“I don’t care about any of that,” I whispered back, mirroring his motion, and sliding my hands down over his buttocks.
He groaned.
“Sssshh.” This time it was me cautioning him, and he laughed.
“I must have lost my sanity,” he whispered, hoarsely, “to even consider doing this here.”
I was terrified he would stop. “Don’t stop,” I panted, and he turned us around so that my back was against the door. He leaned his forehead against mine, his hands again cupping my breasts, rubbing the nipples through the fabric of my gown. I squirmed, shamelessly, wanting more contact.
“I’m not stopping,” he said. Then he took my hands by the wrists and held them over my head against the door, as he bent to kiss the hollow in my throat, his lips continuing toward my breasts.
“Let go, Harry,” I managed to say. “I want to touch you, too.”
“No,” he said, transferring my captive wrists to one hand, while the other dipped below my bodice. I gasped and let my head go limp against the door. My eyes drifted closed. “Act like a biddable virgin for a change.”
“Please,” I said, in a strangled-sounding gasp as he pushed my bodice down with his free hand and his lips found the nipple, kissing it. “Now.”
“So much for the biddable virgin,” he said, his breath feathering hot across my skin. “Gwen, the first time, you have to be ready.”
“I’m ready, Harry, I’ve been ready for months.” Which was no lie. My body was not my own. It was entirely his, waiting for whatever he chose to do to it next. Heat was pooling like fire, my legs were trembling, my stomach was turning over with longing. “Please, I’m begging.”
He pressed his body tightly against mine and rocked his hips into me. I whimpered as he pressed against all the right places. “Not standing up, Gwen,” he whispered, his voice almost a groan, as he released my hands, reached behind me and turned the key in the lock. “Last chance,” he said, “to flee.”
“Too late,” I said, as I began boldly tugging at his breeches. “I’m compromising you completely. I don’t do things by half measures.”
In reply he pulled me onto the floor on top of him, behind the blue sofa. “Have your way with me, then,” he said as he pushed my gown up over my waist and tore his breeches down. He rolled us so that he was on top, but hesitated at the last, his breathing labored. I moved against him, desperately trying to feel more of his skin against me.His breath was as shuddering as mine, and we were as damp from his sweat as my own. I could feel the thundering of his heart, and knew he was holding back because he was afraid of hurting me. And so, I did something I would never have dreamed of until that very moment. I reached down, put my hand between us, and guided him up against me.
“Oh God!” he shuddered and then groaned, and swore under his breath, before saying, “Forgive me, Gwen.” And then with one sharp thrust slid inside me. I gasped. “God almighty,” he said, in a voice I hardly recognized. I could not tell if it was a curse or a prayer, and then he stilled. He looked almost as though he was in pain.
“Harry?” I whispered.
“Yes?” He closed his eyes.
“Are you all right?”
He laughed harshly. “Yes,” he said. “I am. But that is what I am supposed to ask you.”
“It didn’t hurt!” I said, in surprise.
“Really?” he said, cautiously sliding himself out a little way.
“No,” I grabbed at him and he slid back in. I gasped at the sweetness of the sensation. “It didn’t hurt,” I said again.
“Stop talking, Gwen,” he said, pulling back and sliding in again, this time with more force.
I gasped again. “Oh! But shouldn’t it have hurt?”
“Are you complaining?”
I shook my head. “Do it again, so I can make sure. I’m not supposed to like this, I’ve heard. But, oh! I like it.”
“You’re going to like it, Gwen,” he said into my ear as he did another one of those heavenly slides. “But you’re going to have to wait to find out how much, because I want to talk now.” He had stopped moving and was holding himself very still.
I was desperate for him to move again. “Harry, please,” I panted, running my hands over the hard smooth muscles of his back and buttocks and pushing up against him. “Please.”
“No, Gwen,” he said. “Not until I’ve said a few things.”
“Say them fast,” I begged, unable to keep myself completely still.
“I love you,” he said. “I have loved you for a long time. Likely always have, but was resigned to the fact you would marry my brother even though I believed you to be illsuited—”
I moved slightly under him.
“Oh God!” He closed his eyes and I could see a shudder pass through him as he held himself, rigid over me. “—but when your father switched the names and pulled the blackmail card—stop that!” He pushed farther into me, pushing my hips into the floor to still them; I tilted myself up toward him and his voice broke. “—I saw my opportunity and took it, never mind the consequences.”
