by Nan Ryan
“What do you think?” Claire said, lowering her lashes.
Hank liked her answer. “I think you feel the way I do.”
She nodded. “Back to the cottages?”
“Look at the traffic,” Hank said, glancing behind them. “It would take us a half hour just to get turned around.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked, brow furrowing, knowing him and herself all too well where the subject of sex was concerned. Now that the topic had been broached, neither would be able to think of anything else until they made love.
Hank waited impatiently until the carriage directly in front of them inched slowly forward, leaving an open space of thirty or forty feet. Seizing the opportunity, he managed to skillfully turn the surrey out of the line of carriages. He blithely ignored the shouted questions his actions incited.
“What’s wrong, Silver King? You not feeling well? Too much champagne last night?” called a fellow owner from a landau just behind.
“Hey, Hank,” shouted another, “you so scared my colt will beat your filly, you going to hide back at the hotel?”
Hank laughed good-naturedly, lifted a hand high in the air and waved away their taunts. He was temporarily, but thoroughly, distracted. For the moment he had lost interest in friends and breakfast and Thoroughbred races.
This golden-haired enchantress beside him was all, was everything. And he wanted her as if it had been weeks, not hours, since last he’d had her.
A short mile away from the oval track Hank turned the surrey off the road and, ducking tree limbs and bumping up and down on the seat as they rolled through thick underbrush, drove to a secluded spot amid the tall, sheltering pines.
The minute the carriage came to a stop, Hank tossed the reins aside, turned, plucked the straw hat from Claire’s head and took her in his arms. They kissed and from the instant his lips touched hers their simmering desire exploded into searing sexual heat. Hank’s arms tightened around Claire, drawing her closer, flattening her breasts against his chest. Her hands on his shoulders, she felt the muscles slide and flex beneath the fabric of his fine linen jacket.
His tongue deep inside her mouth, stroking, arousing, he deftly gathered up the skirts of her bronze poplin suit. His deep, intrusive kiss continued to dazzle and weaken her and before she realized what had happened, Hank had relieved her of her lace-trimmed underwear. Suddenly she felt the warmth of the sun on her bare stomach and thighs.
When finally he ended the prolonged kiss, Hank raised his head and looked at Claire with such intense ardor she was spellbound. So utterly transfixed by him it frightened her. His heavily lidded blue eyes had darkened with lust and there was a sexily succulent curve to his gleaming bottom lip.
He looked at her as if ravenously hungry for the taste of her.
But he didn’t kiss her again. He just gazed unblinking at her while he flipped open the tiny covered buttons of her suit’s tight bodice. A muscle flexed in his tanned jaw when he pushed the opened jacket apart. He slipped a hand around the side of Claire’s throat, put a thumb beneath her chin and gently urged her head back. Then he bent to the swell of her pale bosom which was rising and falling rapidly beneath the low-cut silk chemise.
With his hot face, Hank nudged the shimmering silk down until his lips covered a stiffened nipple. But to Claire’s dismay he only brushed a couple of close-mouthed kisses to it, then raised his head, looked into her eyes, and said, “Say you’ll let me love you in any way possible.” Before she could reply, he added, “Say you want me to love you in every way possible.”
“I do, Hank,” she murmured. “Any way. Every way.”
But she was puzzled when, instead of quickly unbuttoning his snug trousers and taking her, Hank swung off the leather seat, turned about and sat down on the surrey’s floor, facing her.
Heart pounding, not knowing what to expect, Claire, her knees firmly pressed together, gave him a questioning look. “What on earth are you—?” The sentence was never finished. “Ohhh,” she gasped as Hank gently pushed her knees apart, leaned up between and let his lips graze and skim over her trembling belly.
“I have to,” he said, his lips moving against her tingling flesh, “kiss you. Taste you.” He drew a ragged breath and added, “Love you in every way possible.”
