amorous dreams of you.”

  He chuckled oddly. “Who will I be once you’re through with me?”

  “You’ll still be Lucas Drake—only better.”

  He laughed, and it was a merry, full laugh, one she’d never heard from him before. It made her happy. It made her giddy with anticipation.

  He started kissing her again, the flames of desire quickly igniting. He was driven in a fashion he hadn’t been previously, as if he was on a desperate quest to touch and remember. A sense of destiny was in the air, as if they were being swept to a conclusion they couldn’t avoid.

  Amelia—as always when she was with him—knew exactly what to do. When he caressed her, she caressed him in return. When he bit and nibbled, she did the same. They were so attuned, their movements like a choreographed ballet where they’d both learned their parts and could perfectly execute them.

  Gradually, he was stripping off her clothes: stockings, garters, petticoats, and gown. Eventually, she was attired in her corset and drawers, and she felt shockingly pretty, alluring as she’d never been.

  He kept pausing to glance down at her, and his reaction had her spirits soaring. He clearly liked what he was seeing, and his approval was blatant and arousing. She wanted him to shower her with more of his attention, for it was heady stuff, being found remarkable by Lucas Drake. His heightened regard was too thrilling.

  She was almost naked, and she thought he should be in the same condition. She began stripping him too, his boots and stockings and shirt.

  Once his chest was bared, he lay down and pressed himself to her, and she was glad she was prone. His body was large and warm and so indescribably male that, if she’d been standing, she might have swooned. She was that overcome by sensation.

  He yanked off the last of her garments. Soon she was wearing nothing at all, and he was clad in just his trousers. He was flexing his loins against her, the fabric of his pants the only barrier between them.

  She was on fire, needing him, but not able to bring him close enough. What would it take to assuage her hunger? Would he finally show her? Would she let him?

  She’d had too much to drink, and it was entirely possible that she was making bad choices, that her reasoning was impaired and, therefore, flawed decisions were likely. If she erred in assessing the situation, what disaster might result?

  While she didn’t understand the particulars, she knew they were marching down a dangerous road and headed for a cliff. She could leap over it with him, or she could refuse. If she refused, what would happen?

  She was quite sure he would leave London as he’d been planning. She had to keep him by her side, but he was a randy, unprincipled libertine who interacted with females in a physical way. She had to prove to him that she could meet him on the level he demanded, that she could be the type of woman he enjoyed.

  He drew away, and as he gazed at her, that gleam of affection was still visible, but he looked tormented too. Even though he’d sworn he wasn’t sad over the quarrel with his father, it appeared to have left him weary and distressed.

  Could she ease his woe? Again, if she could prove herself, wouldn’t he discover how much he needed her?

  “Do you ever wish,” he asked, “that you were someone else? Do you ever wish you could snap your fingers and become a different person with a different life?”

  “Yes, but mostly when I was younger. I’ve been happy these past few years, with my job and my friends.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “Yes, I have been very lucky.” She touched her lips to his. “How about you? Have you been lucky?”

  “Not really—although I managed not to be killed in the army. I miss being a soldier,” he surprised her by admitting. “It kept me out of trouble.”

  “Would you reenlist?”

  “No.”

  So...where would he go if he fled London? She was dying to inquire, but was too afraid to raise the topic again. She wouldn’t let him recall that departure was an option.

  His anguished thoughts were very near the surface, and if he’d confide in her, she was positive he’d feel better. But there was to be no sharing of secrets.

  “I want something from you,” he said.

  “Anything, Lucas. I told you, and I meant it.”

  “It’s horrid of me to pressure you.”

  “No, no, it’s all right.”

  He sighed. “You’re too good for me.”

  “Of course I am.”

  He smiled again, but it was poignant and forlorn. “The last time we were together, we misbehaved, and you asked me if there was more to it.”

  “So I did.”

  “I’d like to show you the rest. I need to show you the rest.”

  “I want it to happen.”

  “If we proceed, we can’t ever go back. You won’t be a maiden, so you’ll never be able to marry.”

  “As you’ve spurned me, there’s not exactly a line of suitors waiting in the wings to take your place.”

  “You never know, Amelia. You might meet the man of your dreams, and he’d be willing to wed you despite your poverty.”

  “Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so?”

  “What would you do? You couldn’t accept his proposal, and it would be my fault.”

  She studied him, anxious to utter the correct comments so they’d successfully maneuver the difficult spot where they were suddenly treading. She thoroughly believed—if she consented—she would wring the appropriate conclusion from him. Wouldn’t she?

  He possessed a genuine affection for her, and his conflicted mood underscored his confusion. If they forged ahead, he’d realize that matrimony was the best ending. He liked and respected her, and although he claimed to be a cad, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t hurt her. He’d marry her to make her whole again.

  “There can be no fault here, Lucas,” she soothed. “I want this from you. I want you to be the one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Promise me you’ll never regret it.”

