by Sylvia Day
“You would never allow me to ignore you, Pel. You foster my infatuation at every turn.”
Infatuation. She shivered. Could he care for her? Did she want him to? “Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because you don’t want my attention to wander.” He kissed her before she could digest what he said.
Isabel lay still, her mouth ravished by a kiss that curled her toes, Gray’s tongue licking across hers, gliding under it, drinking from her as if she were some delicacy. All the while in her mind, she considered what he had said. Was she attempting to bind him to her with sexual extortion?
When Gray lifted his head, his breathing was as disturbed as hers. “You do not afford me even half a moment to think of another woman.” His eyelids lowered, shuttering his thoughts. “You take me to your bed at every opportunity. You exhaust me—”
“Ha. Your appetite is inexhaustible.” But the rejoinder that was meant to be dismissing, was instead shaky and inflected with a question. Had she gone from wanting him to stray, to wanting to keep him all to herself?
In one graceful, fluid movement, he rolled and brought her over him. “I require as much sleep as any other human.” He pressed his fingers over her mouth to silence a coming protest. “I am not so young as to forgo sleep altogether, so discard any attempt to use that excuse again. You are not too old for me. I am not too young for you.”
Catching his wrist, she tugged his hand away. “You could always sleep apart from me.”
“Don’t be daft. You mistake my observation for a complaint, which it is not.” Gray stroked the curve of her spine, applying pressure so that her breasts connected more fully to his chest. “Perhaps once or twice it has crossed my mind that I should manage my cock, instead of allowing it to lead me. But then I remember the feel of your cunt in orgasm, the way it clutches me, the way you arch up and cry out my name. And I tell my brain to cease prattling and leave me alone.”
Dropping her forehead to his chest, Isabel laughed.
He tucked her into his side. “If you require a physical display of my affections at this moment, I am more than prepared to oblige you. We can’t have you worried about waning interest and all that. Whatever you need, Pel, to make it possible to believe in me, I will do it. I suppose I should have stated that bluntly earlier so there would be no doubt. I am not Pelham.”
The look in his eyes was fond, with banked lust—the look of a man who was just as content to hold her as he was to ride her.
Her throat tightened, her eyes stung.
“Where did you find these sudden insights into my behavior?” she asked softly. The Grayson she’d married had never looked far enough beyond himself to see such things.
“I told you, you have my undivided attention.” His fingers plunged into her hair, loosening and then pulling out the pins that held it up, before tossing them to the floor. “There is no other person I would wish to be with more than you, female or otherwise. You make me laugh, you always have. You never allow me to become too full of myself. You see all of my faults and find most of them charming. I’ve no need of any other companions. In fact, you and I will remain in our rooms this evening.”
“Now who’s daft? Everyone will think we are up here having sex if we skip dinner.”
“And they will not be wrong,” he murmured, his lips to her forehead. “We are honeymooners, they should expect nothing less from us.”
Honeymoon. Just that one word brought back the dreams she’d once had of a passionate, monogamous marriage. How hopeful she had been then. How naïve. She should be too old to experience that kind of eager anticipation for the future.
Should be. But was finding the opposite was true.
“But we shall also take our meal together up here,” he continued, “and play chess. I will tell you of my—”
“You hate chess,” she reminded, pulling back to look at him.
“Actually, I have learned to enjoy it. And I am quite good. Be prepared to suffer defeat.”
Isabel stared up at him. So many times, she felt as if a stranger had returned to her. A man who looked very much like the man she married, but wasn’t. How much had he changed? He was so mercurial. Even now he seemed different from the man who had left her room just an hour before.
“Who are you?” she breathed, her hand reaching up to touch his face, to trace the arch of his brow. So much the same. So very different.
His smile faded. “I am your husband, Isabel.”
“No, you are not.” She pressed him back, sliding over him again. The texture of his hard body was so wonderful to her—the hard ridges and planes, the dusting of hair over his sun-darkened skin.
“How can you say that?” he asked, his voice turning husky as she moved upon him. “You stood next to me at the altar. You said the vows, and heard mine.”
Lowering her head, she took his mouth in a lush kiss, suddenly wanting him. Not because she was physically unable to resist the temptation he presented, but because she saw something in him she had failed to see before—commitment. He was committed to her, to learning about her and understanding her. The knowledge made her shiver, made her sink into his embrace, made her relish the feel of his strong arms encircling her back.
He turned his head, evading her questing mouth. Panting, he said, “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” She caressed the length of his torso, cupped his hip, shifted so she could reach between his legs.
“Don’t tell me I am not your husband and then silence me with sex. We will have this out, Pel. No more of this nonsense about mistresses and the like.”
She stroked his cock with a firm, sure hand. If anything proved that Gray had changed it was his resistance to lovemaking while seeking a deeper connection. Despite every bit of her brain that said her life experiences were correct in their dismissal of lasting marital affection, some tiny voice inside her urged her to believe otherwise.
