The Missing Heir

by Ranstrom, Gail

  She tilted her head ever so slightly to one side, the gesture a question. If she were careful, would he ever have to know?

  He came forward and circled her twice, an agonizingly slow process. Finally he stopped behind her, his breath hot on her neck. She expected him to reach over her again and to touch her breasts, but he didn’t. Instead he pulled the violet snood off her chignon and removed the hairpins that secured the knot. Her hair tumbled down her back, as cool as silk against her fevered flesh. She shivered as he separated the strands between his fingers.

  Only then did his hands come around her waist, pulling her back against his chest and then sweeping upward to cup her breasts. She gasped as his thumbs scraped across her hardened nipples and her head tilted back against him as pleasure coursed through her. She was suddenly two people, one screaming to run while she still could and the other crying out for more. Which? Which should she listen to?

  “Ellie,” he groaned in her ear. “Here you are, at last.”

  Ellie? Was that who she was? Unexpected tears filled her eyes as her past—always fuzzy, mostly painful—came into focus. Grace was her brother’s creation, and Basil’s and Barrington’s, and every other man who’d tried to control her. Ellie was the free spirit her father had loved and cherished—and the woman that only Adam had seen still lurking beneath the surface. Ellie, wild and free and reckless. Ellie, the woman she had buried. She wept for all those wasted years, all those years of becoming someone she thought she needed to be to survive—of denying herself and of living a lie. Was it too late to reclaim a portion of it? Dear God, had she wasted her entire life?

  The realization left her weak and trembling. She melted back against Adam’s chest, slow tears coursing down her cheeks, and lifted her hands to cover his, still cherishing her breasts. They were damp with her teardrops.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Yes.”

  “Are you frightened?”

  She turned in his arms. “I am freed. I am redeemed.” She looked up at him and rose on her toes to kiss him.

  He looked dazed for one brief moment, then met her kiss with an open hunger and honesty that awed her.

  “Yes,” she murmured against the soft press of his lips, answering the question he had not yet asked.

  He lifted her into his arms and stepped over the gown. Before she could think better of her decision, he had kicked the library door open and was halfway up the staircase. She was dizzy with anticipation when he did not stop at her door but continued down the hallway to his.

  The experience was exhilarating, liberating. He left her in the center of his bed and went to lock his door. She pushed herself up against his pillows, brushing the long tendrils of hair back from her face. A crescent moon shone outside his open window and she smiled into the silver-dappled moonlight, welcoming the sacred darkness, so intimate, so safe.

  Her slippers had been left on the library floor and Adam turned his attention to her stockings. Unfastening the garters, he lifted her leg to rest her heel on his shoulder, rolling the stockings down her leg, kissing each newly exposed expanse of skin. His smile and the deep intimacy of his touch made her feel luxurious and naughty at the same time. Doing likewise with the second leg, he then turned his attention to her chemise, unfastening the tapes at her shoulders and tugging from beneath her and over her head.

  She had been naked with a man before, but Basil had never touched her the way Adam did. She had no time for modesty when he disposed of her smallclothes, leaving her clad only in the moon’s glow and white garters, his gaze grazing over her skin like a caress. A faint rumble built in his throat and he bent to kiss her stomach. An immediate burning ignited there and she sighed deeply, tangling her fingers through his hair and holding him close.

  He circled her navel with his tongue as he worked his cravat free, then discarded his shirt. By then she neither knew nor cared how or what he’d have to do to divest himself of the rest, but it was done quickly and he was back, reclining beside her.

  He lifted strands of her hair and twined the lengths around his neck, as if he would bind her to him thus, and then turned his attention to her mouth. Long, lazy kisses gave way to deeper ones as his hands moved over her, defining, discovering, worshiping.

  She grew frantic with longing. This was nothing like the endless, painful, humiliating, futile nights of failed attempts at consummation with Basil. This was sweet and urgent. It was beyond anything she ever could have imagined. She wanted more, and she wanted it now.

