At Last the Rogue Returns
Page 16
“You need to hold it aloft like a screen,” she said with amusement. “So I can undress.”
“Of course. How foolish of me.”
It suddenly became difficult to breathe past the lump in his throat. He did as she asked, ignored the pounding of his heart as she fumbled about behind the makeshift curtain. When she clutched the edges and wrapped it around her body, Miles breathed a relieved sigh.
Leaving her to dry her body, he rummaged through the armoire and found a shirt. “It has been stuffed in a trunk for weeks. Due to the dire circumstances here, I’ve not had the luxury of having my clothes laundered.”
She turned to face him, one bare knee poking out of her shroud, her damp locks draped over one shoulder. “Have you had any luck hiring servants?”
“Not locally. No one wants to work for a devil. My butler and housekeeper went to work for my brother.” Indeed, Miles had told Mr Cardon not to approach them. It was better to begin again, start anew, with servants who knew nothing of his mother’s torment. “I hired replacements in London, along with a handful of maids and two footmen, but it will be another week before they arrive.”
Miss Lovell bit down on her bottom lip. “So you have plans to remain in Cuckfield?”
He’d planned to purchase a residence in London, to hound his brothers day and night, to make life so difficult they would have no choice but to flee. But now that didn’t seem as important.
“Potentially.”
His vague answer was met by a raised brow of inquiry. “Then you are still undecided.” It was more a statement than a question, and so he chose not to answer.
As she readjusted the coverlet, he glimpsed her bare shoulder, the skin as white and as delicate as porcelain.
“And what of you?” he asked, wishing she wore a chastity belt or something to protect her from a randy rogue-come-devil. “Will you return home tonight?” It was a ridiculous question considering the fact she had no clothes.
“No. I don’t think I can.” She shivered again. “Would you mind if I got dressed?”
“Not at all.” He welcomed it—dreaded it at the same time.
Miles handed her the shirt and held the coverlet up again to protect her modesty. She slipped into the garment and stepped around to greet him.
“It will suffice until my nightdress is dry.” She lowered her gaze, embarrassment evident in the rigid way she held herself.
Seeing his shirt covering her curves did something to his insides. His stomach roiled with excitement, with the thought that he possessed her now. The chivalrous part of his nature forced him to find a robe, and he held it open for her and watched her relax as the sumptuous velvet settled around her shoulders.
When she turned back to face him, she lowered her lids in the demure way he found beguiling. “I didn’t mean to put you to so much trouble.”
“Trust me. It is no trouble at all.”
Their eyes met, and the world shifted.
Their gazes drifted over each other’s faces like the soft strokes of a caress. He wanted her. He wanted her now. But it was too soon, and he knew nothing of her true intentions. A kiss did not mean they should marry. But if it led to more … Oh, he’d bedded women without giving it a second thought. But he wanted to make love to this woman—and that changed everything.
“You must think me rather foolish, and a little naive,” she said with a hint of frustration.
“How so?”
“Because I—I lack the skills to please you.” She waved her hand back and forth between them. “Because when it comes to intimacy, I am at a loss what to do.”
Did she not know that her smile warmed his heart? That the sound of her voice soothed his soul? He liked that she was honest about her feelings, liked that everything she did was genuine.
“My mother died when I was five,” she continued. “I’ve never spoken to anyone about … well, about relations between a man and a woman.”
The air in his lungs dissipated. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that he would guide her, coach her, tutor her in the physical act. But he suspected she would be his mentor when it came to expressing feelings, to sharing something meaningful.
“Then come. Let us take a drink. Let us sit together, and I shall read to you.”
The brightest smile lit her face. “Read to me? You would do that?”
“Of course. If you’re happy to listen to poetry.” He gestured to the small leather-bound book on the side table. “I’d rather not tackle the cobwebs in the library.”
Eyes wide with delight, she said, “Poetry is perfect.”
“We should lie on the bed. You must keep warm, and the damn tub is hogging the fire.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Very well.”
Miles moved to the bed and pulled back the sheets. Miss Lovell slipped into his bed, and he drew them back over her. He found an extra blanket in the chest and draped that over her, too.
He poured them both a drink, drained his glass without pause. Miss Lovell sipped hers, her body shivering as the liquid fire trickled down her throat.
Grabbing the book of poems from the table, Miles climbed up next to her. He settled back against the mahogany headboard, gathered her to his chest and read from Mason’s The English Garden.
The first line—To thee, divine simplicity—perfectly summarised the beauty at his side.
As he read, she shuffled closer. Idly, her hand came to rest on top of the sheets. When her hand slipped around his waist, and she put her head on his chest, he could no longer concentrate. The words nymph and angel were repeated in the text to remind him of the beguiling contradiction in his bed.
Miles cast her a sidelong glance, expecting to see drooping lids, but found bright blue moon eyes staring up at him expectantly. Desire took hold and refused to relinquish its grip. Placing the book on his lap, he took hold of her chin and kissed her sweetly.