  “Never, you silly man. Now...will you get on with it?”

  He stared at her, and she stared back, appearing calm and composed and ready for what was about to transpire. Apparently, he saw what he needed to see.

  He nodded, as if reviewing her offer of her chastity and persuading himself that she’d agreed without any duress.

  “I’m worried that I can’t make it special enough for you,” he said.

  “It will be plenty special. I just know it will.”

  He hesitated, then began kissing her again, and there was a new, almost desperate urgency in his actions and movements. They leapt into the carnal fray, welcoming the rush to bliss. He bit and nibbled, suckled and played, until she was writhing in agony beneath him.

  “I can’t bear much more of this,” she moaned. “Can’t you hurry?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  He continued his torment, letting the tension build and build until, when he finally stroked her between her legs, she exploded with pleasure. She flew to the heavens, laughing, crying with joy, so glad she was with him, so glad she’d ultimately have him for her own.

  As her pulse slowed, as she grew more aware of herself again, she realized that he’d widened her thighs and wedged his torso between them. He looked resolute, girded for battle.

  “Do you know what’s about to occur, Amelia? Has anyone ever told you?”

  “Not the specifics, no. I’ve simply heard that it’s
very physical.”

  “It is.” He cupped her sheath with his palm. “I’m going to join my body to yours. Here.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s easier if I show you.”

  For the briefest moment, she vacillated. This was the point where she should demur, where she should refuse. This was the point where she should come to her senses. But she was convinced that, if they proceeded, he would have to marry her.

  Despite his low character and awful morals, he liked her, and his infatuation couldn’t be denied. He wouldn’t walk away.

  “Show me, my dearest Lucas,” she said.

  “It will hurt.”

  “I understand,” she said, though she really didn’t.

  “Just for a minute.”

  She pulled him to her. “Stop talking and start doing.”

  He started in once more, goading her into the spiral of ecstasy. The second trip escalated very quickly. With scant effort, he pushed her to the edge, and just as he might have heaved her over, he was thrusting with his hips at the vee of her thighs.

  There was something there, something bigger than his fingers. It was lodged at the entrance to her sheath, and her virginal body recoiled. She tensed and tried to draw away, but he wouldn’t permit any escape.

  “Relax,” he murmured.

  “What’s happening? It feels odd.”

  “The first time is awkward.”

  “Are you sure this is the correct way?”

  “Absolutely sure.” He kissed her sweetly, tenderly. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yes. Hold me tight. Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t. I won’t ever let go.”

  He dipped to her breasts, laving and sucking on her nipples. A powerful wave of pleasure swept over her, and as it did, he gave a hard shove with his hips. There was a bit of pain, a bit of discomfort. Tears welled into her eyes. It wasn’t from the pain necessarily, but from the strangeness, from the unexpected closeness.

  She was on the verge of crying, but couldn’t comprehend why. She was actually very, very happy. This was the precise ending she’d craved—where she’d be so firmly attached to him that they could never be separated.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m...fine. It aches a little, but it’s already fading.”

  “Good. Keep holding me.”

  “I will.”

  Gradually, she relaxed, and as her anatomy accepted him, he began to move. He would thrust forward, then retreat, then thrust again. She instinctively recognized what was transpiring, and she joined in, swiftly adopting the rhythm he’d set.

  He grew more determined, more forceful then, suddenly, he pushed in very far. He groaned with what sounded like agony and collapsed onto her. They lay together, and while he was a very large man, he didn’t feel heavy. He felt magnificent, welcome, and wonderful, and she preened in triumph.

  I’ve got you now, she mused. You’re mine and always will be.

  He eased away and rolled onto his side, and she rolled too, so she could face him. They were smiling, merry, excited by their illicit behavior, and Amelia was suffering from a peculiar need to weep and whoop for joy at the same time.

  “What do you think, Miss Hubbard?”

  “I’m not a maiden anymore, am I?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she said.

  “Neither am I.”

  He turned her and spooned himself to her back, and it was the most intimate, remarkable episode of her life. If she lived to be a hundred, she wouldn’t forget a single second of it.

  She’d heard that the sexual act was very physical, but no one had ever hinted at this quiet interlude afterward. No one had explained how splendid it would be, how devastatingly sweet.

  While she was quite undone by what had occurred, he was a tad overwhelmed too, as if he was astonished that the event had been so amazing. She yearned to ask if it was always so extraordinary, but she had no idea how to have such a frank, explicit discussion.

  “Could I be...”

  She couldn’t finish the question, and he finished it for her.

  “Could you be what?”

  “Could I be increasing now?”

  “No,” he scoffed. “It doesn’t happen from just one time. Well, it can happen, but it’s highly unlikely.”

  She shut her eyes and whispered a prayer that it was one of those odd occasions where it happened right away. If she was having a baby, it would be another weight on the scale to persuade him that he had to wed her.