He didn’t wait for her permission. He sat back a little, wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees and opened her legs wider. Feeling shamefully exposed, Claire automatically lowered her hands to cover herself. Transfixed by that sexually hungry expression still curving his mouth, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks when she fully realized his intention.
Did lovers actually do such shocking things? Did this incredibly sensual man really mean to…to…
Hank gently swept her hands away and brushed hot, moist kisses across her belly and up and down her thighs where the pale flesh was exposed atop her gartered stockings. Claire squirmed and gripped the leather seat and couldn’t believe that she was behaving so shamefully.
But she didn’t ask him to stop.
Hank gave the duchess every opportunity to say no. To insist that he quit. To tell him she didn’t want this, wouldn’t allow it.
Her intoxicating feminine scent making it almost impossible for Hank to restrain himself, he continued to patiently sprinkle nonthreatening kisses across her silken belly and down the insides of her thighs. Butterfly kisses that tickled and teased and taunted.
When she began to whisper his name and softly sigh, Hank knew she had surrendered. His hot cheek pressed against her cool belly, he stayed as he was for a heartbeat longer. Then he slowly turned his face inward and kissed her naval, dipping the tip of his tongue into the tiny indentation. His face slowly slipping lower, he nuzzled his nose in the springy golden curls between her thighs. He inhaled deeply then blew on the crisp blond coils, stirring them, stirring her.
The duchess stiffened and gripped the leather seat more firmly when Hank lifted a hand and parted the golden curls, completely exposing her to his hot eyes, his hotter lips. With the tip of his lean index finger, he lightly touched her and Claire’s eyes closed with pleasure and expectation.
Hank saw her wince and hold her breath when he took his hand away. He waited for Claire to calm a little. He stayed perfectly still, did nothing more than warmly envelop her with his mouth. He knew, could tell by the subtle lifting of her pelvis, the very second when she wanted more.
He kissed her then. Gently. Sweetly. His tongue barely touching her. He didn’t stroke, lick or circle. He simply kissed her until the slick female flesh warmly enclosed in his mouth was throbbing and a silky liquid was flowing from her, moistening his lips, wetting his tongue.
“Sweet, hot baby,” he murmured huskily and began to love her as she needed to be loved.
Hank eased one of Claire’s legs up and draped it over his shoulder. He urged the other slender limb outward, bending her knee and placing the stockinged leg in an open, cocked position. He put his hands beneath her bare bottom and drew her to the very edge of the surrey’s leather seat.
Again he bent to her, this time burying his face in her. Claire felt his mouth open on her, over her, enclosing her. Setting her afire.
He began to stroke her lovingly. Claire moaned and shivered and couldn’t believe what was happening to her. But she loved it, loved him doing this to her, loved the way it felt.
When Claire began to anxiously press herself closer to the promise of his mouth, Hank lifted her, his hands spread beneath her, and licked and lashed and loved her while she gasped and trembled and clasped his head in her hands, frantically clutching him to her.
Never had she felt anything like this!
The sun hot on her face, Claire sat on the edge of the surrey seat with her skirts up around her waist while the handsomest man she had ever known showed her a brand-new kind of loving. His strong hands holding her to him were possessive, masterful. His mouth enclosing her was hotter than the summer sun. His stroking tongue was a raging fire, licking her with i
ts flames.
And she, shamefully open to him, totally held in his thrall, was a dormant volcano, threatening to erupt at any minute. And powerless to stop the spouting gusher.
Claire didn’t want that to happen.
Not yet.
She selfishly wanted to keep Hank where he was for a long, long time. To spend all day just as they were at this minute. To keep him doing just what he was doing. To make him go on loving her in this shockingly unorthodox way forever.
Claire shuddered with building ecstasy. Strangely, it was as if she were both a willing participant and an invited voyeur. She was right here with Hank experiencing all the wonderful sensations from his incredible lovemaking, but at the same time she was watching the two of them as if they were pagan strangers performing for her benefit.
