by Aileen Fish
“Oh, yes. Many ways. Let me pleasure you tonight.”
“Are there also other ways for me to pleasure you?”
“Ah, Emily, you have no idea.” His eyes were hot on her, his hand on her back pulled her closer. “Allow me to show all the ways we might enjoy one another before our wedding night.”
Emily was tempted, tempted by his words and the images that ran through her mind, tempted by the memory of the carnal kisses they had shared and the feel of his warm hands on her breasts. The music came to an end before she could form a coherent response to his request.
As he led her off the dance floor toward where her father and aunt stood together watching them, Emily felt anticipation run through her. If he knocked on the door that connected their dressing rooms, would she invite him in? She thought she just might.
But there was no knock on the connecting door. Emily sat in her big bed, her knees bent and her arms wrapped around her legs, waiting for the sound of Nicholas’ knock. She’d sent Tilly to sleep in the servant’s quarters, ignoring the girl’s knowing smile, and waited. She listened to the sounds of doors opening and closing up and down the hallway until the house was quiet. She stared into the low fire burning in the grate, her thoughts drifting back to that day in the stables when she had felt desire for the first time. She replayed every kiss and caress they had shared since then, every whispered word they had exchanged, until her skin grew hot and tight and her pulse leaped.
Finally, she tossed aside the velvet coverlet and rose from her bed. She’d chosen her very best night gown, a thin concoction of lace and ruffles with a high neckline that flowed over her gentle curves, hugging her hips and dropping down to trail over her bare feet. Looking down she saw her nipples pebbled against the thin cotton. She reached for the matching robe Tilly had draped across the foot of the bed and stilled.
With a decisive shake of her head, she left the wrapper where it lay and walked across the chamber and into her dressing room, stopping before the closed door that connected to Nicholas’s bed chamber. It was cold in the small dressing room and she shivered as she placed her hand on the door knob. Should she knock?
No, she slowly turned the knob, her heart beat suddenly so loud she could hear nothing beyond it. She pushed the door open and peered into the dressing room on the other side. It was identical to her own, a narrow room lined with shelves and a long armoire, an ironing board against the far wall beside the open door that led into the bed chamber. Soft orange light beckoned her forward until she stood in the doorway, one hand nervously resting over her beating heart. Through the thin fabric of her night gown she could feel the circular rise of the jagged flesh between her breasts and the long thin scar trailing across her chest.
Nicholas stood before the crackling fire, his back to her, one hand resting on the tall mantel. He wore a burgundy dressing robe, the dark silk shimmering in the flickering light cast by the flames. His head was bent down as if he was gazing into the fire and Emily wondered what thoughts were going through his mind to hold him so still.
Unsure whether to call out to him, or to simply enter the room and close the door behind her, she waited.
His head came up and slowly, ever so slowly he turned from the fire to face her and she watched as his eyes lit with surprise and his lips tilted into the smallest of smiles.
“Emily.” His voice was low, reverent. He did not move, simply stood still and caressed her with his eyes, from her hair left loose to curl wildly about her shoulders to her bare toes peeking out from beneath her gown. He paused briefly on her breasts and she knew he could see her nipples pressed against the thin cotton, felt them tighten at the heat in his gaze. She dropped her hand from her heart and stood quietly before him as his gaze rose once more to her face.
Emily smiled as she took in his unruly blond curls standing in disarray as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through them. She swept her eyes down past his thick neck and broad shoulders and across his wide chest revealed to her by the loosely belted robe. His feet were bare and Emily wondered if he was entirely naked beneath the sumptuous silk robe.
Then he was moving, striding across the space that separated them to stand before her. Her eyes were even with his chest and she saw dark hairs curling across its breadth. Her fingers itched to tangle in those curls, to learn their texture, to discover the hard muscles beneath.
She raised her eyes to meet his and sucked in a startled breath at the heat in their blue depths. His mouth was a firm sensual line, his jaw clamped tight, lending him a countenance both fierce and unfamiliar. Before her stood a mysterious stranger and Emily felt a moment’s hesitation, a brief flicker of panic.
Until his familiar roughened hands cupped her face, tilting her head back as his lips found hers. He kissed her softly, his lips whispering over hers again and again until she opened to him on a quiet sigh, inviting him in. Nicholas angled his head, brushed his tongue along her bottom lip before dipping inside.
Stretching up onto her toes, she leaned into him, her hands grasping the lapels of his robe as shivers of longing rushed through her. She speared her tongue into his mouth, dragged it across his teeth.
With a low moan, he dropped his hands to her shoulders and hauled her against his chest, his mouth plundering hers as if he could not get enough of her. And she could not get enough of him, of his heat, of his unleashed passion. Pulling her hands from between their bodies, she wound her arms around his waist, gripping his back, kneading the muscles that bunched beneath her fingers.
Nicholas dragged his mouth from hers and peppered kisses across her cheek, along her jaw and down her arched neck, burrowing under the high collar of her night gown to latch onto her flesh. He suckled her, gently nibbled, soothed the sting with his tongue.
