by Cheryl Bolen
“You were seven, I think, and tangled in a tree. Your hair has grown since then.”
A small laugh left her lips. “All of me has grown since then.”
“I noticed.” He kissed the tip of her nose, rather humbled that he would be her first and last lover. He would make sure she never regretted her choice. “You take my breath away with your beauty.”
Abigail rose on her toes and caught his mouth with hers. David cupped her head, secured his fingers in her hair and surrendered to his fate—Abigail.
She caught his shirt and pulled the material free of his trousers. Her hands slid over his skin and he sucked in a shocked gasp. His body strained for more.
David fumbled for the fastenings of her gown but their location defeated him. “I’m all thumbs,” he said in apology.
A smile flittered across Abigail’s face as she stepped back. “Here. It opens this way.”
She pulled a cord at the neck and thanks to the little sleeves, the gown loosened enough to slide to her hips without a struggle. She wriggled a bit and the fabric fell to her feet. David’s pulse raced. She stood in just her chemise, her small breasts peaked and visible through the thin garment.
He caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I am unworthy of such a gift, but I would be an utter fool not to accept.”
He kissed the back of her hand, and then her palm. Slowly, he drew his lips up the length of her arm until she was once more standing in his embrace. Her breasts brushed his chest with each unsteady breath she took.
“Do people make love standing up? If so, I’m not sure my limbs will hold me.”
David swept her into his arms again and carried her to his bed. He lowered her gently to the mattress and stood back. So lovely. He kicked off his footwear before he followed. “Not always. You need never do anything you don’t want. This can be enough.”
“It’s not enough,” she whispered unsteadily. “It couldn’t possibly be.”
She brought herself against him, rubbing like a cat and kissing him until he lost all reason. Her chemise disappeared quickly, as did his shirt and breeches. When they were both naked and panting, David drew her under him and kissed her nose. “I never imagined this when I came home, but I doubt I will ever forget this summer.”
He smoothed a hand down her side and along her thigh before hooking her leg around his thigh. Abigail shifted, opening herself to him and tightened her hold. “No more talk.”
She rose to kiss him again and teased him with her tongue. He groaned and shifted his hips until he brushed her curls with his erection. He drew back. “I’m told this, making love the first time, may not be pleasant for you.”
She cupped his face. “Nothing you could do would ever disappoint me.”
David pushed against her, discovering her body was closed to him. He rocked his hips, prepared to take things as slow as she needed to avoid injuring her more than necessary. Wet warmth claimed him as he inched further inside. He slowed his advance and kissed her lips. Abigail panted but her expression showed no pain.
He smoothed the hair from her cheek, and then lifted his weight from her body. The movement drove him deeper and a quick flicker of pain crossed her face. He stopped until she relaxed. Then moved again, claiming her as gently as he could.
When he reached her limit, he fell to one arm and kissed her mouth. “Are you all right, my love?”
Her breath came in little pants, drawing his attention to her untouched breasts. “Is there more?”
He slowly covered the perfect mound and stroked his thumb over the hard peak until she gasped. There were any number of sensual pleasures a devoted and thorough man could share with his wife. David would delight in each and every moment. “So much more, I promise you.”
He drew back and thrust in, watching Abigail for signs of pain. His slow approach had worked well, for after a time she clung to him, fingers digging into his back and moaning softly to each thrust. David had never felt so alive before. So connected to another person. Making love to Abigail was more fulfilling than he’d ever dreamed. He slowed his thrusts and deepened them, aiming to bring her greater pleasure.
Abigail’s eyes widened as he filled her. Her head tipped back and she pressed her lips together. He brought his mouth beside her ear and nibbled at her throat. “Tell me. Don’t hold back.”
She gasped and clutched at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you want me to stop?” Given the way she held onto him, he thought he knew the answer.
“Don’t stop. Don’t. Don’t. Never. Never. Never stop.” More words tumbled from her lips. Words pleading for something she couldn’t name. David held her tightly to him, giving up his own needs altogether in order to provide Abigail with sensations she required most. Her fingers bit deeper into his skin, her thighs tightened around his hips and a wail suddenly left her mouth.
He held himself still as she shuddered, drinking in the pleasure of her first release. However, he couldn’t remain so for long and he quickly succumbed to desire, whispering her name against her throat as he climaxed. When she relaxed, he withdrew, still hard, still desiring more but afraid he was crushing her.
He eased onto his side, drew Abigail against his chest, and plotted out their new future. In the morning he would write to his partner at the bank, explain why he wouldn’t return as planned and ask him to call in a few favors: namely the purchase of a special license to marry as quickly as possible and to organize the lease of a larger and far nicer apartment. Knight had excellent taste and good connections. He could have it all arranged, and David would move in, before Abigail even arrived in the capital. Once his letter was on its way, he would meet with Peter Watson and ask for Abigail’s hand in marriage.
Abigail pressed her lips to his chest. “David.”
“Yes, my love.”
“Hmm,” she murmured sleepily as she cuddled against him. “I like the way you say that.”