  He dipped his head to nibble and kiss her breasts and at the same time he moved his hand between her legs. She gasped with the familiarity of such a thing, but when he drew her nipple into his mouth, she forgot everything else.

  She whimpered when he found the vulnerable cleft shielded between her thighs, stroking, dipping, opening her. He moaned, and she realized she had curved down to him to tug at his earlobe with her teeth, making little mewling sounds each time his finger entered her. “Please…please…” she begged, keeping rhythm with his stroking.

  “Not yet. There’s more I want of you.”

  “No. Now,” she demanded, feeling her courage slipping away.

  “Ellie,” he soothed. “Ellie…”

  Yes. Tonight she was Ellie. Not Grace. Her courage returned and, stronger, more confident, she reached down and touched him, amazed by his size and power—such an impossible opposite to Basil. He winced, but grew larger and harder in her hand. Would it all go wrong as it always had with Basil? She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t risk it. “Now!” she demanded like an angry child.

  He laughed. “Now, then,” he said, positioning himself above her.

  He probed at her vulnerable core, seeking entry. His thickness and length seemed impossible to accommodate and she knew there’d be pain. There’d always been pain. But she also knew she couldn’t take another breath without him inside her. She arched to him as he drove downward, but his entry was shallow, blunted by her tense muscles. She made a concerted effort to relax and brought her knees up to cradle Adam’s hips. He groaned and thrust again.

  She held her breath, ready for the burning, aching discomfort. She wanted him deep inside her and he thrust again, surer, deeper. She caught her startled gasp before it escaped past her lips and arched her head back on the pillow as she lifted to him again, savoring the searing ache inside her. He filled her with himself, sliding downward. Slowly, slowly downward he pressed until they were fully joined. Chill bumps rose on her arms and she moaned with the mingled pleasure and pain.

  “Ellie,” he whispered into the silver moonlight, “are you with me?”

  “Yes,” she said, uncertain what he meant, but knowing everything would come all right now. She closed her eyes to fully appreciate the sensation. It was done. Irrevocably done. Gloriously, wonderfully done.

  He began moving again, creating an exquisite friction by slowly rocking against her until she matched him, and only then taking longer, deeper strokes. When she opened her eyes again, she found him watching her. His hazel eyes were bright and his muscles strained and shook with his every move, as if he were contained under pressure, sparing her the full force of his passion. Was there a question in his eyes? Or exultation? As the pressure began to build within her, instinct led her to roll her hips upward to allow even deeper entry, and the foreign sensations began to soar out of control. Every part of her was tingling and chill bumps caused her to shiver with anticipation. She moaned with the intensity of building pleasure. She feared she might swoon with it.

  Adam was smiling at her now, that irreverent little half smile of his that was somehow wicked and wise at the same time, a smile that said he knew what she was feeling, and knew that he had created those feelings. She smiled back and he laced his fingers through hers and held them against the pillows.

  Slowly, still driving into her, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. His tongue moved over hers, mirroring the invasion where their bodies
were joined. Her sighs fell into that rhythm and she tightened her muscles to rise to him.

  He groaned and shuddered, coming into her with steadily building intensity, and she knew the end was near. Then, just when she could bear no more, heat and light burst through her, incinerating her in a mindless inferno, reducing her to ashes in an instant. Gasping, she closed her eyes and felt tears trickle down the sides of her face as the currents of pleasure dragged her deeper.

  Adam released her hands and lifted himself away from her. He cupped her face and wiped her tears with the calloused pads of his thumbs as she gasped to catch her breath.

  How utterly humiliating. Emotion was unladylike, Leland had drummed into her when she’d grieved openly at their father’s death. Passion was unseemly, Basil had told her when she’d clumsily tried to help him consummate their union. And now, because of her tears, she was failing Adam, too. “I am…so sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to cry.”

  “Sorry? Never be sorry for such a thing, Ellie. Sometimes it takes you that way. Not so very unusual. I am choosing to take it as the very highest compliment.”