“Nicholas,” she moaned, pressing her breasts tight against his chest, rubbing her aching nipples against him. His hands dropped to her back, raced down her spine and grasped her bottom, pulling her firmly against him. She felt the proof of his desire against her stomach, thrilled to the knowledge that he was as hungry as she.
“Emily, I will not take your virginity,” he panted against her throat. “But I want to see you. I want my hands on you, my mouth on you.”
“Yes, yes, please,” she cried hoarsely.
He scooped her up and started toward the bed. “No, too dangerous.” Changing direction, he placed her on the big wing-backed chair by the fire and knelt before her. With firm hands he opened her legs, wedged his large frame between her thighs and captured her lips once more.
He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his tongue setting up a voluptuous rhythm that quickly had Emily scooting forward on the seat until she was pressed against him, his arousal hot and hard at the juncture of her thighs.
“Christ, Em,” he growled against her mouth.
Emily raced her hands down his back, cupped his hard backside and pulled him toward her, mindlessly rubbing her aching flesh against him. Pinpricks of light flashed over her closed eye lids, pulses of delight raced through her limbs to lodge between her legs.
Nicholas broke their kiss, leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, sucking great gulps of air into his lungs and whispering, “You’re going to kill me.”
“Please,” she implored, her hands restless on the silk of his robe over his buttocks.
His head lowered, his eyes met hers and he looked intently at her. “I promised I will not take you and I will not. Do not be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” she replied promptly.
“I’m going to take off your gown and my robe,” he rasped as his fingers began to work on the tiny buttons that held her gown together. “I want to feel you against me. I want my co—my flesh on yours. I won’t put myself inside you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, I trust you.”
He finished with her buttons, pulled her gown out from under her and dragged it up and over her head, before sitting back on his heels. Emily sat silently before him, her back straight and her hands resting on
the cushioned arms of the chair while Nicholas looked at her, his gaze a hot caress sweeping over her from her tangled hair to her bare toes curled into the Turkish carpet at her feet.
He cupped her breasts, lifting them, separating them and she could feel his eyes on the angry round scar between them. She waited for him to say something, to ask how she had come by the unsightly mark. Instead he leaned forward, slowly as if giving her time to object, and touched his lips gently to her mutilated flesh, brushing soft kisses around the jagged circle and across the puckered line above her breast.
Emily drew in a ragged breath and opened her mouth only to snap it shut again. What could she say? How could she explain to the strong man kneeling before her that she was weak, that she’d allowed herself to drown in the pretty poison for months, that she’d nearly taken her own life for want of that poison?
“Emily, you are beautiful,” he said, leaning back to meet her eyes. His calloused thumbs drifted over her breasts, found her nipples and circled the stiff peaks, over and around until she sucked in a fractured breath, her head falling back.
Then his mouth was on her breast, open and wet, his tongue flicking over her nipple and she arched her back, offering herself to his hungry mouth. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, suckled her and drew his teeth lightly over her flesh.
“Nicholas,” she cried, her hands grasping his head, pulling him hard against her. “Please, oh, please… I need…”
“I know, love,” he murmured before transferring his attentions to her other breast. He sucked hard on her, his mouth ravenous, his tongue and teeth tormenting her until she was squirming on the seat, her legs opening wide, her hips lifting in search of relief.
Emily reached down and tugged the belt that held his robe closed but Nicholas reached down to halt her frantic movements.
“Have you ever seen a naked man?” he asked then shook his head with a muffled laugh. “No, of course you haven’t.”
“I’ve seen statues,” she offered. “Please, I want to see you.”
Nicholas released her hands, allowed her to untie the knot and part his robe, to push it off his shoulders to the floor. Emily looked down. His manhood jutted out from a nest of dark curls and even in the dim light of the fire she could see clearly that those statues had nothing in common with the sight before her.
“Good Lord,” she breathed in awe. “That could not possibly… I mean you… We could never… It would never fit.”
“It would,” he assured her with a broken chuckle. “It will, but not tonight.”
With a trembling hand, Emily reached out and touched the engorged tip, running her fingers lightly over the surprisingly soft skin. Before her eyes a pearly drop of moisture appeared and without conscious thought she scooped it up on her fingertip and brought it to her lips.
Nicholas watched her, his eyes wide and unblinking.
She flicked her tongue out and caught the drop. Closing her eyes, she savored the slightly salty flavor. She knew what it was, of course she did. She bred horses, after all. She knew the little drop of moisture held his seed and if he poured it into her body they would likely make a baby.
“Jesus, Em,” he groaned and she opened her eyes to find him watching her with the most amazing expression on his face, part surprise, part tenderness and part hunger.
Then his arms were around her once more, pulling her forward to the very edge of the chair, her legs spread open and his erection only inches from her woman’s opening. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he meant to push his way inside her, to stretch her and fill her, to pour his seed into her.
But no, he had promised and she trusted him.
Nicholas fit his hips between her thighs, his shaft rising hard against her core, the velvety head resting on her belly. Emily moaned at the delicious heat of him, at the intimacy of flesh upon flesh.
Nick kissed her mouth again, his tongue delving deep, swirling around hers, setting up that wonderful rhythm she could not resist. Unable to hold herself still, she shifted her hips, pressed forward and up against his manhood.