“Harry,” I panted. “Not to be rude, but you can tell me this after.”
He pulled back just the slightest bit, and then slowly slid back. “Am I boring you?”
“Ah,” I gasped. “No. Are you done talking?”
He laughed, a strangled sort of sound, as he slid out and then in again. “I haven’t decided,” he said. I had no shame, though. I moaned and moved beneath him, having figured out that my moving must feel as good to him as his moving did to me. I ran my hands over the muscles of his back and shoulders and … down, and pushed myself up against him.
“I think,” he said, “that I’ve forgot what I was going to say.”
Which was what I’d been waiting to hear. I arched against him, in an effort to keep as much of our bodies as close as possible. He lowered himself over me with a groan that sounded as though it had been wrenched from him, and plunged wildly into me. The sweet pleasure that rose, the increasing sense of tension was stronger than before. His hair brushed my face as he murmured into my ear. His lips brushed mine as he buried himself again and again, and now with every stroke, a little cry broke from my lips. I was helpless to stop my body rising to meet him.
He moved differently then, and honestly, I no longer cared about anything except the tension that rose unbearably until my body convulsed around him. I dug my nails into his shoulders to pull him closer, whimpering, and mindless with the sensation.
Fortunately—on account of the forty-some people belowstairs—he caught my scream with his lips as he plunged again. I could tell by the noise he made that he was finding the same release. I rose to meet him, hoping to give him even half the pleasure he had given me, and think I may have succeeded, by the way he collapsed over me, his body damp with sweat, and his breathing harsh. After a few moments, in which neither of us spoke, he rolled onto his side, pulling me against him.
“Jesus!” he said, when he finally spoke.
I tucked my head under his chin. He kissed my hair, and then collapsed back against the carpet. And there, on my mother’s drawing room floor, with my gown rucked up around my waist, and my reputation no doubt in tatters, I knew I had never been happier.
“I have never experienced anything like that. Ever,” he said, holding me close against him.
“It’s me,” I told him, with, I admit, a flash of pride. “I am clearly some kind of vixen.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he murmured. “I hope you don’t end up killing me.”
I inhaled against his chest. “I hope not, too,” I said, and then sighed, thinking that I would have been content to remain here, with him, tangled in our half-discarded clothing, sated and sleepy, for quite some time. Possibly forever. “Harry?” I said.
“Yes, my love?” he asked, sounding as sleepy as I was beginning to feel.
“Can we redecorate your house?”
He laughed. “Yes.”
I rubbed my face against his sho
ulder. “I suppose we have to go back down.”
“Already? Is it too much to ask that I be allowed a moment of peace after deflowering my wife?”
“Consider yourself fortunate that I did not require hours of gentling and sweet-talking.”
“I should say not,” he said. “I’ve never before been attacked so voraciously by a female!”
“I had to compromise you quickly, before you had time to think of all the reasons not to let me.”
“I’d already thought of them, Gwen. I let you anyway,” he murmured into my hair.
“God, I love you,” I said, and he pulled me more tightly against him.
“Mmm,” he said. “How much?”
“Are you really going to make me tell you the specifics?” I asked, lifting my head and looking down at him.
“Absolutely,” he said.
“More than I’d ever imagined possible,” I told him, lowering my head to his chest and listening to the rhythm of his heart. “More than life itself, and then even more than that. But, Harry?” I said, suddenly nervous, and he lifted his head to give me a questioning look before once again subsiding against the carpet. “I have woefully few accomplishments, I must warn you. Nothing out of the ordinary wifely way.”
He kissed me lingeringly. “You bring me heaven, Gwen.”
“But is that enough for you?” I said. “No more mistresses, Harry, not a one!”
“There is no question of that,” he said, and kissed me in a way that made me believe him. “It will be pathetic, slavish devotion from here on. And you will find more accomplishments down the years. I have no doubt you’ll be writing my speeches before long.”
“I have changed quite a bit,” I said. “If you’ll pardon my lack of modesty. I think it started when someone said to me that we all find ourselves at some point in an unfortunate situation not of our own making and that it was up to me to decide how I wanted to go on from there. And actually, now that you mention it, writing your speeches doesn’t sound bad.”
