by Darcy Burke
He tugged her hair, and she let her head fall back, closing her eyes. He kissed her jaw, her neck, trailing his mouth down until he met her collarbone. He licked along her flesh, pulling a moan from her.
She grasped his shoulders, holding on to him lest she fall onto the bed. His hand came around and cupped her breast, just as he described. His thumb stroked over her nipple and then his fingers came together over her tight flesh and squeezed.
“Oh!”
He supported her with his arm, which he’d wrapped around her back. She arched her chest up into him as his mouth descended. He held her breast while he sucked the tip, softly at first and then with greater pressure.
She moaned again, unable to contain the sensations rioting inside her. She could scarcely think, could only feel. His tongue and mouth tortured her until she thought she might explode. Need shot through her, and she feared that if he didn’t touch her sex, she would certainly die of want.
“West. West.”
He lowered her to the bed. She opened her eyes just enough to see him tug her gown down her legs and drop it to the floor. He touched her cheek and with his other hand caressed the breast he hadn’t yet touched. Ivy arched up off the bed with a gasp.
He leaned down and whispered next to her ear, “Do you know what comes next?”
He was going to touch her sex. “Yes.”
“Do you want it?”
She closed her eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. “Yes.”
“Tell me, Ivy. Tell me what you want.”
Oh, she couldn’t. But she must.
“Touch me. Please.”
He left her breast and laced his fingers through hers. “Take my hand and show me if you can’t say the words.”
She brought his hand between her legs. “Here. Please.”
“Red, just like you said.” He didn’t release her hand. “I’d like to watch you touch yourself first. Would you do that for me? That way I’ll know that you know what to do when I’m not here.”
She snapped her eyes open, simultaneously horrified and aroused beyond measure.
He locked his gaze with hers and turned her hand so that her fingertips were against the top of her mound. “Here. This is the spot.” He guided her index finger to find the small nub. “Do you feel that?”
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even nod.
He stroked her finger against her flesh. “Feel that? No, don’t close your eyes. Not yet. Look at me, Ivy.”
She fought to look at him, to keep the connection intact. It was the most intimate feeling she’d ever experienced.
“Move your thighs wider apart.” She did as he bade, helpless to deny him. Not that she wanted to. He used her fingers to massage her flesh, slowly at first and then more insistently. “Does that feel good?”
Somehow, she managed to nod. Need built to desire, and desire bloomed into lust. Her hips began to move. “More.”
“Yes, more.” He moved her hand faster. “That’s right. Take the pleasure. Seize it.”
Pressure gathered between her legs, in her core, and she could no longer control her movements. She closed her eyes and cast her head back against the pillows. Then his finger took the next step, pressing inside her.
Ivy gasped, and her hand slowed.
“Don’t stop, Ivy. If you do, you won’t come. You want to come, don’t you?”
God, yes. If she didn’t, she really would die. His hand was gone from hers now, but she didn’t need him to show her. She stroked her flesh hard and fast, and he pumped his finger into her again.
It was all she needed. White light burst behind her eyelids as ecstasy crashed over her. She cried out, her body shaking with release.
But he wasn’t finished with her.
She felt wetness against her flesh and opened her eyes to see him bent over her. His mouth was on her, his tongue sweeping against her sex. “West!” He’d mentioned this, but she’d never imagined…
The orgasm that had crested over her faded, but the pleasure was still intense. And with each stroke of his tongue and suck of his mouth, the sensations intensified. He replaced his tongue with his finger and drove into her. She moved her hips more frantically than before, seeking another release.
He worked relentlessly, alternating his mouth and his hand. Then he turned her on the bed and put her legs over his shoulders, burying his face against her. She came again, her muscles clenching hard. Her body felt as if she had no control over it, and the freedom was marvelous.
It was several minutes—a lifetime it seemed, really—before she came back to reality. She was a quivering mass of jelly. She’d never imagined feeling such pleasure.
When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see him leaning against the bedpost, his lips parted as he stared down at her. She leaned up on her elbows. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
She glanced down at the bulge in his pantaloons. “What are you going to do?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll take care of myself after you go.”
Well, that seemed a pity. And she knew what to do. Her experience extended to helping Peter achieve release more than once behind the cowshed.
She sat up and moved toward him.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Helping.” She reached for the buttons of his fall.
He put his hand over hers. “That isn’t necessary. This was about you. I made a promise to you. Tell me, did I deliver?”
Her body was still weak. And thoroughly sated. “More than.”
“Then I should help you dress.”
She stroked his chest with her other hand. “Why won’t you let me touch you? Your cock, I mean.”
His nostrils flared again at her crude language. “Ivy.”
She arched a brow at him, wanting to tease him a little. “West.”
He let go of her hand. “If you insist.”
“I do.” She plucked at his buttons until his pantaloons fell open. “You aren’t wearing any smallclothes.”
