Tom gave her no respite, but continued until she had no more to give. When, finally, he got to his feet and circled her in his arms, she could do nothing but subside into them. His waistcoat buttons were cool and hard, the metallic braid edging his pockets harsh and scratchy. Every sensation was magnified, echoing and impressing itself inside her. She drifted— oh, wait, he was carrying her. That felt blissful.
She was coming around as he laid her on the bed and stepped back. She lay on the crisp linen sheets and watched, lifting up on one elbow when he set to undressing himself. He provided her with a delicious display. First he took out the discreet pearl pin from his snowy neckcloth and laid it aside. She didn’t know or care where, because she was too busy watching him. He threw her a smile and unwound the folds, revealing his strong throat. Wrapping the cloth around his hands, he pulled it taut. She shivered and his smile turned wicked.
“Another time,” he said softly, and dropped the cloth, his hands going instead to the long line of buttons on his waistcoat. He made short work of it.
His fine shirt revealed shades of his olive-toned skin, brushing against the taut flesh when he turned and leaned over to unfasten the fall on his breeches. He loosened his cuff buttons with two swift flicks and dealt with the buckles at his knee in a similar cavalier manner. Without looking behind him, he sat on the chair, which spoke wonders for his familiarity with this room. Kicking off his shoes, he rid himself of the clothes on the lower half of his body and dragged his shirt off over his head.
At last, there he was, powerfully, wonderfully, naked. His cock stood up proudly, its tip swollen and red, damp with the teardrops of clear liquid. Blatantly he took hold of it, swiped his thumb around the top, and gripped it. “Do you want this?”
“Yes.” She licked her lips.
He groaned. “Soon, my love. But you remember what I said about us having all night? I meant it.” He took a step nearer to the bed, kicking his clothes out of the way.
She glanced down, but she could not see his feet. She loved his feet, but then, she loved the rest of him, too. Lying back, she stretched out her arms.
He stood by the bed, still holding his erection, as if showing it to her, and grinned. “You want me to do all the work? Oh, no, my lady. Turn around. Get on all fours. I want this first time to be deep and hard. We both need this, something visceral and basic.”
Then he used a word that shocked her and thrilled her to the bone, one she’d only heard her brothers utter when they didn’t know she was around.
“We’ll fuck first, and then we’ll make love. Then we’ll probably sleep for a while. Or not, as we please. This is our wedding night.”
She shook her head. “As I said to Julius earlier, I’ve had one of those. This is a consummation, my love.”
He laughed sharply. “Indeed, you are perfectly right. Then do as I say. Do you not take orders from your husband?”
“Only if they suit me.” And oh, yes, they suited her right now. Her hair prickled, as she slowly moved, rolled on to her stomach, and then pushed up with her hands and knees.
The bed dipped as he climbed up behind her. A hot streak of dampness trailed along her right buttock as he dragged his erection over her flesh and down between her legs.
Briefly, he dipped his fingers into her wet heat and sucked in a breath. “You’re soaking. All for me. Maybe I should take it and leave. How would you feel if I did that? Used? You would have been. But what if I have you exactly as I want and then hold you and love you afterward?”
She growled.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
His shaft rested at her entrance now. He was driving her crazy. “Shut up and do it. Just do it, damn you!”
He entered her to the echo of laughter.
The laughter faded. He drove in and in until he reached the heart of her. Finally, she understood the meaning of the word “filled,” because she was surely filled by him. To the hilt. His groin rested against her rear. He pressed in and finally groaned.
“Beautiful inside and out,” he murmured.
Before she had time to catch her breath, he withdrew and hammered back inside.
Her cry came from the same place, somewhere deep inside her, torn out of her by the thrill coursing through her, one he only built as he repeated his action, again and again. His flesh slapped against hers, and he dug his fingers into her hips, holding her steady, dragging her back when the impact of his thrusts impelled her forward. She lost control of her body, of her voice, and very nearly her mind. Her voice increased in volume, and he thrust harder, his groans adding to her sharper cries. She held firm and thrust back, hollowing her back and thrusting her rear at him.
He ground his body against hers, his power forcing her down onto her forearms, her face pressed against the pillow.
“Come, damn you!”
The lover-like words had their effect. The currents coursing through her coalesced, built to a peak and then stilled, that wonderful moment when she flew.
The plunge into mindless orgasm sent her soaring again, and then he joined her, his groin pulsing, his cock throbbing deep inside her.
Tom collapsed on to her, his body sheened with sweat, his heat burning through her, taking all the breath from her body. Almost immediately, he rolled aside and lay on his back.
Helena turned to him and curled into his arms, purring her delight. “Was that fast and hard?”
“It was certainly hard.”
As if on cue, the mantel clock chimed, but neither of them bothered to count the hours. Already half asleep, Helena moved against him and felt him touch his lips to her hair.
Chapter 17
Tom woke to the delicious felicity of having his wife in his arms, in his bed. Exactly where she belonged. They would never spend a night apart again, he vowed. Tom didn’t make many vows. He’d seen the results of too many foolish ones, but this one he meant to keep.