He smiled. “You should never have listened to me. Goodness knows I could not have made worse decisions about my unfortunate situation not of my own making. And you’re not writing my speeches. Actually,” he said, after a moment. “I don’t think it was so much a matter of changing as it was of letting yourself discover that there is more to you than you knew. This frighteningly managing part of you has always been there. It’s just been buried under many layers of dutiful daughter.”
“Are you frightened of me, Cambourne? I vow, you are falling in my estimation already!”
He kissed me. “Give me another two minutes and I think I can raise myself in your esteem. And also,” he said, kissing me again, more deeply, “prove to you that I’m not frightened of you in the least.”
“I suppose it’s only fair to give you the opportunity to try,” I allowed. “But Cambourne? What are we going to do? What about my parents?”
“Well,” he said. “We could scare the life out of them by going down—it will be obvious what we’ve been up to—and announcing that we have decided that we do not suit, after all.”
“Very tempting,” I said. “But do you have another suggestion?”
“Possibly,” he said, and then he was silent for a moment. “James and I have cooked up a plan that should save us from the worst of the scandal.”
I raised a brow at him.
“He has managed to get Bertie some type of commendation for extraordinary valor. He is of the impression that all we need do is spread the word that we had switched places in order to protect the integrity of the secret missions. Omit the blackmail and Bertie will be a hero. People will still talk, of course, but not much or for long.”
“Let them,” I said.
“I simply can’t believe,” he said, after a moment, “that not only did I risk my own life over saving the family name, but sent Bertie to do the same. Small wonder he hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Cambourne,” I said. “And, do you know, I really do think he will be happy with Therèse. You don’t think that my parents put her up to waylaying Bertie, though, do you?” I asked. “It seems awfully fortuitous that he went missing and you just had to step in.”
“I think,” he said slowly, as if he were thinking about it, “that if they did, she’ll never tell. I’ve wondered, too, but, no, overall I’m inclined to think that it was just fortuitous. Although I don’t really care.” He kissed me.
“Me either,” I sighed. “But, Harry?”
“My lovemaking does not seem to have emptied your mind, Gwen,” he said. “Do I need to do it again?”
“Yes,” I said. “You do.”
“I will,” he promised. “But first tell me what you are wondering about.”
“If it were my parents blackmailing you, why did they bother calling you away from the wedding breakfast? They already knew that you weren’t really Milburn.”
“Only to further confuse things, I’d guess. Of course it was a great joke on me. There I was, pretending to be Milburn and marrying you so that whoever was looking for him would think he was here in London, publicly getting married, and the only people who cared were your parents, and they knew the truth.”
I sighed with contentment and rested my cheek on his chest again. “Do you suppose they will keep quiet now that they have what they want?”
“I would imagine,” he replied, after a moment. “Now that you’re part of the family, it won’t reflect well on them if my father is known to be a traitor.”
“What would you say if I told you that I am in possession of some rather … delicate information that I suspect my parents would just as soon keep to themselves?” I asked him.
“God.” He laughed. “I think I’d say that the apple falls frighteningly close to the tree.”
“I’m serious, Harry,” I said. “Is the Earl of Cambourne above engaging in some blackmail of his own?”
“Absolutely not,” he replied, against my lips, “if it gets him what he wants. What did you have in mind, my love?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” I said. “Do you not think that my mother and Violetta have a rather close relationship? Some might even say, unnaturally close.”
He was silent for a moment, and then said, “Do you know, love, I think that’s something I just as soon not think about again.”
“I agree completely,” I said. “But in case you were inclined to threaten to, shall we say, put about something to that effect, I do know where some compromising and highly scandalous paintings are to be found.”
“Gwen, my love?” he murmured, sleepily.
“Yes, Harry?”
“Is either your mother or Violetta partially or entirely unclothed in these pictures?”
“Yes, actually—”
“Say no more,” he said. “Gwen, I do not ever want to see those paintings. Ever.”
“All right,” I agreed. “Why not go back to telling me how much you adore me?”
“Because,” he said, “mere words seem inadequate to convey how I feel about you. The very fact that I still am in a state of abject devotion to you after what you have just told me should be proof enough of that.”
“You could show me,” I suggested, moving against him. “I believe your two minutes are past up.”
And he did. Until my toes curled.
The Accidental Duchess Page 30
