by Diana Quincy
She complied without question, pulling his shirt over her head and tossing it away, revealing firm, full breasts with a beautiful upward-tilting shape. God, she was something. He splayed his fingers at either side of her round, bountiful hips.
She blinked, arousal darkening her eyes. “Now what?”
“Now you are in control. You move until you find what feels good to you.” He helped her find the rhythm that seemed to work the best for her, his heart contracting when she threw her head back with carnal abandon and rode him the way he imagined Boadicea had ridden into battle: fearlessly and free of self-restraint.
She leaned forward and touched her mouth to his. This time not waiting for him to take the lead, she used her tongue to breach his mouth. He eagerly took her in, turning the kiss into something hungry and relentless. He cupped her breasts with both hands, squeezing and relishing their heavy suppleness before his hands slid down to grasp her generous hips. She was all woman, this one. Gloriously so. And he couldn’t get enough of her.
She pulled away, and he didn’t know whether she purposely meant to tease him but she left him mad for more of her. Riding him in slow sensual movements, she took her pleasure, her fiery hair streaming about her shoulders, her breasts jiggling as she moved. Lust, desire, and need suffused his body, overtaking his senses. He craved everything about her.
“This is far better than I anticipated,” she sighed.
“What?”
“Joining with a man. With you.”
His vision blurred. An embarrassing ache developed in his throat as he watched her move above him. “It is,” he agreed. “So much better.”
—
Afterward, they fell asleep entwined with each other, warm and sated. Sparrow couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so content and fulfilled. When he woke, the room was almost dark, the sun having all but disappeared from the sky beyond the large windows. The household seemed quiet and still. He would have to go soon. Her parents could return at any moment.
He pressed a kiss against her warm, smooth neck. Guilt pressed hard on his chest. She wasn’t a woman to be used and abandoned. “Don’t marry Worsely,” he whispered impulsively. “Marry me instead.”
“What?” She went still. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve compromised you quite thoroughly.”
She was quiet for so long that he thought she might have fallen asleep. When she spoke, her tone was light. “And I quite thoroughly enjoyed being compromised.” She shifted up so that her mouth took his in a long, languorous kiss. “But that is not a reason for us to be tied to each other for eternity.”
He suspected she waited to hear words of love. He could say them. But that would be dishonest, because that part of him was dead and he could not countenance being untruthful with her. So he said nothing.
Pressing another quick kiss upon her forehead, he slipped out from under the drop cloth they’d used to cover themselves and reached for his clothes.
He hated to leave her, but he did.
Chapter 17
Emilia gripped Edmund’s hand, worried she might pitch over at any moment. “Can I open my eyes yet?”
“Just a few more steps.”
When Edmund had appeared to pay his weekly call, he’d insisted on taking her out because he had a surprise he was eager to show her. Still feeling dreamily delicious in the aftermath of yesterday’s lovemaking session with Sparrow, she hadn’t even wanted to receive him, much less go on an outing. But he was still her betrothed—at least at the moment—and it would be unconscionably rude to turn him away.
So here she stood, with her eyes closed in a strange building that smelled of beeswax and lemon. He’d made her promise not to peek when the carriage had stopped, and had led her up some stairs and into this building, which sounded empty, considering the way their footsteps and voices echoed up into the ceiling.
“We’re here.” She registered the anticipation in his voice. “Open your eyes.”
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden light. When she focused, she saw they were in an empty space that appeared to the salon of a sizable town house.
“Well.” Edmund watched her expectantly. “What do you think?”
“What do I think?” She looked around. “About what?”
“This place. Your father wants to buy us a house as a wedding gift. We haven’t been able to find one up until now, but I believe this is perfect for us.”
They had looked for a house together before their first aborted nuptials. But Emilia had been so anxious to move to Paris that she hadn’t given house hunting much attention. Edmund, though, had apparently carried on the search without her.
Staring at the pale lilac walls and intricate plasterwork on the walls and ceiling, she tried to muster some interest. “It’s lovely.” She said it because it was true and because it was clearly what he wanted to hear.
She didn’t know how to tell him that now that she’d been with Sparrow, had felt him moving inside her, she could no longer imagine a life with Edmund, who expected to wed and bed her in little more than a week. She now understood her decision to marry him had been based on a naïve view of matrimony and an almost childlike perspective of the nature of a relationship between a man and a woman. Now that she’d experienced true intimacy with Sparrow, she could settle for nothing less.
She’d been irrevocably changed by their lovemaking, even though she’d pretended otherwise to Sparrow, implying their joining was merely an enjoyable interlude in her life. As if that were possible. It would be like ignoring an earthquake while the ground shook and everything around you crumbled.
She couldn’t fault Sparrow. He had been completely honest with her. He believed he couldn’t give her what she needed in a husband. A man to love her fully. Edmund couldn’t give her that either, of course. Which was why she now knew she couldn’t be his wife. To pretend she could was the height of dishonesty.
