The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War)

by Eva Devon

  He forced the pain to the back of his mind, focusing on her and her alone to get him through.

  “Do you mind going at a glacial pace?” he asked in the dark hall.

  “No,” she replied, “not at all, for I get to hold your hand.”

  That simple statement was nearly his undoing.

  A great wave of emotion crashed upon him and he had to swallow it back. And the words poured out of him. “I’ve thought of you every day since your letter first arrived accidentally in my pouch. You've gotten me through so many horrible things, and I don't ever wish to repay your beautiful heart with cruelty.”

  “Cease,” she urged gently. “We shall speak no more of that. You are not going to repay me with cruelty, but with knowledge and with enjoyment and with pleasure. Are you not?”

  “Yes,” he said, his heart swelling, “but you might have to put up with the fact that I am not as strong as I was.”

  “Are you not?” she teased lightly, eyeing him up and down. “You look quite large.”

  “I am large, but strength comes and goes,” he said dryly.

  She pursed her lips. “For all that, you seem terribly capable to me, and I wonder just how much of this invalid nonsense of yours is imagined.”

  “Please don't say that,” he said tightly. He took great pains to overcome the condition of his body. But his wounds were no pretense.

  “Forgive me,” she replied immediately. “It was very callous of me. I cannot know the extent of your injuries and how they have affected you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, surprised by her astute words. He had assumed that she would attempt to convince him that he really wasn't as wounded as he claimed, that with a little bit of effort and determination he would be able to shake it off and continue his life with complete normalcy.

  He would never be normal again, and he loathed the idea of people trying to convince him of it.

  And they had tried.

  Several well-meaning friends had visited him, told him how well he was mending, and how he should be up and about riding to hounds in no time.

  Several doctors had also spouted such drivel as they handed him bottles of potions and opiates mixed with alcohol.

  He’d poured those out into the grass.

  But the doctors that he trusted had warned he would likely experience pain for the rest of his life, and to be careful not to become reliant upon laudanum.

  Still, the never-ending pain was something that he did not know how he was going to deal with for the rest of his life. And yet he found that in her presence? He did not feel the extent of the agony that he so often did.

  Even walking did not feel quite so painful.

  Perhaps it was the motivation of having her in his bed at the end of his long walk upstairs. Perhaps it was the idea of holding her in his arms. But then he worried. . .

  What if he could not hold her properly in his arms?

  What if he could not even make love to her?

  His body seemed to contradict that notion. He was positively humming with desire for her.

  Chapter 10

  The journey upstairs had been a precarious but successful one.

  Now, in his room, lit only by the light of the moon dancing in through the towering windows, he studied her from his chair.

  Though it was galling. He’d needed to sit. For a moment. To ease his leg and gather himself for what was to come. Dear god, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her beauty.

  She was the height of all his fantasies. Every single one that had occupied his sleeping and waking hours since her letters had first arrived. Now that he had her in his room? He felt as green as a boy.

  Absurd. But true.

  She stepped towards him confidently, and he followed the hem of her gown as she lifted it ever so slightly so she wouldn’t catch it on her shoe.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes from her shapely ankle.

  Bloody hell. He could scarce draw breath. At the sight of her ankle. His body hardened as if he’d born no wounds at all months ago. If her ankle did this to him? He could only imagine what the rest might do.

  Oh how he wanted to circle that delicate silk-clad flesh with his hand and prop her foot on his unharmed thigh. From there, he’d make his way up her leg till he met her soft flesh and then— He blinked.

  If he wasn’t careful, he’d spend in but a moment and he wanted this to last. “You’re certain that this is what you wish?”

  “I am.” Her voice dipped, touched with a surprising huskiness. “I want you and this moment more than I have ever wanted anything in my whole life.”

  “Truly?” he breathed. He longed to slide his hands up her skirts and he was certain that, once committed. . . No, he’d already committed. It was why she was in his rooms. So, he gestured for her to come nearer, hating that pain kept him in his chair.

