His tongue curled lazily, sensuously against hers, and Deborah felt as though she was melting in the heat, slivers of white-hot desire licking through her blood.
Richard pressed her back against the wall, using his hips to hold her body still. She could feel how aroused he was and the shock roared through her again, her senses swimming. She felt his fingers once more at the buttons of her riding habit. He was shaking almost as much as she; the buttons slipped between his fingers. The knowledge that she could do this to him sent a heady feminine satisfaction through her and she slid her hand inside his shirt, revelling in the gasp he gave as her hand touched his naked chest.
The fastenings on her gown eased and Deb arched against his hands, obeying an instinct as deep as time. His fingers skimmed her nipple, cupped her breast, and then the bodice of the riding habit fell away, leaving her in her chemise and skirts.
‘You wear no stays…’
Deb opened her eyes. For a moment the candlelight seemed very bright, hurting her eyes. Richard was staring at her as though she was the most exquisite thing that he had ever seen and it was oddly humbling. His hands were resting gently on her bare shoulders amidst the tangle of her blonde hair, and his eyes were devouring the curves of her breasts where they rose above the edge of her shift.
Deb cleared her throat. ‘I seldom do, and never with a riding habit. I find tight underwear too constricting.’
Richard gave a muffled groan, as though the thought was too much for him. ‘Oh, Deborah—’
His agony shot her though with all the stunning power of a lightning bolt. Suddenly, feverishly, she reached for him, undoing the buttons of his shirt in haphazard fashion, running her hands with glorious triumph over his bare shoulders, pressing her lips to the warm skin of his chest.
Richard’s response was instantaneous. He picked her up and tossed her on the bed, where she lay amidst the tumble of lavender-scented blankets and cushions, slightly winded and wholly aroused. The bed was soft against her back and she sank into its depths, borne down a second later by the weight of Richard’s body against hers. Deb struggled to right herself but was held still; Richard was deliberately kneeling on her skirts, keeping her flat on her back whilst he caressed her breasts through the thin cotton of her bodice, then eased it aside so that she was naked to the waist.
Deb wriggled desperately. His mouth swooped down and took one of her nipples, and she shuddered beneath the hot stroke of his tongue. The air was cool on her exposed skin and his hands and lips roamed at will, tasting and touching. He tangled one hand in her hair and drew her face up so that he could kiss her again, a burning kiss that branded itself on her soul. The friction of his bare chest against her breasts was intolerable pleasure. Deb writhed beneath him, clutching him to her.
Her skirts and petticoats were becoming a problem, tangled as they were about her legs. She thought that Richard would remove them, but when he drew away from her for a moment it was to rip off his own clothing, not hers. His boots crashed against the leg of the table as he discarded them. The candlelight trembled. Deb half-sat on the bed, her hair sliding over her bare shoulders and down her back, her eyes wide as she took in his nakedness.
‘My goodness…’ The breath trembled in her throat as her gaze travelled over the width of his shoulders, the long line of his back, the narrow waist, the firm curve of his buttocks. In the golden light he looked beautiful. Deb swallowed hard.
‘Richard…’ she said beseechingly.
He gave her no time to be afraid. One moment he was standing before her and the next he was kneeling beside her on the bed again, holding her upper arms as he kissed her with a searing intensity. Deb collapsed back on the cushions, her eyes closing. A moment later they opened wide as she felt Richard’s hand steal up her thigh, pushing her skirts up as he went, parting her legs.
‘Do you not mean to take it off?’ she whispered and felt all the breath knocked from her body as he replied, ‘Not this time.’
Understanding and desire hit her in a headlong wave. He did not intend to remove the rest of her clothing. She was naked to the waist, but below that was the heavy velvet skirt of her habit, the froth of her petticoats, her stockings, her boots…
She dug the heels of her boots into the bed and arched upward as she felt him spread her legs wider. This was beyond anything that she had ever dreamed. The shattering intimacy of it held her spellbound. It was inevitable but natural; she was desperate for him and this was perfect…It was heaven. She wanted him. All of him.
