by Jade Lee
She felt his arm tighten around her. Some part of her had known all along that he would do that. His kiss was inevitable from the moment he had appeared by her bed.
She should pull back, she thought. She should move away and order him to leave her bedroom and never come back. She should, but she didn’t. Instead, she lifted her face to his. He touched her cheek first. A quick brush with his fingers. And when she turned toward his caress, she saw his eyes widen and his nostrils flare. She didn’t speak. She hadn’t the breath. She only knew that she wanted this to happen. And she didn’t want to think at all. When his mouth finally found hers, she released a sigh that took her mind with it. No thoughts. No fears. Just a simple, single kiss.
Until it became more.
Chapter 11
His caress feathered behind her cheek, then delved into her hair. His gentleness was only a ruse, she knew. Within seconds, he was cupping the back of her head and holding her in place as he plundered her mouth. And, oh, she liked it. What a glory it was to surrender to his possession as his tongue swept into her.
There was no teasing like last time. No nipping at her lips. Just a slow, steady, thorough possession. His mouth slanted completely over hers. His tongue dominated as he thrust into her. And when she tried to tease him by sucking him deeper into her mouth, he reacted as if she had pushed him beyond his control.
He growled into her throat and, with his free hand, pushed her down on the bed, following her without breaking the seal of their mouths. She might have gasped in surprise, but there was no breath for that. He continued to thrust and parry with her even as his body settled hard and heavy on top of her.
They were both fully clothed—except for his lack of shoes—but the feel of his weight was intimate beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She was shocked by it, and yet, nothing had ever felt more exciting, more thrilling, more exactly what she wanted at that very moment.
She reached up to touch his face, to stroke his cheeks, to run her hands through his hair. She did it, but only absently. It was a soft feeling on her hands when everything else was so delightfully hard. And hot. Good God, his organ was so large as he thrust against her pelvis!
She should not be feeling these things. She should not understand these things! But she was the daughter of a doctor and had been raised in the country as well. She knew exactly what a man looked like, but she had never felt it like this before. He pushed against her in a steady rhythm that drove her wild.
Without her willing it, her legs fell apart. One slid off the bed such that her heel landed on the floor. That allowed him to settle more fully against her, and to her shock, more deeply against her core.
He pulled away from her mouth with a gasp and trailed kisses across her jaw and along her neck. “Don’t be afraid, angel,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”
She wasn’t. Or she hadn’t been until he spoke. But his words started her mind working again. Why would she be afraid? He wasn’t going to hurt her, was he?
His fingers found the buttons of her gown. It was a work gown, not a fashionable one, so the buttons down the front were perfectly accessible. While his organ continued to push against her, the rhythm delightfully steady, he began undoing her bodice, kissing down her throat as he went.
She shifted against him, her mind starting to cry alarms. But the movement only opened her groin more fully to him. There were layers of fabric between them, but he was so large she believed she could feel his every ridge. She even drew her free leg up his calf, tightening her legs to feel him more intimately.
He had unbuttoned her gown almost to her navel now, and her shift was wet from his kisses. He pulled himself upward, one foot dropping to the floor as he levered himself against her. She shivered at his thrust, her whole body arching in wonder at the exquisite feel. And as her head was thrown back in delight, he grabbed hold of either side of her shift and ripped it apart.
She opened her eyes at the sound and saw the bunch of his arm muscles as he brushed the torn fabric aside. She saw the raw expression of hunger on his face as he looked down at her. And then she watched it shift to awe. Awe.
“You are so big,” he said. “I had not realized beneath those ugly gowns.” He ran his fingers along the side of her left breast.
She bit her lip, wishing to hide away. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He didn’t appear to hear her. “So perfect,” he said as he cupped her breast. Then he let his eyes drift shut in obvious pleasure as his other hand framed her right side.
She trembled at the feel of him holding her, his hands so large that he easily shaped her. And when she looked down, she saw tan fingers on white skin, as his thumbs rolled over the rose peaks of her nipples.
“Oh!” she gasped. No one had ever touched her like that. No one had ever rolled her nipples between their fingers, had squeezed and lifted her in such delight. Her belly began to tremble with each stroke of his hands. Her buttocks tightened and she ground against him. Never would she have thought this could feel so good.
She felt his hair brush across her shoulder and then the heat of his mouth across her left breast. Kisses. He was kissing her skin, even as he continued to lift and mold her breasts. His tongue drew circles over her collarbone and breast. And then, he shaped her into a perfect peak that he nipped with his teeth.
Her body had left her control. She was using her legs to drag him closer to her as he moved in a rhythm that was too slow. He began to suck on her nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a pull that was too strong, then just perfect, then not enough.
She grabbed his shoulders, needing something to hold on to. He pushed against her, his thrusts coming harder. She arched into his every stroke while his mouth continued to tug at her nipple. She felt as if her body would burst with the heat as a straight line of fire raged between breast and groin.
She cried out at the glory of it all, her undulations pulling her breast from his mouth. But she felt him rasp her name. “Angel. Angel.” Repeated over and over as he rammed against her.
