But as Owen moved to cover her, he seemed just as pleased as she was. Just as light as she was, and he hadn’t even had his own release.
“Let me check,” he said, and bent his head to take her lips. She tasted herself on him, and her laughter faded as he deepened the kiss. She sank into the wicked flavor of pleasure, letting her hands travel to his hips, pressing there as she lifted into him.
He pulled away from her mouth. “Little minx, I definitely want the very thing you are seeking. But if all you want today is to come beneath my tongue, I can wait.”
Her eyes went wide as she stared up at him. “What if I can’t wait?”
“Then I’m happy to serve. Very happy. Incredibly happy and very relieved.”
He kissed her again, then sat up and unfastened his trousers. She sat up with him, holding her breath as he let the fall front drop away, and there he was.
“Oh my,” she whispered, unable to stop herself from reaching out to touch him. He bent his head back with a garbled moan as she took him in hand and stroked.
He was hard as steel, the skin soft as velvet, and she had never wanted a man so much in her life. She shook with it as she smoothed her fingers across his length, loving the surge of him against her palm, loving the tension in his face when she looked up at him and marked every reaction to her touch.
He stood, pulling away from her as he did so, and shed the trousers entirely. She had the wildest, most wicked urge to lick him like he’d licked her, but before she could, he dropped onto the settee on his knees, pressing her back with his weight as he kissed her.
She opened her legs wider and he settled there, but to her surprise he didn’t just thrust into her and take. Instead he focused on her mouth and on smoothing his fingers through her hair. She felt liquid, languid in his arms, all her troubles melted away, all her tension forgotten because he was there and he would make it right. Make her forget. Make her whole.
“Ready?” he whispered, his hand trailing between them, positioning himself at her entrance.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she murmured, the same word over and over because her mind had no other words, no other thoughts, no other needs but having this man.
He smiled, but the smile quickly faded as he slid his cock into her body. Inch by inch, he took, filling her completely as he let out a low, heavy moan of pleasure.
It had been months since she’d done this. It had always been uncomfortable, and she’d been bracing herself for the same, ready to revel in the pleasure that had come before and endure the rest. But there was no enduring what he was doing.
He filled her completely and she felt…alive. Every nerve ending in her body was stimulated, firing at once until there was nothing but sensation. She rose up against him, her fingers digging into his back, and he ground his hips in a circle to meet her, stimulating her still-sensitive clitoris and making her jolt with renewed pleasure.
“Slow,” he murmured as he traced her ear with his tongue, but she wasn’t sure if he was telling her or himself. It didn’t matter. It was all the same now. One body, one pleasure, and she wanted it all.
He thrust, arching his hips against her over and over. She ground up to meet him, her mouth finding his while she drowned in pleasure, drowned in touch, drowned in him.
He increased his pace, grinding harder against her with each thrust, and she realized with a jolt of surprise that he was trying to make her come again. This way. Was that possible?
The question was answered when he took her hand and drew it down, wedging it between their bodies so she could touch herself while he took her. She did so, finding the pace she liked, matching it to his, surrendering to whatever he would give, whatever she could take.
The waves built higher, her fingers moved faster, and then it was happening. For the second time in less than half an hour, she was cresting over the peak of release, rocking against him, her cries caught by his lips as she came and came and came forever.
He gasped into her lips as her body gripped him, his pace increasing again, this time with purpose. She felt the change in him, the loss of control. She saw it by the way the veins in his neck pulsed, by the way his arms shook. When he growled out her name and withdrew, she welcomed the splash of his heat across her stomach and the renewed weight of him as he covered her a second time, panting as he kissed her neck, her shoulders.
She held him close, letting their breath slow together. She had never felt anything like this before. Never been so connected to a person. And even though she had to believe it couldn’t last, she would never be sorry for what she’d done or who she’d done it with.
Owen wasn’t certain how long they lounged on his settee, legs entangled, his fingers threading through her red hair, hers clenching against his chest. He knew it wasn’t long enough. But at some point, they had to move. To address the surrender, because there would be consequences to it.
He shifted and held her steady as he got to his feet, searching around on the ground for his discarded clothing, handing over hers.
She dressed, and when she turned her back so he could fasten her gown, she said, “So what does this…mean?”
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, loving how she shivered in pleasure at the touch. “We are two consenting adults, are we not?”
She faced him with a nod. “Yes.”
He stared into that lovely face, so lined with uncertainty. He wanted to soothe all that away. For a few moments while he touched her, he had. “I would very much like to give you pleasure. You deserve so much pleasure, Celeste. So if you want more, I’m here.”
“And if I…don’t?” she asked, worrying her lip.
He tilted his head. The idea that she would walk away was troubling. But he wasn’t certain she actually wanted to do so. This was, he thought, a test. What kind of man would he be when rejected? And he intended to pass.
