The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington

by Anna Bradley

  He should have taken her into his arms.

  Emma was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered. She’d lied to him, yes—about her name, and her past—but somehow, even amidst the lies she’d had to tell, she’d never told him a single lie about what truly mattered.

  She’d never been anyone other than herself. Not with him.

  Samuel raised his hand to tap on her door, but then lowered it again, sudden doubt overwhelming him. This was madness. She wouldn’t open her door to him. Why should she?

  Yet as mad as it was, he couldn’t make himself leave until he’d seen her again.

  He raised his hand a second time, but before his knuckles touched the wood there was a soft click, and the door opened. Emma stood on the other side, clad in a white night rail, her hair in a loose plait draped over one of her shoulders.

  They stared at each other, neither of them speaking, until at last Emma drew in a trembling breath and asked, “Is there something wrong, my lord?”

  Her words were soft, more breath than sound, and Samuel wondered if he was imagining the tremor in her voice, the uncertain smile gracing the red lips he’d dreamed about every night since he’d first kissed them, weeks ago.

  “No, I…may I come in?” Samuel swallowed, his heart pounding with hope and fear as he waited for her to answer him.

  She didn’t speak. Instead, she drew away from the door, opening it wider, one slender hand beckoning him inside. As he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him, he realized in some dim corner of his mind that he’d go anywhere if it meant she’d be on the other side, waiting for him.

  He’d cross oceans for her.

  She gazed up at him, her eyes two mysterious pools of darkness, so close he could inhale her scent with each breath he drew into his lungs, vanilla, delicate and warm.

  Samuel devoured the lines of her face, his heart pounding. There was no coy smile this time, no tantalizing glances from beneath her thick eyelashes. There was no teasing, no practiced flirtation. She looked just as she’d done that day in the rose garden, right before he’d kissed her, her blue eyes wide, her body trembling for him.

  His mouth went dry as he gazed down at her. Emma hadn’t closed her drapes and the moonlight streaming through the window set her bedchamber aglow, gilding her hair to the softest gold, her skin luminescent, a delicate hint of cream beneath her white nightdress. Lace edged the modest neckline, teasing her skin, the hem billowing around her bare feet.

  She looked like the wraith he’d once thought her, so delicate and ethereal, yet at the same time she was more alive than anything Samuel had ever known. He ached to draw her into his arms, press her slender, curved body against his, and take her mouth until she was pleading for him, breathless and trembling.

  But he only took her hand, and pressed his mouth to her knuckles, his lips touching her scars. Emma let out a soft sigh at the gentle caress. Samuel stilled before slowly raising his eyes to hers, and what he saw in those dark depths made his breath catch.

  Uncertainty, hope, desire, and something else that turned her eyes the deepest midnight blue. He reached for her then, cradling her cheek in his palm, and brought his mouth down on hers. Emma let out a soft moan as her hands came up and sank into his hair.

  He’d kissed her before, in the rose garden, and again in the darkened alcove at Vauxhall, but this kiss was different, because he was different. Samuel held her as if afraid she’d break, overwhelmed with a tenderness that made his throat close, even as she drove his desire to a fever pitch with her soft whimpers.

  He caught her hungry exhalations as they left her lips, devouring them as if they were the air he breathed, the blood in his veins. He kissed her for long, slow moments until at last her lips parted, welcoming him into the blissful heat of her mouth.

  Samuel darted inside, tasting every corner of her mouth, his head spinning as his body grew more desperate for hers. After a battle that seemed to go on for ages, he drew back with a groan, and rested his forehead against hers.

  He couldn’t kiss her again. If he did, he wouldn’t stop. “Emma—”

  “Don’t go, Samuel.” Emma gripped the front of his shirt before he could draw away, her fingers desperate. “Stay with me tonight.”

  A sound tore loose from Samuel’s chest—a groan, or a sigh—he didn’t know which. He knew only that he wanted to sink to his knees for her, and stay there forever. “Yes. I love you, Emma.”