“I rarely do.” He leaned forward slightly. “Does that shock you?”
“Nothing about you shocks me. Not anymore.” She reached into his clothing and found the warm length of his cock. She guided it free and wrapped her hand around the base.
“You seem to know what you’re doing.”
Since he hadn’t asked a question, she didn’t answer. She stroked her hand along his length, slowly at first and then more quickly.
“Not yet,” he rasped. “Slow for a minute.” He showed her, and she followed his lead. His hand fell away, and his eyes slitted. Still, he watched her. And she watched him.
She worked her hand from base to tip with languid but precise movements, learning his flesh. He was hot and hard, his skin soft as velvet. She imagined him inside her and was surprised to feel desire building inside her again.
“Faster now,” he urged. “And touch my bollocks.” He took her other hand and showed her, cupping her palm around his balls. “Squeeze just the slightest bit.”
She did as he said, and his eyes closed for a moment as he moaned low and deep.
His hips moved, thrusting his cock into her hand. “God, Ivy. Faster. Harder.”
She tightened her hand around him and stroked his length with increasing speed.
“Ivy, kneel up.” He opened his eyes. “Kneel up.”
She scrambled to obey. “Why?”
“So you can come with me.” He slipped his fingers into her already wet sex. “I knew you’d be ready. God, you’re magnificent.” He pressed two fingers into her, and she very nearly came right then.
Moaning, she squeezed his bollocks and worked her hand even faster.
He cried out her name. “Now.”
She let herself go but managed to keep up her pace on his cock. Hot moisture spurted over her hand as another orgasm racked her body.
A few moments later, his movements stopped, and his fingers left her. He gripped the back of her n
eck and kissed her hard and deep. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and repeated himself. “Magnificent.”
He turned from her then and returned with her shift.
No. It couldn’t be over. There were so many other things she wanted to do. With him. Only with him.
“You aren’t a virgin.”
Of course he would be able to tell.
She pulled the shift over her head. “No, I’m not.”
“I want the blackguard’s name.”
If fury had a sound it was the tone he’d just used. “It was ten years ago. It doesn’t matter.”
“Why didn’t he marry you?”
She shrugged. “That doesn’t matter either.” She climbed off the bed and found her corset.
“It matters to me.”
She glanced over at him—he was fastening his fall—before pulling the corset over her head. “You aren’t my keeper. Or my guardian. Or my husband.”
“I’m your lover.”
Her fingers fumbled as she reached back to find the ties of her corset.
“Let me.” He turned her about and pulled the laces.
“Please just leave it alone.” She turned around when he finished. “I prefer the past remain in the past. And you aren’t my lover—not really. This was a one-time occurrence.”
“I will move heaven and earth to return before the end of the house party.”
So she could have at least one more night with him. But if he didn’t…she’d be disappointed. Hell, she was going to be disappointed no matter what. Yes, she was changed. And she wasn’t sure it was for the better. Now she knew precisely what she was missing.
But she’d try not to focus on that. Instead, she’d relive this night thousands of times in her mind.
He plucked her gown from the floor and handed it to her. She pulled it on and fastened the front. Belatedly, she realized her hair was loose. She brushed it to the side and quickly braided it over her shoulder.
“Pity,” he murmured. “Your hair is glorious.” He reached out and stroked his fingertip along her hairline.
She found her slippers and donned them. Hopefully, she wouldn’t encounter anyone on her return. If she did, she’d simply use the library as her excuse.
He brought her candle and put it in her hand. “I’m glad you came. I will think of you with every mile as I ride north. Tomorrow is my birthday, you see, and recalling tonight will be my gift.”
She wanted to believe him, and so she did. Just as she believed she likely wouldn’t ever see him again.
“Happy birthday.” She lightly touched his chest and stood on her toes to kiss him. “Travel safe,” she murmured before pressing her lips to his.
What was intended as a soft farewell quickly became a prolonged good-bye. His mouth swept over hers, imprinting himself on her for all the nights when she would dream of him.
“Until I see you again.”
She backed toward the door, reluctant to turn. But she must. Gripping the candlestick, she spun about and left, certain that a piece of her remained behind.
Chapter Twelve
Stour’s Edge, Suffolk, a fortnight later
The dreary weather perfectly matched West’s mood. He’d been home for several days now after riding helter-skelter to catch up with Townsend. The viscount had been shocked and frightened when West had found him and Miss Forth-Hodges at a coaching inn. The lady had been surprisingly resolute as well as unyielding. She’d made it clear that she understood the damage to her reputation and didn’t care. She only cared about marrying Townsend.
West had negotiated the terms of the marriage settlement as Forth-Hodges had indicated and then accompanied them to Gretna Green, where they’d been happily wed. They may have gone about things the wrong way, but West had never subscribed to a “right” way, and their happiness was all that mattered.