Then it happened. A wave of pleasure so amazing that her entire body seemed to lift off the bed. She cried out as another wave rolled through her. He too slammed against her, his face frozen on a gasp of wonder: eyes wide, mouth open, and such amazement that she knew she would remember it forever.
Twice more he slammed against her. At least double that many waves of pleasure swept through her. Then he collapsed, dropping his weight full and heavy upon her. His face landed to the side of hers, his breath hot against her neck and shoulder. And still her body moved as yet more waves washed through her. Smaller. Slower. And still wonderful.
Was this what it meant to make love? Was this what married women experienced every night? If so, no wonder everyone rushed to the altar. She lifted her arms, wrapping them around Kit. He was boneless on top of her, but his weight was lovely. And now she could appreciate the soft feel of his hair.
She tilted her head and pressed a kiss to his temple. And when he didn’t respond, she contented herself with holding him in her arms. As she closed her eyes, she pretended they were married. She was holding her husband, she told herself. And tomorrow night, they would do this again. So thinking, she allowed herself to drift into a light sleep.
Kit’s mind was awake long before his body could move. Thoughts collided inside him, slamming against his consciousness even as his body lay in languid release.
What had he done? She was a gently bred woman, and he had just rutted over her like a . . . like the slave he was. He had pinned her down, ripped her clothes, and then feasted on her body. That he released into his pants and not her sweet channel was both a blessing and an embarrassment. What kind of animal was he? With a groan of self-disgust, he slid off her. She sighed as he moved, her eyes drifting open as her near hand played with his hair.
“Is it always so wonderful between husband and wife?”
He flinched at her wording. They were not married nor were they likely to be. Not unless he could ge
t his affairs in order. “I have no idea,” he said with complete honesty. “I have never been wed.”
“Oh,” she said with a dreamy smile. “Of course.”
“But I can say that this was special,” he said softly as he looked into her eyes. “You are special.”
She flushed and glanced away, but she looked pleased with the compliment. “I suppose all men say that afterward.”
He tugged her chin back to him, forcing her to look into his eyes. “There was a time when I said many silly things to women. Exaggerated compliments, ridiculous statements. I have lost the knack of it. I can only tell you the truth.” He took a breath, knowing that his next words were not adequate to his feelings. “I will remember this night for the rest of my life. It will not diminish with time, it will not fade or soften. I will remember you, your touch, your caresses, and your exquisite body.” He rubbed his thumb across her lips. “Thank you for tonight.”
She looked at him, her color pinking to a delicate rose, but she didn’t smile. She liked what he said. He saw a misty gratitude in her eyes. But the sight never reached her mouth or the rest of her body, which had gone very still.
“I have given away too much, haven’t I?” she asked softly. Then her gaze darted to the door. “If someone heard, if someone knows what I have just done—”
“No one heard. No one knows,” he said, praying that it was true. “But I should not linger.” Then he pushed up from her side, regretting the loss of her heat, her touch, her scent.
She straightened as well, pulling the edges of her shift together. He winced at the sight of her torn clothing, of the mess he’d made of her hair and her bed. And yet, she had never looked more lovely to him.
“I am sorry,” he abruptly confessed, and he wondered if he lied. “This was very bad of me.”
She shook her head. “It was my choice as well.”
He stood up from the bed. His pants were an unholy mess and cold as well. Grimacing, he looked around. “Do you have a cloth I could use?”
“Yes. One second.” Straightening up on her knees, she shrugged out of her dress. The fabric pooled about her waist and her breasts bobbed free before him. Just the sight had him stiffening again. God, she was beautiful.
“Angel . . .” he murmured.
But she was busy pulling off her torn shift and handing the soft fabric to him. “Use this.”
He looked at the worn cotton in his hand. He couldn’t. Even though he was the one who’d ripped it, he couldn’t sully her attire with his filth.
“Oh!” she said, misunderstanding. “You wish some privacy, I’m sure.” She started buttoning up her dress, carefully hiding away her glory. If he hadn’t seen with his own eyes, he would never guess the fullness of her figure beneath the ruffles and fichus. If he had the dressing of her, she would be lauded as a diamond this season. Beautiful beyond compare and lusted after by everyone in London.
When she was all buttoned and tucked away, she smoothed her hair and climbed off the bed. He was still standing there like a fool, staring at her, and already hard again. She poured the remains of a pitcher of water into a basin, then headed for the door.
“I shall just refill this and be back. A couple minutes.”
“Angel . . .” he began, but his voice trailed away. He didn’t need privacy. He needed her. And yet he desperately needed to be far away from her, not tempting himself to re-make the same mistake. This time without any clothing between them.
“Don’t worry,” she said in a bracing tone. “I shall give you enough time.” Then she cracked the door and peered out. A moment later she was gone.
He closed his eyes, but that was no help. The memory of her full skin, of her breasts high and full bouncing before him, of her writhing in ecstasy beneath him—all of that was waiting the moment he closed his eyes.
