by Jo Beverley
Then he lowered the sheet and dribbled brandy just above her right garter, and licked it up.
“I wish my stockings were gossamer fine,” she breathed, “clocked with flowers, and held up by lacy garters.”
“They will be,” he murmured there. “You’ll take off silk stockings for me. You’ll swim naked with me in a warm Grecian bath.”
He poured a tiny amount of brandy into her navel and tongued it. “We’ll lick cream and honey off each other as we lick brandy now.”
He collapsed onto his back beside her and upturned the glass to empty over his chest. She laughed for the madness of it and set to lick him clean.
“We’ll have long nights of love in a bed,” he said, hand playing in her hair and down her back. Playing, as a musician plays an instrument. “And we’ll slip away from entertainments to enjoy quick, silent passion in an alcove within hearing of the throng…”
Arousal rippled through her body at that thought.
“All in one night?” she asked unsteadily.
“Probably not.”
She stilled, scarce daring to breathe. Her swimming mind couldn’t quite comprehend what he was saying, but surely he’d just sketched out a life. A life together.
“We’ll spend quiet times talking,” he went on as his fingers slid between her thighs, opening them as if he’d touched a spring. The spring of her need. “In bed and out.”
He found the place that made her arch, his touch teasing, tantalizing. “I talk with you as I never have with a woman, Genova Smith, and that is precious beyond rubies.”
Wasn’t there something about a good wife being more valuable than rubies?
“Be my sanity, Genni, please.”
Delirious with happiness, Genova cradled his head in her hands and blended their brandied mouths. “Yes, of course, Ash. I will be yours, forever.”
He rolled her under him—hers, miraculously hers!—and slid his hand between her thighs. Her body responded immediately. As he built her desire, she touched, tasted, stroked, bedazzled that he was hers forever.
Love and passion wound tight in her, and she wanted him in her again. She cried out, “Now!”
“Yes, now,” he commanded, stroking harder, sucking harder. Tension shattered into pleasure that rolled on and on.
“And again,” he said, thrusting into her still-shimmering body, and indeed, it happened again.
Perhaps she fainted. It seemed that she returned to reality from a great distance, from a dark, burning, airless, wonderful place.
But this was wonderful, too.
She stroked his hot, sweaty skin all the long length of his powerful body, from shoulder, down back, to thigh. No wonder empires had fallen for this.
And this, and he, was hers, till death did them part.
Fitz was strolling along a corridor toward bed when he heard, “Fitz! Oh, Fitz!”
He turned to see Ash’s dotty Great-aunt Thalia trotting after him, quite out of breath.
“What is it, Lady Thalia? Is something the matter?”
“The matter? No, dear boy. But I do so want you to partner me at whist.”
She hooked an arm around his, giving him no choice other than to turn with her and go back toward the festivities.
“It must be an age since we’ve been partners, dear boy. Come along. The night is young!”
In the face of this ancient sprightliness, he could hardly claim exhaustion, especially when it was not yet ten. In truth, he’d left the company to avoid Damaris Myddleton. He’d done as Ash wanted and distracted her, but it had left him out of sorts.
It was tiresome to be so obviously Ash’s substitute, but Damaris could be clever and engaging. He knew her father had been something of a rogue, though a very successful one, and he glimpsed that in her at times. As he was something of a rogue himself, it appealed.
Most of the time, however, she tried to be the perfect lady—the perfect marchioness, in fact—and he wanted to shake her. He knew Ash probably would offer her marriage, even though he clearly loved Genova Smith. Ash would see it as his duty, and he had become resolved to do his duty, suppressing all natural urges as necessary.
That was Ash’s grave, and he could lie in it, but Fitz hated to think of Miss Myddleton trapped there with him, innocent except for an ambition that had doubtless been trained into her.
Fitz had flirted with her and done his damnedest to distract her permanently, but though she played the game well, he knew her attention, like that of any predator, never truly wavered.
