She locked them around his thighs as he kissed her yet again. The hard length of him was still encased in linen, but when she lifted against him there was no doubt he was very ready for her. And she felt equally ready. Her sex tingled, wet with anticipation of what he would do to her.
She wanted it all and she wanted it now.
He pulled away and stared at her, his expression almost stunned, as if he was understanding something that had eluded him until this moment. Then he pointed at the bed.
“Slide over,” he said. “And take that chemise off, please.”
She wrinkled her brow but slid to the opposite side of the bed and tugged her chemise off. Then she unbuckled her slippers and dropped them off the bed, as well. She was going to unroll her stockings, but he shook his head. “Not those. I like those, they are very pretty.”
She might have answered, but she was too mesmerized with the way he tugged his half-buttoned shirt over his head with one hand. His muscles flexed as he did it, and she licked her lips at the sight of this man undressing for her pleasure.
He shucked off the trousers, kicking them aside, and then he joined her on the bed. She expected him to roll over her, to take her, but instead he slid his pillow down a little, lay flat on his back and said, “Have a seat.”
Utterly confused, she stared at him, naked beside her, reclining like some kind of king, waiting for tribute. His cock was at half-mast, hinting at the pleasure he could give, but not yet fully ready.
“Er, where?” she asked, and then motioned to his hips.
He smiled. “Later. But right now…” He patted his mouth.
She swallowed hard. “You want me to sit…on your…face?”
“Most definitely. Because I want to do exactly what I did the last time we did this…only I’m very lazy, as you can see, and I’d like to lay here like this while you writhe above me. So…hop on.”
She couldn’t help it—shocked as she was, she let out a laugh. How could she not when he was being utterly ridiculous and playful and just…fun? Owen was fun, and she’d had precious little of that in her life.
“Very well,” she said, and scooted over to him. She straddled him but didn’t sink fully down, just stared at him. “You’re certain I won’t hurt you?”
“Very certain,” he murmured, his voice no longer playful, but rough as he caught her hips and pulled her down hard against him. She hardly had a moment to adjust to the feel of his mouth and chin and teeth against her before he began to lick. Suck.
She caught her breath and tipped forward, grabbing for the carved headrest with both hands as he stroked his tongue over her clitoris with focused purpose. She began to circle her hips in time, grinding down against him as the pleasure built. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her tighter to him, sucking her clitoris hard as she began to jerk with uncontrolled pleasure.
She no longer cared about anything in this world except his mouth on her, his tongue lashing her, drawing orgasm from her like it was effortless. She rode the waves of it, throwing her head back, gasping out his name in the quiet until it felt like she would shatter from it.
Finally, though, the waves subsided and he released her. She collapsed onto her side, sucking in breath, feeling her heartbeat slow at last. She glanced down his body and found he was hard now even though she hadn’t touched him.
He followed her gaze and smiled. “I get pleasure from watching and feeling you get pleasure,” he explained. “Feeling you flutter on my tongue is the world’s best aphrodisiac.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured as she slid her hand down his stomach, across his hip, and caught him in her hand. She stroked him from base to tip once, twice, and reveled in how his back arched with the same pleasure she had recently experienced. “Would it be the same for me? If I took you in my mouth and made you quake, would I be overcome with even more desire?”
He licked his lips. “It’s a good experiment. Though some ladies do not like the act.”
She slid down the bed and glanced up at him as she positioned herself between his legs. “Why don’t we see if I do?”
She didn’t allow him time to respond, but drew him between her lips. A droplet of his essence eased from the tip of his cock, and she tasted him gingerly. She knew her own intimate flavor thanks to him, but hadn’t experienced his. Salty sweet, entirely pleasant. And hearing his moan as she swept her tongue around the head of him was vastly more than just pleasant.
It was power. It was desire. It was everything.
So she dove into the act, learning as she went and reveling in every taste and lick and way she made him twitch. This man was hers, at least for the moment, and she was going to fully use him for as long as he would allow it.
Owen gripped the edge of the coverlet so hard that he thought he might rend the heavy fabric. Christ, but the woman would unman him. Celeste might not have much experience in what she was doing as she took his cock into her mouth, but her instincts were…spot on. She took him deep, she swirled her tongue, she sucked just hard enough that his vision blurred. And she watched him while she did it, reading his reactions, adjusting to them to give him even more pleasure.
He found himself surging up, gently but insistently, taking what she offered, grunting her name as his balls tightened and pleasure arced from his cock through every single nerve ending in his ultra-sensitive body.
He was going to come. He felt it on the edge of happening. And one day, he would let it, he would come with her mouth around him and watch her milk him dry.
But not today. Today he caught her elbows and drew her up his body, mashing his mouth to hers as she settled over him, her wet pussy stroking his cock with as much warmth as her mouth. He reached between them, aligning himself to her with shaking hands. The slippery intensity of her was intoxicating as he thrust into her.
She was so tight, so hot around him, like a glove made to fit him. She barked out a cry against his lips and immediately they moved together, hips grinding in time as if they had been made to do this. For that moment, he believed it. He surrendered to the idea that this woman had been built for him and he for her. To give her pleasure, to take her breath, to make her rock against him with insistent and building desperation.
