by Ava Stone
Fin slid his fingers beneath her drawers and through her springy curls, and then…Then he found her slickness and the urgency to have her heightened even more. He growled across her lips and tweaked her little nub, which made her jerk away from him.
Lissy’s pretty blue eyes rounded in surprise. “What did you do?” she said as she tried to catch her breath.
What had he done? Fin brushed his fingers across her nub once more, eliciting a very wanton moan from her. “This?” he asked.
She nodded quickly.
Dear God, had her husband never caressed her there? Fin pushed the thought away as quickly as it entered his mind. This night was about them, not anyone else. “Here,” he said. “Give me your hand.”
Tentatively, she offered her hand to him.
Fin shook his head. “Down where my hand is, sweetheart.” He encircled her nub with his finger. “Right here.”
“Oh,” she said with a shaky voice. Then she slid her hand inside her drawers and speared him with the most innocent of gazes.
“There.” Fin took her hand in his and guided her fingers across her most sensitive flesh. “Just like that, Lissy. Just keeping doing that.” He watched her for a moment, the expressions of surprise and desire play across her face at her own touch. She seemed so innocent all of a sudden, not at all practiced in the art of lovemaking.
It had been quite some time for Fin, but it seemed like…Well, it seemed like Lissy’s first time. But it couldn’t be. She was a widow, there was no possible way she was a virgin, was there? It wasn’t something he could ask, not without spoiling the mood, which was the very last thing in the world that he wanted. There would be time for answers later. Right now, he wanted her. He wanted her more than he may have ever wanted anything in his life.
To that end, Fin quickly retrieved his hand from under her drawers and made quick work with the ribbon at her waist. “Take these off,” he said, as he sat up and yanked the boots from his feet, letting them fall to the floor with a thud.
Her eyes on him, Lissy did as he bade, first tossing her dress aside and then sliding her drawers down her slender legs until she was bared completely for him. Dear God, she was a pretty sight, all pink and glistening and welcoming and…
Fin worked the buttons on his trousers, freeing his straining cock. Then he pushed to his knees and settled in the space between her thighs. “My sweetest Felicity,” he said as he leaned forward, pressing the tip of him at her entrance. “You do drive me to brink of madness.”
“Just to the brink?” She smiled rather cheekily, much more like she usually did. “I’ll have to do better.”
“You do just fine.” He smiled in return. Then he thrust forward, sheathing himself completely in her warm wetness.
A pleasured moan escaped her as her eyes fluttered closed. Fin couldn’t help but stare at the beauty of her, right before him. A prettier sight he’d never seen.
He leaned over her, his weight pressing her further into the feather mattress beneath them, and her arms settled around his neck. Fin kissed her, then. Softly, slowly, reveling in her gasps and the taste of her sweetness.
He pulled slightly from her and then slowly filled her once more. The tips of her nipples pressed against his chest and the sensation rippled across him, nearly unmanning him right then. But he wasn’t through with her yet. It seemed as though he’d been waiting for her forever and he wanted to enjoy every second of her in his arms.
Lissy was in heaven. Pure heaven, not that she could form coherent thoughts, not with Fin atop her, inside her, filling her so fully; but it was heaven none-the-less. She had no idea sharing a man’s bed could be so…wonderful, so liberating.
Fin retreated slightly and then filled her again, finding a nice slow rhythm that heightened every nerve in her body.
His kiss deepened and she held him tighter, loving the weight of him pressed against her. He groaned against her lips and his thrusts became a little faster, a bit more urgent.
Something began to build, deep in her belly, a need. A need she’d never felt before, almost as though she was about to reach the tip of the highest mountain and…
Fin thrust harder, faster as though he too was a reaching for that same point and then…
“Fin!” she cried out, as the most pleasurable release washed over her. Wave after joyous wave.
He growled low, pressing himself more urgently inside her until he too cried out in ecstasy. He buried his face beside her neck, kissing her oh-so-gently. “Dear God, I love you, Lissy.”