  Samuel had never thought about what it might feel like to fall in love, but now he knew it should feel just like this, gentle but inevitable, as if he’d been standing on the edge of the sand his whole life, waiting for the wave to reach him.

  * * * *

  Love. It was, at once, the one word she wanted most to hear Samuel say, and the last word she ever thought he would.

  It had only been a week since she stood alone in Lady Crosby’s darkened hallway, and thought of love as a spike straight through the tenderest part of her heart.

  She’d thought it dreadful—the worst thing she could ever feel, and she’d felt suspended between the real world, where people cared for and loved each other, and the shadows of her past, not a part of either of them.

  It had always been thus, for as long as she could remember. She wasn’t one thing, and she wasn’t the other, but lost somewhere between them. Madame Marchand’s ambitions for her had made her an outcast at the Pink Pearl. A courtesan like the others, yes, but kept apart from them and reserved for the exclusive use of a single gentleman.

  Things had been much better after she’d gone to Lady Clifford, but even then, she’d been the last of the four of her friends to arrive—too old to be a schoolgirl, too wounded to be of much use, hiding a cold, damaged heart beneath a pretty face.

  A failed courtesan, a pretend schoolgirl, now a mockery of a debutante…they’d all been disguises she’d worn, identities she’d pretended to, until she no longer knew who she was without them.

  Until Samuel.

  He leaned closer so he could look into her eyes. “Emma? Say something.”

  Emma’s throat worked, but she couldn’t speak. Even if she could, she wouldn’t know what to say. How could she tell him he’d given her something she’d never thought she’d have, that she’d never dared dream of? How could she put into words that being here, with him, with the moonlight streaming through the window, felt like coming home?

  She couldn’t say it. She didn’t know how to put such emotions into words, so she didn’t try. Instead, she took the hand that was stroking her cheek, and led him to her bed.

  “Emma?” He searched her face in the moonlight, so hesitant, even as his hands closed around her waist.

  “Shhh.” Emma moved closer, rising to her tiptoes. She let her mouth hover over his just long enough so she could feel the warm drift of his breath across her lips before she kissed him.

  She hadn’t told Samuel she loved him, but she put all of her love into her kiss, and surrendered everything to him. He let out a low groan, his fingers tightening around her waist as he took her mouth desperately, coaxing her lips apart, his kiss possessive, as if he would claim every inch of her.

  “Samuel.” Emma ran her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, hungry for more of his kiss.

  More of him. All of him.

  His hands moved restlessly over her sides, stroking her ribs, his long fingers so warm against the thin cotton of her night rail she wanted him to touch her everywhere, until all the frozen parts of her thawed in a rush of heat. “Take me to bed, Samuel.”

  A low laugh fell from his lips, rich and deep and dark, and full of wicked promises. Emma had never heard such a sound from him before, and it sent a delicious tingle through her.

  “Oh, I intend to, but first…” He dragged his thumbs over her collarbones, a wondering smile rising to his lips when his touch left goosebumps on her skin. “I
want to see you in the moonlight.”

  He slid a finger under the capped sleeve of her night rail, easing the flimsy material down until he’d revealed one pale shoulder. He sucked in a breath, his hot gaze drinking in her bared skin like a man dying of thirst. “So beautiful, Emma. I knew you would be.”

  Emma didn’t have a chance to draw a breath before his lips brushed across the skin he’d bared, tasting and teasing until he’d dragged a husky moan from her lips.

  “Every inch of you, Emma.” Samuel’s mouth moved higher to press kisses to her neck. “I want to see and kiss every inch of you.”

  His cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled from her fingers, his gray eyes wild with desire. This man, so stern and solemn, was falling apart right before her eyes, and Emma couldn’t get enough of it. She traced his lips with her fingertip. “Do what you will, my lord.”

  Samuel nipped at the tip of her finger before pressing his lips to the arch of her neck, then he drifted lower and opened his mouth over the pulse point of her throat. “That little hollow has driven me mad for weeks,” he murmured against her skin. “I dream about tasting you there, and here.” He dragged his fingers down her throat to the sensitive skin between her breasts.