A moment later she felt the hard warmth of him pressing inward, filling her slowly and with such gentleness that she almost cried out. She could feel him shaking and knew the control he was exercising not to allow his desire to override all else. A fierce hunger took her then and she lifted her hips to draw him in, wrapping her legs about him in a tangle of velvet and lace. The rub of the material was unbearably stimulating against her bare skin. She dug her fingernails into Richard’s shoulders and felt the moment that his control gave way, his need for her overcoming all else. With a shout he held her hips still and drove into her, all control lost as his head came down and his lips ravaged her mouth as thoroughly as his body took hers. Deb’s whole being exploded with a dazzling burst of pleasure. The fire raged through her, drawing her down, tumbling her over, until she lay panting and still amidst the scattered bedclothes, with her mind in splinters and her body still shaking with the glorious disbelief of discovery.
She must have slept briefly, for when she awoke the moon had risen higher and its silver light was spilling into the room and paling the light of the one candle that still burned.
She could feel Richard’s hands moving over her and she shifted slightly, struggling against the drugging satiation that weighted her limbs.
‘Do we have to go back now?’ she murmured, a faint chill touching her heart at the thought.
Richard did not answer for a moment. Something gave—her skirts and petticoats, finally drawn away from her and tossed on the floor. He had already removed her boots and stockings. Now she was as naked as he. She turned towards him and saw that he was watching her with those dark, dark eyes.
‘Do you want to go back?’ he said, and Deb had the oddest feeling that he was asking about more than the journey home.
She looked at him. The chestnut hair tumbled across his forehead and she raised her hand to caress his cheek where the stubble already darkened his jaw.
‘No,’ she said, a smile curving her lips. ‘I wanted a whole night.’
He put out an arm and drew her into the curve of his shoulder. ‘I hope that nothing I have done has made you change your mind…’
Deb smiled against his chest. ‘No. You were everything that I had hoped for. It is almost a pity that you have given up a career as a rake, for I can see why you were so prodigiously successful.’
‘Thank you,’ Richard said.
‘I was certainly not thinking of England, or of planning my weekly menus,’ Deb confessed.
‘Menu planning?’ Richard’s voice sounded lazy, faintly amused. ‘I should hope not.’
‘When Mama advised Olivia on the duties of a wife, she said that planning one’s weekly menus was an excellent way to get one through the ordeal of a gentleman’s ardour,’ Deb said. ‘It distracts the mind and at the end of it one also has a useful list.’
‘That must be where Olivia and Ross have gone wrong, then,’ Richard said easily. ‘I knew there must be a simple explanation.’ He pressed a kiss against her hair. ‘Alas that your menus for the week must go unplanned, my sweet.’
Deb snuggled closer. It was warm in the nest of blankets and she felt cosy and cherished and very happy. When Richard started to stroke her breast very gently she also felt surprised. She had thought her body completely satisfied, and yet now the blood was singing softly through her veins again and she felt as though she was opening like a flower in the sunshine.
‘Richard…’ she whispered.
In reply, he shifted sl
ightly so that her body was more exposed to the touch of his lips and hands, alternately stroking and soothing, arousing and calming. She burned wherever he touched her and tingled beneath him, knowing that he watched her every reaction. She was melting again, yearning for him and the sweetest, sharpest pleasure that he could give her.
‘You wanted a whole night,’ he whispered in reply. ‘Be careful what you wish for…’
His hands stroked the soft skin inside her thighs and then he slid down her body and his tongue touched the secret hidden spot at the centre of her being. Heat lanced through Deb and she jolted with the shock of it. Such devastating pleasure…She had had no idea…
‘Would you like me to do that again?’ They might have been at a garden party were it not for the hard, hot undertone of desire in his voice.
Deb twisted on the blankets, her hands bunching tightly in the material. ‘Please…’
She had never known such intensity of feeling, never even guessed at such sensations. Once again her body was convulsed with the purest bliss and she lay shaking and devastated in his arms.
