Lady Anne's Lover (The London List)

by Maggie Robinson

  Now she was being unrealistic. Of course there would be troubles. But they could face them together.

  Yes, her mind was made up. It must have come to its conclusion as her body was in the throes of bliss these past few days. She was weak. She was a sinner.

  And ready to sin some more, even if it was Sunday.

  There was no going back from this, and probably best to get it over with. It would not surprise her to find out her father would want to have her examined to prove that her marriage was a real one. The thought of his doctor poking at her filled Anne with revulsion.

  Oh, her treacherous mind. She was a little less calm now, a little more nervous. She pinched her pale cheeks and chewed her lips, wishing she had the powder and rouge pots that were on her vanity table in Egremont House.

  Gareth said he liked her freckles as they were, and gave them concerted attention as his tongue went from one to the other. Since she had so many, his tongue had been busy lately, on her skin, in her mouth, between her thighs. He had mastered her reluctance completely.

  And here she was, crawling into bed and arranging the mended sheet over her body. Anne had wanted to undress herself, wanted a few minutes alone after their hasty lunch to bid her past a thorough good-bye. In a few weeks she would be married, but this was her true wedding night.

  Or wedding afternoon. There was enough light filtering in through her homespun curtains even though the day was overcast. On the whole, she was glad she would be able to see all of Gareth in daylight. He had kept his shirt on through their previous encounters, but today Anne would demand he remove it. She wanted to see more than the toast-colored skin at his throat and the few curling dark hairs that peeked out from unbuttoned linen. She wanted to show him she was nothing like Bronwen, who had despised Gareth for his imperfection. And tomorrow, once this hurdle was passed and her barrier broken, she would visit with Mrs. Chapman to plan her wedding and try to find out who killed Lady Bronwen Lewys.

  Thoughts of murder were not the best aphrodisiac, so Anne promptly put them out of her mind and concentrated on the feel of fabric on her bare skin. Her nipples were puckered, and a quick brush down to her nether curls told her she was wet already without Gareth even being in the room. He had turned on some sort of tap inside her, made her forget and think only of him. She prayed—not that she was a praying sort of girl anymore—she would please him today, not that God was apt to bless such activity out of holy wedlock.

  Soon, though. They would speak their vows and forge a life together. Gareth was not the stranger he’d been just days ago when she’d proposed this madcap scheme.

  He knocked, as he always did, and opened the door. Anne wouldn’t dream of denying him entry to her room. Or her bed.

  He was wearing a dark blue robe she’d never seen before, quite an elegant thing which looked foreign. His feet were bare, his hair damp and brushed back from his temple. She had given him the extra cake of lilac soap and could smell that he’d used it from across her little room. He’d made the scent his own, though—there was no whiff of fragile femininity.

  Gareth remained in the doorway, his eyes shadowed.

  Anne sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her chest. “What is wrong?”

  “Are you sure, Annie? We don’t have to do this today. Or even after we marry. I feel I’ve somehow importuned you away from your beliefs. You were so set on having a marriage of convenience. Leaving me afterward to start a new life.”

  “You’ve worked very hard to change my mind.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “I have, haven’t I?”

  “You told me yourself you set out to seduce me. Well, you have. There’s no point in me resisting. You were most persuasive in the trap wooing me in Welsh. Have you changed your mind?”

  He didn’t move from the door. “To tell you the truth, I’m having a very inconvenient crisis of conscience. You are very young. And I am . . . not.”

  “Are you telling me you are too old and unable to perform? I’ve seen no evidence of that so far.”

  If a man could blush, Gareth was. “You are deliberately misunderstanding me. I should hope I’d be able to satisfy my wife for many years to come. This isn’t about potency or physical strength. I—I care about you, Annie. You deserve happiness. I may not be the man to give it to you.”

  This was all very odd. It was she who should have cold feet, dashing headlong into bed and a marriage with a man she barely knew. A man with an unpleasant history and no prospects. A man who’d agreed to marry her for money without her having to twist his lone arm very hard. Anne supposed this sudden hesitation on his part was evidence of his good character, but right now she found it annoying. She was cold and curious and besotted. Damn Gareth for making her think when all she wanted to do was be swept away on a sea of sensation.

  “Come in and sit down. It’s ridiculous we have to shout at each other across the room.”

  “I didn’t realize I was shouting.” He sat down at the edge of the bed, gripping the robe so it wouldn’t fall open. Anne wanted to smack his hand away. “I don’t want you to regret this, Annie. We can wait until you are sure.”

  Good lord, the man was an idiot. How much surer could she be unless she had a sign pinned around her neck that read, “Ravish me?” She had unfurled in his embrace each night since she’d injured her foot, a new petal opening at his every kiss and stroke. She was in lush bloom now, only waiting for her center to be breached. She dropped the sheet to her waist.

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  Gareth’s eyes refused to drop from hers to her exposed breasts. “What if there are consequences?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if I get you with child? Your old life will be lost to you. You’ll have no choice but to be trapped here with me then.”

  A baby? Anne swallowed. She’d had no interest in children before, viewing them as a necessary evil to ensure succession. Children were sticky and squalling and frequently smelled most unlike lilac soap. Gareth had no title to pass on—no great fortune, either.

