“I don’t want it,” she said, setting down the glass with a fierce clink, “not a single penny! But I can’t refuse it either—not without stirring up suspicion as to why. And I refuse to give up respectability now that it’s finally within my reach.”
“That is a dilemma.” His mouth twitched; he couldn’t help it.
Truly, the chit was her own worst enemy.
“You’re amused?”
“You must admit the irony of the situation. First, you wanted to establish the legitimacy of your marriage. Now you’re wanting to dissolve it. But only a part of it.” He lifted his shoulders. “As the adage goes, my dear, you cannot have your cake and eat it too.”
“Well, you’re no help.” She scowled at him. “I don’t know why I came to you.”
“Don’t you? We’ll get to that in a moment,” he murmured. “Now you want my advice on your quandary?”
Her nod was so grudging that he almost smiled.
“Take the money,” he said.
“I can’t possibly take Daltry’s money—”
“Why not? He left it to you, didn’t he?”
She nodded, again reluctantly. “Apparently, he met with his solicitor before we eloped and specified that, in the event of his passing, his personal property was to go to me… and any children we might have.”
“He left nothing to his family members?”
“They’re in line to inherit after me. They won’t see a cent until I remarry or die, whichever comes first. It’s the ultimate snub,” she said glumly. “On our wedding night, he called them hypocrites because they scorned the origins of his wealth at the same time asking for handouts. The notion of them begging for money from me—a trollopy bastard, as he put it—must have amused him to no end.”
“Your former husband was an ass,” Andrew stated. “But whatever his motivations, he wanted you to have the money. Ergo, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But I… I wasn’t a real wife to him.” Her fingers wove tightly in her lap.
“It’s not your fault that he couldn’t perform. Or that he cocked up his toes on your wedding night. The moment that marriage certificate was signed, the money was yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Life doesn’t always give us what we want, sweetheart.”
“How can you be so blasé about the whole thing?”
“There are worse things than being handed a king’s ransom. Your husband was using you to get at his relations: why should you feel responsible for that?” he said bluntly. “If you don’t want the money for yourself, then use it to do good for others.”
“Charitable work isn’t my strength.” Her expression turned dubious. “My sister Polly works with foundlings, but I never got the hang of it. Children are sticky, and I’m squeamish. I did try to volunteer my efforts at a madhouse once. I was scheduled to give a vocal performance—to cheer up the residents—and my singing was going over well, I thought… until a lunatic attacked me and held me at knifepoint.” She wrinkled her nose. “After that, I gave up on altruistic endeavors.”
He stared at her, torn between wrath over the danger she’d experienced… and the desire to laugh aloud at her harebrained account. Only Primrose could turn a charitable undertaking into a drama worthy of Drury Lane. He didn’t know why he found that quality of hers endearing—and vastly entertaining—but, dammit, he did.
“You don’t have to do charity work,” he said. “Just donate funds to the cause in question.”
“That is true—and a brilliant idea, actually. If I’m good at anything, it’s spending money.” Brightening, she touched his sleeve. “Thank you. I knew coming to you was the right thing to do.”
“You’re welcome. But you didn’t come here to get advice about Daltry’s money.”
A pulse fluttered above the black lace at her throat. “Of course I did.”
He captured her chin between finger and thumb. “Don’t lie to me or yourself.”
“Why else would I come?” She wetted her lips, her wide gaze fooling him not one bit.
“For this.” He drew her close and sealed his mouth over hers.
Chapter Twenty-One
Botheration. He saw through her ploy.
His advice was helpful, of course, but what she really wanted was him.
Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind.
The slow burn of his kiss set fire to her senses, and she slid her hands into his tawny hair, relishing the rough silk texture between her fingers. She kissed him back with all the passion she felt for him: this man who was worldly and wise and treated her with care. Who didn’t gloat or make her admit that he’d won… which made her want him even more.
She parted her lips, inviting him in, but his kiss remained gentle and coaxing, as if she needed to be courted. Didn’t he know how desperately she wanted him?
She broke away, pleading, “Please, Andrew. I want you so much.”
Satisfaction glittered in his eyes. Then he was pushing her back, his muscled length crushing her into the cushions. His mouth was no longer gentle but wild. His tongue thrust boldly between her lips, and she craved the thick glide, the flavor of whiskey and Andrew tingling over her taste buds. She sought out more, and when she tangled her tongue with his, he groaned, their mouths fusing as hunger flared out of control.
Her neck arched as he caught her earlobe between his teeth, licking, nipping. He worked his usual magic on her clothing, buttons and laces no match for his skill. He stripped her layer by layer, and she struggled to help him, to be freed from constriction, to be rid of anything that separated her from him.
When she lay naked before him, however, she felt suddenly shy. Unsure. Was she pleasing enough for him?
His pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring. “By God, you’re a feast for the eyes.”
Blushing yet emboldened, she fumbled with his cravat. “I want to see you too.”
“Let me, love.” He rose, tearing off the starchy linen, shrugging off his jacket and waistcoat. When he dragged his shirt over his head, a breath whooshed from her lips.
