She rose up as he caressed her and then resettled, each downward slide wicked torture to his erection, impatient and swollen within his breeches. She was a seductress. She’d beguiled him from the start and he never wished to let her go. They’d crossed a line now. There’d be no turning back and as if to solidify that realization, he grew harder still.
Bloody hell, he would spill himself in his pants like an untried green lad. He needed more, and she could only have read his mind. Too much fabric pooled between the two of them and she pushed it aside, all the while he worked to loosen the buttons of his breeches. They fell into another kiss while the seductive skim of her nipples across his chest urged him to work faster. The friction of skin to skin, heat pressed against heat, was maddening. He leaned back against the divan cushions and swept his palms beneath her skirts, smoothing upward over her shapely knees trapped by the thin fabric of her drawers, wanting to bring her to climax, her head thrust back, eyes closed, and hair mussed, falling silently about her bare shoulders. A graceful goddess of seduction and beauty. An enchantress who’d stolen his heart.
Next time they would be gloriously naked, nothing between them but sweat and desire. Next time they would be in his bed.
Her muscles tensed beneath his touch and yet she did nothing but still in his lap. He spread his thighs, which in turn widened hers. One hand found her bottom, holding firm, the curve of her derriere as perfectly formed as every part of her, while the other traced along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, slowing as her heat increased until he stroked with the lightest pressure along the slit of her drawers.
She jerked as if startled and then dropped her head to his, three lovely words whispered for his ears only: “Finally. Yes. Please.”
He did as he was told and slid his fingers upward along her thigh to stroke into her wet heat. She clutched his shoulders, her fingertips biting into his skin with impatience, and he watched her face, never having seen anything so arousing or erotic as Caroline in the midst of pleasure. He stroked harder, deeper, finding the hidden pearl in her slick folds and rubbing with insistence, wanting to offer her relief and so much more. This he could give her. This moment belonged to the two of them alone and he wanted to make it last and last and last.
He knew when her endurance was spent. Her thigh quivered against the back of his hand, his fingertips drenched with her desire, and as she moved to squeeze her legs closed, he plunged his finger inside deep, her climax fraying the last threads of his control.
She fell forward, her breathing husky against his ear, and she nuzzled her face into his neck, the tips of her breasts again wreaking havoc with his grasp on control. But she possessed not an ounce of selfishness, and after the slightest pause, their bodies damp with sweat, she pulled back, her eyes aglint with mischief and mayhem as her fingers moved the placket of his falls aside.
His erection needed no encouragement. Freed from his breeches, he watched as her eyes widened, once glassy with arousal, now stark with a newfound clarity.
“I didn’t expect you to be so big.”
He chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. “I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered.”
“I’m…”
“You’re ready, love. You’re soft and wet and so very ready for me.”
He wouldn’t allow conversation to intrude upon their delicious joining, and with a kiss meant to reassure and ignite he gently brought her hand forward, wrapping her fingers around his erection. Her soft touch on his hard arousal sent unbearable sensation to every point of his being. He was tempted to rock back against the cushions, close his eyes, and fall into oblivion, but he wouldn’t miss watching Caroline work him, ride him, find immense pleasure in their coming together.
She tightened her grasp, finding her way, instigating ache and at the same time soothing his raging desire. She’d donned a look of concentration and again he was tempted to chuckle, her earnest dedication to the task admirable, but a much more satisfying ambition came to mind.
He wrapped his fingers around hers, eased her hand to slow, releasing her grip, and gently positioned himself against her sex. They stayed that way a long moment until she raised slightly on his lap, their eyes matched, their hearts thrumming.
Then he came up off the cushions and crushed his mouth to hers. It was a hungry kiss that turned tender, a passionate quest that immediately became a gentle act of worship. He kissed her deeply, and as his tongue caressed hers, wrapped tight in her embrace, he guided himself in.
This was madness. This was lovemaking. This was pure joy and nothing else.
She settled atop his erection, though he could tell she held back. Her thighs trembled. His cock throbbed. Hot pleasure surged through his veins. He needed her. Wanted her. Couldn’t wait a moment longer.
With as much care as possible, for he would never hurt her, he grasped her hips and sank into her snug heat. He nearly blacked out from the intensity of sensation. She was so tight. Her muscles held him still, stretching and squeezing, until he thought any movement would be the death of him.
But the lady had other ideas.
Achingly slow, she lifted herself and resettled. He growled in response, his breathing broken, as if he’d run a long distance and hadn’t enough strength to draw another breath. It was exquisite torture. Unfathomable delectation. His mind emptied by the surge of sensual fulfilment, his body reduced to nothing more than primal gratification.
“Caroline,” he rasped. “I can’t…”
But his complaint was lost to her as she rose again, confident in her purpose, her fingers now at play with the hair at his neck, her thighs strong aside his hips, her body working his as if they were created for each other alone. She came down with surety, taking his full length, tilting her hips slightly to further her pleasure.