  But Gareth’s child—

  She saw a sturdy dark-haired boy, helping his father with the horses they would have. Gareth had spoken of turning Ripton Hall’s remaining acreage into a stud farm. The thought of riding again on prime horseflesh had thrilled Anne to her core, even more reason for her to stay and make a go of her marriage. Between horses and an attentive husband, she knew she could be happy.

  “Do—do you like children?”

  He shrugged. “It rather depends on the child. I’ve met a few that were most unimpressive. I think I’d like my own children, but of course I might be in error. There are many fathers who do not see eye-to-eye with their sons. Or daughters, for that matter. However, I always expected to have some if I married. I was prepared to be a stepfather not too long ago.”

  Bronwen’s girls. Damn, but Bronwen was still in the room with them.

  “I know there are ways to prevent consequences.”

  Gareth raised a dark eyebrow. “Do you, now? You are a most exceptional virgin.”

  It was Anne’s turn to blush. She’d been privy to any number of improper conversations when she was kicking up her heels in London. People thought her improper, far more experienced than she was because she’d led them to believe it was so. “One hears things.”

  “One does. Unfortunately, I have none of the preventatives you may have heard about. I haven’t had a pressing need for them before you came into my life.”

  “One can withdraw.”

  Gareth laughed. “Can one? I seriously doubt my ability in that regard, Annie. I imagine I would be too overcome with my desire to mark you as my own to do the gentlemanly thing at my crisis. And believe me, there is nothing gentlemanly about me at the moment. I’ve caged the raging beast for the time being, but my control cannot be depended upon. You—you inflame me.”

  Anne sniffed. “I inflame you so much so that you are offering me a reprieve to wiggle out of coupling with you. You
cannot really want me then.”

  “You think not? I beg to differ.” He took her hand and placed it over the figured satin of his robe. His cock was hard as marble. Why were they having this silly conversation when he should be tearing his fancy robe off? If he let her hand go, she’d tear it off for him, but instead he held her fast and continued to speak.

  “I have wanted you ever since I woke up. And I don’t mean from sleep, but ever since you tore a strip off my drunken hide. You made me open my eyes to see what a wastrel I was, drowning my days and nights away. You make me want to prove something to you, Annie.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything.”

  “I disagree. I’d like to take you to bed, but I may disappoint you.”

  Where had the real Gareth gone, the one who’d been devilishly determined and after her for days? “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Stubble it and kiss me, Gareth. If you haven’t noticed, I have goose bumps everywhere. I want you to relieve me of my virginity right now. Or at least within a reasonable time frame. We’ll worry about the wisdom of it all tomorrow.” That’s how she’d navigated the past two years since her debut, damning the consequences until the next morning.

  His face softened. “You are the strangest girl.”

  “I wonder. I think there are a great many of us who want to know what all the fuss is about. Thanks to the past week, I already have some idea, but I want it to be crystal clear.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You might not like it.”

  She had never expected to before, but Gareth had reorganized something inside her. If she had awakened him, he’d done the same to her. Even her hand tingled in anticipation.

  “I’ll never know unless you toss me down on the mattress and have your way with me.”

  His smile warmed her. “Ah. You do drive a hard bargain, Annie. My scruples are packing a portmanteau and heading to the coast.”

  “Good riddance. Now, Gareth. I want you now.” She didn’t want an extra minute to change her mind. “And take off your robe. I want to see you.”

  “I had planned to,” he said quietly. “You should see what you’re getting before you commit to me. If I—my arm, or lack thereof—if it disgusts you, we don’t have to proceed.”

  “Oh, Gareth.” Was he afraid? She would not hurt him no matter how difficult it might be to view his deformity. She schooled her features and pulled the tie of his robe loose. He sat still as a stone monolith as she tugged the sleeves down. His left arm ended below his elbow in a knob of twisted darkened flesh. It was not one bit horrifying, just odd. The rest of him was almost perfect barring a nick or two from his service, though he was too lean. His broad chest tapered to narrow hips, an arrow of silky dark hair pointing to his rampant cock. Anne felt the urge to bend and kiss the silver bead of fluid from its tip, but she knew she had to do something else first.

  Carefully, she cupped Gareth’s shortened arm in the palm of her hand. He shuddered and the limb jumped, but she held it in a gentle caress. “You are beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Men are not beautiful,” he replied, his voice rough.

  “Now who cannot accept compliments? I say you are beautiful.” She smoothed her fingers along the edge of puckered red skin. “I am not hurting you, am I?”

  “God, no.” He shut his eyes. “I cannot believe how your touch makes me feel. But you don’t have to—”

  “Hush.” She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, and kissed his left shoulder. More kisses trailed down his skin as she worked her way to her palm. Gareth groaned and brought his right arm around her, clasping her tight. She felt a drop of moisture fall on her back, then another.

  Tears. Her own eyes filled. He had been alone and unwanted much too long. But he wouldn’t want her pity. She had something better in mind anyway. She kissed her way back up to the hollow of his throat, grazing his skin with her teeth, pressing one thumb against a flat nipple. His hand was lost in the tangle of her hair, the rough pads of his fingers sifting through and massaging her back. They shivered together at each new point of contact, each skim of mouth and hand on hot skin, each moist kiss. Anne craved more, and lifted her face to his.

