In My Wildest Fantasies

by Julianne MacLean

  She knelt before him, placed her hands on his knees, and spoke with conviction. “I have a good feeling about her, Devon. You will be happy, if you will only let yourself. What happened with MaryAnn was tragic, there is no question about that, but you never meant for it to happen. You did your best. Her death was an accident.”

  “But her feelings for me were…” He paused.

  “What she felt in her heart is not your fault either. You did what you could to discourage her and to be loyal to your brother. You need to forgive yourself.”

  He gazed into his mother’s caring eyes. She was a wise and intelligent woman, but she did not know the whole story about MaryAnn. No one did. “Vincent has not forgiven me,” he said.

  “He will in time. Now that you are home.”

  “I am not so sure of that.”

  She sat back on her heels. “Please, Devon. It is true that you have been pushed into this marriage because of your father’s demands, but you can still open your heart to the possibility of love and happiness with the woman you have chosen to be your wife. Learn from my mistakes. Do not repeat them. Run toward love, not away from it. Don’t resist what you feel for her. You could bring hope and joy back into this house. Lord knows we all need it here.”

  “That we do,” he replied, feeling the weight of his responsibilities looming heavier than ever. “That we do.”

  That night after the theatricals in the grand saloon, the ladies said goodnight to each other, while some of the gentlemen decided to taste the brandy in the library and engage themselves in a few hands of cards.

  Devon encouraged them to do so, ordered more brandy to be brought up, then discreetly slipped behind the crimson drapery in the saloon to the hidden door in the wall. He flicked the latch and entered the dark passageway, where a candle was waiting for him in a sconce.

  As a boy he had explored these narrow corridors hundreds of times, and he and his brothers often escaped punishment when they’d been confined to their rooms by lock and key—at least until the new nannies discovered the secret doorways hidden behind movable bookcases or builtin wardrobes.

  Their favorite places to explore had always been the subterranean passageways, for they were dark and damp and made of stone, and had once been used by the monks at the abbey before the king had dismantled the monasteries and turned them out.

  That particular bit of palace history, along with the story of the prior who was murdered by his own canons, had provided Devon and his brothers limitless opportunities for ghost stories and trickery. That was how they had always managed to have new nannies. They could never keep one for very long after she’d been lured down to the foundations of the palace, where mice and cobwebs were always readily available in the pitch-black caverns, along with their own ghoulish howls.

  But that was years ago. These days he used the passageways for a different kind of midnight game altogether.

  He reached the secret entrance to Rebecca’s room and paused with the candle in his hand, listening. His mother’s maid had been assigned double duty to assist Rebecca until she found a permanent maid of her own, so he was careful to make sure Alice was not about. He heard a drawer open and close, but no one spoke, so he carefully pushed open the door.

  He entered the well-lit room from behind the floor-to-ceiling portrait of one his ancestors, and stood briefly beside the bed, watching his betrothed stand before the mirror on the vanity, running a brush through her thick, wavy hair. She stood with her back to him and wore a white dressing gown, and was humming a melody he did not recognize.

  As he watched her, he wondered why he had come. He had been working very hard to keep his mind fixed on his duties and responsibilities and all the practical details involved in planning a hasty wedding. He had been relatively successful in that regard, at least until his mother had knocked on his door earlier in the day and given him that speech about happiness. As a result, he had discovered that looking at his mother was like looking in a mirror. He had tried to convince her to let go of her guilt and shame and allow herself a better future. She had said the same to him.

  After she left, he’d had no choice but to contemplate his own advice with a bit more care and reflection.

  He glanced to the right and saw the diary sitting on the bedside table, and wondered if Rebecca had been reading it just now, or intended to read it when she climbed into bed.

  Just thinking about some of the words on the pages of the book gave him a stir, so rather than continuing to fight against his unwieldy passions, he blew out the candle he held, set it on the table and slowly strode forward toward his betrothed.

  She spotted his movement in the mirror and sucked in a breath, startled by his unexpected appearance. Whirling around to face him, she whispered hotly, “Don’t do that to me! I thought you were a ghost.”

  “No ghosts in this house, darling, only randy fiancés who can’t help sneaking around to see the objects of their desire.”

  She huffed. “Did you come through one of those secret passages again?”

  “I did indeed.”

  He reached her and let his eyes wander down to her bare toes, then back up again.

  Suddenly duty and responsibility had nothing to do with anything. He wanted sex with her, and he wanted it now.

  She narrowed her clever gaze at him when their eyes met. “I beg your pardon,” she said, playfully scolding, “but I thought that after our previous disregard for propriety, we were going to make this a respectable engagement and wait until our wedding night to properly celebrate our nuptials.”

  “But that’s two days from now.”

  “You can’t wait two days?” she said, incredulous.

  “Definitely not.”

  She made a valiant effort to hide her smile, and walked past him toward the bed, stopping to turn around in front of the bedside table.

  He raised an eyebrow and leaned to the side to see past her. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “You want to read more of that diary, don’t you?” she asked, with a teasing tone.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I already know how it ends.”