She kept on. Riding him, reveling in her ability to render him speechless, helpless. His pulse drummed. His fiery blood rushed within his veins. Her knees pinched into his hips, her fingers tugging his hair. She was close. He was closer. He couldn’t wait, though he wanted it to last.
And yet, they fell into pleasure together, her cry overridden by his guttural groan. And then sated, amidst gathered silk with his boots still on his feet, he pulled her against him, skin to skin, heartbeats touching, and held her as he begged for his pulse to calm.
“How did you know to move like that?” He was glad her head rested against his shoulder and they weren’t face to face as he asked.
“You said it was like riding a horse.” Her whisper sounded sleepy, and he imagined her in his bed for the hundredth time.
“But you’ve never ridden astride. You said—”
“I’m cold.” She shivered and pulled closer to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tighter.
Devil take him, his body was on fire. Surely, several internal organs were scorched from their heated lovemaking.
“Let’s get you covered.” He was no better than a cad, a notorious rakehell. He’d stripped bare the woman he loved before a waning fire in his drawing room without a towel or basin of water in sight. He would do better next time. Next time he would cherish her as she deserved.
He reassembled himself and assisted with the wrinkled layers of her underclothes and gown to the best of his ability. They didn’t speak more, though her cheeks remained rosy and a slight smile played at her lips the entire time.
“I’m sorry, Caroline.”
Her head whipped up and she matched his eyes, her expression incredulous. “Sorry?”
“Never doubt I love you, but these conditions were less than what they should have been. Next time, it will be better. I will do better.”
“Next time.” A smile broke across her cheeks. “Better? I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He heaved a sigh of relief, anxious to replace his concern. Then he began to hunt for his shirt.
* * * *
Caroline eyed Jonathan as he retrieved his clothing. His body was magnificent, a work of art composed of sculpted muscle and hard sinew. Dark hair dusted over his ridged abdomen, downward in a kite string past his navel, where it disappeared into the waistband of his breeches. Now, as he raised his arms over his head and replaced his shirt, a spike of possessive desire lanced through her.
They’d made love. They were in love.
Still, she wondered what any of it meant, considering the circumstances.
She’d arrived at his home to seek help for her father and decidedly withheld the information. Lindsey hadn’t offered more than words of affection. No commitment. And did that matter anyway? No doubt he would marry one day and need a successor. She couldn’t produce the heir to secure his continued lineage. While she’d experienced unleashed freedom and joy a moment earlier, despair now stole the emotions away on a rush of insecurity.
“What is it?”
He was far too observant for his own good, but she was saved from explaining by a thunderous knock echoing through the hall. Jonathan glanced at the clock across the room, scowled, and turned to her, his brows raised in question.
“Stay here and I’ll rid the house of whoever dares to arrive at this hour.”
He unlocked the door and then closed it behind him as she dropped into a chair closest to the fire, her head filled with too many questions to consider.
* * * *
Lindsey hated walking out of the room. Short of an emergency, whoever bothered him at this time of night needed an urgent reason. He whipped the door open before a servant appeared, despite the house was shut for the evening. He shouldn’t have dismissed Hobbs, but then he hadn’t wanted anyone else on this floor.
“Mills? What’s the meaning of this?”
Belatedly he remembered his friend had promised him the Morta. It was as if nothing really mattered anymore. He was lost to Caroline.
And yet he’d left her sitting in his drawing room after their extraordinary intimacy. Bloody hell, he’d abandoned her again. Albeit not the same, he turned a wayward glare toward his friend.
“Invite me in, will you?” Mills stepped over the threshold, a wrapped package in one hand. “For you, as promised.”
Lindsey’s attention dropped to the painting, and when he didn’t reach for it Mills leaned it against the legs of the mahogany occasional table at his right.
“Invite you in?” His conscience smarted. He could be enjoying Caroline if not for his father’s impossible demands. But there lay the rub, didn’t it? Caroline claimed she wouldn’t be able to bear children. It was a tricky knot, the conditions his father had placed on his son’s inheritance.
“I promised you the painting.” Mills eyed him as if he were mad. “After all, you did keep your word.”
“My word?” Apparently, an evening of mind-altering lovemaking had turned him into a bloody parrot.
“Can’t we move beyond the foyer?” Mills made to advance toward the drawing room doors and Lindsey stayed him with an upraised hand.
“It’s late and I’m exhausted.”
“Very well.” Mills glanced around the foyer before he continued. “You kept your distance from Lady Nicholson. I honestly doubted you would be able to resist. I saw the look in your eyes whenever you glanced in her direction or heard her name mentioned. You were the fox and she, the little hen.”
I saw her and my world stopped spinning. All the chaos and disappointment ceased. Life demanded I take notice.
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Lindsey straightened his shoulders to shake away the threat of ill-ease. He wouldn’t like what Mills said next.
“But I suppose my concern was all for naught.”
Wrong.
Although Lindsey would never correct him. True, he’d acted territorially, as if she were his, and he’d protected her fiercely when he’d spoken to Mills. Also true, jealousy tore through him every time he saw another man admire or pay her the slightest attention, but those were emotions he’d rather not examine. Jealousy and insecurity were traits of an inexperienced schoolboy, not a grown man. Unless, perhaps, that man had little experience with cherished emotion.