He loved her? A flood of hopes and dreams rushed to her mind but were instantly pushed away as the truth and unpleasant memories washed over Lissy. He couldn’t love her. He shouldn’t love her.
Heavens, what had she done?
Fin rolled to the spot beside her and cradled her against his chest, his strong arm draped across her back, his gentle fingers caressing her skin.
Lissy blinked back tears, refusing to cry. Crying wouldn’t do her any good. Crying would do him any good. It was a useless, worthless activity. Even so, a few traitorous tears spilled against his chest anyway. Luckily, he seemed too lost in his own bliss to notice the dampness.
Blast it all! What in the world had she done?
She’d made love to Phineas Granard, that was what. The sweetest, most tender love she’d ever experienced. But she shouldn’t have done so. It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to her. How could she go on alone the rest of her life and know that such passion existed? She’d be tortured the rest of her days.
“I told Ericht that we’d dine with his sister and him this evening,” Fin said rather groggily, completely unaware of her inner turmoil.
Heavens. Now she had to look Lord Ericht and his sister in the face? “Why did you do that?” she complained.
A laugh escaped him. “Because at the time I had no idea that I’d find myself in your bed or that I’d never have the desire to leave it.”
She didn’t want to leave it either. Right now, the consequences of her actions weren’t staring her in the face. They would very soon, but not now, not while she was still in his arms and her body still hummed from the passion they’d shared. “Can’t we send our regards?” And just spend a moment or two more in a make-believe world where they could live happily ever after together?
“We can do whatever you want, Lissy.” He yawned. “But I think our absence would seem curious.”
He was right about that. It would be best to have dinner with Lord Ericht and Lady Elspeth. Hopefully the pair wouldn’t have a clue about what had transpired between Fin and Lissy. But if they didn’t go to dinner, the two might very well speculate as to the why. Lady Elspeth had, after all, seen the way Fin had looked at Lissy. It wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
“I suppose we should go then,” she agreed. Fanciful thoughts about a life with Fin wouldn’t do her any good in the end anyway. She started to push up to her arms.
“Don’t leave just yet, sweetheart.” He clutched her tighter to him and kissed the top of her head.
Lissy sagged against him. She should enjoy every second in his arms because once they left this bed, the real world would come crashing down about them soon enough. But she should explain…not everything, of course. He’d never understand everything, but in his very docile state, she could hopefully get him to see a few things.
She brushed her fingers through the dusting of dark hair across his chest, trying to figure out what she could tell him, what wouldn’t lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Lissy,” he began before she’d even come close to finding the right words.
“Hmm?”
“When we get to Prestwick Chase, I think we should start the banns, don’t you?”
The banns! She jerked away from him as though she’d been scorched. “I beg your pardon?”
He pushed up to his elbows, a frown marring his handsome face. “I never was the most romantic fellow. I am sorry.” He heaved a sigh, then smiled rather boyishly
and quite charmingly. “Let me try again. I love you, Felicity. I love you with all my heart and I want to share the rest of my life with you.”
Her heart fluttered at his confession and then it very clearly broke in two for the both of them. “Fin,” she whispered, not sure how she could even respond.
“Will you marry me, Lissy? Please.”
Lissy didn’t think her heart could ever hurt as badly as it did in that moment. Things would be so different in another life, another time…But she was in this life at this time. “I can’t.”
Confusion clouded his eyes and his brow furrowed once more. “But...”
“I really should check on Annie,” she said, not wanting to hear whatever else he meant to say. There was nothing he could say that would change the situation, and listening to it would only hurt more.
She snatched her dress up from the floor and turned her back to him. Drat! It would have been much easier to flee the room if she’d already been clothed.
He was at her back, his hand on her shoulder. “I know you feel something for me, Lissy,” he said softly. “We were both in that bed. I know you felt it too.”
She’d felt it. She’d never forget it. But that didn’t change her circumstances. “Please, Fin. I need to check on Annie.”