  He strode toward her. “I, on the other hand, do not, and the suspense is killing me.”

  “I hardly think that is what’s killing you.”

  How right she was.

  He stopped a few inches away. She laid a hand on his chest, then slowly slid it down inside his trousers, wrapping it around his rock-hard erection, already standing stiffly at attention. “You just want to hear the naughty bits,” she said.

  “Aloud, if you don’t mind.”

  He grinned wolfishly, realizing he adored this woman more with every passing second, and he was a very lucky man to have found her before anyone else had.

  Perhaps there was hope for happiness after all—at least at night, after the sun went down, when he could forget about real life for a while. Maybe she was meant to be his oasis.

  She looked him straight in the eye as she stroked him with her warm, proficient hand, and the pleasure mounting in his loins compelled him to set a hand on the bed to keep from staggering sideways.

  “Where did we leave off last time?” he asked, wanting to get down to business.

  “Jess had not yet taken Lydie’s virginity.”

  “Then perhaps we might skip ahead a few pages,” he suggested, taking her into his arms so that she had to remove her hand from his pants. She grabbed on to his shoulders and he swept her up off her feet and laid her on the bed.

  He stood over her, tugging at his tie to loosen it before he picked up the diary and looked carefully at the brown leather casing on the front cover. “In the mood for a little reading?”

  “I’m always in the mood for a story.”

  He handed the book to her, and she flipped through the pages searching for a particular entry, while he sauntered around the foot of the bed, removing his dinner jacket and waistcoat and tossing them onto the upholstered bench.

  He climbed onto the bed a
nd lay down on his side facing her, his elbow on a pillow, his head resting on a hand, while he admired her lovely profile in the lamplight. Her skin was creamy white, her lips full and moist. When she began to read, her voice was smooth and intoxicating like wine…

  “Dear Diary,

  “Tonight it happened and it was perfect, the most incredible day of my life. It was a gloriously hot and humid evening without a single breath of wind, and after dinner I could not contain my desires. My body was tingling with wanton urges, so I ran out the door and headed to the forest.

  “My breasts were heaving with excitement, and in the warm, moist twilight, my skin became sticky and wet. I had never felt such burning anticipation. When I reached the clearing, I saw him. My dearest love, Jess. He had been sitting in a patch of purple wildflowers, but rose instantly to his feet when he heard my approach, and ran to meet me. I dashed into his strong, capable arms and together we sank down to the grass, our hungry bodies entwined, squeezing and thrusting, both of us sighing with delight and dreaming of erotic pleasures.

  “He was eager tonight, more than ever before, and I knew I could not continue to deny him what he wanted. I parted my legs for him and boldly reached down to unfasten his breeches. He devoured my lips with his mouth while I pushed his breeches over his hips and kneaded his strong buttocks with my roving hands, pulling him firmly against my moist, open womanhood.

  “If I had any lingering doubts about what we were about to do, they vanished instantly when he paused and looked down at me, with the hazy pink sunset reflecting in his eyes like firelight.

  “’I love you, Lydie,’ he said to me, tenderly, and I knew I would spend the rest of my days loving him with my whole heart and soul, and that he would be my joy, my lover, my life, until I took my last breath in this world…”

  “Stop,” Devon said, for he had felt a sudden, unfamiliar yearning in his gut, which was, quite frankly, astounding to him. For so long, he had been shunning the kind of all-consuming, romantic love that Lydie wrote about, believing it smothered common sense and resulted in eventual, inevitable ruin. He had always imagined he would marry for duty alone, and would choose wisely with his head, which is what he had set out to do that night he met Rebecca at the ball. But somehow their relationship had very quickly snowballed into something more, and hearing her read those passionate words tonight opened something inside of him. There was such truth and honesty and vulnerability in her voice, the very things he had wished to avoid.

  Driven by impulses he had not succumbed to in a long time, he found himself reaching for the open diary and lifting it out of her hands.

  Bewildered, she watched him roll to the side and place it on the table on the other side of him.

  “You do not want to continue?” she asked.

  He rolled toward her again and laid a hand on her flat belly. “I do, but I would prefer to do things our way tonight, not theirs.”

  He could not explain it, but he wanted to feel something real.

  “All right,” she said, lying very still.

  He continued to admire the beauty in her eyes, the charming shape of her nose, and the soft texture of her skin. He ran a hand down the side of her curvaceous body and turned his eyes toward her long legs stretched out on the bed, one ankle crossed over the other beneath the lacey hem of her clean linen nightgown.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  “I’m glad you think so. I want to be beautiful for you, Devon. I want to give you everything and make you happy.”

  He remembered her confession—that she had come here dreaming of him in a romantic way, and for the first time he found himself actually wanting to be the devoted lover she desired.

  Perhaps he could be that, if nothing else. It did not seem so impossible here on the bed with her, in the quiet privacy of this chamber where none of the palace madness could touch them.