The players in the amorous drama were perfect for their roles. The handsome, immaculately dressed man seated on the surrey floor between a swooning blond woman’s parted legs. The woman with her dress pushed up and naked to the waist. The man’s head bent to her, his tanned face pressed into the blond curls of the woman’s groin.
What an erotic performance!
Voyeur and participant merged when Hank’s stroking tongue took Claire closer and closer to the edge.
“Hank, Hank,” she began to plead, lunging up off her spine, gripping the leather seat tightly, squeezing Hank’s head in the vice of her thighs. “Please, please…yes…oh, darling yes…oooh!”
And then she was crying out in ecstasy and rocking back and forth until her gripping thighs weakened and fell apart while Hank coaxed the last bit of splendor from her.
When he came back up onto the seat beside her, she sighed and sagged against him, totally spent. Hank wrapped his arms around her and pressed her head to his supporting shoulder. Claire closed her eyes and gratefully rested there.
But only for a moment.
Sighing contentedly and modestly pushing her skirts down, Claire slowly raised her head. She looked at Hank and saw the fire still blazing in his eyes. His lips were gleaming wetly. A vein was throbbing on his forehead. She laid a hand on his jaw, tilted her face up, and kissed him. She tasted herself on his mouth and started to pull away.
He wouldn’t let her. His hand cupping the back of her head, he deepened the kiss and she then tasted only him.
When their lips separated, she looked at him through a fog and said, “Thank you, darling, for—”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“Tell me,” she then said, softly, “that I may love you in any way possible.” Her hand went to his waist-band. “That you want me to love you in every way possible.”
Looking directly into his eyes, she unbuttoned his trousers and released his throbbing erection. While Hank held his breath, she popped her index finger into her mouth and sucked on it. Then she lowered the moistened finger and ran it over the smooth tip of his thrusting masculinity.
And almost gave Hank a heart attack when she slipped down off the surrey’s seat and turned about to face him.
Twenty-Six
The affair between Claire and Hank continued to blaze brightly. They were well suited for each other. Carefree. Passionate. Fun loving. They didn’t care what others thought or said about them.
On their very first night together, they had agreed that this summer romance would remain just that, a summer romance. Neither wanted a lasting relationship. No strings. No expectations. No fidelity. Foot-loose and fancy-free they were and would happily remain.
But…the heart does not always listen to the mind.
Claire found herself dreading the day she would lose her handsome prince of love. Hank caught himself wondering how he could possibly return to Nevada without his regal sweetheart.
Claire refused to believe that she had been foolish enough to fall in love with a man who made no secret of the fact that he had no intention of ever being tied down to one woman.
Hank laughed sardonically at himself; what kind of fool was he that he was falling in love with an independent noblewoman who did exactly as she pleased and needed no one. He had to remember that the duchess was a lively, luscious libertine who’d had many lovers before him and would have many after.
And so would he.
A love affair like theirs was intense, tempestuous, exciting.
Commitment and marriage were something else again. Something neither wanted or needed.
Or did they?
The warm golden days and cool silver nights passed too quickly. Claire wished that she could wave a magic wand and have time stand still. That she could command the hands of the clocks to stop moving this very minute.
It had all been so wonderful and she didn’t want it to end. Incredible as it seemed, she had managed to fool everyone. She had effortlessly convinced them that she was the spirited Duchess of Beaumont. And in so doing had enjoyed the most exciting summer of her life.
But the fairy tale was about to end.
On this lovely August Sunday night, the eve of the real duchess’s arrival, Claire lay in Hank’s arms knowing what he didn’t suspect. That this was to be their last night together.
She would never again wake up to find him in her bed.
Already there was a dull ache in Claire’s breast. How she had loved waking each morning to find Hank beside her. All that rugged, muscled power at rest and tousled midnight hair falling over his forehead. And those darkly lashed, beautiful blue eyes closed.
In repose he looked appealingly peaceful and vulnerable and innocent. More than one morning she had awakened and quietly studied him, thankful for the opportunity to admire him in all his naked male beauty.