He released her shoulder and took a slight step away from her, but she could still feel his eyes on her. Luckily, the dress was easy to toss over her head and she could make a quick escape sans her chemise or drawers. There wasn’t time for unmentionables, not when every second spent in those chambers threatened to suffocate her.
She stepped into her slippers and started for the doorway and turned the handle.
“I don’t know what he did you,” Fin said softly from somewhere behind her, halting her in her step. “But I’m not him, Felicity.”
Truer words were never spoken. A sob lodged in the middle of her throat. “I know,” she whispered, not sure if he even heard her before she escaped to safety of the inn corridor.
One more. If just one more fellow smirked in Marcus Gray’s direction, he’d pound the smirker right into the ground, which would pale in comparison to what he would do to Carraway, should that particular jackass cross his path again. He climbed the steps of Whites, relieved the footman nodded in greeting without a damned smirk on his face. The fellow had no idea how lucky he was.
Perhaps the tittle-tattle had died down a bit the last few days. He handed his beaver hat to the man and then stepped into the front room.
“Ah, Haversham! There you are,” the Earl of Thurlstone called from his spot at the far edge of the room. “Wondered when you’d show your face again.”
There was no need to point out the fact that Marc had been avoiding society, even the rougher edges of it since that damned night at Rotherby’s. Over the years, he’d cultivated a rather nice reputation for himself, at least he thought it was rather nice. And one punch to the jaw from that sanctimonious prig Carraway, and Marc had been reduced to a laughingstock.
At the moment, Marc would have been quite happy to punch Thurlstone in the jaw for alluding to the encounter, but opted to cross the room towards his old friend and the group of men he was with instead. There was no need to start a row as soon as he entered the club, not when a nice, strong warning would do just as well, at least not yet.
Thurlstone lifted up a glass of whisky in welcome as Marc approached the small gathering of men. “No bruising at all, that I can see.” The reprobate smirked.
Marc balled his hand into a fist. “One more word, Simon, and you won’t recognize yourself in the mirror tomorrow.”
Thurlstone laughed, as he’d always been the jovial sort and said, “Oh, it’s all in good fun.” Then he gestured to an open spot across from him. “Come now, Marc. Stop scowling and join us, will you?”
Marc glanced at Thurlstone’s companions and immediately recognized the American from the other night as well as some fellow he’d never met before. As the pair were fairly unfamiliar, odds were neither of them would mention Carraway or Lord Rotherby’s ballroom.
“Good to see you again,” Mr. Heaton remarked.
“And you,” Marc grumbled as he dropped into the overstuffed chair Thurlstone had indicated a moment before. Then he nodded in the stranger’s direction. “Haversham,” he said in greeting.
“Aaron Pierce,” the man returned. Another American from his accent. What was it with Thurlstone and his sudden affinity for Americans? Very odd, that. The earl hadn’t even traveled as far north as Yorkshire, at least not to Marc’s knowledge anyway.
“I had no idea there were so many Americans in Town this Season.”
Heaton chuckled. “Just here on business.”
Business. How very tedious and boring. Marc somehow managed to keep from yawning in response.
“Aye,” Thurlstone added, his chest puffed out a bit proudly. “You are looking at Heaton, Pierce and Masters Shipping. Feel free to find yourself in awe.”
That answered it. Though why Thurlston had joined a shipping company didn’t make a ton of sense. “Entering trade, are you?” Marc lifted one brow in amusement. “How very bourgeois.”
“Hardly,” Thurlstone replied, not appearing insulted in the least. “It’ll be a grand adventure, I think. America, the Caribbean, India, China.”
A grand adventure for a man who hadn’t even made it to Scotland. Marc snorted. “A wonder you’re not calling it Heaton, Pierce and Thurlstone.”
At that, the earl tossed back his head and laughed once more. “Oh, for God’s sake, my father would roll over in his grave.”
“With good reason,” Marc muttered under his breath, but his old friend heard him just the same.
The earl shook his head and said to the Americans, “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s been in a rotten mood ever since Lord Carraway crashed his fist into his jaw in the middle of a ballroom the other night.”