“There are things we should discuss before we proceed any further.” He kissed one corner of her mouth, kissed her nose, kissed the place between her brows that Dariell called the all-seeing eye.
“You need not concern yourself with the propriety of it all,” she said gently. “I am an heiress and have no need to worry about my reputation, no need to make demands on you.”
Many questions filled his head. What had really happened at Dunnam Park to give her the courage to come to his home? If she had no intention of demanding marriage, what did she want? They were important. Not important enough to quell the hot lust burning through his veins. Not important enough to deny him the only thing he wanted.
“You want nothing from me, then?”
“I did not say that.” Eager fingers slid up over his chest and covered his heart. “I want to feel your lips on mine, desperate and needy. I want to feel you, Greystone, every inch of you.”
He drank in her words as if they were a rich and rare claret. Too little left a man wanting, too much and he might just lose his mind.
Chapter Fifteen
Never in her life had Lydia spoken so boldly. Never had she felt passion burn with such intensity. Even if her logical mind had been awake and alert, she could no more stop her need to lie with Greystone than she could stop the sun from rising.
You’re in love with him.
The words whispered through her mind, soft and warm and wonderfully inviting.
Was it love?
It was more than infatuation. The undeniable attraction had been there from the moment they’d locked eyes. She wanted him—until she discovered his name—and then she’d tried to stop the pleasurable sensations that made her dizzy in his company. Since then, she had grown to admire his kind heart, admire the hardness that made men fear him, admire his muscular body and wicked lips.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Greystone stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I came home for vengeance and found something infinitely more rewarding.”
Her heart soared. This meant something to him, too.
Greystone captured her hand. She waited for his lips to graze her knuckles but he did something far more wonderful. He pressed their hands together, palm to palm, examined how they looked—a large sun-kissed hand swamping the small porcelain-white one. A vibrant energy flowed between them. They laced fingers in a firm clasp that promised something powerful, something eternal.
“You understand that I struggle to control myself around you,” he said huskily. “You understand that I want to make love to you, right here, right now.”
The coil of desire wound tighter in her stomach. “I want the same, too.” She lacked experience in these matters. But with him, how could it be anything but pleasurable?
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
Greystone moistened his lips. “I shall be mindful of your situation.”
Her situation? Oh, he meant the fact she knew nothing about intimate relations. The thought was sobering. Nerves pushed to the fore.
“Greystone?”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps we should stop talking.”
A sinful smirk played on his lips.
Lydia stretched up to meet him as he bent his head. The first kiss was soft and gentle. The second one lasted longer. The third involved a slow mating of tongues, a sensual dance that left her wanting.
But then the mood shifted from tender teasing to a blaze of unsated passion. By the fourth kiss, they were moaning into each other’s mouths. Their ragged breathing punctuated the air. Lydia scrambled out of the bedsheets, craving contact. Greystone hauled her onto his lap and encouraged her to sit astride him.
As Greystone relaxed back against the pillow, the fervent look in his emerald eyes sent heat pooling to her core. With deft fingers, he untied the belt on the robe she wore, pushed the garment off her shoulders and smoothed his hands over her hips.
“I’m going to remove that shirt,” he said with a smooth hum of appreciation. “Don’t be shy.”
How could she be shy when sitting on the thick evidence of his arousal? Indeed, she resisted the urge to arch her back and rub against him, to ease the delicious ache that was like a living thing inside her.
“Strip me if it pleases you.” Lust had turned her wild and wanton. “I am yours tonight, Greystone.”
He raised a brow. “Only tonight?”
“No.”
“No?”
“For as long as you want me.” The honest words fell from her lips before she could stop them.
“And what if that’s forever?” His hands followed the curve of her hips, up to cup the heavy swell of her breasts.
Lydia sucked in a breath and closed her eyes briefly. Her nipples ached, peaked and pressed against the fine lawn of his shirt. He stroked the pads of his thumbs back and forth over her nipples until she was panting and writhing on top of him.
Those magical hands came to rest on her bare thighs, edged higher and higher. The muscles in her core pulsed in anticipation. But his fingers only brushed against the hidden place crying out for his touch.
“Ah. You expected something else,” he said playfully as his hands settled on her buttocks and encouraged her to move in a tantalising rhythm over the bulge in his breeches.
“I—I don’t know what to expect.” Her head fell back as desire coursed through her body. And then he grasped the hem of the shirt and edged it higher.
Greystone inhaled deeply as he inched the garment up to her waist. “In a moment, I’m going to taste you,” he growled.
Taste her? Oh, she hoped so, for she loved nothing more than the feel of his tongue brushing against hers, nothing more than the movement of his wet mouth.
“Forgive me, I know you’re cold,” he said as he raised the shirt up over her breasts, over her head, leaving her naked. “But I promise you will soon be warm.”
Embarrassment flared.