  Emma’s sigh became a gasp when his lips followed his stroking finger. “Oh, that’s…”

  She trailed off, unsure how to put into words what she felt. She’d been touched by a man before, but never by a man she wanted to touch her, and never like this, as if she were precious. It was unexpected and breathtaking at once. Her body tingled, clamoring for more of him.

  “Such perfect skin, like new cream, and such a rosy red right here.” He cupped the curve of her breast, stroking his thumb over her nipple through the thin linen of her night rail.

  Emma gasped and dropped her hands to his broad shoulders to steady herself. “Samuel.”

  “Yes, sweetheart?” Samuel’s voice was soothing, but he continued his teasing caresses, stroking her nipple into exquisite stiffness before lowering his head and taking the reddened peak into his mouth.

  They both groaned at the sensation, Emma tugging desperately at his hair with each draw of his lips. His mouth was impossibly hot, his tongue a delicious torment, his hands cradling her hips to drag her closer, the hard length of his erection settling against her stomach. “Tell me you want me, Emma. Let me hear you say it.”

  “I do want you, Samuel, more than anything.” His kiss, his touch, his soft whispers in her ear—this was how Emma had always hoped love would feel.

  Samuel caught up a fold of her night rail, but he waited, his powerful body shaking with desire, for her to give him permission to remove it. “I want to see all of you, Emma. May I take this off?”

  His gentleness, his sweetness, melted Emma’s heart. She couldn’t speak, but she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and helped him to raise her night rail.

  Samuel groaned as he slowly revealed her, the cool air of the room kissing Emma’s bare ankles, her calves. She shivered when the hem reached her thighs, not from the chill, but from the heat in his eyes, the curl of desire in her stomach, the insistent pulse between her legs.

  “Look at you, with the moonlight gilding your skin,” Samuel whispered when she stood bare before him. His warm palm skimmed the curve of her hip and drifted over the gentle swell of her belly. “I’ve never seen anything as lovely as you, Emma.”

  He dropped a sweet kiss on her forehead, and then…

  Then his hands, his lips were everywhere, gentle but insistent, his palms cupping her hips, one hard thigh pressed between hers. His mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of damp kisses across skin that reveled in the touch of his lips, shivers rising in their wake.

  Emma could only cling to him, her arms around his neck as he dropped kisses behind her ears, nibbled her ear lobe, and sucked the stiff peaks of her nipples until she was crying out for him, a husky plea. He murmured to her as he touched her, his voice dark and rough, his big hands stroking her thighs as he demanded she tell him she needed him, and only him.

  Emma gave him everything he asked, her entire body trembling with need and desire and nervousness, because she’d been touched before, but never like this—oh, never like this, and her body was tightening as it readied, straining toward something, but she wasn’t sure what she needed, or what she was meant to do—

  “Open for me, sweetheart.” Samuel’s breath was hot on her neck, his fingertips stroking her inner thighs.

  Emma did as he bid her, gasping when his fingers slipped between her legs. “God, yes, so warm and wet for me, Emma, so soft, like silk.”

  “Oh, oh…” Emma’s knees went weak as he stroked and teased at her swollen bud, his fingers circling and pinching until she sagged against him. “Please.”

  Samuel wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. He never ceased those tormenting strokes, but continued to work her, his breath hot and fast in her ear and she writhed against him, her hips instinctively taking up the rhythm of his fingers.

  He drove her higher with each touch, setting her body ablaze, crooning to her as he wound her tighter, his whispers dark and wicked, urging her on, commanding her to take her pleasure, to come for him—

  Emma pressed her open mouth to his neck, her moans smothered against his damp skin, the heat between her thighs intensifying, pulling tighter with every nudge of his fingers until it snapped, exploding in a wave of heat, shooting tendrils of pleasure from her core all the way to her fingertips.