Marc narrowed his eyes on the loose-lipped earl. “Next time I’ll do more than just dance with Felicity Pierce and see how the fool likes that.”
Both Americans sucked in surprised breaths, then the two exchanged a pair of rather worrisome expressions. “Honestly, Aaron,” Heaton began, “I could have sworn I saw her the other afternoon. But I thought—” his frown deepened “—Well, I thought she was just a figment of my imagination.”
“You saw her?” Pierce’s face took on a quite frightening visage. “Lissy?”
“I do feel like I’m missing something of a sudden,” Thurlstone said, sliding to the edge of his seat.
Aaron Pierce, Felicity Pierce. It wasn’t a terribly uncommon name, but clearly there was some connection. Who was the fellow? Some relative of Lady Felicity’s late-husband or something? “Am I to take it you know the lady in question?” Marc asked. “I understand she did live in Boston for a time.”
“How the Hell…” Pierce’s voice trailed off, though he refocused on his friend. “You saw her with your own eyes?”
Heaton shrugged. “I thought perhaps she was a sister or cousin of some sort. Felicity did have family here, after all.”
“Felicity Pierce?” Thurlstone seemed to finally catch on. “The Duke of Prestwick’s youngest daughter?”
The two Americans shared another fairly disconcerting look. “She’s alive?” Heaton breathed out as though he truly didn’t even believe his own words. “How could she be?”
Aaron Pierce’s hand balled into a much more frightening fist than Marc’s had been. “My wife is alive?” he asked incredulously, his gaze flicking to Thurlstone. “You know her?”
The earl shrugged a bit. “The Felicity Pierce I know is a widow, though I don’t know her all that well. Clearly, Haversham knows her better than I do.”
Suddenly, all three men’s eyes were on Marc. “Widowed three years,” he said because he had to say something.
“And just how well do you know her?” Pierce demanded.
“Her sister is married to friend of mine,” Marc replied evenly, hoping to diffuse
the situation just a bit as he certainly didn’t like the look in Pierce’s eye. The man appeared quite fearsome, to be honest. Probably any man would be upset if he found out his dead wife was alive, which was what had clearly happened just a moment before. God knew Marc would hole himself up inside his study and wish himself dead with a full decanter of whisky if his wife suddenly emerged from the grave. But Marc doubted he’d look as murderous as Pierce did just now. A bit of dread settled in his belly. Something was most definitely wrong.
“Friend?” Pierce barked.
“Lucas Beckford,” Thurlstone supplied. “He’s an all right sort. Is she really your wife?”
“She really will be my late-wife when I get my hands on her.” Pierce rose from his seat, paced a few steps away and then turned back, spearing Heaton with a dangerous look. “Where the Hell is she?”
Probably at the most fashionable event that evening, wherever it happened to be. But if Aaron Pierce went in search of the lady in his present condition, it wouldn’t bode well for anyone. “She could be anywhere this evening,” Marc said quickly, though he wasn’t certain why he was interfering in something that was none of his concern. “Truly, anywhere. Probably best to call on the lady in the morning at her home, I would think.” Which would allow time for the man cool off just a bit, though that was probably wishful thinking on Marc’s part.
“I can take you there in the morning,” Thurlstone offered. “I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation.”
Then the earl was the only one of the assembled men who thought so, but Marc didn’t say as much out loud. Felicity Pierce had never been one to think her actions through clearly, but this…whatever this was, was something of a most grandiose nature. And with as angry as Aaron Pierce seemed to be, it was probably in the lady’s best interest to find out her husband was in Town before the man found her. A little warning was most definitely in order.
Marc would rather not have Pierce know of his plans, however, so he ordered a glass of whisky from a passing footman and tried to appear as nonchalant as he possibly could. He kicked his feet out in front of him and teased Thurlstone mercilessly for a time about being in trade, even though the two Americans paid very little attention to anything other than a few hushed words between the pair of them. After a bit of time had passed, Marc declared himself off to Madam Palmer’s for a quick tumble and then said his leave.
