The vulnerability in her voice was endearing, stinging his conscience with remorse. For the expediency of their courtship, he would not admit that initially that had been his intent. He’d wait until their relationship was on firmer ground. They might even be able to laugh about it in the future.
“Do you honestly believe I would bed a woman out of revenge?” Which was not a lie. He hadn’t planned to actually take her. He’d made love to her because he couldn’t help himself.
Her gaze probed his for a moment before a smile appeared. “But the thought must have crossed your mind. I’d given you ample reason to dislike me.”
He chuckled at her gross understatement. “I think we’ve established I like you fine enough.”
With his right hand, he stilled her fidgeting fingers and stared deeply into her eyes. “I made love to you because I desperately wanted you and for no other reason. Does that answer your question?”
The soothing stroke of his thumb on her palm and the warmth of his flesh had Amelia’s senses clamoring in response.
She nodded as a fire ignited between her thighs.
“Good,” he said, in a low, hypnotic voice. “I want there to be no misunderstanding between us. May I escort you to your chamber?”
His request sounded decadent and forbidden. Yes, and wonderfully sinful. Amelia said nothing, knowing her silence signaled her willingness. He rose still clutching her hand in a firm but gentle grip. She allowed him to assist her to her somewhat shaky feet, and they made the trek up the stairs, his hand hovering near the small of her back.
“What about your sister—the others? They are awaiting me in the drawing room.” Her protest was as much an afterthought as one could be.
Thomas gave a husky laugh, lowering his mouth to her ear. “My brother-in-law is too newly married to spend time in the evening drinking port with Cartwright. He’s already spent the entire day with him. Believe me when I say, everyone has already retired for the night.”
Amelia didn’t say another word but continued on to her room, anticipation unfurling inside her. At her chamber, she turned to face him, and he stepped forward, crowding her, forcing her back against the solid wood door. When he lowered his head, his intent was clear and so greatly anticipated she found herself reaching out to draw him to her. She hadn’t his patience.
The light of the gas-lit wall sconce flickered. She blinked, suddenly struck by their location as they stood in the hallway where anyone could happen upon them.
Her arms stiffened and she pulled her head back. “Wait,” she croaked, “what if someone—?”
He dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. Amelia went silent. Raising his hands, he slid his fingers into her chignon, dislodging several pins. His breath was warm against her face, his lips now feathering hers. “This wing of the house is just for non-family members, and Missy considers Cartwright a relation. No one sleeps here but you. But you’re right—we need someplace much more private for what I have in mind.”
The feel of his fingers tunneling through her hair and stroking her scalp would have had her sliding to the floor if not for the support of his arms.
When his lips finally made contact with hers, there was no pretense. She wanted it, craved it in the most absurd, mindless manner. She didn’t wait, couldn’t wait for his tongue to find hers, thrusting hers in a relentless search. But he pulled his head back a fraction, making her endure tiny nips to the corners of her mouth, the curve of her chin and the vulnerable line of her neck.
Then she was up in his arms and in her chamber. The heel of his boot kicked the door shut. Amelia tightened her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers, sealing his in a kiss. The firm, sensuous feel of his lips on hers drew a whimper from her throat. The clash came as tongue and teeth met. A stab of desire so sharp she wanted to wail, beaded her nipples into tight buds, blistering a path down to her center.
The mattress gave way under their combined weight as Thomas laid her in a luxuriant spread in the center of the bed. His tongue continued to plunder her mouth, seeking out every nook and crevice in avaricious demand. Amelia angled her head to obtain deeper, more thorough penetration—if such a thing was possible. Sliding her hand from around his neck, she wedged her hands between their torsos to tear at the buttons of his shirt. The need to feel his flesh, warm and hard, beneath her fingertips, drove her.
The loss of his touch was momentary as he sat up and joined in helping her divest him of his clothes with ruthless efficiency.