He wanted to believe it, that she was the one for him, that he was the one for her.
Her nails dug into his chest as she sat up, riding him hard and heavy. He cupped her breasts, strumming her nipples with his thumbs as she threw back her head. Her red hair cascaded around her cheeks, her breasts, his fingers.
She came again, her body gripping him so hard that the border between pleasure and pain blurred. Tears streaming down her face, she screamed into the quiet of the room, and he took it all, mesmerized by her pleasure. In love with her surrender. Wanting this all day, all night, every night, forever.
Only when she collapsed forward onto his chest, her breath heaving, did he roll her on to her back. He moved slower then, gentle thrusts as she came down from the high. Her gaze was blurry and soft as she let her hands stroke over his skin. She lifted beneath him, the ocean of desire much calmer now. Much gentler. But still an ocean, still powerful. Control was an illusion in this moment—her body stole it from him as he took her.
The desire that had built when she sucked him rushed back, hard and heavy and tugging him closer and closer to the edge. He pulled out of the heaven of her heat and stroked himself as he came in a blur of powerful sensation and emotion she had inspired and kept inspiring. Then he collapsed over her, her arms folding around him in welcome, their sweat and their breath mingling.
God, how he loved this woman. And he would do anything in his power to keep her safe, to keep her here, to make her his. Anything.
Celeste had no idea how long she lay in Owen’s arms after they made love. It felt like a lifetime, but a blink of an eye at the same time. That was how it was with him. The moment he touched her, everything else faded away and nothing else mattered.
A dangerous pro
position. And yet she didn’t pull away from it. He was like a magnet in that way. He drew her in and she made no effort to escape from his pull.
“You know there is nothing to fear, don’t you?” he whispered, threading his fingers through her hair gently.
She glanced up at him with a laugh. “Isn’t there? It seems like there is plenty so far. I am a pariah, the experience today aside. I have no money, I have no prospects. Not to mention there is a murderer on the loose.”
When he frowned, she leaned up and kissed him gently. She had thought to mention his suspicions of Abigail, but now she hesitated. What they’d shared had meant so much…she didn’t want to spoil it by stirring that pot. She needed more information. She needed to do a little work of her own before she broached that subject, it seemed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You, of all people, shouldn’t be, Owen,” she said. “Today helped. And not just seeing Harriet and Lena. This. You. You help.”
That seemed to appease him. His harsher expression relaxed, and once again she saw that glimmer of something deeper in his stare. But he hid it again. Hid whatever he felt from her as he drew her back down across his chest. “I hope so. I do try.”
“Today I could see a future for the first time in…”
She trailed off as she tried to think of the last time she had allowed herself to think about the future. God’s teeth, it had to be years, decades perhaps. Her future had never been her own, thanks to her grasping parents and her feckless husband.
“It’s the first future I’ve seen since even before Erasmus,” she admitted at last.
“Good,” he said softly.
He continued to comb through her hair with his fingers. The action was so relaxing, and yet she felt his tension. It practically vibrated beneath her. Why, though? Why the shift? Was it her? Was it them? Was it his suspicions when it came to Abigail?
“You deserve a future, Celeste.”
She lifted her head again and looked down into his face. “I like my present…at present. I like it very much.”
He held her stare for what felt like a lifetime before he caught the back of her neck and drew her in. His mouth just brushed hers, not quite a proper kiss and not what she yearned for the moment he drew her close.
He pulled back and that smile flashed across his face once more, this time a bit more wicked. “What do you say about writing a little note to Abigail and Phillipa?”
She smiled back. “And what, pray tell, would this note say?”
“Hmmmm,” he teased. “Why don’t you say that you’ll be joining me for supper?”
“I think that is the best idea you’ve had yet, Mr. Gregory. Will you get me paper?”
He shook his head. “After. After.”
Then he kissed her and her mind emptied of all the questions and problems and fears. Emptied of everything but the intense pleasure this man always created. Some day it would end. But not today.
Chapter 19
Celeste hunched over the book open at the table in her chamber, the candlelight fading as she scribbled notes. Her stomach ached as she read over what she’d written, what she had etched out a star next to in the book. Nothing made sense and her heart throbbed.
“Celeste!”
She jumped to her feet at the unexpected interruption and turned to find Pippa just inside her doorway, brow wrinkled and eyes filled with concern.
“Pippa, you scared the life out of me,” Celeste said, clutching her hand over her heart.
“I knocked several times and said your name more than once,” Pippa said. “But you were entirely engrossed with that book. What is it?”
She moved forward and swept up the tome before Celeste could stop her. “Harrison’s Poisons and Potions,” Pippa read. “I have had my eye on that one in Abigail’s library, as well.”
Celeste stared at her. “Abigail’s library?” she repeated in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw this in Abigail’s private library a few days ago,” Pippa explained. “She and I were talking about it and she claimed it to be a very good source on remedies. She was so convincing, I began to wonder if developing some knowledge in that area would be something worth pursuing.”