He caught her wrist and bucked with a curse, taking the advantage. Looming over her, he pinned her arms to the bed. His face above her was hard as stone, his eyes glittering with the determination that was mirrored by his tense jaw.
“You’ve no wish to fuck me?” she asked innocently.
Growling, he said, “There is a heart and mind attached to the cock you enjoy so well. Altogether they form a man—your spouse. You cannot fragment the whole and take only the pieces you want.”
His declaration shook her, then decided her. Pelham…the Grayson she once knew…Neither would ever say such a thing. Whoever this man was above her, she desired to know him. To discover him, and the woman she felt like when she was with him.
“You are not the husband I said my vows to.” She saw him prepared to protest, and rushed ahead. “I did not want him, Gerard. You know that.”
The sound of his name sent a visible ripple through the length of his frame. His gaze narrowed. “What are you saying?”
She arched beneath him, stretching, enticing. Spreading her thighs, she welcomed him. Opened to him. “I want you.”
“Isabel…?” He pressed his damp forehead to hers, his hips settled against hers, his heavy cock finding her slick for him through no physical manipulation on his part. “Christ, you will be the death of me.”
Her head fell to the side as he entered her slowly. So slowly. Bare skin to bare skin. She had missed the feel of him this way, without a barrier between them.
The difference between this and their usual coupling was marked. When he’d first returned, he had been gentle, but the strain of that control had been obvious. Now, as he rocked deeper and deeper into her eager body, she knew he moved leisurely because this moment was one he wished to lengthen.
His mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Who do you want?”
Her voice came slurred with pleasure. “You…”
Chapter 14
There were a thousand excuses for why Rhys was standing in the Hammond garden late in the evening. There was only one true reason. And she was presently moving toward him
with a shy smile.
“I was hoping I would find you out here,” Abby said, holding out her bare hands.
He bit the tip of his gloved finger and yanked off his glove, so that when he caught her hands he could feel them. The simple, chaste contact flared heat across his skin, and he did the last thing a gentleman would do—he pulled her closer.
“Oh my,” she breathed, eyes wide. “I do enjoy it when you act the scoundrel.”
“I will do much more than act,” he warned, “if you continue to seek me out.”
“I thought it was you seeking me out.”
“You should stay away, Abby. I seem to have lost my senses where you are concerned.”
“And I am a woman who desperately enjoys, perhaps even needs, having a handsome man lose his senses over her. It never happens to me, you know.”
His conscience losing the battle, Rhys lifted his hand, cupped her nape and fitted his mouth to hers. She was so slight, so slender, but she lifted to her tiptoes and kissed him back with such sweet ardor that she nearly knocked him off his feet. The soft scent of her perfume mixed with the scents of evening flowers, and he longed to bask in it, roll around a bed in it.
She had dressed differently tonight, in beautiful golden silk that hugged her body perfectly. Understanding how hounded she was by fortune hunters, he appreciated her need to fade into the woodwork with ill-fitting, unattractive garments and hide in dark gardens.
Lifting his head, he murmured, “You are aware of where these meetings are leading?”
She nodded, her chest rising and falling against his with panting breaths.
“Are you also aware of where this cannot lead? There are limits imposed by my station. I should accept them gracefully and walk away, but I am weak—”
She silenced him with her fingers over his lips, her piquant face lit with a dazzling grin. “I do love that you have no wish at all to marry me. To me, that is not a weakness, but a strength.”
Rhys blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“There is no doubt in my mind that you want me, and not my money. It is quite remarkable really.”
“Is it?” he choked out, his cock as hard as a poker. Why the devil this woman had such an effect on him he could not collect.
“Quite. Men who look like you never find anything at all appealing about women who look like me.”
“Fools, the lot of them.” The conviction in his voice was genuine.
Abby leaned her cheek against his chest with a soft laugh. “Of course. Why men like Lord Grayson are so taken with women who look like Lady Grayson when I am around is an absolute mystery.”
He stiffened, shocked at the undeniable flare of jealousy he felt. “You are attracted to Grayson?”
“What?” She pulled back. “I find him attractive, certainly. I doubt there is a woman alive who wouldn’t. But I am not attracted to him personally, no.”
“Oh…” He cleared his throat.
“How will you begin my ravishment?”
“Little one.” He shook his head, but could not restrain his indulgent smile. Brushing the back of his hand along the curve of her cheekbone, he admired the way the moon was reflected in her eyes. “Understand, I mean to have more than a few kisses and some improper fondling. I will bare your skin, spread your thighs, steal what should be a gift for your husband.”
“That sounds wicked,” she breathed, gazing up at him raptly.
“It will be. But I assure you, you will enjoy every moment.”
He, however, will probably wallow in guilt for the rest of his life, but he wanted her desperately enough to make that future torment worthwhile.
He pressed his lips very softly to hers, his hand at her waist slipping to cup what felt to be a fine derriere. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“Yes. I have no doubts. I am seven and twenty. I have met hundreds of gentlemen over the course of my life and none of them have affected me as you have. What if no man ever will but you? I will regret forever that I did not enjoy what I could of your attentions.”