“I knew you would like it.” Edmund took her hand and urged her across the marble floors toward the back of the house. “But wait until you see the best part.” They came into a beautiful room with large windows overlooking the small garden. He eyed her expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”
“Is it the breakfast room? I like it very much.”
“No, this is the lady of the house’s private sitting room, but I thought you might like to use it as your studio.”
The suggestion shook her from her fog. She blinked. “What?”
He strode over to the window. “The light is excellent, is it not?”
“Yes.” The room would be perfect as a studio. Her heart softened at his unexpected thoughtfulness. “The light is very good indeed.”
He came to her, taking both of her hands in his. “We shall be very happy here.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. His mouth was warm and supple, the kiss not unpleasant, but, absurdly, she felt as if she was cheating on Sparrow. Pulling back, Edmund looked warmly into her eyes. “I find myself becoming more and more eager to begin a life with you.”
“Truly?” She searched his face, confusion clouding her mind.
He gazed fondly at her. “Is it so surprising for a man to develop a tendre for his future wife?” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss against her palm. “I do not mean to presume,” he said, almost shyly, “but do you think you might come to care for me in time?”
“Any woman could fall in love with a fine man such as you.” Before Sparrow that might have been true. Now, though, she could not imagine loving anyone else. But how foolish it would be to spurn Edmund, who wished to wed her, for a man who’d already told her he could never love her. And yet, she felt quite foolish at the moment.
Edmund’s eyes lit up. “You have made me the happiest man in London.” He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time with more heat.
She tried to respond but found she didn’t know how. It was as though she was made for kissing only one man. He pulled back, regarding her with
a quizzical expression.
“I am sorry.” And she was. Mostly because she regretted not caring for this man the way she should. This man who wanted to marry her, as compared to the one who did not.
“There is no need for apologies,” he said. “It’s perfectly normal. You are an innocent maiden. In time, such intimacies will become less strange to you.” If only that were true. With Sparrow, physical closeness hadn’t been strange; it had felt natural, inevitable, unstoppable.
“Come.” Edmund took her hand. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
Feeling numb inside, she nodded and followed him into the entrance hall. As they mounted the stairs, he said, “I can imagine us living our life here, can’t you?”
“Oh yes.” But she couldn’t. It was becoming more and more difficult to envision their living anywhere together as a couple. However, the logical part of her brain demanded that she at least try.
—
“Are you certain you’re well, my dear?” Emilia’s mother laid a cool hand against her forehead. “You haven’t seemed yourself lately.”
“I’m fine.” Emilia was in her studio, curled up on the old cream settee where two days ago she’d made love with Sparrow. Her mother perched on the arm of the settee while Sophie moved around straightening the art supplies littering the large wooden table in Emilia’s studio. Emilia didn’t know why she bothered. It wouldn’t be long before it was all messy again.
“Your cheeks are awfully rosy, but you don’t seem too warm,” Mama said, taking her hand away.
“It’s just a touch of a megrim.” Emilia set aside her sketchbook, the one that contained her nude drawing of Sparrow hidden far back beneath several pages. She wanted everyone to leave her alone so she could finish it. To be left alone with her thoughts and relive their one afternoon of intimacy. She wanted to wrap herself in the remembered sensations, tastes, and textures. To close her eyes and summon the memory of Sparrow moving within her, to recall the way the cords in his neck strained just before he’d reached his crisis.
A worry line wrinkled between her mother’s perfectly shaped brows. “The wedding is just days away. It wouldn’t do for you to become unwell, especially after what happened last time you were to marry Edmund.”
When Sparrow had kidnapped her at the altar and taken her on the adventure of her life. “Put your mind at ease, Mama. I assure you that I am as healthy as a horse.”
“Very well.” Seeming unconvinced, Mama floated toward the door. “If you are certain.”
Sophie left the room and returned with the tea tray Emilia usually took at this time. “You are mooning over Sparrow, n’est-ce pas?”
Emilia started. “What?” she said too quickly. “No, of course not.”
Skepticism hummed in the maid’s throat. “As you say.”
“Why do you think such a thing?”
Sophie poured the tea. “I see the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you.”
Emilia leaned forward toward the maid. “How does Sparrow look at me?”
Sophie came over with the tea, placing the saucer on the small round wooden table next to Emilia. “As though he cannot bear to be parted from you.”
Emilia’s heart twisted in her chest. If only that were true. “Believe me, you have misconstrued what you have seen. Sparrow can easily bear to be parted from me.” All men could, it seemed. Both Sparrow and Edmund had demonstrated as much, and she had no other experience with men.
“And what about you?” Sophie crossed her arms over her narrow chest and leaned her hips back against the worktable. “Will you marry Mr. Worsely even though you love another?”
Emilia choked on her tea, coughing and sputtering some of the liquid down her chin. “What makes you think I love another?” The words were strangled because the tea had gone down wrong.
“Because you are not the sort of lady to give herself to a man whom she does not love.”