Celeste’s stomach sank at that information and she reached out to take the book from Pippa’s hand. “Is Abigail home at present?”
Pippa cocked her head at the question. “I…don’t think so. She had something to attend to this morning, she said last night while you were still out with Mr. Gregory.”
That was for the best, of course, but it made Celeste feel very uneasy about betraying her friend as she caught Pippa’s hand. “Can you…show me that book?”
“You have it,” Pippa said. “What is going on? Why do you look so pale and what is the issue with Abigail’s book?”
“I will explain in a moment,” Celeste promised. “Will you take me to where you saw it?”
Pippa’s lips pressed together hard, but she nodded and led Celeste down the hall and into a chamber attached to Abigail’s bedroom. It was a small study and there was a row of bookcases beside the fire. Under normal circumstances, Celeste would have cooed and studied the titles, but right now she had to focus.
“Abigail and I had tea here a few days ago when you were out. She told me I was free to come in and take any book I liked at any time,” Pippa explained. “And Poisons and Potions was right…”
She trailed off as she pulled the same book Celeste was holding from the shelf. She gazed from one copy to another. “I don’t understand.”
Celeste took the second copy and moved to the escritoire by the window. She set both down on the top with what felt like a very loud thud. “I hadn’t known about Abigail’s library or her copy. Yesterday at Lady Lena’s Salon, we were discussing the topic of poisons and she offered to send me the very same book. I returned so late that I didn’t begin looking at it before this morning.”
She stared at Abigail’s copy of the book. The pages were worn, as if someone had looked at it often.
“Why were you talking about poisons with Lady Lena?” Pippa asked slowly.
Celeste lifted her gaze. “You know why. There is a belief that Erasmus was murdered using arsenic and I wanted to know more about the poison. I wanted to be able to better help Owen in his hunt. And I wanted to know…to know…”
“How he died.”
Celeste nodded. “Yes. But I’m confused by what I discovered.”
Pippa held out a hand and took the Lena’s copy of the book. As she did so, Celeste said, “Page thirty-four.”
Pippa turned there without answering and began to skim the passage. She paled as she did so, and Celeste knew why.
“You see,” Celeste said. “Arsenic is a known poisoning agent, but it is also in a great many things. The danger of it is usually accidental…or purposeful…poisoning in small doses over time. A slow sickness that is unexplained and takes a victim without anyone understanding what had occurred.”
Pippa nodded. “And yet we were led to believe that Ras was poisoned that night, not over a long period.”
“Which is why it doesn’t make sense. Certainly if the murderer had forced or tricked him into ingesting a large amount of the poison he would have died, but the reaction would have been horrific. There would have been bleeding and vomiting and excrement everywhere. His skin would have turned a horrible red.”
“None of those things were ever described by Abigail, Mr. Gregory or the Duke of Gilmore, and all of them saw Ras dead on the parlor floor,” Pippa breathed.
“They are not details one would leave out,” Celeste agreed. “Even to protect us from knowing the terrible truth. And it makes me wonder…what if he wasn’t poisoned, at least not that way?”
“Why did they believe he was poisoned with arsenic?” Pippa asked.
“I don’t know,” Celeste said. “Owen told me when he first broke the news and I never asked further. But I think it’s time I did.”
She shoo
k her head and absently thumbed Abigail’s copy of the book to the same page that Pippa was looking at in her own copy. She froze as she reached it. “Pippa…the page about arsenic is torn out in this book.”
Pippa set the book in her hand down and rushed to Celeste. “What?”
“It’s torn from the book,” Celeste whispered. “Though it looks as though there was a note written on the page. The imprint of it is on the next page. Is there a charcoal pencil here?”
Pippa went back to the desk and searched the drawers. “I have one here.”
Celeste brought the book to her and they set it down next to her own copy. Pippa drew a deep breath and began to rub the pencil on the indentations on Abigail’s copy of the book. “He…deserves…” Pippa read as the words became clear. She dropped the pencil with a gasp.
“He deserves it,” Celeste read out loud. “Oh God.”
“But this makes no sense,” Pippa said. “How can the symptoms of an arsenic poisoning not match but then someone…Abigail presumably…leave this note on the page about the poison?”
“I don’t know,” Celeste admitted. “I cannot believe…well, I do not want to believe that Abigail could do such a thing. She has been nothing but kind to me and to you.”
“But it is possible,” Pippa whispered, tears filling her eyes. “If Abigail somehow knew the truth, if she knew anything at all about Ras’s selfish actions…” She shook her head. “Oh, Celeste, what do we do?”
Celeste paced away so that she no longer had to see the jagged words written in the margin of Abigail’s copy of the book. “I don’t know.”
Only that wasn’t true. She knew exactly what she had to do. And she also knew what would likely happen once she had done it.
“Celeste,” Pippa said.
She turned back. “We must…tell Owen,” she said slowly. “We must show him what we’ve found. He will have a better handle on the next step.”
Pippa blinked and a tear slid down her cheek. “He will arrest Abigail,” she whispered. “He will see her charged with this murder.”
The Unexpected Wife Page 17
