He held her gaze, his shaven jaw tightening until the muscle below his eye patch flickered. He smelled of leather, farthing soap and danger.
She knew what he wanted and she wanted it, too. And though she had never bedded a man this quickly in all her five and thirty years, be it wicked or not, she was doing this. For he was all things breathtakingly alluring and she had never ever physically wanted a man more.
Bernadette eyed the parlor entryway. “We should close the doors.”
He didn’t move. “Why waste breaths we’re going to need?”
Her cheeks blazed. “I have...servants.”
The tips of his roughened fingers tightened against the lace-rimmed edge of her bodice, frilling her skin and breath. “They’ll just have to heed the noise and stay out.”
Heaven help her.
He met her gaze with that one visible eye that beckoned her to kneel. “Do you really want this?”
Did she? “Yes.”
“As in me inside you?”
Oh, God. “Yes.”
“Give me one reason as to why we should do this.”
If he was by any means being honest when he’d said he wanted a commitment, and if that was what he sought in that moment, he was about to find himself disappointed. Her stomach fluttered as lust hazed the very last of whatever decency she’d ever been born with. “Because I really want to.”
“I rather like that answer.”
She released the breath she didn’t realize she held. He leaned in and erotically traced the tip of his hot, wet tongue across her bottom lip and then her upper one, and between the two again.
Her breath hitched with each wet lick.
His fingers tightened on the fabric of her gown, grazing her skin beneath. “I’m not wasting time with all of these damn hooks and buttons. Can I?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“Hold still.” Gritting his teeth, he gripped both sides of her gown above each breast and with the quick, violent jerk of muscled arms, shred it open with a shocking rip that sent hooks and buttons spraying and tinkering across the floor.
She gasped, swaying against the aggressive movement, and felt as if her very knees were going to snap. The heat of her skin pulsed against the cooler air sweeping her. Her lilac corset and chemise and the tops of her pushed-up breasts were now completely exposed. Her breath escaped in pants. She tried to hold still, desperately wanting and needing to know what was going to happen next.
She’d never known anything like this. Ever.
Flicking his gaze to her breasts, he shifted his large frame toward her and tilted his head just enough to cause strands of sunlit hair to hang against the leather patch of his left eye. “Take off the rest.”
Could she do this without fainting? She slid the ripped material of her gown down the length of her arms. It effortlessly fell away from her, cascading down onto her petticoats. She pushed it farther down, past her waist, until it slipped past the fullness of her petticoats and flopped to the floor.
He towered before her, watching. Waiting.
She undid the lacings on her petticoats, her heart pounding at the realization that she was actually doing this. She was about to bed a man she had just met in the park.
Her petticoats dropped and she stood in only her chemise, corset, stockings and slippers. Holding his gaze, she kicked off her slippers, sending them into the folds of her gown on the floor.
She paused, knowing she couldn’t undo the corset on her own.
“All of it.” His voice dipped low.
She tried to steady her breathing. Tried. “I cannot undo the lacings on my own.”
He reached into the pocket of his great coat. Pulling out a folded razor blade, he flicked it open, the metal glinting against candlelight. “Allow me to play tailor.”
Her eyes widened as he rounded her. She jerked toward him. “I would rather you not use that.”
“Why not?”
“It makes me nervous.”
“I like making you nervous.” He grabbed her waist hard and spun her back around, jerking her to a halt in front of him, forcing her to face the open doors of the parlor. Leaning in from behind, he shoved her long hair to one side of her shoulder with the sweep of his other hand and slid the hot tip of his velvet tongue down her throat and shoulder.
She closed her eyes against the sensation, letting her head roll naturally to its side as his tongue made its way to the curve of her bare shoulder. Oh, God. He could have slit her throat and she couldn’t have stopped him.
He paused. “Don’t move.” Grabbing the top of her corset just beneath her shoulder blade with one large hand, he wedged the tip of the razor between the upper lacings and...sliced.
She winced, feeling the razor work its way through each lacing just above her skin, down, down, down until he tugged and the corset tumbled onto the floor.
He slowly rounded her, his boots echoing in the parlor, and snapped the blade of the razor back into its handle. Leaning toward a side table beside him, he set the razor on it, then methodically removed each of his two pistols from his leather belt. He set them beside the razor against the polished wood with a gentle clatter.
It was like disarming France.
And, somehow, she didn’t care.
Turning, he stepped back toward her and raked his gaze across the sheer length of her linen chemise that showed everything. His broad chest rose. He let out a slow, soft hiss. “How old are you?”
Her face burned. Is this where it ended? “Five and...thirty.”
He let out a low whistle, adjusting his great coat. “The good Lord loves you. And me, apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman look this good. And that’s coming from a man six years younger than you. Six.”
An astonished laugh escaped her as she awkwardly covered herself. The way he said it was—
Stepping back toward her, he pushed her hands away from herself, took hold of her chemise and dragged it up the length of her body and over her head in a teasing sweep. He flung it aside, leaving her completely naked, except for the white silk stockings held in place by matching lace garters.