  And maybe this woman lying next to him was meant to be his respite from all of those hardships. His oasis. When everyone else expected him to solve their problems and save the palace and the dukedom, she only wanted to give him pleasure and love. She did not want anything from him, except love. It was a novel idea, to be sure. One he did not wish to shun, which again surprised him.

  With careful tenderness, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her lips, meeting her soft warm tongue and feeling a heated stirring in his loins.

  He wanted her now. He wanted to plunge into her depths and feel the heat of her body, but not just to satisfy his own sexual longings. There was something else at work here this evening, a desire for more than just pleasure—a desire he did not fully understand.

  Whether it was because of what his mother had said to him, or if it was simply Rebecca slowly inching her way into his heart, he did not know. All he knew was that he wanted to let down his guard for once—tonight—and not be the man everyone depended upon. He wanted to strip bare and place himself in Rebecca’s hands, to relax and simply let her love him.

  Could he do that? Was it possible?

  She sat up and pushed gently at his shoulder to roll him over onto his back, then lifted his shirt and dropped wet kisses across his stomach and below his navel.

  “I’m glad we found each other,” he whispered, enjoying the sensation of her long silky hair brushing over his skin.

  “So am I,” she replied, looking down at him. “I know it seems too soon to say it, but I love you, Devon, and I cannot wait to be your wife. I will be the happiest woman in the world.”

  She loved him.

  God, she had said it, and he had not felt the need to retreat, nor had he dissolved into dust. A miracle. All of it.

  “I hope those are your words,” he said with a smile and a touch of humor. “And not Lydie’s.”

  She took his face in her hands. “They are words spoken from my own heart. I want only to be yours.”

  “Then you shall be,” he told her, pulling her down for another kiss while she swung a leg over him, straddling his hips.

  Gathering her gown in both fists, he inched it up past her waist until he could cup her warm, fleshy behind in his hands. He groaned with need and thrust his hips upward.

  “Can we do it this way?” she asked, “with me on top?”

  “We can do it any way you like.”

  With eager hands, she unfastened his trousers, while he lifted his hips to allow her to pull them off and toss them to the floor.

  “Your shirt, too,” she said, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside as well.

  She removed her nightgown and sat lightly upon him, swiveling her hips in tiny little stimulating circles. Then she took him in her hand, directing the round tip of his shaft to her primed opening. Bearing down, she covered him like a hot, magnificent sheath.

  “You don’t want to play a little first?” he asked, his voice shaky with desire.

  Her eyes clouded with passion. “No.”

  She descended all the way around him, taking his whole rigid length inside until he felt the splendid suction of her interior. Her eyes fell closed as she began to pulse slowly up and down.

  He held her hips in his hands, supporting her movements as she pleasured herself upon him. All he wanted to do at that moment was watch her in the lamplight and enjoy her expressions and reactions, but soon he became absorbed in his own blissful exertions, and he shut his eyes as they both worked faster, making love to each other with the full force of their desires and emotions.

  He turned his head to the side, overcome with ecstasy, and drove into her with fierce intensity until she gasped and convulsed with rapture. When her shudders finally diminished and her sighs grew soft and faint, he sat up and turned her over onto her back, entering her sweet liquid haven again to bring the intimate union to completion.

  Feeling lost beyond the reaches of his own mind, he drove into her as deeply as he could, kissing her and holding her and loving her until he became inflamed to such an unbearable point, he could hold back no longer. He gave in at last to th
e pounding ripples of orgasmic bliss and shuddered to a rich, powerful climax that shattered his senses.

  Weak and spent, his brain almost numb from the violent onslaught of ecstasy, he sank his weight down upon Rebecca’s soft, warm body on the bed, and lay there silent for some time, breathing softly and easily in the night, wondering how it was possible this woman could knock down all his defenses and make him forget everything that plagued him. He felt no heavy sense of obligation tonight. There were no reminders that he must do his duty and solve everyone’s problems.

  Rolling to the side, he lay next to her with his arm stretched across her hip. “I would like to stay a while,” he said. “Here in your bed. I would like to sleep with you.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” she replied.

  And for the first time in his life he began to believe that genuine happiness just might be possible for the future Duke of Pembroke after all.

  And perhaps curses could be broken.

  Outside in the driving rain, somewhere between the Cotswolds and the village of Pembroke, Lord Creighton held tight to the side of the coach as it bumped and swayed ominously at a fast clip down a hill. His driver had freshened the horses a short time before, after searching the village inns at Corsham, and Creighton had instructed the man to push the team to its limit. There was not a moment to lose if he was going to find Rebecca and bring her home. Rushton was waiting, and he was not a patient man. He had said he would wait no longer than one week, and if Creighton did not deliver her by then, his own life and hers would be destroyed. He would have to endure the consequences of Rushton’s threats—which were not idle ones—and Rebecca’s future would never be the same.

  The horses’ hooves thundered noisily down the road, and Creighton rubbed at the pain in his temples. At least he had higher hopes for the next stop. He knew his daughter, he knew of her fanciful daydreams, and he had a feeling he would have better luck there. Yes, better luck in the village of Pembroke.