  Emma stiffened, clinging to Samuel and crying out. He held her against him with one arm, the other hand still stroking gently between her thighs while her pleasure peaked, then melted until it was no more than a delirious echo of itself. When the last tremor faded and she sagged against him, boneless, Samuel scooped her into his arms and lay her down on the bed.

  He stood over her, his hot dark eyes sweeping over her as he slowly removed his cravat, coat and waistcoat, then he joined her on the bed, brushing the loose strands of hair from her forehead. His touch was gentle, but his gray eyes fierce as he gazed down into her face. “God, I’ve never seen anything more erotic in my life than watching you come for me, Emma.”

  Emma cupped his bristly cheek. “I never have, before.”

  His heavy-lidded eyes widened. “Never?”

  “Never.”

  Samuel went still for an instant, but then a satisfied smile curved his lips. “Only for me.”

  “Only you.” Emma toyed with his damp curls, a lazy smile on her own lips. “I didn’t think women could, er…do that.”

  Samuel dragged a finger down her cheek, a hint of sadness in his expression, but then he smiled, and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “Shall we do it again, just to be certain?”

  Emma couldn’t deny it was an appealing idea, but she shook her head. “Not that, but perhaps…something else?”

  Samuel was lying half on top of her, but Emma squirmed out from under him, rose to her knees and with one quick, graceful move settled herself over his hips, straddling him.

  “Hmmm.” Samuel’s eyebrows rose, but a smile played about his lips as he settled his big hands on her thighs. His eyes were heavy as he took her in, his gaze lingering on her lips, her nipples, and the curves of her breasts.

  Emma gave the hem of his loose linen shirt an impatient tug. “Take this off, please.”

  That dark eyebrow rose another inch, but he tugged the shirt over his head, tossed it aside, then lay back against the pillows. “Is there anything else I can do to please you, madam?”

  “Oh, I’m pleased.” Emma ran her hands over the broad expanse of his chest, the dark, springy hair there tickling her palms, and marveled at the width of his shoulders, the muscular curves of his arms, and the taut, flat plane of his belly. “This is very nice.”

  A low laugh rumbled from Samuel’s chest. “What do you intend to do with it?”<
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  “Hmmm. An intriguing question, my lord.” Emma leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his nipple. “I’ll start with that, I think.”

  Samuel’s eyes darkened. He didn’t speak, but he reached up and caught the ends of her plaited hair. His gaze held hers as he tugged at the bit of thread there and began loosening it, his fingers slow and gentle.

  “There,” he whispered when he’d finished, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders. “Beautiful.”

  The glow in his eyes as he gazed up at her made Emma’s chest flood with warmth. She leaned over him, and let the long locks of her hair drag over his chest.

  Samuel caught his breath.

  Emma braced her hands on his shoulders. “Do you like that, my lord?”

  The strong column of his throat moved in a swallow. “Yes.”

  Emma did it again, letting the ends of her hair drag over his nipples. “And this?”

  “Yes.” He sucked in another breath, his neck arching, the hot, hard length of him twitching beneath her.

  Emma gave a restrained wriggle, just the subtlest twitch of her hips, but it made Samuel hiss, and his fingers tightened around her thighs. “Emma.”

  His voice was hoarse, the sound somewhere between a warning and a plea, but Emma went on stroking his pulsing erection against her core, teasing him, her slow, sinuous movements not enough to satisfy.

  Samuel’s lips parted, and a flush of color rose to his cheekbones. His hips jerked up hard, seeking more friction, but Emma shook her head. “No, my lord. Not yet.”

  A low growl tore from his chest, but he did his best to lie still as she undulated on top of him, her own mouth opening as his breath grew hectic, and his cock swelled beneath her.

  “Do as I say, and be still.” Emma loosened the buttons of his falls and drew the flap down, gasping softly as the head of his cock appeared, swollen and flushed, the tip damp with his arousal.

  “Oh.” He was magnificent. Emma’s tongue dipped into the curve of her bottom lip as she ran her fingertips over the weeping head, gathering the moisture there.