He took her hands gently. “Nothing would change. If you don’t want me to ever repeat what just happened, I will admit I’ll be disappointed because it was…spectacular.”
She blushed, but a little smile tilted her lips at the compliment.
“But you get to decide what you do and what you don’t want to do. I’ll respect your decision. And I hope I can continue as your friend.”
She examined his face carefully. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
He nodded even though his heart screamed something different. “I hope so.”
She paced away from him to the mirror mounted above the sideboard and went about fixing herself. He thought that was to keep from having to look at him when she felt vulnerable. Uncertain.
“And if we continue this…affair,” she said, her gaze darting to his in the reflection. “Would our being friends change then?”
“Why would it?”
“Well, perhaps this is all you’d want to do,” she said. “Once you didn’t have to seduce me, you wouldn’t want to take me around London or let me help you with your case.”
He crossed to her, turning her to face him. “I didn’t offer to take you around London or ask you to help me on this case as a seduction, Celeste. The two things are entirely separate. If you decide to come to my bed for a while, I will be very happy. But our friendship doesn’t hinge on it one way or another.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment, and he couldn’t read her expression or if she liked that answer one way or another. But at last she nodded and stuck out her hand as if to shake. “I think it’s a good bargain. I’d like to be…lovers.”
He glanced down at the extended hand with a laugh. “Very formal.” He took her hand and shook it, and she smiled. “Now, may I help you with your hair?”
Her brow wrinkled as her hand fell away from his. “You think you could do my hair?”
“I know I could,” he said. “There were times growing up when my mother could not afford a maid, so she taught me a few simple styles.”
Her eyes went wide and he swallowed hard. He’d never told another lady t
hat in his life. Yet he didn’t regret the vulnerability. On the contrary, it felt…right to connect with her this way.
She nodded and he motioned her to the chair across from his desk. He gathered up the pins that had fallen from her hair earlier and gently tugged free the ones still stuck in the tangles. Once he had placed them on the desk top, he went around to his drawer and pulled out the brush he used on his own hair the many mornings he had a client call and he’d forgotten to go to bed the night before.
With tools in hand, he began to brush out her knots. Stroke by stroke, enjoying the little sounds of pleasure she made that were so close to the ones she’d made when she came. Giving her that was powerful no matter how he got there.
He began to shape and twist the locks, binding them in a loose chignon at the base of her neck with a pretty twist along the sides of her hair.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
He continued to pin and work. “Help me? I suppose you could hold this strand right here a moment.”
She lifted her fingers and pressed them against the lock he needed pushed aside. “I meant with your case,” she clarified.
“Oh, that,” he said with a smile. “You can let go of that strand now. The case, yes.” He thought about it a moment. “Well, I’m working on some clarification when it comes to the Duke of Gilmore,” he said. “As well as…another lead that I’ll talk to you about later if it pans out. And there’s a great deal that is public record when it comes to Abigail, as she was the first and legal wife. But Phillipa is more of a mystery to me.”
Celeste worried her lip. “She’s a bit more of a mystery to me, as well. Abigail is so welcoming, but her personality is to sweep in and take over. Not in a bad way, but she fills a room. Pippa is quieter. Harder to read. What would you like to know specifically?”
He marked those observations with interest. She really did pick up on human foibles and individual quirks with a natural flair. “Well, first why did she come to London seeking Montgomery?” he said. “I’ve never had a satisfactory response to that, always something that diverts attention to another issue.”
Celeste nodded. “That’s true, actually. I realize it now that you say it.”
“Also, you and I both noted her strong reaction when the article in the paper about the scandal mentioned names.”
“I remember. You want me to try to find out why she had such a powerful response?”
“Yes,” he said. “And if there is some kind of alibi that can be established for the time and date Montgomery was killed, it would help. She’s been vague about it all.”
Celeste was quiet a moment. At first it felt like she was just thinking, but then it shifted. Her discomfort became far clearer. It permeated through him as he slid the last pin in place and her hair was finished.
“Do you not like my questions?” he asked gently.
She glanced up at him. “It’s not your questions. I like them both so much. I just worry I’m doing something…wrong. Betraying them somehow.”
He nodded. “I understand. But realize I’m not trying to prove a hypothesis that Phillipa is guilty. I don’t think that. I don’t think any one of those involved is the culprit at this point. By collecting information, I may very well clear her name, as I have yours and the Earl of Leighton’s.”
She worried her lip. The same lip he wanted to nip with his own teeth. “That would be worth it,” she said softly.
He dropped down closer to her and cupped her cheeks. “If you don’t feel right about it, don’t do it. I won’t be upset.”
She held his gaze, as if trying to parse out the truth of that. Then she straightened her shoulders and he saw the steel come back into her. “No. I said I would help and this is helping. I’ll speak to her.”
He leaned in and kissed her, because how could he resist such temptation? When he pulled away, he tugged her to her feet. “And now I am finished with your hair. I hope you think you are presentable.”