He’d eventually abandoned her to lovesick Ormsby and retired to the billiard room. He was better than the other players, however, which made it boring. He’d sat out for a while, chatting and drinking, then decided to give up on the night.
Now he was being dragged back.
“Dear Genova can foretell the future, you know,” Lady Thalia said. “She’s very good at it.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He still wasn’t convinced that Miss Smith wasn’t an adventuress of some sort.
“Such people use tricks to make their predictions come true.”
“Oh, no, dear,” Lady Thalia said blithely. “I’m the one to do that!”
Lord save him from them all. But he let Lady Thalia tow him into the drawing room, where she dismissed Dr. Egan from the chair opposite her. Thank heavens the man seemed only amused. Perhaps, thought Fitz somewhat morosely, the librarian would like a peaceful early night.
Fitz settled down and sharpened his wits. Crazy though Lady Thalia was, she was a devil with the cards and had no patience with sloppy play.
Ash shifted slightly, his hand sliding up to her breast. “Pearl beyond price. My sweetest Genni…”
“That’s my father’s name for me.”
He looked up. “Do you mind?”
“No, of course not.” She told him then about her father, and Hester, the sweet and the sad. “It’s not her fault. It’s me.”
“No, love, it’s just a mismatch. It’s good you’ll be away from there, however, in a place of your own.”
“It will be heaven.” She pulled him close for a kiss. “Especially because I’ll be with you. We can be happy, even if things aren’t perfect. I’ll prove it to you.”
He nuzzled her. “There’s nothing to prove. It will be as perfect as I can make it. You’ll have everything you want. Jewels, silk, even clockworks, if that’s truly an interest.”
She laughed. Economy was going to take time. “I will want nothing but you.”
“And food once in a while?”
“And food,” she conceded, smiling.
“And perhaps a bit of wood in winter?”
“Yes, I suppose I’ll need that.”
“Just possibly a scrap of clothing?”
Laughing, she pushed him and they fell to tickling, tangling themselves in brandy-stained sheets.
When they came to rest again, he said, “I want to give you precious things, Genni. I want to give you the moon and the stars.”
“And I want you to spend your money on your land and your people, but I’ll try not to nag.”
“I can think of nothing better than being nagged by you.”
She shifted to stroke his chest. “Not even this?”
He smiled. “Yes, perhaps that.”
She kissed him. “Or perhaps this? And this…” She slid her hand down and found him, delighting in the softness, smiling when it began to change beneath her hand.
“Certainly that,” he said, lids lowered. “You win. You need never nag again. Speaking of nags…”
He shifted, encouraging her to straddle him.
Genova understood. Enjoying watching him, she rose and slowly guided him into her core, alert for signs that she might be doing something wrong. She couldn’t imagine how when it felt so beautifully right to her.
She was deeply sensitive, but it still felt right. She settled slowly, filling herself again. “I’d certainly rather do this than nag,” she said, her voice husky.
/> “I’ll remember that.” His lids were almost shut and she knew his attention was on one place only.
She leaned forward, testing the sensation deep inside, the shifting fullness, the pressure against sensitive places. Her hair fell forward and he cupped her breasts in the veil of it, thumbs working her nipples. She gasped and tightened around him, already hovering near ecstasy.
He slid his hands down to her hips and moved her up and down. She began the moist movement herself, slowly, watching him. His eyes shut tight.
“Perhaps I need to nag to provide contrast,” she said, trailing her hair across his chest.
“Beloved, you could nag with a razor-sharp tongue and I wouldn’t care right now.”
She closed her own eyes and joined him in that hot, wet whirlpool of a place, loving doing it, controlling it, making it happen for him.
Later, sticky with sweat, she said, “I’m sure I can improve my skills. At nagging, I mean.”
He simply laughed, and she knew how he felt. Too exhausted to even think. She never wanted to move, never wanted her skin to be separated from his. If only this night could last forever.