He did not let her rest. His fingers drifted back between her thighs and resumed a slow and tortuous stroking. Her body was tight and she wriggled in protest against the renewed touch but he persisted, giving her no choice but to accept his caress. To Deb’s amazement, her body quickened again, her blood beating feverishly as the heat pooled within her. She gave a little gasp of need and Richard’s mouth covered hers, drinking deep. He was above her and inside her again, and Deb reached for him and ran her hands over the hard muscles of his back and down over his buttocks. She felt the shudder that went through him whenever she touched him and it made her feel triumphant. This time was slow and the sensation of possessing and being possessed filled her senses and overwhelmed her beyond thought. Richard dipped his head to her breasts and the hot pleasure stirred through her once again and she tangled her fingers in his hair to hold his head there, feeling a spasm jerk through her each time he used his teeth against her skin.
She was drowning. The faint ebb and flow of the tide outside mingled in her head with the flow of her body until she could bear it no longer. She felt Richard bite down gently on her breast and she cried aloud as she tumbled over the edge of mindless delight, feeling him fall with her into the darkness where sheer ecstasy and sheer exhaustion held her captive and dropped her into the deepest sleep.
Richard eased himself quietly down the stairs and opened the door of the house. The night air flooded in, cold and crisp, laced with sea salt and something else that caught his attention. Smoke. Somewhere, nearby, there was a fire.
He was not certain what impulse had made him drag himself from the warm haven of the bed to check that all was secure outside. He had not wanted to leave Deb, not then, not ever.
He trod silently across the yard to the stables. The horses had smelled the smoke too and were bumping nervously in their stalls, but nothing else seemed amiss. Richard walked to the edge of the terrace. The smell of smoke was stronger here, but it was the wood smoke of a bonfire rather than anything else.
Richard paused. Although the idea seemed preposterous, he was almost certain that the privateer they had seen earlier was moored in Kestrel Creek, a quarter-mile to the east, and the smoke was from a bonfire on the beach. It would be unconscionably dangerous for a pirate to drop anchor anywhere near the coast, particularly if he was French. Yet it was not as unlikely as it seemed. Someone had been to the house since he and Justin had last used it back in July. The bottle of brandy that Deb had found earlier was not the half-drunk version that they had left three months ago, but a new bottle and a very fine one at that. Then there had been the tiny, perfectly made wooden ship that he had found on the windowsill scratched with the initials DDL…
Richard went across to the water butt and doused his face, enjoying the cold shock of the water. He shook his head vigorously, sending the water droplets flying. That was better. He could think clearly now.
He should wake Deb now and escort her home, though he had the deepest of misgivings. Without a pistol it was dangerous to travel through the forest at night, particularly if the smugglers and the revenue might be out, let alone any other nefarious characters. The last thing that he wanted to do was put Deb in danger. He had already created sufficient difficulties for one night. He leaned both hands on the stone wall of the terrace and took a deep breath. Whatever he had been thinking with earlier, it had not been his brain. He had compromised Deb thoroughly with this episode and now he would ruin her if he did not return her to Mrs Aintree’s care immediately. It must be close on midnight.
Richard stretched and tilted his head to look up at the darkened window. Before that night he had thought that he could not possibly love Deb more, and yet now he was fathoms deep in an emotion he had never dreamed possible. He wanted to hold her close and never let her go ever again; he wanted to cherish and protect her, to make love to her again until her quiescent body quivered beneath his touch with all the passion of which she was capable.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would tell her and he would propose marriage to her properly, not as some sort of fleeting arrangement to outwit the demands of her father. If she did not like it, then it was too bad. At least he would have been honest with her and told her of his feelings. If he did not, he thought that he might explode.
He went back into the house and felt his way up the stairs gingerly, guided by the moonlight. Deb had not stirred. She was nestled deep into the blankets and he paused to look down at her sleeping face whilst a huge wave of love and longing swept through him and stole his breath. He put out a hand to shake her awake and tell her to dress, but before he touched her she opened her eyes. In the moonlight her face was beautiful and bemused and her eyes deep pools of blue.