She moved to the mirror and her eyes went wide as she stared at herself. “That is perfect, Owen, I can scarcely believe it.”
He shrugged, that flash of vulnerability back and just as uncomfortable as a moment ago. “She taught me well.”
“You told me on our journey to London that she passed.”
He cocked his head. “Yes, she died twelve years ago.” He flinched because it certainly didn’t feel like that many years had gone by. “I’m surprised you recall that fact given all you were going through during our trip.”
“I remember every moment of that carriage ride,” she said softly, and for a moment the air between them grew charged again, just as it always did when they connected in this way or in a more physical manner.
“I am still very surprised to hear you fixed her hair.” Now she ducked her head, breaking the connection that crackled in the air around them.
He nodded. “Well, I think I told you it was just us.”
“Yes, that your father died, too.” She shifted slightly. “That he was not…available.”
He held her gaze a moment. He had met her parents, so he knew that she understood the complexities of having a poor one. And though this wasn’t a subject he often broached with anyone, he felt drawn to do so. After all…she wasn’t exactly a stranger, not after the settee.
“No, he wasn’t. He made it clear through both deed and word that he didn’t want us. When I was younger, it troubled me. I was always trying to prove my worth, as if he could…as if he could love me if I was just good enough.”
“Oh, Owen. I am so sorry.”
He shrugged even though he felt far more than that dismissive action implied. He’d litigated and relitigated all his complex emotions toward the man who’d given him his name. Nothing ever changed, and it never would.
“You needn’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m not the first person to have a lousy father and I won’t be the last. I wasn’t very old when I realized I couldn’t earn what he didn’t feel. And I was more lucky in my mother. She was a seamstress—she actually made gowns for the wife of my mentor, Lord Livingstone.”
“The viscount,” Celeste said.
He smiled because she remembered that fact, too. “Yes. It was impossible not to like my mother. She had the most beautiful laugh. I used to collect jokes and funny stories just to make her smile. I was very lucky to have her, even if I didn’t have her nearly long enough.”
Celeste caught his hand and squeezed gently. “Thank you for telling me more about her. And for allowing me the benefit of your skills.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m happy to have them if they are of service to you.”
She smoothed her skirts and shook her head, breaking the moment. “And now I should probably go back. They’ll wonder where I am if I don’t send word or return.”
He glanced at the clock. “Yes. I’ll have the rig brought around.” He moved to the door, and there he turned. “Celeste?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for today,” he said softly. Then he left her there, staring after him. He was completely unaware of whatever thoughts were going through her mind. And far too aware of his own thoughts and how swiftly they were taking him to dangerous places. Places where he could be more to this woman than a lover or a friend.
Chapter 14
As Owen pulled the phaeton back up in front of Abigail Montgomery’s house, he smiled at Celeste. She’d been quiet during the short ride, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.
“I know we didn’t do exactly what you hoped—” he began.
She turned a little to face him. “That was exactly what I wanted to do, Owen.”
She covered his hand with hers and they both watched as their fingers interlaced. She let out a sigh. “If I’m quiet, it is because I’m thinking of how to best approach Pippa.”
He wrinkled his brow. “If you can speak to her, wonderful, but please don’t trouble yourself. This is my investigation and I will find another way if there is no route through your c
onnection.”
Her lips parted and she leaned a little closer. Too close, perhaps, for propriety, but it didn’t matter in that moment. “I promised you I’d try,” she said softly. “That I’d help. And I keep my promises, Owen Gregory.”
He swallowed hard at the spark in her eyes. The determination that was so attractive to him because it was so much like his own. Then she blushed and turned her face and the moment passed.
“I should go in,” she said, motioning for the waiting footman who came to help her down. “Thank you again for the day.”
“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, and watched as she trailed up the stairs and into the house.
At the door, she paused and looked back at him, but then she was gone, and he drew the first full breath he’d been able to take since the moment when he’d come here to collect her. That’s what she did, after all. Took his breath away.
He settled back and was about to pull his phaeton from the drive when he saw a flash of movement from the park directly across the street. The figure of a man, who ducked behind a tree as if trying not to be seen.
Owen clambered down from the rig and crossed the quiet street, searching for the person as he scanned the bushes and trees in the park. Seeking out people that weren’t on the trails and walkways.
The movement flashed again, from behind a bush this time.
“You there!” Owen called out. “I see you, so there’s no purpose in hiding. Come out.”
A brief silence followed and then a rustle from the bush. To Owen’s shock, the Duke of Gilmore stepped from behind the shrubbery, brushing small leaves from his fine greatcoat as he did so.
“Your Grace?” Owen said. “What are you doing here?”
He had a thousand guesses as to the answer to that question. After all, he hadn’t yet cleared Gilmore from his suspicions, but he wanted to hear the excuse the man would come up with for this very odd behavior.
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