Cursing himself, he forced himself to deal with his mess, but he refused to sully her torn shift. Instead, he tore a wide strip off the bottom of his shirt. It was new and the best in his limited wardrobe, but he counted it as nothing. Using that, he cleaned himself up as best he could, before rebuttoning and tucking all away.
He folded her shift into his pocket. His soiled linen was tossed out her window to land near his jacket and cravat.
He should leave her, he knew. Just being in her bedroom tempted him beyond reason. But he couldn’t. He had come to her room for a reason, and it was not to seduce. He desperately wished it were different. It would be beyond awkward to ask. But he had to know. And if he climbed out now, he would be back within the hour to ask his question. So he stayed, his hands shoved into his pockets and his stance uneasy. At least his right hand was encased in her shift.
She returned too tardy and too soon. She scratched softly at her own door, and he pulled it open as fast as he could. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion and her smile was filled with mischievous delight.
“I feel like a girl sneaking treats from the kitchen at night. No one is about. The servants are gone or retired. We are completely safe!”
She wasn’t safe. Someone still could have heard them. Someone might even now be below the window discovering his clothing. “I, um, I need to leave, but I have to ask something first.”
She nodded as she set down the full pitcher. Then she turned to him, her expression open and expectant. Sliding away from what he needed to ask, he stumbled into another question.
“Do you still have the broach I gave you last night?”
She smiled. “Of course I do.” Then she pulled it out of her gown pocket. The gold flashed dull and garish in her palm. “I shouldn’t carry it around with me, but I couldn’t think of a safe hiding place. So . . .”
“The problem is that I need a fence.”
She frowned at him, not understanding what he meant.
“A jeweler or someone who will buy the piece, melt it down and make something better.”
“But this is an old and valuable broach! It shouldn’t be melted down.”
He shifted awkwardly, and he forced himself not to hunch like a dog before her. “I need to get some English coin. I cannot pay a tailor with jewelry. I need someone who will buy pieces like this and give me English pounds.”
“Oh!” she said, finally understanding. “Of course. But must it be a jeweler?” she said, her brow furrowing as she thought.
“It can be anyone, I suppose. But who . . .” His voice trailed away. She was thinking, her brow creased, her eyes narrowed on something only she saw.
“There is a woman. A baroness who has a fondness for romantic tales.” She flashed him a smile. “She and Rose are very much alike in that. But whereas Rose has almost no pin money, the baroness has a great deal. And her husband absolutely dotes on her. I think, if you spin her a good story, they would pay well for this piece.”
He looked at her, amazement coloring his thoughts. A woman with a rich, doting husband was exactly what he needed. But . . .“I do not know that I am up to spinning anything beautiful these days.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “It shall be easy once you start. I loved every word of Alex’s story.”
“But that was real.”
She shrugged, her lips soft. “It doesn’t matter. Real or not, your words will be perfect.”
He shook his head, but she was looking at him with such light in her eyes. His head stilled, his objection dying on his lips. In the end, he sighed. “I will try,” he promised. For her, he would try anything.
“Excellent.” But then her brow creased with worry. “But I don’t think they are in London yet. They will be, never fear. The baroness loves the Season. A few days. A week at most.”
He nodded, his mind spinning. He might not be in London in a week’s time. Alex’s father had asked him to come by tomorrow. It was possible that the man wanted to invest in Kit’s shipping venture. If nothing else, he might give Kit a loan to restock the ship. Then as soon as there was cargo, Kit would leave. Before, he had believed he would never sail again. But his leg was healing bet
ter than he would have thought. He couldn’t climb the riggings, but he could command. Besides, what choice did he have? Shipping was the only way he could earn a living, and cargo waited for no man. Or woman.
But there was something he had to do first. Something he had to put to rest before he could leave England again. A memory of Scheherazade that needed its final good-bye. And smart as she was, his angel read the need right off his face.
“I suppose,” she said slowly, “that there is something else you want to know, isn’t there?”
He nodded, misery welling up inside him. He had no desire to be with Scheherazade. Whatever he had once felt for her was long gone, and certainly his boyhood desires were nothing compared to what he felt for Maddy right then. But he had come to England with the express intent of returning Alex to his family and reassuring himself, once and for all, that Scheherazade was well cared for. It was her memory that had kept him sane on the boat. And it was his nightmares of her death at his hands that had kept him in Africa when he might have returned home. More even than a reunion with his brothers, he needed to see that she was alive and well. Once he saw that, then he could at last move on from his past.
None of those thoughts found their way to his lips. He couldn’t express the tortured reasoning behind his needs. And in the end, Maddy simply stopped waiting for his explanation. With a blank expression, she stepped over to her dresser and pulled a letter from a pile of papers there.
“Lord and Lady Blackstone sent a brief missive agreeing to attend Rose’s tea next week,” she said, her body stiff and her tone flat. “There was a second letter with it,” she said as she handed him a pristine envelope addressed in a tidy hand. “This letter was for you.”
Chapter 12
Kit took the letter with a shaking hand. It was from Scher. He knew it. And he needed to read it, but in front of Maddy? In front of the woman he had just seduced? He couldn’t do that, especially now that her face had gone flat.