He was only the second man she’d seen unclothed, and his beauty was stunning. Worthy of being immortalized in marble. Taut, golden skin stretched over his wide shoulders, the defined slabs of his chest. She couldn’t see an ounce of fat on his muscular torso, his abdomen rippled as a washboard. Bronze hair sprinkled his upper chest, narrowing into a trail that bisected his lean belly and disappeared into his trousers.
His hands on his waistband, he said, “On or off?”
“Off.” Was that her voice, so sultry and breathless? “Take them off, please.”
His lazy smile made her heart stutter. He dispensed with his boots, trousers, and all the rest of it. When he stood before her, his raw virility unveiled, a buffle-headed feeling stole over her.
Oh, my.
His mouth faintly curved, he let her look her fill—and, make no mistake, there was a lot to look at. His lower half was just as statue-worthy as the upper, his narrow hips girdled by a defined vee of muscle. His legs were sinewy and lean, and between them…
Her breath puffed out. Here, he veered from any Greek sculpture she’d seen. She couldn’t help but stare at his manhood: its proportions were rather, well, startling. The big, thick shaft stood straight up from its bronze nest, the fat tip nudging his navel. Raised veins ran along the length, his heavy stones dangling at the base. When he took a step forward, his male equipment swayed like a ship’s mast.
The thought inserted itself into her head: Goodness, is that going to fit?
As she fought to stay calm, he stood there, not arrogant (although he had ample reason to be) but comfortable in his own magnificent skin. Her gaze met his, and the message in his warm brown eyes flowed into her. This desire between us is natural. There’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing to hide. His confidence eased some of her apprehension.
This was Andrew; he would not hurt her.
Before she lost her nerve, she held out her arms. “Come
to me,” she whispered.
He did, stretching over her, and at the first contact of skin on skin, she shivered. Sensations bombarded her: the heat and hardness of his body, his musk and spice scent, his turgid cock prodding her belly. It was overwhelming. A rash of heat spread over her insides, and she felt as if she might burst out of her skin.
“We’re a perfect fit,” he murmured. “Can you feel it?”
Could she. “It feels too good,” she said, squirming restlessly.
“Sunshine,”—there was a smile in his voice—“it’s about to get better.”
He began kissing his way down her body, and she gave up resisting the pleasure. It was simply too much. Too powerful. Too good. ’Twas as if she’d been fighting against herself all her life, and now, finally, she had no choice but to surrender: to the decadent way he sucked her nipples, the velvet-soft lashes of his tongue over her ribs and belly.
He surprised her by turning her over. With her cheek pressed against the velvet cushion, she shuddered as his lips measured each dent of her spine, lingering at the dip. He pressed kisses on her bottom, the quicksilver flick of his tongue in between the mounds making her twitch in surprise. He seemed to know her body more intimately than she did, winnowing pleasure from every nook and cranny. Never would she have guessed that the backs of her knees were so sensitive nor the curves below her ankles nor the arches of her feet.
By the time he turned her over again, she was a wobbly mass of need. He leisurely nibbled his way up her legs, and, when he parted her thighs, she knew what was coming, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to stop him. The first swipe of his tongue made her writhe in shameless delight.
“You’re delicious all over and especially here.” His voice was dark honey. “I want you to spend on my tongue, love. Can you do that for me?”
He gave her no choice. Not with the way he licked her, up and down, as if she were the sweetest treat. Not when he delved upward, teasing that hidden peak, praising her pearl, her love-knot for being so bold against his tongue. His thumb took over, rubbing that center of sensation until fragments of sound escaped her. Yes. More. Please.
“You’re almost there, sweetheart,” he urged. “Let me taste your ambrosia.”
His tongue thrust into her opening, licking her inside—and she broke. Bliss shattered her into a thousand sparkling pieces. In the next instant, he moved over her, entering her in a swift thrust that startled a breath from her lips.
“All right, love?” His neck corded with tension, his brow glazed with sweat, he watched her face keenly. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
His self-control and consideration filled her with tenderness—and a desire to please him as much as he pleased her. The truth was, despite his size, there was no pain. Or perhaps, on the heels of pleasure, she couldn’t feel it. Whatever the case, he stretched her exquisitely to her limits. Filled her in a way that she was meant to be filled.
She touched his cheek, said wonderingly, “It feels… right.”
“Yes.” A wealth of emotion was conveyed in that single word, in his smoldering gaze.
He began moving, her breath stuttering as she skated the edge between pleasure and discomfort. His cock was huge, hard, each incursion opening her up to new sensations. When he withdrew, she felt relief followed by a strange ache; when he plunged, the ridges of his erection rubbed against nerve endings, setting off sparks of sensitivity and bliss.
It was too much; she wanted more.
“You’re so tight,” he rasped.
Sudden worry punctured her. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“God, no. I’ve never felt anything so fine.” The glitter in his eyes told her he was telling the truth. “I want to fuck your tight pussy forever. I want to feel you squeezing my cock like you never want to let me go.”
His wicked words, the slow roll of his hips made her gasp. Moisture gushed from her core, and before she could fret, he growled, “That’s it, sweetheart. Drench my cock. Help me get deeper inside you.”