He wanted her. If his impassioned kisses hadn’t made it obvious enough, his erection certainly did. It was stiff and thick, thrusting out from a thatch of dark blond hair. Amelia clamped her thighs together, as if that would prevent the flow of moisture pooling her sex. Then he was straddling her, his erection rubbing against her lower stomach as he made quick work of the buttons of her gown. Staggering pleasure washed over her in inundating waves, making her every breath a pant followed by a gasp.
Her stays, petticoats, chemise, and drawers surrendered to his deft fingers. The feel of him, hard and scorching hot, dragging against her lower belly started a riot within her. She throbbed and pulsed where she wanted him to touch her the most.
“Heaven help me, you’re beautiful,” he groaned on a labored breath. His eyes feasted on the soft thrust of her breasts. Cupping both in his hands, he flicked at the tips until she didn’t think she could take any more. But she could if she had to. She arched her back to push her breasts firmly into his hand, her body urging him to take ever more liberties. She wanted his mouth there. She craved the feel of his mouth at her breast, licking and sucking on her nipple.
He watched her, his lids heavy with passion and lust. Her hand clasped the nape of his neck and pulled his head down. Thomas needed no further urging, his lips finding the berry tip with unerring accuracy.
“Thomas,” she gasped, the band of pleasure tightening within her as she parted her legs to make a space for him there.
He raised his head and the loss of his mouth had her twisting beneath him, searching, wanting, yearning, and then demanding. “Tell me what you want.” His voice was a deep rumble, his features contorted by constrained lust.
Amelia responded by thrusting her hips up, sending the tip of his erection to nestle into the patch of hair covering her privates. His groan rent the air. With his mouth still toying, nibbling, then suckling her nipple, his hand scored the smooth indent of her belly down to the notch of her thighs, his fingers urgent and tender as they parted the vulnerable lips of her sex.
She was wet, embarrassingly so. A ragged breath fluttered from her parted lips. Her breaths then just came in short pants. There was no way to fight the pleasure spurring her hips to lift and undulate in this helpless, needy fashion.
Thomas gave her nipple one last lingering lick, twirling his tongue around the berry tip before he made the journey across the flushed quivering skin of her belly, to follow his fingers to the place beckoning him to further delights.
He worked his finger into her small opening and was rewarded with the moisture of her passion. He jerked and rubbed his erection against her thigh as if her wetness further excited him. “God, you’re tight. So tight. I hope I can make it,” he groaned before his mouth was on her.
He had pleasured her like this the last time, the rasp of his tongue firm and tender and so wildly arousing against her slickened flesh, Amelia wanted to weep with the undiluted pleasure of it. Widening her thighs, she tipped her hips to give him better access to the moist folds. She knew she must look a complete wanton, but the need clawing inside her was enough to overcome years of sexual repression—most of it self-inflicted. With his other hand, he spread her open for her delectation. His tongue found the nub hooded by soft pink flesh, and she was lost. She soared, quivered, and convulsed in the kind of pleasure she had never known existed until Thomas.
Amelia floated back to earth dazed, her body spent. Then Thomas was on his knees, a limp thigh in each hand held wide to receive him. He enter
ed in a single jolting thrust. The fit was snug. He filled her seemingly beyond capacity and had her sex humming back to life. Every push and pull had her body clamoring for more of the same, deeper, harder. He went from slow and excruciatingly long thrusts, her walls contracting and quivering in helpless pleasure, until he was pounding into her.
Pleasure, the likes he had only known in her arms with his cock buried deep inside her, coursed and built in him like a boulder gathering speed down a steep incline. Her head twisted on the pillow, her sapphire eyes glazed. The pace of his thrusts increased and grew more forceful in their demand. The sound of flesh colliding took on a rhythmic, powerful beat in the cool evening air of the bedchamber.
Amelia emitted a high cry and stiffened beneath him, her hips thrust up to take him deeper while she clawed at his back. Thomas welcomed the pleasurable pain that came when her nails finally sank into his shoulders as she found her release in a series of convulsions. Her feminine sheath tightened around his cock, the pressure, the suctionlike pull sending him spiraling over the edge when he could no longer hold off his orgasm. His peak was blissfully prolonged and all consuming, the tumble down nearly frightening in its intensity.