But there would be other nights.
An infinity of magical nights. She could hardly believe it yet, but it was true.
Perhaps they dozed. The clock chimed and she idly counted.
“Eleven!” she exclaimed, sitting up. “We’ll have been missed.”
Chapter Forty-one
He pulled her back down. “Everyone’s too drunk and merry to notice.” When she frowned at him, he sighed. “All right, we can return if you want, love.”
Since he was tracing circles on her belly, his words had little impact.
“I’m curious about something,” he said.
“What?” She tensed, fearing something might break the magic.
“Barbary pirates.”
Ah. She pushed him to his back and traced patterns on his belly to distract him. “It wasn’t as daring as it sounds.”
He captured her hand. “Tell me, Genova.”
“A command?”
“I’ll pay you with a kiss.” But then he added, “Because you hesitate, I want to know. Tell me, love.”
She pulled a face, but couldn’t refuse him anything. “My mother and I were sailing on a merchant ship to join my father. It was well armed, however, and the corsairs would probably never have attempted an attack if we hadn’t been limping after a storm. As it was, it only needed a little resolute resistance to drive them off.”
“And your resolute resistance was?”
She didn’t like to speak of it, because some people treated her as a heroine, and others considered her unwomanly. Thalia wouldn’t have known about it if her father hadn’t told the tale. He was one who thought it heroic.
“Well?” Ash asked.
“I shot one of the pirates who boarded.” After a moment, she added, “I killed him. And I knew what I was doing. My father taught me to use a pistol and where to aim. I was frightened. The pirate looked at me and he wanted me. He was the captain, and he would have raped me.” The words spilled out. “So I killed him.”
He stroked her hair. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, love. Quite the opposite. Killing him probably broke the will of his crew.”
“That’s what my father said.”
She was circling, deciding whether to tell him the final part. She knew from the steady look in his eyes that he guessed there was more.
She looked away. “I desired him,” she whispered. “Something about him, bold and confident, exuding that power that such men have, made me breathless.”
She looked back at him and told him the one thing she’d never shared with another.
“I thought he might not have to rape me, and it was intolerable. He was looking at me, grinning at me, as I raised the pistol. He knew how I was feeling and that was intolerable, too. And it let me kill him. He never moved. I can only suppose that he didn’t believe that a woman who… lusted after him would shoot.”
He gathered her into his arms. “It was brave and it was right. He was a villainous pirate who’d doubtless killed many and enslaved more. He would have raped you whether your body responded to him or not, then sold you into a harem. Rejoice, Genni, at being able to act when you need to.”
The old burden of it shrank, then disappeared. “I love you, Ash.”
“And I love you. I think.”
She looked disapproval at him. “Only think?”
“It’s a novel emotion.” He was teasing, but he added seriously, “I want honesty between us, Genni. Complete honesty.”
“Yes. Honesty.” Unable to believe how things were getting even better, she sat up to face him. “As for love, I’ve never been in love before, either. Oh, I’ve felt something, and once or twice I’ve been besotted. But it wasn’t like this. You’ve become the steady heartbeat of my world, Ash.”
“And you of mine.” He rubbed a tender hand along her thigh. “I’ll try to mitigate the hurt.”
“Hurt?”
“It won’t be easy.”
She recognized that honesty wasn’t always easy, but that made what he was doing more precious. He was acknowledging the problems they faced.
Lady Calliope was opposed to the match, and she might not be the only one. The dowager marchioness would certainly fight it—she wanted him to marry Miss Myddleton’s money. Most of his world would think him a fool to marry for love. Even the king might disapprove. Together, however, they could conquer all of this.
“You will be accepted at court again?” she asked.
“I presume Rothgar will work his magic.”
“You resent that?” she asked. “Of course you do. A generation of conflict can’t be smoothed away in a night.”