His heart clenched painfully. “Losing your virginity to a cad such as myself will make your wedding night very awkward.”
“No, it will not,” she assured him confidently. “If I do marry, it will be with a man who is smitten enough with me to skip dinner like Lord Grayson has done for Lady Grayson.”
“What Grayson feels is not ‘smitten,’ love,” he said dryly.
Abby waved a careless hand. “Whatever name you give to it, he grants no significance to anything in her past. My future spouse will feel the same about me.”
“You sound so certain.”
“I am. You see, he would have to love me desperately to win my hand, and a little matter of a torn piece of flesh would not matter to him. In fact, I intend to tell any future spouse of mine all about you, and—”
“Good God!”
“Well, not literally,” she hastened to say. Her gaze turned dreamy, her smile fond. “I would simply tell him of the man who made my stomach flutter and my heart race when he smiled. How wonderful that man was to me, what happiness he brought me after the death of my parents left my life a misery. And he will understand, Lord Trenton, because when you love someone that is what you do. You understand.”
“What a dreamer you are,” he scoffed in an attempt to hide how deeply her words touched him.
“Am I?” Frowning, she pulled away. “I suppose you are correct. My mother warned me once that affairs are practical endeavors, not the stuff of romance.”
Rhys arched a brow, then linked their fingers and pulled her toward a nearby bench. “Your mother said that?”
“She said it was foolish of women to think that affairs were grand passions and marriages a duty. She said it should be the opposite. Affairs should be nothing more than a satiation of needs. Marriages should be lifelong commitments to deep-seated desires. My mother was a forward-thinking woman. After all, she did marry an American.”
“Ah yes, that’s true.” Sitting, he pulled Abby into his lap. She weighed nearly nothing and he tucked her close, resting his chin on her head. “So she is the one responsible for filling your head with all that love nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” she chided. “My parents were mad for each other and very, very happy. The smiles on their faces when they were together again after an absence…The glow they had when they shared a smile over the dining table…Wonderful.”
Licking the exposed column of her throat, he reached her ear and whispered. “I can show you wonderful, Abby.”
“Oh my.” She shivered. “I swear my stomach just turned a flip.”
He loved how he affected her, how open and innocent she was in her responses. She was so pure of character. Not because she was naïve—she saw the workings of the world clearly—but because the less admirable facets of mankind did not disillusion her. Yes, she had been hunted by disreputable gentlemen, but she saw that for what it was—the stupidity and greed of a few men. The rest of the world was given the benefit of her doubt.
It was that quality of hopefulness which he found so irresistible. He would most likely be damned to perdition for taking her, but he could do nothing else. The thought of never having her, never experiencing her joy in passion was unbearable.
“What wing of the manse are you in?” he murmured, wanting to lie with her now.
“Let me come to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are the more experienced and jaded of the two of us.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Would the woman ever cease confounding his wits?
“You have this scent about you, my lord. Your cologne and soap and starch. It is quite delicious and when your skin heats up, the smell sometimes makes me feel as if I could swoon. I can only imagine how much more pronounced the effect will be after the physical exertions of lovemaking. I doubt I would be able to sleep a wink with that scent all over my bed linens. For you, however, the odor of sex would be nothing o
f note. Therefore, I should smell up your sheets, rather than you smell up mine.”
“I see.” Before he knew what he was doing, he had her bent over the cool stone bench and he was kneeling over her, taking her mouth with a need he had not felt since…since…blasted! Who in hell cared when it had been. It was damn well happening now.
His hands cupped the slight curves of her breasts and squeezed, eliciting a moan from her that swelled upward and filled the area of the garden they occupied. Discovery was a very real hazard and yet he could not find the will to cease. He was drunk on her scent, her response, the way she arched upward into his embrace and then shrank back, frightened.
“My very skin aches,” she whispered, writhing.
“Hush, love,” he soothed, his lips moving against hers.
“I—I feel so hot.”
“Shhh, I will ease you.” He stroked down the length of her side trying to gentle what was quickly becoming a wild passion.
Her hands slipped between his coat and waistcoat, clawing at his back. The scratching made his cock throb and he paid her in kind by scraping the tips of his short nails across her hardened nipples. With one hand gloved and the other not, he knew the dual sensations would madden her.
“Christ almighty,” she gasped. Then she grabbed his ass and yanked their hips together.
His breath hissed between his teeth. She cried out.
“Abby. We must find a room.”
She turned her face into his throat, her lips moving feverishly across the sweat-dampened skin. “Take me here.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, certain he was only minutes away from doing just that. If anyone were to stumble upon them now, there would be no way to explain. He was crouched over her like an obvious lecher. She was the innocent, who hadn’t the wherewithal to deny a seasoned rake’s advances.
How had they ended up like this? A stolen moment or two of her company, and he was about to break his one cardinal rule: no deflowering virgins. What fun was there in that? No quick rut, this. There would be blood, tears. He would have to seduce her properly, take his time, delay his own gratification…