“Good, because I intend to use the endearment often.” He ran a hand down her spine, over her hip and along her leg as far as he could reach. Her skin was silky soft, and so very tempting. She snuggled closer to him, pressing against his erection that hadn’t softened very much.
She stroked her hands over his shoulders, fingers brushing over his skin possessively, and swept down his sides. “Are you all right?”
“That is the question I should be asking you.” David laughed softly. “But I’ve never felt better in my life, Abigail. I hope you feel the same. Thank you for seducing me.”
She sat up suddenly, hair tangled and free across her breasts. “Did I do that? Really?”
He smiled and lay back with an arm behind his head. “I believe you did.”
Her eyebrows rose as if she found the idea ridiculous and then she climbed on top of him, thighs holding him in place beneath her slight weight, soft hands pressed to his chest, hips perilously close to his lingering erection. “I would never have believed I could before tonight,” she murmured.
He pushed her hair aside to expand his splendid view of her body. “You seduce me with every breath you take.”
He brushed a thumb over a nipple until it hardened to a tight peak. When Abigail took her bottom lip between her teeth, he brushed over it again. Her lips curled into a broad smile and she leaned down to kiss him. Powerless to resist, David kissed her in return and then showed her there was more than one way to make love.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Abigail suffered Imogen’s embrace in a state of utter shock as her friend whispered in her ear, “Now we will be sisters. No matter what happens we will always have each other.”
She drew away slowly. She’d only caught a few hours rest last night and her mind was a little fuzzy still. “Excuse me, but did you just say you were to be married?”
Imogen’s smile dimmed. “Yes, that is exactly what I said.”
Abigail squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She sat in her brother’s parlor, taking tea with her best friend and
for a change her brother appeared attentive. She must be dreaming this nightmare. “To each other?”
“Well, of course to each other,” her brother bit out.
So she had heard correctly. Her brother and best friend were to be married at the end of the month. Yet Abigail couldn’t fathom how a union between them could possibly work. They barely spoke, and Peter always left the house when Imogen came to pay a social call. They were not marrying for love.
Imogen’s smile brightened suddenly. “Are you not happy for us, Abigail?”
She quickly caught her friend’s hands, noting the cold clamminess of her fingers and the fervent return grip. Perhaps Imogen wasn’t as confident about getting married to Peter as she had first appeared to be. Had she been tricked into it?
Since her brother hovered at Imogen’s side, she couldn’t ask her question right now. But later, she would get to the bottom of what Peter had done. She would support Imogen’s decision to call off the union if she had been forced to act against her better judgment.
“Of course I am.” She forced a smile and made an effort to act normally. “It’s just so unexpected and sudden. I had no idea my brother was so enamored of you he would bring himself to the point. I hope you were suitably romantic, Peter. Imogen deserves the very best.”
Imogen’s gaze dipped to their joined hands and she drew away.
“Sometimes a swift decision about these matters is for the best,” Peter mumbled, throwing a quick glance behind him as if looking for someone. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
When he was gone, Abigail peered into Imogen’s face. “Tell me exactly how he came to propose. Quickly, before he returns.”
Imogen sighed. “Another time. I must be going. I have an appointment with Mr. Hawke shortly. I simply wanted you to know everything will come good now. You’ll never have to leave Brighton or this house. You have my word everything will be well again.”
Imogen gave her one last long hug and then hurried out, without lingering to say farewell to Peter. A vast silence stretched in her wake. This was not a love match. Not even close. The stiff formality between Imogen and Peter left her in no doubt they were ill suited to be in each other’s pockets for the rest of her life. How soon would they regret their hasty decision?
Abigail knew exactly what love felt like. She was certainly in love with David and had hardly been able to tear herself away from his bed in the early hours of the morning. She had no regrets about giving herself to him. He cared for her and in time, perhaps, he would come to love her just as strongly as she did him. If he proposed, she would happily move to London.
But her first concern now had to be extracting her friend from this farcical arrangement. Imogen would not be happy as Peter’s wife.
She turned and went in search of her brother. Peter stood in the dining room, appearing deep in thought as he stared out at the garden.
When he didn’t acknowledge her presence, Abigail cleared her throat to get his attention. “What have you done?”
His brow creased as he turned around. “I’ve done what’s best for you.”
“Best for me?” Abigail’s blood boiled. “What about what is best for her? How can marrying my best friend be in any way good? You’re not in love. Don’t deny it.”
“You place too much value on love,” he mumbled. “This arrangement will save us.”
“Arrangement! And who will save Imogen from you? She deserves to marry someone who will look after her, not a man who doesn’t appreciate her sacrifice,” she bit out savagely.
Peter’s skin paled and Abigail moved closer, hands clenched. “If you cause her misery I swear I will make you wish you had not. She deserves better. You both do.”
His shoulders slumped. “I know I don’t deserve her. But she made a very good argument for a marriage between us. I swear I will do everything in my power to ensure she never regrets her offer.”
Abigail gaped. “Imogen made the offer of marriage?”
He nodded. “I take it she didn’t mention this was her idea in the first place?”