He paused and lowered his gaze to her breasts, the palms of his warm hands slowly rounding her breasts and nipples. “So why don’t you want to remarry? Because, I’ll admit, I’ll have trouble letting you go after this.”
Heat raced beneath her skin as she bit back an exasperated breath, fighting the awkwardness of having him carry on a full conversation with her whilst she was naked. “I am done being owned.”
He searched her face. “You obviously haven’t been associating with the right sort of men.”
She swallowed, the movement of those fingers grazing and caressing each nipple. This man exuded an experience of life laced with an exotic ease toward her body as if wanting to understand her from the inside out. It was liberating.
He lingered for a long, pulsing moment, then leaned down and in. He gently kissed her mouth. The palms of his large hands now hovered intently beside her face, not touching, but their heat emanating toward her skin. It was as if he were afraid she would break.
Blindly reaching up, she cupped the side of his shaven face and crushed her lips against his, forcing his mouth open with the press of her tongue.
He groaned against her mouth.
Her mind blanked as that velvet hot tongue playfully circled against her own. Her hands roamed up, grazing his smooth, leather patch as she reached up and into his hair, her fingers hooking against the leather tie.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. It was a mesmerizing, enchanting blur until he broke away.
Her eyes flew open and their gazes locked.
She was still naked. And he was still fully clothed.
Tightening his jaw until a muscle flicked, he tugged off his great coat, revealing a yellowing frayed linen shirt, wool trousers and leather boots. He let his coat slip to the floor.
Still holding her gaze, he grasped his shirt and dragged it up over his head, pulling it
off until it also slipped to the floor with the flex of sun-bronzed, well-muscled arms. He leaned into her, that broad chest hovering before her, wordlessly announcing that she give them both bliss.
Ever so slowly, she slid her hands up that smooth, hard chest in lust-hazy awe, rounding the palms of her hands over his broad shoulders and back down again. She’d never touched or seen anything quite like it. His scent of leather and soap, his warmth, and tense muscles surrounded her.
Several scars met her fingertips. She slid a lone finger on the largest, which extended from his left biceps to his shoulder. She leaned in and kissed it gently. “What happened?”
“Life happened,” he murmured.
She glanced up, noting he was watching her.
His broad chest rose and fell in uneven takes, as if he were having trouble breathing against her touch.
She wasn’t the only one being obliterated in this moment.
Reaching between them, while still holding her stare, he undid the flap of his trousers, pushing it aside, and exposed his thick length. Grasping her waist, he dug his fingers into her hip with the spread of his hand and then used his other hand to slowly rub the length of his erection against her upper stomach. The friction warmed her skin, sending a shiver of awareness throughout her entire body. Why was it she couldn’t guess what he was about to do next?
His features tightened. “Turn. Face the hearth.”
She slowly, slowly turned and faced the hearth, where the coal embers burned low.
He grabbed her wrists gently from behind and brought her arms up, pushing her forward, using the broad hard length of his body. Bringing her to a halt before the hearth, he guided her hands out to the marble ledge.
Her fingers gripped the smooth, hard ledge that had been warmed by the coals. This was it. This is where she was introduced to something she’d always wanted but never known with any man—unadulterated passion.
He draped the length of his large body against her backside, his erection pressing into her bum. “Are you even real?” he whispered from behind, his lips moving against her neck.
“I am,” she whispered back. “Are you?”
“I am.” He leaned away, tracing his hands from her shoulders to her back. She closed her eyes against that touch as he moved his hands down, down her legs and knelt behind her. Warm lips and the moist tip of his tongue slid across the curve of her lower back. All he did was touch and slide that tongue. It went on and on.
Gripping the marble hearth hard, she swayed. “Please.” She couldn’t say much more.
He rose, that tongue sliding up her back. “Say it.”
“Take me,” she choked out.
His tongue traveled along her shoulder blade. “You can do better than that, luv.”
She bit back a shudder. “I...I need it.”
He licked the other shoulder blade. “Need what? Come on.”
She swayed. “You. I need you.”
He dipped in and nipped the curve of her neck. “You don’t sound desperate enough.”
“Do it already!” she choked out in riled exasperation.
“That’s more like it.” His hands jumped to her waist. Grabbing her hips hard, he positioned himself and slowly slid his thick length between her wet folds. Without warning, he rigidly rammed deep into her—up to the hilt—causing her to not only gasp but jerk against the hearth she clutched.
It was amazing.
He held her savagely against himself, his fingers digging into the skin of her hips before rounding toward the front of her. He fingered and flicked her nub, staying buried deep within her. He didn’t stop until her body gave way to stomach-rippling, throat-tightening, breath-catching pleasure that refused to let her go.
This man clearly knew what he was doing.
His fingers rounded back up to her hips. Gripping her waist, he slid halfway out and then slammed into her. She staggered as he thrust again and again, each jerk of those hips determined to break her. Dominating pressure and pleasure crossed and rippled through every inch of her until she was so overwhelmed she was unable to breathe.
He ground into her harder, each forceful thrust sending her moist fingers sliding against the ledge she was having trouble holding on to. The embers in the hearth swayed as did her entire world.
“Give me your name,” he rasped from behind in between thrusts. “Your birth name.”