“Oh, oh,” she moaned against his mouth as heat rushed to her center, spread down her legs, up her belly, to her breasts pressed to his broad chest. She shifted downward, dragging her aching flesh over him and sucked in a sharp breath as pleasure speared her.
Nicholas’ breath hitched, his hands on her hips tightened, before dropping to her bottom, to clasp her and lift her against him. He thrust up, then down and up again, harder, firmer against her, and the friction, the heat of his movements had Emily thrashing awkwardly against him, as need overcame her.
“Please,” she moaned, not sure what she needed, only knowing that he could give it to her.
He leaned away from her, dropping her back onto the chair and Emily cried out at the loss of contact. “Please, Nicholas, oh, please,” she begged, her voice low and throbbing.
He moved his hand down between her legs, his long thick fingers dipping into her curls, then lower, over her folds, parting her. He drew one finger up and down, lightly caressing her, over and over, before finally coming to rest on the nub hidden in her curls.
Emily cried out at the contact, bucked her hips forward and he pressed down on the sensitized flesh, his finger circling around and over. Shudders wracked her frame and she gripped his shoulders.
He flattened his palm on her aching flesh, applied heavy pressure, rubbed up and back until Emily thrust her hips against his hand.
“Yes, yes,” she panted and he must have known what she craved even if she did not. Emily felt his finger probing, pushing into her then retreating, before dipping inside once more.
“Christ, you’re so tight,” he groaned, capturing the moan that escaped her with his lips as he eased his finger deeper inside her body.
She spread her legs, placed her feet on the floor and tilted her hips up, wanting more, more of the pressure of his rough palm, more of his thick finger inside her.
Nicholas gave her more, slowly thrusting and withdrawing, again and again, until Emily was mindless with pleasure, her hips undulating in time to his invading finger, spasms of exquisite tension shivering through her.
She moaned, arching her neck, sucking air into her starving lungs. “Please, Nick, please… Give me… I need…”
“I know what you need,” he growled, his mouth hot against her throat. “You’re so close. Come for me, Emily.” He nudged his palm firmly against her, pushed his finger deep into her core and Emily came apart. She felt as if her entire being shattered, pits and pieces flying about the room, ricocheting off the walls. She cried out, her back bowing, her hips twisting, her inner muscles clenching his finger as she soared to the heavens.
She fell forward against Nicholas, her head landing on his shoulder, her arms wrapping tight around his back. She panted there with one of his strong arms locked around her, his finger still inside her, his sawing breath blowing against her neck.
“Emily, love,” he whispered, his voice tight with unsatisfied desire.
“Nicholas,” she sighed as she leaned back in his arms, her eyes darting down to his arousal. With a trembling hand she reached down and curled her fingers around his pulsing shaft. “Show me how to please you.”
He placed his hand over hers, tightened her grip and dragged her hand up and down his length. Emily picked up the rhythm, grasped him firmly and caressed him until his hips were lunging forward and back in counterpoint to her caress and his chest was heaving. She turned her head and kissed his neck, laved him with her tongue, nipped him with her teeth. She dragged her open mouth down to the tendon where his neck and shoulder met and latched on, as he had done to her.
“Ahhhh,” he groaned, pumping wildly into her hand.
“Yes, my darling,” she whispered against his hot skin as she felt the tremors that raced through him, felt the growl that started in his chest and erupted from his lips, just before he shot his seed into the air and onto her stomach.
“Emily…ah…love…” he g
asped between choppy breaths.
Emily pulled him against her, wrapped her arms and legs around him and caressed his back in long sweeping strokes. He collapsed against her, his arms locked around her back and his face pressed against her shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nick was just finishing an enormous breakfast the following morning when Emily walked into the dining room. His eyes drifted over her from her shining hair pulled into a loose bun at her nape to her sparkling eyes and smiling lips. She wore a ridiculously demure pale pink dress with long sleeves that hugged her arms and a waist cinched so tight he could easily span it with his hands. Into the bodice of her gown she had tucked a swath of creamy lace. To hide the scar he had seen twice now, but of what origins he was still ignorant.
He wondered if she wore the prim pink dress in some sort of effort to counteract her wanton behavior the previous night. If so, he could have told her that was the oldest trick in the book. If anyone at the house party suspected she’d come apart in his arms the night before, that dress surely confirmed it.
“Good morning,” she called out merrily as she rounded the table to the buffet laid out in front of the tall windows. “And a beautiful day it is, to be sure. I’ve a mind to build a snow woman on the front lawn.”
“That sounds like great fun,” Lucinda Davis cried, clapping her hands together.
“A snow woman?” Veronica Ogilvie drawled with a sniff.
“Indeed,” Emily replied. “Snow men are child’s play. It takes a real winter artist to build a snow woman.”
“I must disagree with you, Miss Calvert.” This from Parker One, who tried so hard to imitate his sardonic cousin that Emily laughed. “It seems to me that a woman’s figure lends itself quite naturally to a snow effigy.”
“Three round balls, you mean,” Emily asked archly. “You show your inexperience, sir.”
Charles Calvert barked out a jolly laugh and Viscount Talbot roared with glee as the young ladies blushed and giggled.