Abigail pressed her hands to her face. It wasn’t Imogen’s idea at all, it was hers. This was Abigail’s fault for confiding so much to Imogen about their situation. She may not have asked outright, but she’d likely influenced Imogen’s decision to offer herself and her inheritance so she and Peter could stay in Brighton. Once the words were spoken Peter and Imogen would be trapped.
What had she done?
After a time, her brother excused himself and left her alone in the parlor. Glass clicked against glass in the connecting room and she thought over the events of last evening. She should not have let Imogen pursue Peter into the night. She should at least have accompanied her to ensure she didn’t do such a foolish thing.
But at the time Imogen must have been throwing her future away, Abigail had been in David’s arms.
She shuddered. A loveless marriage. It was what she had planned for Peter, after all. She just hadn’t expected Imogen to be the one to sacrifice herself to keep a roof over their heads. She hadn’t even known Imogen had such a grand fortune to temp her brother into accepting such an arrangement in the first place. She’d assumed all her talk of investments was merely for a trifling sum. If Imogen were indeed an heiress then perhaps David, as her banker, could advise her to call it off. Peter wasn’t exactly a good investment.
How sad she’d cautioned Imogen against him, yet attempted to lure Melanie Merton to be his bride. Peter spent all his time carousing, hiding from his responsibilities. How could Imogen chain herself to such a man?
She covered her face with her hands and rocked forward.
“There is a delivery for you,” Peter said from the doorway.
Abigail darted a quick look at her brother. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “They’re pretty,” she said.
His brow creased as he came forward. “There’s no note so it seems you have a secret admirer. Any ideas who might have sent them?”
“No,” Abigail lied. Her hands trembled as she took them. “Thank you.”
Peter cleared his throat. “I’m going out for some air first, but Imogen insists I meet with Hawke today and end the disagreement between us. I wouldn’t bother but he’s to draw up the marriage contract—Imogen insists—before he returns to London and then we can put him from our minds for another year. I’ll see you later, possibly not until dinner.”
Abigail nodded and glanced down at the bouquet in her hands, her heart aching with sadness. Last night David had said he worried about her. That he couldn’t seem to stop. Had he sent the flowers to show her he was thinking of her now, or was this his way of saying goodbye?
Although his concern had been sincere, he had not made her any promises beyond last night. He had claimed she’d seduced him and had reminded her he was leaving. At the time, she had not wanted to dwell on how she would feel later. But now the remembrance of his words caused her eyes to fill with tears and she blinked them back swiftly. He would leave in a few days and then she would have to wait a whole year to be in his arms again. Although new to love, Abigail wasn’t sure how she would stand the separation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
David had penned a long letter to his business partner in London and sent it off well before the appointed time to meet with Walter and Imogen George. Truth be told, he’d been awake for hours. He’d bolted out of bed the minute he’d realized Abigail had left his side. Despite rushing downstairs in a state of shocking undress, Abigail had already vanished into the Brighton early morning.
He was surprised but not alarmed by her departure. With each encounter, they ran the risk she could be seen and face social ruin for their antics. Marriage to him, and a swift one, would be best in this situation.
He grinned, pleased with the way his life was headed. It was ridiculous how happy he felt, but he could not help himself. He’d requested his mother’s old bedchamber aired and cleaned, fresh sheets placed on the bed, not that he had any intention of l
etting Abigail sleep alone. When he’d spied the flower seller on his way back from an early morning swim with Valentine, he’d doubled back and paid the old woman handsomely to deliver a bunch to Abigail. It was a pity he couldn’t have penned a note to go with them. For now he would have to be patient, at least until he’d secured Peter’s agreement to let them marry.
A knock sounded on the door and he bounded down the hall to let the George’s in with an eager wave of his hand. “Good morning, George.”
“Hawke,” Walter George tumbled across his threshold without meeting his gaze.
David frowned, glancing at Imogen following behind, only then noticing her hand secured firmly around Peter Watson’s arm. “Miss George. Good morning. Mr. Watson. What a pleasant surprise.”
They passed him with a cool nod and he closed the door behind them. Although puzzled by the silent trio, he quickly turned his mind to the task at hand. “I was unaware Mr. Watson would be joining us. Do make yourselves at home in the study while I gather up another chair.”
“Thank you,” Miss George murmured.
David hurried down the hall, spoke to his housekeeper to request an extra setting to the tea tray, and then returned to the front of the house with a chair for Peter Watson. He sat behind his desk and looked at those before him.
Walter leaned forward. “Me first this time, and then I’ll leave you three to discuss matters.”
David extracted the carefully prepared report on Walter’s investments and account and handed it over. Walter gave the page the briefest of glances and then folded it. “Even better results than last year. Thank you.” He stood, held out his hand to David. “Swimming tomorrow?”
David shook it. “Absolutely.”
“I’ll see myself out.” When Walter shuffled past Imogen and Peter, his expression changed. He frowned at his sister and Peter Watson, shook his head, and then shrugged away whatever concerned him.
The front door closed with a hollow thud just as the mantle clock chimed eleven. “I. Ah. Wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Watson. I trust everything is well at home?”