Now Claire’s arms tightened around Hank and she pressed closer to the heat of his long lean body. They lay lazily stretched out on her bed in the estate’s upstairs master suite. The balcony doors were open. It was a still night, no hint of a breeze. The sounds of soft music and merry laughter carried on the thin mountain air from somewhere down below in the village.
His free hand toying with the unique medallion she always wore, Hank absently ran the pad of his thumb over the smooth mother-of-pearl disk with its embossed gold profile. He had noticed the striking medallion the first time they’d met. Claire had told him that the profile was her mother, that the medallion was precious to her and that she wore it everywhere, even to bed.
“You’re quiet tonight sweetheart,” he said now with a yawn. “Something bothering you? Something I should know about?”
“No, darling, not a thing,” she replied, giving a performance that Bernhardt herself would have been proud of.
Early next morning, a soft knock on the suite’s double doors awakened Claire. Hank slept on. Annoyed that the butler would dare disturb her when Hank was here, she cautiously slipped out of bed. She drew on a robe, reached up and lifted her loose hair free of the robe’s satin collar, tied the sash and crossed to the sitting room.
Easing the door open a crack, Claire blinked when she saw Olivia standing before her, an unreadable expression on her face. In her hand was a telltale yellow envelope which had not been opened.
“This just came by messenger,” Olivia whispered, nodding to the telegram. “I thought it might be important.”
Claire immediately tensed with apprehension. She stepped out into the corridor, and quietly closed the door behind her. She reached for the yellow envelope, anxiously tore it open, and took out the missive. It read: “Mrs. Claire Orwell, Have had change of plans. Will not be arriving in Saratoga on August 19. Am delaying arrival until Monday, August 26. Charmaine Beaumont.”
Claire read and reread the telegram.
And she began to smile when she handed it Olivia. Olivia quickly read the message and she, too, smiled. Her eyes shining, Olivia opened her arms and Claire eagerly embraced her.
“Not cast out of paradise just yet,” whispered Olivia against Claire’s ear.
“Allowed to play in the Garden of Eden a while longer,” Claire replied.
She gave Olivia a squeeze then stepped back. Inclining her head toward the closed door, she added, “And the innocent Adam is just inside waiting for me to wickedly tempt him.”
Unable to contain her joy, Claire began to laugh. Olivia made a face and put her index finger perpendicular to her lips. It did no good. Claire couldn’t quell her laughter, so she clamped a hand over her mouth and skipped down the stairs. Olivia, now laughing, herself, thrust out her hickory cane and followed.
Staring at the two as if they had lost their minds, the butler sniffed with indignation when they burst out the front door and onto the veranda. There they dropped down onto the front steps, laughing so hard tears rolled down their cheeks.
When finally they’d calmed, Olivia, wiping her eyes, said, “Eve, you better get back upstairs before Adam awakens.”
Claire nodded, hugged her friend once more, rose to her feet and went inside.
She was overjoyed. An unexpected reprieve. A few more precious days to spend with Hank. Another full week with the handsome lover of her dreams—168 more hours with the one man she knew in her heart she would never forget.
Claire silently vowed to make the most of it. She would spend every moment with Hank. Not let him out of her sight!
“Duchess, I need to go into the city one day this week,” Hank announced later that same Monday morning. “I’ll go this Wednesday. We have no entries in Wednesday’s racing program. I’ll take the train down early in the morning and be back up by dinnertime.”
“New York City for the day? Sounds exciting,” Claire said. “I’ll go with you.”
“Ah, no, no, duchess,” he said, shaking his head. “You stay here and relax.” He smiled disarmingly and suggested, “Maybe take Olivia out for a late lunch at one of the hotels.”
“Darling, I’d rather go with you,” Claire said, a feeling of unease swamping her. “We could—”
“Sweetheart, this is strictly business,” he interrupted. His tone sounded slightly strained when he shrugged and added, “I’ll be pretty much tied up the whole time I’m there.”