She closed her eyes, as pleasure seized her core and tossed her upward. “Bernadette,” she choked out in a half moan.
“Bernadette,” he repeated as if stroking her name along with the rest of her.
Oh, God. She was about to—
Everything shattered and her body with it. She moaned, letting it take her into oblivion as he rode her faster.
She finally knew what it felt like to embrace real passion. And it was heaven all ablaze.
His slick, hot thrusts continued until he groaned and jerked out completely. Using several quick tugs of his hand, the warmth of his seed spurted against the curve of her back. A longer anguished groan escaped him as he smeared his seed all over her back with his fingers.
Their ragged panting filled the air.
She staggered, still hanging on to the marble ledge in an effort to keep herself up. Dearest God. Bedding him was like gulping freedom laced with euphoria.
Over her bare shoulder, she saw him step back. In between heavy breaths that expanded and further showcased that bronzed muscled chest, he buttoned the flap of his trousers. He paused, holding her gaze.
She swallowed, feeling unbearably vulnerable and naked under that gaze, and turned to gather her clothes.
“Bernadette.” He jumped toward her and grabbed her by the waist, startling her. With his other calloused hand, he swept her up and into the crook of his arms, his jaw tightening from the effort. Pressing her against the soothing warmth of his exposed chest, he turned them toward the open doors of the parlor and glanced down at her. “I’ll tuck you in. Where is your bedchamber, luv?”
She blinked up at him, in astonishment, clinging to those bare, broad shoulders. Why did she no longer feel naked or vulnerable in his arms? “Upstairs.”
Wordlessly, he carried her out of the parlor and took the main stairwell up, taking two stairs at a time until they reached the landing.
“To the right and the last door,” she offered.
Within a breath, they were there. Taking several long strides across the length of her pale blue bedchamber, he set her atop the four-poster bed with a sweep. Yanking the linens up from all around her, he folded them up and over her naked body, tucking it around her in unspoken tenderness.
She propped herself up on an elbow, astounded. Did he tuck all his women into bed like this? “Do you want to stay the night? I’m offering.”
He glanced up from his task of molding the linens around her. He stared in what appeared to be genuine disappointment. “As much as I’d love to, I can’t. I’ve got someone waiting for me.”
She nodded. Though she hadn’t planned on wanting to see him again, annoyingly, she wanted more of him, of this, of his razors and his linen tucking. She’d never known anything like it. “And will I see you again?” She tried being very casual about it.
His gaze held hers. “Do you want to see me again?”
“Yes.”
“And what happened to your one-night rule? Hmm?”
What, indeed? She knew the answer to this one. There had never been a man who had offered her a night like the one she’d just had. Not. Ever. She drew in a breath, aware that he was intently searching her face, awaiting an answer. “You appear to be a rare exception. And as such, I suppose I can spare another night.”
His mouth quirked. “It’ll be a pleasure ensuring that the next time I see you, you’ll spare me several thousand more.”
Why did she feel as if she had just damned herself? She wasn’t even going to comment. For she had a feeling he wanted her to. “Did you need money before you go? How much?”
That quirk i
n his mouth faded. He lowered his chin. “We’re not whoring ourselves here. So keep that dirty talk to yourself. If I want money, I’ll ask for it. And I’m not asking.”
She stared. This was a first.
He sighed. Leaning over the bed and her, he skimmed a bare hand over the side of her face and searched her eyes. That leather patch had shifted across his cheekbone, hinting at the curve of the eye hidden beneath. “Bernadette.” He grazed a thumb against her lower lip. “The next time we see each other, we should talk.”
She swallowed. “About what?”
“About what happens next. We got a little ahead of ourselves. Actually, a lot ahead of ourselves, but I have a feeling you and I will be catching up quick.” His jaw tightened as he searched her face. “Don’t be inviting other men into your bed anymore. You got that?”
The way he said it, so assuredly, without any doubt, as if they had just been married by the hand of the bishop himself, made her inwardly panic. She pointed up at him, trying to keep herself from altogether poking him. “I belong to no one. Let there be no doubt in that. I decide who I get involved with and what happens next. Not you.”
He shifted down toward her, leaning against the side of the bed until the muscles in his arms and chest visibly tensed. “I’ll give you a week to miss me. We’ll take it from there.” Straightening, he adjusted the faded wool trousers slung low on his hips and swung away, striding out of the room without another backward glance as if he knew without any doubt she would miss him.
His booted steps faded down the corridor.
She released a shaky breath, still in disbelief over what had just happened. All of her lofty dreams involving unadulterated, heart-pounding passion had always been more incredible inside her head than in reality, but this was the first time the two had ever merged into one.
Which meant...something very bad was about to happen. It always did whenever she took to dreaming. And the last thing she wanted was to lose control over this entire situation. Especially given the man thought that their one night was about to amount to forevermore.
Sitting up, she quickly wrapped herself in linen and scrambled out of bed. She hurried to the open door and leaned out. Although Matthew had long disappeared, her burliest footman was making his way toward her, eyes downcast, as if announcing that he saw nothing, even though he probably saw everything.
Forever a Lady Page 8