He surged into her, deeper than he ever had before, her dew lubricating his penetration. Discomfort eased, pressure burgeoning into need, friction into consuming heat. When he hit some magical spot deep inside, embers of pleasure showered her insides. His hands cupped her bottom, tilting her up, and his next thrust pushed his name from her lips.
Her legs instinctively found purchase in the lean hollows of his hips, and she clung to him as his pace grew wilder, rougher. He shed his urbane mask—he was raw, animal in the pleasure he was giving to her and taking in return. The primal momentum swept her up, pushing her closer and closer to the fiery peak.
“Come for me,” he growled.
At his command, her entire being seized. With his body rooted in hers, her release was more intense than any she’d experienced before. She cried out as she convulsed around him, her muscles milking pleasure from every thick inch.
As she tried to catch her breath, he suddenly withdrew. He rose onto his knees, cords leaping in his neck, his cock in his fist. He jerked on the engorged stalk with shocking force, his chest heaving, his gaze holding hers.
“Feel me, love,” he groaned.
Moisture exploded from his cock, and she gasped when a hot splatter landed on her thigh. With a sensual growl, he directed more of it at her, warm rain falling on her ribs and breasts. One droplet clung to her nipple, and she cautiously caught it with her fingertip. Rubbing his slippery seed against the tight peak gave her a shivery thrill.
He collapsed onto the sofa with a groan, tucking her against him.
For a few moments, she was content listening to their hearts racing in unison.
Then she whispered into his chest, “So this is lovemaking. I never knew.”
“Neither did I, sunshine.” His deep voice was laced with triumph… and wonder. “With God as my witness, neither did I.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Andrew, we ought to talk.”
In his experience, these words didn’t bode well coming from a female. But with Primrose tucked against his chest, the carriage swaying in a lulling rhythm, he couldn’t rouse the energy to get his guard up. The aftermath humming through his veins added to his satisfaction with life in general.
Making love to Primrose had been a revelation—and this was saying something given the extent of his carnal knowledge. In all the years of bedding women, not once had he felt anything close to what he’d shared with Primrose. With her, the act of desire had been transformed into something beyond the physical. Something beyond an exchange. Something… rare.
The image of her marked with his seed made his cock stir. God, he wanted to have her again, never mind that she’d made him come harder than he ever had just a half-hour ago. With Primrose, he was as randy as a greenling.
His arm tightened around her. “What do you wish to talk about?”
“There are things we should have discussed… before we made love.” She tipped her head back to look at him. “I don’t wish to mislead you.”
Some of his contentment faded. He knew, of course, what she wanted to say. For a little while, he’d swept reality under the carpet and lost himself in the pleasure of the moment.
Then his sense of irony came to the rescue. The tables had been turned, hadn’t they? He couldn’t count the number of times he’d said those exact same words to women who’d wanted more from him than just a casual tup.
“Tell me what you want,” he said simply.
“I can’t offer you more than what we just did.” Her eyes searched his. “Having a position in Society is important to me. And I won’t give it up. For anyone.”
He hated that he couldn’t give her the life she wanted. It was perhaps the closest he’d ever come to regretting the choices he’d made in life. But he was a realist.
“I understand,” he said.
“You do?” Her brow pleated. “You’re not… disappointed with me?”
“You’ve never lied about your priorities, sunshine. I respect that.
” He cupped her cheek, running his thumb along her lower lip. “And I’m willing to accommodate your needs—as long as you’re willing to accommodate mine.”
“What are your, um, needs?” The dimness didn’t hide her blush.
“I plan to have you, Primrose,” he said huskily, “as often and in as many creative ways as possible. We’re going to explore this passion between us, and when we’re together, I expect you to hold nothing back. You’ll give yourself to me, and, in return, I’ll show you pleasure you’ve never even dreamt of. All of this, I’ll do with discretion.”
A breath puffed from her lips, her pupils dilating. Hell, he could see how his words aroused her. His cockstand butted against his smalls.
“You’d do that for me?” she said.
“Upon my honor. And I should think I’ve earned your trust.” He waggled his brows. “You’ll recall I took pains to protect you from unwanted consequences tonight.”
She looked confused. “By taking me home, you mean?”
Christ, it was easy to forget just how naïve she was. How much she hid behind that willful, worldly façade of hers. How, underneath her self-proclaimed wickedness, lay an astonishingly innocent heart.
“That’s not what I meant, but I’ll explain later,” he murmured. “In the meantime, you have my promise that I’ll safeguard your well-being and your reputation.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was soft. “So we have an understanding? That it’s, um, just sex between us?”
“I didn’t say it’s just sex for me,” he said evenly. “I will have no expectations, however, when it comes to marriage.”
“Oh.” Emotions flashed across her exquisite features: fear and longing, a welter of others.
He leaned over to kiss her before her thinking confused matters unnecessarily.
Her palms pushed against his shoulders. “There’s one more thing.”
Give the chit an inch… He arched a brow.
“Given all my demands, I know I don’t have a right to ask this too… but I’m going to anyway.” She drew a breath. “During the course of our affair, I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t have any lovers. Other than me, that is.”
The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6) Page 16