  He stayed with her for a very long while, and the entire interval was so emotionally charged that she truly assumed a marriage proposal would pop out, that he couldn’t hold it in. How could two people be so overwrought, with matrimony on the table but neither able to mention it?

  She’d been so sure, so sure, but eventually he said, “I have to go. It will be dawn shortly. I don’t want to be seen sneaking out.”

  “I wish this was our house and our room. I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

  “We can do it again someday.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he responded.

  If she had her way, they’d be repeating the conduct for the rest of their lives. But she didn’t dare say so.

  She let out a very unladylike yawn. “I’m fading fast.”

  He leaned nearer and kissed her cheek. “Goodbye.”

  “Not goodbye,” she countered. “You mean good night.”

  He paused for an eternity, then mumbled, “Ah...yes, good night.”

  She rolled over to find him balanced on an elbow, looking decadent and dashing and so very, very handsome. A sliver of affection roiled her, and it grew and grew until she didn’t know what to make of it.

  Their joining had changed everything. She was connected to him as she’d never be with another. She was his and he was hers, and they would be together forever. No one could keep them apart.

  He slid off the bed, and she watched, unmoving, as he straightened his trousers, as he grabbed his clothes and tugged them on.

  “I’m glad I met you,” he said.

  In light of what they’d shared, it was the strangest comment ever, but she haltingly replied, “I’m...glad too.”

  “Remember: No regrets. You promised.”

  “No regrets, Lucas. Never.” He started out, and she called to his back, “Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

  “What about it?”

  “Lord Westwood’s ball. You swore you’d waltz with me.”

  He scowled. “I guess I did.”

  “I’ll pencil you in on my dance card.”

  “You do that, Miss Hubbard. And wear that silvery-colored gown of yours.”

  “The silver one? Why?”

  “It’s my favorite, and I want to waltz with the most beautiful woman in the room. In fact, I insist on it.”

  “Silver it is, then, Mr. Drake. Silver it is.”

  He brushed his fingers to his lips and sent a kiss winging toward her. Then he spun and left, and she snuggled down, listening as the quiet settled.

  With him gone, there was an immediate and disturbing sense of finality in the air and, suddenly, she was suffering from an unnerving impression that she’d never see him again.

  Of course she would! Currently, she was emotionally distraught, but it would pass. She’d see him the next evening. He’d sworn he’d be there, and perhaps the proposal would come then. She’d be expecting it, and she’d dress with the intention that it would be the magnificent moment for which she’d been impatiently waiting.

  He couldn’t possibly refuse to do the right thing—not after such a riveting experience. He’d be eager to have her as his wife. She had no doubt.

  Yet as she tugged the covers more tightly around her, as she fell asleep, she was frowning. She tossed and turned, her dreams chaotic and disordered and terribly, terribly sad.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
r />   “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, darling.”

  Amelia leaned nearer to Barbara and whispered, “When a man and a woman become...well...intimate...”

  She couldn’t continue, and Barbara laughed. “Amelia, you look as if you’re about to burst into flames from embarrassment.”

  “Is it always special between them?” she forced out.

  “Do you mean every time they perform their sexual behaviors?”

  “I guess.” Amelia patted her hot cheeks and shook her head with chagrin. “I’m not schooled enough in amour to know what I’m talking about. Don’t pay me any mind.”

  Barbara studied her, those shrewd eyes digging deep, then she said, “With certain lovers, it’s simply physical conduct and nothing more. With others though, it’s always stupendous, but those experiences are very rare.”

  “What causes one to be more extraordinary than another?”

  “I’m not sure, but I suspect some people possess an invisible chemistry. Some have it and some don’t. Does that help?”

  “Yes.”

  Amelia stared out at the packed ballroom. She was scanning the crowd, trying to see the door. The waltz set was starting, couples pairing up, but there was no sign of Lucas, and a sliver of unease crept down her spine.

  She’d been on pins and needles all day, pondering him, wondering if he’d stop by Barbara’s house for an official visit. Whenever the knocker had been banged, she’d jumped, positive he’d come to publicly claim her, or perhaps that it was her brother come to announce that Lucas had approached him to ask for her hand.

  But Chase hadn’t appeared, and Lucas hadn’t arrived.

  She hadn’t told Barbara what had happened. It had been such a private, remarkable event that she couldn’t bear to share the details with anyone. If there was a niggling voice taunting her for a fool, telling her she’d misjudged, she shoved it away.

  For a brief second, she closed her eyes and remembered how Lucas had gazed at her, how he’d brimmed with fondness and affection. It hadn’t been faked, and she hadn’t imagined it.

  She didn’t know what to do with all the turmoil roiling her. With each movement of her body, she could feel the soreness between her legs, which was constant and gripping evidence that she belonged to him.