Still, none of it signified. At this very moment, Caroline waited for him in the drawing room, atop the divan which still held the musky scent of their lovemaking. His shirt still held her perfume, and his lips, the heat of her kiss.
“Turns out, the lady and I wouldn’t suit,” Mills continued, unaware of Lindsey’s mental scrutiny. “She’s too independent for my taste.”
Lindsey refocused, but again he didn’t reply.
“I wish to marry, but want none of the complications. Lady Nicholson doesn’t seem the sort to remain sanguine while I perpetuate my unfettered habits.”
“Indeed.” Mills was a fool, but Lindsey wouldn’t point out the flaw. If he ever decided to marry, Caroline composed his vision of perfection: rare intelligence, remarkable wit, and unmatched beauty. Why would a man want for any other woman?
“I’m leaving for Rome at daybreak. I’ve business there that needs attention.” He indicated the painting with a gesture toward the tiles. “I don’t know when I’m returning, so I thought to bring you the Morta.”
“You’ve had it in your possession before this evening?”
“Why does it matter when I acquired it if I’m giving it to you now? Don’t be difficult. It helps solve your problem, doesn’t it?”
Lindsey searched Mills’ face for answers. Had his friend supplied him with a forgery? Their conversation at the fox hunt still remained fresh in his mind. “Thank you.”
“You look like hell, by the way.” Mills turned to go. “You’re right. You need to get some rest.”
Lindsey saw his friend out and retrieved the package. Something was amiss. Was Mills involved with criminals? Lindsey would hate to realize that truth. Perhaps he jumped to illogical conclusions.
He tucked the painting away in the closet below the stairs and returned to the drawing room. He vowed to help Caroline. His own misery would have to wait, even if the two proved intertwined.
“Is everything all right?”
She stood before the fireplace, a portrait of loveliness, and for the slightest pause his mind blanked, unable to connect her question with a logical answer. She’d reclaimed her composure and appeared only slightly mussed from their lovemaking. He had the sudden urge to start all over again and do a more thorough job.
“Yes. Mills.” He shook his head, not wanting to explain further. “We should get you home.” He gathered her cloak from the chair and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. “Not that I want you to leave.” He kissed her forehead as he straightened her hood. “But I’m certain nothing good will come of keeping you locked in my drawing room at my decadent disposal day and night.”
He backed far enough away to see her eyes widen, her cheeks stain with color, that same impish smile at play on her lips.
“You really are incorrigible.” She slipped her arms out from under the cloak and wrapped them around his middle.
“I will call on you tomorrow, love.” He couldn’t resist pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, inhaling her sweet fragrance one last time. “If you’re ready to share your distress, I mean to help ease your mind.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was barely half nine when Lindsey entered Edward Barlow’s law office on Wigmore Street. He didn’t have an appointment this morning, nor did he have patience. His father had left behind an impossible task with an imposing time frame, and Lindsey was no longer tolerant.
He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to Caroline last night. He’d lived his entire life without her, burying his heart and refusing to experience emotion because every waking moment of his childhood he’d seen how much damage love could wreak. But somehow Caroline had managed to revive the useless organ in his chest, and now he didn’t
wish to spare a single moment apart from her.
When the carriage had whisked her and her maid away last evening, he was altogether bereft. Not with worry; he’d sent additional footmen to follow and secure her safe return, although that hadn’t made parting any easier. No, it wasn’t until a good hour later when sentiment cleared and he’d begun to think matters through that he realized he needed to have a conversation with the solicitor, and not just for the legalities of a special license. He needed to set the present chaos into order.
This morning he would resolve his father’s foolish legacy and begin to look toward the future instead of cursing the past.
Enacting his plan, he strode briskly past the young clerk stationed outside Barlow’s office and entered without pausing to knock. The older man looked up with a startle, though he waved Lindsey forward without hesitation, simultaneously dismissing the anxious clerk who’d followed at Lindsey’s heels.
“Good morning, my lord. What brings about this unexpected visit?”
Excellent. Barlow wished to proceed straight to the heart of the matter.
“I’ve decided to marry.” Peculiar how what he once considered undesirable and downright inconceivable now prompted him to grin.
The solicitor extended his hand for a hearty shake. “Well done, you. A productive step toward fulfilling the legacy.”
“No.” Lindsey’s smile dropped away. Any mention of his sire ignited years of unresolved anger. “I’m marrying for love, not some daft contingency and deathbed ultimatum. I wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction or allow him to continue his manipulation from the grave.”
“Still.” Barlow exhaled, as if he deliberated carefully on his next words. “Your marriage will serve a dual purpose.”
“Not actually. I haven’t acquired the missing paintings, and I don’t give a damn if I propagate the line. The earldom can die with me. Or as happenstance, I may produce a houseful of daughters.” He’d protect Caroline’s pride and reputation until he drew his last breath. Taking a chair in front of the solicitor’s desk, he waited for Barlow to shed further light on the subject.
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