  The tension drained from her and she gave him a breathless laugh. She opened her eyes again to find him looking down at her, concern etched on his handsome features. “It is a compliment, Adam. I…have never felt like that before.”

  “I gathered as much. And I wonder if I should take you further.”

  She sighed and stretched. “There cannot be anything further.”

  He bent to kiss the hollow of her throat before moving lower. She thought he would kiss her breasts again, and the anticipation began to build. But he did not stop there. Holding her hips steady, he trailed a path of kisses lower.

  “Nothing further?” he mumbled against her belly. “Care to make a little wager on that, m’dear?”

  Grace trembled as he traced his tongue around the dip of her navel. Her every reaction betrayed that she could not be as experienced as her reputation suggested. Though responsive beyond his wildest expectations, her surprise at the sensations he created in her told him that his uncle had been clumsy or unconcerned with her pleasure or comfort. And what lovers could she have had who had not taken the time to initiate her into the erotic arts?

  He moved down, savoring the silken expanse of her lower belly. Her hips twitched and she caught her breath on a moan. How he loved discovering her, cherishing each new and exciting revelation. He held her hips to steady her. Her skin was warm and smelled of jasmine, as exotic and mysterious as Grace herself.

  “Adam,” she sighed, reaching her hand down to cup his head and catch his hair between her fingers.

  She hadn’t done this before. He was sure of it. Her reactions were too wild, too unschooled, to speak of experience. But he would claim this right, this privilege. She wouldn’t stop him. She wouldn’t want to.

  When he reached the crisp curls of her nether hair, she gasped. “No!” she said. Her plea was halfhearted and he knew it was born of ancient taboos, all the more beguiling for its forbidden nature. Grace might protest, but Ellie wouldn’t.

  He slid one hand from her hip to stroke lightly over the engorged little bundle of nerves that was his destination. She writhed with mingled pleasure and desperate need. Slowly, he moved his fingers downward and entered her passage. She was hot and tight, already on the edge of orgasm. Her muscles began to spasm over them and he withdrew regretfully. She was ready, but he wasn’t prepared to let her go so easily.

  “Oh!” She moaned. “Adam…please!”

  “Soon,” he promised. “Stay with me, Ellie.”

  He kissed his way lower until he was finally where he wanted to be. He gently ran his tongue over the seed of her passion. She tasted both sweet and salty, a blend enticing and uniquely female. His own desire surged out of control when he felt her thighs trembling. Her pleasure became his pleasure. He could no more stop now than he could snatch the stars from the sky.

  He gave exquisite attention to that heated place, savoring her responses, taking pride in her cries of delight. Only when her breathing grew shallow and ragged did he give her the release she sought. With insistent pressure and the soft pull of his tongue, he brought her to completion.

  Before her tremors finished, he rose above her and sank into her, feeling her contract around him. Taking long, slow strokes, he felt her muscles pulling him inward, gripping him, greedy for the final stroke. A fine sheen of perspiration dewed her entire body. She was glorious. She was magnificent. She was wanton. And she was his.

  He finished quickly, spilling his seed into her in a hot rush just as she reached another climax in rapid succession. Her head thrashed on the pillow and she repeated his name in a soft litany.

  “Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam…”

  He sank into her, finally at rest. No matter where life took him, no matter what came of tomorrow, he wanted to die hearing that sound.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Adam studied his face in the shaving mirror on the washstand in his room. Apart from shadows beneath his eyes, there was nothing to betray the fact that he’d spent a sleepless night. Even after he’d carried a deeply sated, sleeping Grace to her bedroom and deposited her between her sheets, he’d been unable to sleep. The question loomed large in his mind, and also his denial. It could not be so. But every time he dismissed it, it came back even more insistently. Still, despite his instincts, despite her reactions, there was absolutely no way that what he suspected could be true.