“It certainly would have been pleasanter to force him to assist.” But he pulled a humorous face at her. “I’m reformed, love, I promise.”
“I like you as you are formed,” she said, approving of his body with her hands. “What made the papers you hold so dangerous? Something to do with truth, I think, and possibly to do with that strange D’Eon?”
“You’re too sharp by far, Genni. Forget it.”
She stroked his cheek, his jaw. Disheveled, beard-shadowed, he was just a man. They were simply a man and a woman, naked in bed. The sinews of history, the bones of life.
“I hope you’ll share things with me, Ash. All things. I can be trusted, but in any case, the marriage bed is sacrosanct. Wives can’t testify against husbands.”
“Wives? Genni…”
She knew. Without words, she saw it in his shocked face, and a lump of pain almost choked her.
“Oh, how silly! I’m carried away by this silly betrothal business. It’s so late—”
She was half out of bed when he caught her arm and pulled her back.
“Genni, love! I would if I could. I have to marry money.”
Bitterness exploded. “For what? For another set of diamond buttons? For your doxies and bastards? I slipped into the folly of thinking you meant it when you said we’d be together. I know better now.” She pulled against his hold. “Let go of me!”
She fought him but he conquered her, pinning her down on the bed. “Listen to me. The jewels and the gold are necessary for court, and court is necessary for survival. We’re on the brink of ruin, especially because of Molly Carew.”
“Good for her!” she spat. “You probably promised her the earth, too.”
“Blast your eyes, I did not! I’ve never promised a woman more than I will do. Including you. Genni, sweetheart”—his voice softened—“I hoped you’d become my mistress. A permanent mistress, with a house, a carriage—everything you could desire.”
Her stomach rebelled. “What I desire, my lord, is a husband. A true husband, a loving home, a safe, secure world into which to bring legitimate children.”
“I thought you a kindred spirit.”
“You were wrong. Let me go.”
He moved off her and she sc
rambled away, grabbing for clothing. She heard the curtain rings rattle and turned at bay as she struggled into her shift.
He’d pulled on his breeches. “Barbary pirates,” he stated. “A wanton response to kisses. A familiarity with men’s chests. A bold way with words. Don’t claim to be a violated saint!”
Dear God, he saw her as another Molly Carew.
She managed to hook her stays up the front, which wasn’t easy with the laces still tight. “I’m sure you were dreadfully misled. This is all my fault. Just help me dress so I can get out of here. You don’t need to be afraid,” she threw at him. “I’m not a Molly Carew. I would die before trying to hold a man who doesn’t want me.”
He handed her the petticoat and she stepped into it and tied it at the waist. She was fighting tears, but one escaped, running down her cheek. She dashed it away.
He had her dress ready and she shrugged into it, fastening the clasp at the waist. She was still in her stockings. After all this, she was still in her stockings! She went to her shoes and put them on.
She turned to the mirror to see a blowsy wanton, her thick hair a tangle. She grabbed his comb and dragged it painfully through knots. She had to restore order. No one must ever know.
He took the comb from her and held her shoulders. “I’m truly very sorry if I misled you. Believe me, I care. More deeply than I should. I made a serious mistake, but I’ll do my best to save you from disaster. Sit.”
Genova obeyed, mostly because her knees were failing her. He began to gently tease the tangles out of her hair. That gentleness was perhaps the crudest blow. He did care. But under his coldhearted code, that weighed very lightly in the balance.
She’d come here knowing this, but she’d put the blindfold on herself and raced to ruin.
She kept her eyes on her hands and rolled the ill-fated diamond. She longed to take it off, but even in her distracted state she knew that would be exactly the wrong thing to do. Their split must be in public, not here.
He was drawing the comb through her hair now. It was, as always, soothing. She swallowed tears, accepting her own responsibility.
She knew her free-spirited ways gave people an impression of improper boldness, and why on earth had she said that about naked chests? What was a man to think? He wouldn’t consider shipboard life.