Helena stirred against him, murmuring his name. Ridiculously pleased that she knew who he was, even in her sleep, he smiled at her and adjusted the covers to a more sensible arrangement. They had lost the sheet somewhere, but they would make do with blankets.
“What time is it?”
Dawn was beginning to seep in, the gap under his bedroom door lighter than it was. Even as a boy, he’d marked the nights that way. He had never slept well, but with Helena in his arms, he found he could slide into the deepest slumber. He felt safe with her, and he had a reason to rest.
The scent of their activities wound around him, faint but persistent. Would she fall pregnant? She had not before, but maybe they had been fortunate. Or not. If she had, he’d have forced the issue. He’d have had to talk to her, despite his agony.
“Time we made love,” he said firmly. Easing her on to her back, he came on top of her, but this time he took care to bear his own weight. Already he was aching to have her again, but this time he wanted to watch her and make sure he pleased her to the utmost of his ability. “I was a coward,” he said, although he had not planned to say anything of the kind. “I stayed away from you because I could not bear to be near you and not know you were mine. If we had talked, we wouldn’t have lost those five years.”
“A lot happened in that time.” She gazed up at him.
There was just enough light for him to see her lovely shape, and her eyes, holding everything he had ever dreamed of.
“Not least that I grew up. I learned that the world did not revolve around me, and I learned that I could be something and be of importance to someone merely by being myself.”
To her brother Julius. He had always assured her that he valued her, where her mother had not. “Do you regret your mother’s actions?”
“You mean yesterday? No. She was not a kind mother. Perhaps she knew my father did not love her, but I suspect that was the least of her concerns. She was determined we should be Vernons first, especially Julius. She took him away from the schoolroom and gave him a tutor o
f his own, but we contrived to share in many of the lessons. When she discovered that, she punished us all, but Julius the worst.”
“I see.” Tom was beginning to understand many things he had not been aware of before. For one, he’d had a happy childhood. Even though his family had been embroiled in near-treason, his parents, and then his father and grandmother, had taken care to keep the children away from the turmoil. They had never been forcibly separated or made to feel less than they were.
She would never feel that way again. She was his beloved wife and a precious member of his family.
Smiling down at her, he bent his head and kissed her, nudging her lips apart and stroking her body back into awareness. Her nipples, so sensitive, hardened into tiny delicious peaks, and she let her thighs fall open.
Watching her all the while, he slid his shaft down her crease, gathering her juices as he went, and slid into her, the movement as natural as breathing.
This time he took care to bring her to slow and profound ecstasy. Driving into her with firm insistence, watching her, he pressed his forehead against hers. She met his every stroke, arching her back to take her part in their dance, one neither needed to learn the steps for because it came as naturally as breathing.
He marked his slow progression toward his peak and watched her, saw how her eyes dilated and her mouth plumped and reddened. Her nipples pressed into his chest, evidence of her arousal, adding to his pleasure.
Her channel tightened around him in the first of the contractions that heralded her orgasm. Catching her lower lip in her teeth, she let it go with a gasp, and he kissed her, sharing their loving and the emotions he’d never looked for nor expected in his life.
When he came, it was with a profundity beyond speech. Deep inside her, he gave her all himself.
He always would.
* * * *
Although Tom intended to keep Helena in bed all the next day, she would have none of it. When the maid came in with a repast on a tray for them, she shrieked and burrowed against him.
Laughing, he lashed an arm around her. “Surely you have had a maid come into your room before?”
“Not when I have company,” came the muffled reply.
“You don’t. Your husband is a permanent fixture here.” He drew her up, scooping his hands under her arms and hauling her into his arms. The tantalizing scent of fresh coffee and hot toast filtered through to him. His stomach rumbled.
She screwed up her nose. “You’re such a man!”
“You were glad of that in the night. Four times, as I recall.”
Laughing, he delivered a smacking morning kiss to her mouth, threw back the covers, and climbed out. Her small groan of appreciation fed his sense of well-being, and he waggled his backside at her, just to hear her joyful laugh.
After pouring the coffee, he brought the cups back to bed. “I shall be your maid this morning. And later.”
“Can you lace stays?” Sitting up in bed, she plumped the pillows and leaned against them, taking the coffee with a happy sigh. “Is there any tea?”
“Ah, no. I will be sure to have some served tomorrow. Should I send for some now?”
“No. The coffee is fine.”
He glanced at her. She was sitting in his bed, the sheet tucked under her arms, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. As he watched, she blew on it and took a sip. She brought him to his knees right there. Oh, no, they would not be going far today.
A knock sounded softly on the door. More to assuage his wife than because the intrusion would have concerned him, he plucked his banyan from the daybed, where it had rested undisturbed all night, and thrust his arms through the sleeves. “Come!”
His valet entered. Lamaire did not glance at the bed once, but he bowed to his master. “Lord Winterton is below with a sheaf of papers. I have ventured to order food served to him in the morning parlor. He says he has the settlement, and her ladyship’s luggage will be arriving within the hour.”
Tom groaned. “Then I suppose I must dress and go down.”