Dropping his head into the crook of her shoulder, he labored to catch his breath while holding her tight in his arms. He sought her lips in a slow open-mouthed kiss, and she returned it with equal amounts of need and want. His cock stirred inside her, and the tilt of her hips and arch of her back indicated she was more than willing and more than ready for him again.
The morning could have arrived amid a sun veiled in darkness, accompanied by frogs, locusts, and hail, and still Amelia would have welcomed it with a smile rivaling the light of the sun at its zenith in a cloudless sky.
Thomas. Amelia sighed the sigh of the truly besotted. He’d reluctantly dragged himself from her bed, donned his clothes, and departed her chamber. Of course, before he’d finally left, they’d shared a deep, lengthy good-bye kiss meant to hold them until the next one. The kiss had naturally progressed to the fondling of buttocks, and the nuzzling and suckling of breasts. When it appeared he’d end up right back where he started—the fourth time for the night—sinfully naked and buried between her thighs, he summoned the strength and halted the heated embrace with a muffled curse and a groan.
“If I don’t leave now, I never will. And we can’t allow your maid or one of the servants to find me here.” With a short, hard kiss to her mouth, he’d quickly exited the room.
That had been four hours ago. Yet the anticipation of seeing him again had her wiping damp palms against her skirt just before she entered the breakfast room.
Thomas was there standing in front of the sideboard, in his hand a plate piled high with food. He stopped as soon as he spotted her and treated her to the kind of look that had everyone else in the room turning to watch her.
A wave of heat flooded her face and other places she dared not think of. Ever conscious of her audience, she was brief in her acknowledgement of him: a silent dip of her head. But even as she turned to greet the earl and the countess, she could easily recall the exact shade of green of his waistcoat and trousers, and was envious of the fit of his shirt and jacket over his muscled shoulders, chest, and abdomen. Never had a man stirred her blood so.
“And how did you enjoy your evening?” The earl’s question ended abruptly with a grunt of pain. “Why—”
Missy condemned her husband with a sharp look, interjecting smoothly, “Good morning, Amelia.” She spoke as if she just hadn’t poked him in the side with her elbow—this contact the apparent source of his pain. The countess’s reaction suggested she knew exactly how and with whom Amelia had enjoyed her evening.
“Good morning, Lord Windmere, Lady—I mean Missy,” Amelia corrected upon receiving a look of mock reproach from the countess.
The earl seemed to quickly collect himself, clearly seeing the error of his ways. “And you must address me as James or Rutherford if you prefer, as it is obvious we will become well acquainted.” He brought his cup of coffee to his lips, peering over the rim at Thomas, who in turn continued to watch her intently.
“I told you we are an informal lot,” Missy chimed in.
Amelia rounded the table to the sideboard, feeling all three pair of eyes boring into her. More than anything, she could feel the heat of Thomas’s stare.
When she’d finished serving herself and came to the table, Thomas bounded to his feet, took her plate, placed it at the setting beside his, and seated her himself. Her heart leapt at the combination of his solicitousness and proximity. She inhaled his scent and wondered how she could ever have been adverse to it—adverse to him. It would be a miracle if she survived the day without pouncing upon him like some sexually deprived widow.
To hide her embarrassment, Amelia concentrated intently on her food, never daring to meet Thomas’s sidelong glances. If breathing was difficult, eating required Herculean efforts. Thomas had done this to her. Love had done this to her.
“Have you any plans for today, Amelia?” Again, Missy spoke to her as one would an intimate, very familiar and warm. To Amelia, even after such a short acquaintance, something in Missy’s manner felt right.
“I—”
“Yes, I plan to take Amelia into town. I thought she would enjoy Windsor’s shops, especially during the height of the season,” Thomas cut in.
Now she did look at him. He intended they spend the entire day together. Joy gripped her and refused to let go. She grew dizzy with it.
Thomas offered her a half smile. His gaze became hooded when it drifted to her mouth. Her breasts peaked and her skin tingled, her body responding as if it had been a physical touch.