  He covered her mouth and pulled her down to the mattress. She tumbled on top of him, feeling every inch of hard plane and rigid cock beneath her. She had never felt so alive, her lips and breasts and thighs alight against his.

  Or felt so vulnerable, but she trusted him. She lost herself in his kiss, its promise clear. He meant to make the next hour as perfect as he could, and Anne was eager to help him. She thrust her hips against him and he groaned, ending the kiss.

  “Patience. I have never wished for the use of both hands more in my life,” Gareth said. “In fact, I wish I were an octopus.”

  “I would not like you half so well as a fishy thing, and think of the village gossip. Imagine the scandal. Such a union would be most unnatural, and Ian would never marry us then.” She grinned down at him. “No more talking, just more kissing.”

  “An order I can easily obey.” She opened her mouth to him, her tongue curving against his in a lazy, sensual dance. There was almost unbearable lightness to their encounter, and Anne wanted more. Needed more. She slipped to the side and reached for his cock, curling her hand around it, thumbing the fluid at its head. Gareth shuddered and held her closer, his tongue probing deeper.

  He may have wished for more arms, but Anne wanted more tongues. She imagined his between her folds and felt her feminine liquid pool at her thighs. A taut wire from her spine to her stomach pulled, and she knew she had to feel Gareth inside soon. How to manage it? She knew there would be discomfort at first, but didn’t care.

  She broke the kiss reluctantly and shifted up on her knees, straddling Gareth. He looked at her questioningly, then fisted his cock. She touched herself, her fingers coming away drenched. She smeared the juices at the tip of his member.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he hissed.

  Anne had been impulsive all her life, and here was the natural culmination of all her reckless behavior. Without another thought, she shifted over him, and sank down hard on his erection.

  Done. With not as much pain as she expected, just welcome, delicious invasion. She didn’t want to move, simply savoring the unfamiliar heat and breadth of him inside her. He was enormous, and hers for the moment, fitted as neatly within as a missing puzzle piece. She waited to feel sorry or sore, but instead felt completely at peace for the first time in her life.

  “Duw,” Gareth whispered. “You are magnificent. Are you all right?”

  “Better than all right.” She couldn’t even find words to describe how much better. She had leaped, and she had landed. “I believe it was your fantasy that I ride you.”

  “I may have mentioned it.” He could barely speak, his voice raspy. She lifted a silky inch, then sat back down. Such perfect, agonizing friction. She rose again, a bit higher. Gareth brought her back down with a firm grasp on her hip. Their bodies were still, adjusting in minute fractions to hard skin inside a cloak of wet velvet. Anne bit back the urge to laugh. He might misinterpret her giddy relief and take masculine offense, and the last thing she wanted to do now was explain.

  Anne knew a thrill of possession. She might not have his heart yet, but his body belonged to her. He reached for her breast and swept a finger across her swollen nipple. Inspired, she did the same to him, then bent to kiss it, leaning forward so her hair fell on his chest and her passage clenched his cock.

  “Ah.”

  “Are you all right?” she teased.

  “You are a witch. I am in torment. The most wonderful and complete torment.”

  “Surely not complete. We have not finished. We have not really even begun.”

  He smiled, looking a little like a wolf. “Ready when you are, my love. Don’t feel you have to rush—I don’t want to hurt you. We have all the time in the world.”

  Anne was ready, tender, yes, but unhurt. She raised and lowered herse
lf, finding a rhythm that suited them both. His blue gaze was so searching she had to shut her eyes, concentrating on the joining of cock and quim. A kiss might have distracted her, so she remained upright, offering her breasts for display while Gareth’s fingers sought her clitoris. His touch was unerring. Ripples shot through her immediately, spurring his thrusts upward, so deep she thought she’d break apart too soon. She wanted this to last, to keep every second sacred.

  Anne recognized the physical landscape now. She was close to the precipice, simultaneously flying up and plummeting straight down into herself. She was well beyond conventional conversation, and could only pant and moan, beg and gasp. Spurred on by every bit of nonsense that came out of her mouth, Gareth plunged up deep into her center, matching her ragged cries with actions instead of words. There was no declaration of love, yet Anne felt treasured. Worshipped. Not as some virgin sacrifice, but as a woman.

  She abandoned control. Searing pleasure overtook her as she trembled and tumbled down for Gareth’s kiss. The heat of his seed within her and the fierceness of his embrace unraveled the last knot of restraint and she was undone.

  She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Either one would lead Gareth to believe this had not been the most exquisite moment of her life. How odd that now she was officially “ruined,” she had never felt so whole. Everything that had ever come before this was washed clean and put away.

  Gareth rolled to his side, Anne along with him, still connected in the most elemental way. He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead solemnly. “Thank you, Annie.”

  She should be thanking him for banishing the ghosts of other clumsy kisses and brutish touches. She would not spoil the afternoon by confessing what brought her to Wales just yet. Here she would stay, if he’d keep her once he learned about her past.