‘I love you,’ she said dreamily, and she reached for him, pulling him close. He knew that she was almost asleep and possibly did not even know what she said, but the impulse to wake her properly and take her home died in that moment.
For a second time that night Richard discarded his clothes and slid under the covers beside her. She turned towards him in her sleep, snuggling close with the trusting confidence of a child. Richard obligingly angled his body to accommodate hers. He fell asleep with her head resting over his heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Deb had no idea of the time when she awoke. The moon was pouring its light into the tower room and the soft hush of the waves was as sweet and soothing as a caress. Deb lay with her eyes open, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling and breathing in the scent of lavender and spent candles. She felt warm and languorous and, for some reason, wide awake.
She sat up, drawing the covers close about her. Beside her, Richard shifted slightly in his sleep and turned towards her, but he did not wake. A small smile curved Deb’s mouth as she looked down at him.
She examined her feelings. One of the things that she had been afraid of was that the feeling of wanton happiness would burst like a bubble, leaving her as disillusioned with herself as she had after Neil’s betrayal. This time, after all, she had knowingly given herself to a man. She had sought his embrace with a brazen disregard for propriety and practically demanded that he make love to her. She smiled a little to herself at the memory of it. She did not feel cheapened, or dishonoured, or immoral. With Richard she felt warm and happy and cherished. She was not sure what constituted the difference, but it was there and she was in no mood to question it. She slipped from the bed and stole across to the window. The view was so beautiful that it made her catch her breath. The bright light of the moon spilled across the sea, turning the beach to silver and painting the trees in shades of black and white.
‘Deb?’
Richard was behind her. She felt the warmth of his naked body against her, a counterpoint to the chill of the cool night air from the window. He slid his arms about her and drew her head back against his chest.
‘I woke,�
� Deborah said. ‘It was so beautiful that I wanted to see…’
Richard’s lips touched her collarbone and drifted along the line of her shoulder. Deb shivered, but not from the cool draught. His hands spread across her bare stomach and she felt her muscles contract beneath his caress. When his hands moved up to her breasts she was already waiting for their touch and arched back against him, helpless in her desire. His cheek brushed hers, hard against her softness.
‘The night is not over yet…’ he reminded her, and her heart leaped at his words and the heated images they provoked.
He turned her into the window alcove, so that her back was against the hard stone of the wall, and kissed her until she was mindlessly adrift and lost in sheer bliss. He lifted her up and held her trapped between his body and the wall. She obeyed without hesitation his instruction to wrap her legs about him, sliding down to find herself impaled, senses utterly ravished at his deep invasion of her body. The stone was cold behind her, but the heat of his body scorched her. His hands steadied her, holding her still to meet his thrust. The shocking delight of what she was experiencing, combined with the insistent tug of his mouth at her breast, was enough to send her mind spinning away into silken darkness and she screamed aloud, wilting in his arms, shattered and pierced by the devastating bliss.
Then he took her back to the bed and kept her there until she had no notion of what was moonlight and what was breaking daylight, and was so lost in blind ecstasy that she did not care either way.
Olivia Marney was in her bedroom, sitting before the mirror whilst Jenny carefully unpinned the emerald-encrusted bandeau that nestled amongst her curls. It was very late and she felt tired. The evening, a dinner at Saltires, could not be accounted a complete success. Lily Benedict had been in a scratchy mood and had made several sharp remarks about Deb’s absence that evening and the coincidental disappearance of Lord Richard Kestrel. Fending off her barbs had given Olivia a headache, and her spirits had not improved to see that Ross seemed sunk deep in thought and barely made any attempt to join in the conversation. Occasionally he would look at her across the table, a deep impenetrable look that Olivia could not read. Until that evening she had thought that they had been achieving a better understanding. They had talked on a number of topics recently, including Deb’s supposed false betrothal and Richard Kestrel’s honourable intentions. On more than one occasion, Olivia had thought that Ross might even be intending to kiss her, for there was a certain look in his eye. He had not done so, however, and now he was not speaking to her again. She felt utterly cast down.
Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02] Page 23