“We must,” Helena corrected him.
He did not bother to contradict her, because she was right. Besides, the tedium of arranging the contracts would have much more interest if Helena shared the process with him. She would have to sign the contract, but he knew her too well to suppose for one minute that she would consent to have a pen thrust in her hand with a terse instruction of “Sign here, and here.”
“Send a maid up for her ladyship.” He paused by the tray to pluck a piece of buttered toast from it. “We need to engage someone for her.”
“His lordship informs me that he will send her ladyship’s maid with the luggage. Where shall I tell them to take it?”
“The room next to this one,” he said.
“The duke has declared it too modest for his daughter-in-law,” the man said smoothly.
“We will not be staying long. We have decided to repair to the country.”
An expression of mild alarm widened the valet’s eyes, and Tom suppressed a malicious grin. Lamaire went to the country under protest. When he had ordered the man to get himself engaged by Lord Winterton and keep an eye on him, Lamaire had not realized that Julius was shortly repairing to the countryside to look for one of Maria Rubio’s children. He had berated Tom, in a fashion, by threatening to remain with Winterton. Tom had been duly punished and had promised to give Lamaire notice next time. Well, he just had.
“I do have some business to conduct before we go, and your help would be greatly appreciated.” He needed to find that bastard Everslade, or rather, the impostor, before he left. He would not leave Helena open to such danger, and he wanted to reassure her that she was completely safe from the man who had tried to abduct her.
Lamaire bowed, but said nothing.
Half an hour served to see both Tom and Helena downstairs. He had used his powder room, as he had the night before, listening to the bumps and thumps from next door, accompanied by feminine shouts of “No, not there! In the clothes press!” Other comments had not been as patient. It enlivened Tom’s ablutions remarkably.
He stood on the towel while Lamaire swabbed him down, and while the man went about his duties, he gave terse instructions about Everslade.
“I have been working on the problem,” Lamaire said calmly, handing Tom a fresh pair of drawers. “I assumed you would wish the man ah…dealt with.”
The pause was not for the Frenchman to work out the words. Lamaire had excellent, if heavily accented, English. Lamaire’s delicate suggestion covered a far more sinister solution. Tom was not entirely out of sympathy with the man. A slice across the throat at midnight, followed by a splash as the body was disposed of in the Thames seemed like a suitable end, but he would not order such a thing. Lamaire knew this. He would merely report to Tom that the matter was “at an end.”
Once he’d learned that, Tom had taken more care with his instructions. “I want to speak to him first. And I want him capable of answering questions.”
“Very well, my lord.”
“I want to know who he came from and what his instructions were. Why he wanted to abduct Lady Helena. Was it just because he wanted a rich wife, or was something else involved? And why was he masquerading as Lord Everslade? Most of all, what has happened to the true earl?”
“Yes, my lord.” No expression marred Lamaire’s tone.
Tom sat before the mirror so the man could comb his hair back and secure it. He had grown it on a whim. That, and the scratchy wigs he’d always detested. But washing, combing, and dressing it for balls was mildly tedious sometimes.
He would ask Helena which she preferred and let her guide him.
He startled his reflection by smiling. Tom very rarely smiled in the morning. This time he had a very good reason—the best reason in the world.
* * * *
Downstairs, Lord Winterton waited. The duke and duchess were with him, and Tom’s father had summoned his man of business. The
round tilt-table had been brought into the middle of the room, and now its surface was covered in neat piles of paper. Tom helped Helena to sit and greeted Winterton cautiously before he took his own chair. Not that he had any particular reason to treat the earl cautiously, merely that old habits died hard.
The crystal ink well and the matching stand lay in the center of the table, the stand bristling with quills.
Although the room was not particularly small, it seemed crowded with everyone sitting around the table. The sun streamed in, a valiant effort for this time of year, and the fire crackled. This was his grandmother’s favorite room. A workbasket stood by the chair drawn up to the fire, and a shelf of obviously well-read tomes was fastened to the wall by the fireplace. Not to mention the china figures his grandmother loved sprinkled around the place.
Helena smiled. “This is a lovely room.”
Tom had not realized how starkly masculine the rest of the house was until she said that. He could probably expect more rooms like this in his future. He exchanged a glance with Winterton, who gave him a wry grin.
“When you have a house full of females, you learn to take care where you put your hand. You could hit a china shepherdess or worse, a lapdog, if you don’t take care.”
“Helena has a lapdog?” The notion startled him. He could not recall seeing her with one.
“My daughter has one. A pug, to be precise. She got it earlier this year, and she’s inseparable from the beast.”
“She called it Lapin,” Helena said with a chuckle.
“Why would she call a pug Rabbit?” Tom looked to Winterton for an explanation, but he only shrugged.
The duke dragged the nearest pile of paper toward him and dealt his son a glare. “Let’s get on, shall we?”
The business of arranging the contract was not quite as tedious as Tom had imagined. Helena had a generous dowry, and as it turned out, Winterton had quietly had a contract drawn up, in case, he said, Helena took a notion to marry. “I did not wish my mother to become embroiled in long negotiations,” he said.
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