  He wiped the remaining streaks of lather from his face and dropped his towel into the basin, glancing toward his bed. The vision of Grace, naked but for her amethyst pendant and the enticing white garters he’d left for their erotic counterpoint, rose up to entice him yet again. She’d been everything he’d hoped—deeply sensual, completely open and wholly abandoned. Yet she’d possessed a touch of innocence that was quite charming. If she made every lover feel as she’d made him feel last night, it was no wonder, then, that she’d gained such an envied reputation.

  But how could he account for her tears? They’d surprised him, charmed him with their sweetness, and they’d told him she was as deeply moved by the experience as he’d been. And there it was again. That damned question.

  He couldn’t put it off a moment longer. Though he dreaded the answer, he had to know. He took another step toward the bed before a knock on his door stopped him. “Yes?” he called.

  “Mrs. Dewberry, sir. Come to bring your tray and fetch the dirty linens.”

  “Come in,” he said. He took a fresh cravat from the bureau and draped it around his neck.

  Mrs. Dewberry bustled in and placed a breakfast tray on the table by the window overlooking the park. “Eggs, sir, and ham,” she announced.

  “I dislike putting you to such trouble, Mrs. Dewberry. I was on my way down.”

  “Ach! No trouble at all. Everyone’s rising late today. The missus hasn’t stirred, and I know she’s got an appointment before long. Miss Dianthe just came home as I was putting the kitchen in order for the day. She told me that she and the Thayer girls danced all night. Oh, to be young again, eh?”

  She went to the washstand, wiped the basin and dropped the towel on the floor. She bent over to gather up his discarded clothing from last night, and he glanced toward the bed again. He’d better find out before Mrs. Dewberry made the bed. With no small amount of trepidation, he pulled the covers back. It took him a moment to accept what he saw. Just a trace, he decided, but enough to tell the tale.

  “Mrs. Dewberry, I…uh, have a boil.”

  “Mr. Dewberry gets them all the time, sir, on his arse from coaching all day, bouncing on the driver’s seat. Would you like me to lance it? You’ll be more comfortable afterward, I vow.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Dewberry. I…ruptured it last night.”

  She came to stand beside him, staring down at the sheet. “Faugh! That’s hardly nothing, sir. I’ve seen much worse, I can tell you that. Why, last year the mister had one that bled for days.”r />
  Struggling to find words, wondering what the hell was going on, Adam merely nodded. “I am fine now. I shall…try not to bloody your sheets again.”

  “Here,” she said, tugging a corner of the sheet. “Let me wash these, too. Have to wash the ill humors out of them, else you’ll get another.”

  Oh, he seriously doubted that. One was only a virgin once.

  Harsh sunlight pierced the narrow gap in Grace’s curtains. She stretched and yawned, feeling sinfully luxurious and strangely contented. Oh, but when she rolled over, the muscles of her inner thighs quivered in protest and the night came rushing back.

  She sat bolt upright in bed and looked around. Thank God, she was in her own bed, though how she had gotten here she could only guess. And, heavens! She was stark naked but for her garters!

  She jumped out of bed, snatched her dressing robe from the clothes press, and tied the sash around her waist. Her gown! Was it still on the library floor? She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and groaned. Noon! Mrs. Dewberry would have found it by now, along with her shoes and snood, and even the scattering of hairpins Adam had pulled from her hair. Oh! Her under garments were still in Adam’s room!

  She hurried to the adjoining dressing room to find her slippers and nearly collapsed with relief when she saw everything there, draped over the boudoir chair. Adam. Oh, bless him! She touched the fabric of the gown and sighed. He was not going to hold her to their wager. But would she ever be able to wear it again without thinking of last night? Not likely. But she would always feel beautiful when she did, because she would remember the way Adam looked at her.

  She returned to the bedroom and pulled the draperies back to admit a flood of light before going to her dressing table to comb the tangles from her hair. There would be no time for a bath before she had to meet Mr. Renquist. She smiled at her reflection, congratulating herself that she looked quite the same. No betrayal of what had happened last night marred her features, no hint of her newly found sexuality showed in her eyes or face.