Lydia drew her arms across her chest, but Greystone took hold of her hands and opened them wide. He looked ravenous again—and not for cherry pie.
“I can say with complete confidence that I have never seen anything more beautiful.”
Lydia felt the blush creep up her cheeks. “You say the nicest things when I am at my most vulnerable.”
“You think this is vulnerable?”
He released her hands, slid his arm around her waist and lowered her down to the bed. Greystone hovered above her. His hot gaze devoured every inch of her body, and then he bent his head and claimed her mouth in a passionate frenzy.
His kisses stole more than her breath. Like a silent thief in the night, Greystone crept into her heart and claimed that, too. A sudden rush of affection for him warmed her blood. Oh, she did not want this blissful night to end.
And then he was moving again … kissing her neck, her breasts, tracing circles around her navel with the tip of his tongue. Lust burst to the fore, hungry and lascivious.
Hooking one arm under each of her knees, he spread her legs wide.
Good Lord!
“Greystone … wait … don’t …”
“Hush, love.” The wicked glint in his eye warned of something sinful. “Do you trust me?”
“Trust you?” Lydia couldn’t think while lying there so exposed.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she breathed with certainty. He had come to her aid on more than one occasion. She had never felt safer than when in his arms.
“Then allow me to pleasure you.”
Pushing aside her nerves, and not really knowing what he meant, Lydia nodded.
Greystone’s tongue swept over his lips. And the fire in his eyes—oh, my!
The first stroke of his tongue in her intimate place forced her to suck in a breath. This wasn’t what she imagined when she dreamt of sharing his bed. Still, every delicious lick and flick and circle sent her legs trembling, her heart racing.
“Greystone,” she panted, grabbing hold of his hair and arching her hips, eager to feel his mouth.
The devil looked up at her. “Shall I make you come like this?”
“Make me wh-what?”
“Never mind.”
He resumed his oral teasing, each caress bringing her closer to something she desperately needed. Greystone continued the devilish antics until she could no longer control her breathing. And then he pulled away.
“No. Oh, Lord, not yet.”
A wicked smile graced his sensual mouth as he came up on his knees. “I’ll not leave you unsatisfied if that’s what you fear.” He unbuttoned his breeches and pushed them down past his hips. His shaft sprang free. Hard. Solid. Magnificent. “Sorry, it was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.”
Lydia gulped.
Greystone caressed her thigh, inched higher and higher, slipped one finger into her body, slow and teasing. But it was not enough to satisfy the ache in her core. He withdrew, only to plunge deeper this time.
A hum resonated in her throat.
“You want more?” Greystone said, his voice as rich as velvet.
“Yes,” she begged.
When he entered her again, she felt it more keenly though it wasn’t enough.
With the pad of his thumb, Greystone massaged the sensitive bud and continued to slip his fingers inside her.
“Do you want me, Lydia?”
Oh, how she loved the way he said her name. “Want you? I—I have never wanted anything more.”
All the muscles in her body wrung tight. She was close to something, close to—
She came apart. Waves of intense pleasure started in her toes and rippled through her body. She shuddered, swept away by the sheer magnitude.
“How was that?” He arched an arrogant brow.
“Divine,” she replied breathlessly.
“Good.” He sat on the bed, removed his breeches and climbed on
top of her.
The glow from the fire cast a golden light over the ridges in his abdomen, over bulging biceps and his jutting erection. Greystone wore masculinity like a suit of armour—with strength, with pride, with the promise that he was a master of all things, the champion of her heart.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he muttered in her ear as he sucked her lobe. “If we continue now, there is no going back.”
“I know.” She might never meet another man like him. She might never feel this all-consuming need. She might never feel … feel love. “I want you, Greystone. If I’m to lie with a man, I want it to be you.”
A growl of appreciation rumbled in his throat. “Call me Miles.”
“Miles,” she whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek—and yet he would always be Greystone. “Join with me. Show me the world that exists beyond these walls.”
Without further comment, he kissed her until her heart soared. The room’s red walls and furnishings and the fire’s flickering flames created a setting ripe for seduction. As Greystone settled between her thighs, she imagined they were in the Orient, in an exotic location far away from Society’s critical eye. There, they could indulge their desires. She could lie naked in his arms while he read to her. They could feed each other fruit, savour the sweet juices. Make love beneath the heat of the midday sun.
The first nudge of his manhood at her entrance drew her from her musings to send her nerves scattering. But then he pushed inside her, and her body sparked to life. The pleasure gleaned from her fantasy paled in comparison.
They were one now.
A primal need to own him—the urge to claim him as her own—took hold.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he commanded.
Lydia did as he asked, drawing him deeper. “Like that?” Oh, Lord.
“Hmm. Just like that.” His emerald eyes locked with hers. The powerful connection that existed between them grew stronger with each slow thrust. “Once you’re used to the feel of me inside you, I shall push past your maidenhead. And then I shall make you mine—in every conceivable way.”