“Yes, I would enjoy that tremendously.” She tried to sound not quite so much like an adoring simpleton.
James cleared his throat while Missy unsuccessfully attempted to hide a smile behind her serviette.
“I believe Catherine and Charlotte would enjoy a trip into town. Catherine in particular, for she adores the stores.” Missy directed her statement to her brother, a dark eyebrow arched. Amelia understood the look immediately. The countess didn’t trust him—them. While at her home they may enjoy their privacy; in public they would be circumspect, adhering to some form of propriety even if it was the chaperone of two sixteen-year-old girls.
A momentary tightening of Thomas’s features indicated his chagrin, but he conceded with a curt nod. Obviously they would have to curtail any physical intimacies. Amelia couldn’t help a stab of disappointment, her body already impatient for his next caress, his next touch, his next scorching kiss. Today would indeed be a very long day, her mind already on the homecoming. Her only solace was that she’d be spending it in Thomas’s company.
An hour and a half later, Amelia, Thomas, and Catherine boarded the black-lacquered brougham. The weather was ideal for their trip. Snow, fluffy and light, lazily circled the air before settling on graveled roads and dormant foliage in a white blanket. Catherine fairly bounced onto the seat, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Peering out the window, she exclaimed, “The snow is so pretty.”
Thomas took the seat across from them, his gaze flitting to Catherine’s pink-cheeked face before returning a steady regard to her. Amelia had to look away. It was all too much. The wanting, the yearning, and not being able to have him at that very moment.
She needed a distraction. “Did your sister not want to come as well?” She thought all girls their age lived for things like shopping, baubles, and whatnot.
Catherine shoved her hands deeper into the muffs, yanking her gaze from a terrain of naked trees with snow-laden branches. Her mouth formed a pout. “She said she’d rather finish her book. But I know it’s because Alex is here. Everyone knows it. She does it every time.”
Thomas smiled dryly. “And you find this vexing?”
“I think it’s terribly silly is all. Alex will never pay her any mind. Anyway, he’s much too old for her.” With her brows furrowed and her mouth set in a pi
nk line, she resembled a displeased golden-haired Dresden doll.
Amelia could easily see how a young girl like Charlotte could fall for the raven-haired lord. He was dangerous enough to the women of London as the second son, Lord help them all if he had been born heir to the dukedom.
“Not that I am encouraging her, but I once thought the same about Missy and Rutherford. Now look at them. She set her sights on him when she was but ten years of age.” Thomas reposed back in the velvet-cushioned seat, his legs splayed negligently, amusement lighting his eyes.
Was that what explained their easy familiarity, the connection between the two a stranger could pick up within seconds of observing them together? A pang of envy shot through her. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Thomas, or he from her.
“I just think it’s silly,” Catherine mumbled, turning back to the window. “Oh!” she cried after a minute pause. “Notice how pretty the street looks.”
Amelia reluctantly directed her attention to the scene beyond the window. The carriage was rumbling down a paved road leading to the main street. Not far in the distance, storefronts lined the street, the lampposts gaily decorated with miniature wreaths and shiny red bows, making for the quintessential Christmas tableau.
They spent the next several hours traipsing through almost every shop on Peascod Street. Thomas was solicitous in his attendance, escorting her about like a suitor on his best behavior. That is, save a smoldering glance and the lingering touch here and there that had her already-heightened senses in constant flux. Catherine appeared quite oblivious to it all, chattering on and exclaiming over every pretty trinket and ribbon she saw.
Amelia rarely purchased—or had need to purchase—presents for Christmas. Her father was generous with the servants, ensuring they were amply rewarded in their Christmas boxes. One year, when she was fourteen, she’d taken her allowance and bought a present for Mrs. Smith, their housekeeper, and Reese, their butler, because they had always been so kind to her. They’d both since retired. In respect to her, the marquess treated the day like any other. There were, of course, the token gifts for her bought by whichever governess was currently employed.
A Taste of Desire Page 27