“Give myself?” She stiffened as alarm shot through her and took on the tone of a lady speaking down to her maid, condescension mixed with warning. “What are you implying?”
“Alors.” Sophie did not appear the least bit cowed. “It was apparent when I returned from my afternoon off two days ago. There are certain signs of intimacy that are obvious.”
Heat suffused Emilia’s cheeks and she lost all hauteur. “Oh.”
“Oui,” the girl said with a firm shake of her head. “I have cleaned the drop cloth by the settee.”
Where Sparrow had spent himself to avoid getting her with child. Aghast, Emilia covered her face with her hands. “I’m such an idiot. I should have remembered to do that.”
“You are a lady with beaucoup blunt who has never had to clean up after herself.” Sophie shrugged. “C’est normal for you not to think of this.”
“But what if the housemaids discover—”
“They will not. As your lady’s maid, my place is to serve you in all ways. When I returned and surmised what had happened, I aired out the studio immédiatement. You will also find the drop cloth no longer bears any signs of any indiscretion.”
“You must think me a terrible person to lie with one man when I am meant to marry another.”
“It is not my place to judge you. Do you still intend to wed Mr. Worsely?”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “I do not know anymore. I’ve spent the last two days going over it in my mind. Even if I cannot be with Sparrow, I’ve considered telling Edmund that I cannot marry him.”
“Do you hope to be with Sparrow?”
“He has made it clear that he is not interested in such an arrangement. But, even so, Sparrow has shown me how wonderful life can be with the right person. Even if I never find such a man to wed, perhaps I should take the risk of trying to find him.”
“You are to be wed in a few days. You haven’t much time to decide.”
“I was very close to crying off but then Edmund showed me the house he wants us to live in. He seems to really care for me.”
“He has confused you.”
She nodded. “Terribly so. I would be foolish to make a serious, life-altering decision such as calling off my wedding while I am still mooning over Sparrow, a man who has made it clear that he does not want to wed me.”
“Sparrow, he has experienced certain events that make it difficult for him to give his heart to anyone.”
“What sorts of difficulties?”
“That is not for me to say. I keep Sparrow’s confidences just as I will keep yours.”
—
“Easy now.” The Duke of Sunderford ducked, narrowly avoiding Sparrow’s hard left swing. “This is supposed to be a friendly bout.”
Sparrow’s other muffled fist connected with Sunny’s jaw with such force that the man’s head snapped back.
“Damnation.” Sparrow cursed, remorse filling him because he’d swung too hard. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes, you damn well did.” Irritation edged Sunny’s words. “But I am not injured.” He stepped off the floor of the boxing saloon with Sparrow following. “What the devil is the matter with you?”
“Hell if I know.” He hadn’t slept well. But this time it wasn’t the nightmares, the visions of his men’s bloody corpses, that had kept him awake. It was the memory of Emilia moving atop him as she made love to him.
They paused by the weight scale to unwrap their mufflers. “If I were to venture a guess,” Sunny said in that droll way of his, “I would say this monk’s life you’ve adopted of late has resulted in far too much pent-up aggression.”
If only that were true. He was out of sorts precisely because he had bedded Emilia. And because he couldn’t stop thinking about her or about the way it had been when they’d been together. He’d felt so connected to her, as though bound by invisible strings.
Her soft murmurs during intimacy, the smooth slide of her body against his, all of it cluttered his mind, making it difficult to think of anything or anyone else. The most elemental part of him
felt that by bedding Emilia, he’d made her his. But he had little to offer her save a bankrupt estate and a barren heart. And goddammit if he didn’t want to bed her again. Very badly. Almost to the point of obsession.
“Sparrow!” Sunny’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts.
“What?” he snapped.
Sunny’s eyes widened. “I say. You may as well wed Lady Harrington. Perhaps bedding a wife—or anyone—will improve your countenance.” When Sparrow didn’t respond, Sunny added, “Are you woolgathering now as well?”
Sparrow headed for the changing room. “I’ve a lot on my mind.”
“That much is apparent. Anything you’d care to share?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin. But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
He caught sight of a familiar figure, a smallish man with a compact body and full head of dark hair, standing outside the changing room.
“Tanner.” He greeted the man he’d tasked with ferreting out information about Dominick Ware. He didn’t bother to ask the man how he’d ascertained where to find him. Tanner always seemed to know how to run people to ground.
Sunny ran an appraising eye over Tanner. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said to Sparrow before continuing on to the changing room.
Sparrow turned to Tanner. “You have something for me.” It wasn’t a question. Tanner wouldn’t be here otherwise.
The man’s perpetual scowl loosened into something resembling a smile. “Aye, that I do.”
“Out with it, then.”
“Your Dominick Ware is interested in stolen goods.”
“Yes, that much I already know.” Sparrow moved impatiently. “Do you have anything new to share?”
“I do.” One of Tanner’s dark-stubbled cheeks bulged with chewing tobacco, a filthy habit the former mariner had picked up during his travels to Africa. “Ware is particularly interested in stolen paintings.”