Unfortunately, the weather had turned awful, and the rain had prevented him from arriving at Greensward before the house party had ended. He’d missed Ivy by one day. One terrible, infuriating day. He scowled at the gray River Stour wending its way past his estate in the distance like a serpent on the hunt.
He abruptly turned back to his desk and tried to focus on the matters of running his estate. Thankfully, he had a capable and attentive steward and a blindingly efficient secretary.
The latter, a fellow about five years West’s senior and who could best be described as a wily grasshopper in appearance and demeanor, stalked into West’s office with a stack of letters. “The post has arrived, Your Grace.” He set the missives on the desk in front of West.
“Thank you, Hemphill.”
West eyed the mail acrimoniously. Every day he tore through it, hopeful for a letter from Ivy. And every day he was disappointed.
“Anything of interest there before I weed through it?” Hemphill asked.
The secretary always gave West his mail before opening it so that he could scan for letters from women seeking his services. Hemphill was more than aware of West’s liaisons and in some cases helped with arrangements—leasing houses or coordinating travel.
West waved at the secretary. “Have a seat, if you will.”
Hemphill deposited himself in the chair in front of the hearth.
West sorted through the missives until he came across one that was in a feminine hand. It wasn’t the first he’d received since arriving home. But would it be from the one woman he wanted most to hear from?
He tore it open, and his heart stopped for the barest moment. It was from her.
Clare,
Why wasn’t she still calling him West? Perhaps she was simply trying to be formal in her correspondence.
I wanted to thank you for dispatching the new schoolmistress to the workhouse in Wendover. She arrived the day before we left, and Lunden offered her the position. I do believe the arrangement will be most beneficial to everyone. I can’t overstate my appreciation.
West smiled to himself. He imagined her reaction when the schoolmistress had arrived. Had she revealed one of her treasured smiles? He rather thought so. And now he was angry all over again that he’d missed her. Hellfire.
He went back to reading the disappointingly short missive.
Mrs. Forth-Hodges shared with me that she received your letter regarding Emmaline and Townsend’s elopement. She is most grateful to you for ensuring that everything went as it should. I hope and pray for Emmaline’s happiness. I must also thank you for your role in the situation. You are a most surprising gentleman.
West felt a burst of absurd pride.
Lady Dunn and I are off to Bath for the next two months. I’ve never been, but she has friends there. I suppose that’s all there is to say. I wish you every happiness in the future.
I. Breckenridge
He glowered at the parchment as if it were somehow to blame for the frustrating lack of…emotion. But what had he expected? If he’d come to know Ivy at all, he shouldn’t have been surprised. She repressed everything.
Well, almost everything.
That last night together, he’d drawn her out.
“A troubling letter, Your Grace?”
Hemphill’s question crashed into West’s thoughts. He looked over at the secretary, who was just replacing his spectacles on his nose. “Not troubling exactly. Just… Never mind.”
“Is it your next arrangement? I noticed a feminine scrawl on one of the letters. It seems as though you’ve received a few of those this week.”
Three to be exact. “Yes. But this is not of that nature.” But, oh, how he’d like it to be.
Really? He wanted Ivy to be like the rest? Because she wasn’t. Not in any way.
Hemphill looked perplexed.
“She’s a…friend,” West explained, perhaps unnecessarily. “I met her at the house party and provided assistance.” He’d meant by arranging for the schoolmistress’s transportation, but of course he’d done more than that. He’d changed her life, hadn’t he?
Or maybe she’d changed his.<
br />
“A friend?” Hemphill sounded nonplussed.
West looked at the man and scoffed. “I have female friends.” He considered most of the women he’d had affairs with of the friend variety. They were certainly on friendly terms.
“Of course.”
West ignored his secretary’s skepticism.
“Have you made your plans for the fall yet?” Hemphill asked.
Around this time West typically made arrangements for a fall liaison, often tied to a long house party, or he’d go to London. He’d received multiple offers—the letters tucked into his desk. However, he wasn’t interested in any of them. All he could see was red-gold curls and bright, seductive green eyes. His body heated at the thought of her.
He glanced at the letter, hating the finality of it. She’d wished him well in the future, which meant she didn’t expect to see him again. Well, the hell with that.
“Yes, I’m going to Bath.”
“Do you already have arrangements?” Hemphill asked.
West leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “No. I will require a house.”
Hemphill inclined his head. “Just so. When do you plan to depart?”
“I should like to leave within the week, the sooner the better.”
“And how long will you be staying?”
West stared at the window for a moment. He couldn’t begin to guess because he still wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing. He just knew he wasn’t content to have their association be at an end. “I don’t know. It depends on the lady.”
“The lady? Am I to understand that you’re undertaking a new liaison?”
“No. She’s not—” He dropped his hands to the arms of the chair. “She’s different.”
“Different how?” Hemphill cocked his head to the side. “Have you decided to court someone?”