  She took another step closer till her skirts brushed his muscled thigh. She lightly bit her lower lip. “Have you imagined this?”

  A pained laugh rumbled past his lips. Oh, what was he doing? He was holding onto honor with a faltering grasp, that’s what the bloody hell he was doing. In a moment, his honor would be but a scrap. But it would be worth it to have her.

  To have this memory.

  “Every night, I’ve imagined you. Even without knowing your face. It is you that has filled by dreams and bed.”

  Her delicate hand lightly brushed his arm. “I am glad to hear it. For I am the same. Whenever I have closed my eyes in the dark of night and pursued that secret pleasure, it is you I have longed for.”

  Secret pleasure. Did she mean?

  And as he gazed upon her, he realized yes. She had somehow discovered pleasure as so many did on their own, and she had thought of him.

  Lust slammed through his body at the not so innocent but tempting words. Her hand was so light and yet firm upon his body, he could only imagine those slender fingers wrapped around his cock.

  “And what did you imagine?” he asked, his voice rough.

  She licked her lips. “That I was able to touch you. That you touched me.”

  She stroked his linen-clad arm, bending ever so slightly so her breasts pressed against her corset in two delicious rounds. “I’d like to see you without your shirt again.”

  It was tempting to look up and see if her angelic face was flushed with need, but he needed to draw his focus, lest he not lose his wits. He focused on her simple gown and not on her hand tracing over his arm.

  “You wish me to remove my shirt?” he clarified, amazed and pleased to see her in this new role of female power. He’d loved her strength in her letters.

  To behold it? It was a wonder.

  She nodded. “Yes, please.”

  It was the please that undid him. Wincing, he reached into his breeches, pulled free his linen shirt, and whipped it over his head. He let it drop from his fingertips and met her gaze.

  Somehow, he resisted the urge to shift on his chair, but blood was rushing straight to his groin and, by the second, he was growing harder.

  She gasped with pleasure, then trailed her hand down from his shoulder to rest upon his bicep. Her fingers curled at his muscles. “I cannot tell you how often I have longed for this.”

  Anthony flexed his muscles, developed from hours and hours of training, hours and hours of attempted recovery. Despite the fact he was sitting due to injury, he wanted her to know he was strong.

  Damnation.

  She wanted this as badly as he, and he was beginning to fear that he’d go mad from how very much he desired her.

  “I wish to do whatever you require, Phillipa,” he whispered.

  “That pleases me very much indeed,” she breathed, her voice a caress that threw oil onto the fire that was burning inside him.

  At last, he looked up and met her gaze.

  In that instant, he wished he could change course. For it had been a blasted error, and he was determined to rip his gaze away and not lose himself entirely in her gaze.

 
; He couldn’t do it.

  The need in her blue eyes compelled him to see what she might request next.

  Longing filled her eyes. Longing and desire. It was a heady mixture.

  “You are what I require,” she whispered as she lifted her hand to his face.

  Her silken fingers cupped his cheek with tenderness, but that touch was laced with desire as she bent and let her mouth linger over his.

  For one brief moment, he was certain she was going to kiss him, but she didn’t. The scent of lavender and soap surrounded him, and her wild blonde hair brushed his cheeks and shoulders. She was waiting.

  Waiting for him to give in to their mutual pleasure as much as she had.

  Had he not already? Was that not why they were here? In his chamber?

  Swallowing a strong fear that he might come to regret this moment, he lifted his own hand and cupped her cheek. His fingers shook as he caressed her perfect skin.

  What would she truly think when she understood just how imperfect he now was?

  But he wasn’t about to show her.

  Not when he wanted this woman before him so much. Indeed, after so much pain, certainly he could have a taste of her.

  Before he could think further or let reason test his shaky justifications, he slid her onto his lap. Though his leg pained him, he was able to manage her weight, for she braced her slippered feet against the floor and held onto the chair.

  She was clearly aware of his potential for pain.

  He refused to contemplate that too closely.

  Instead, he tilted her head back and, for a moment, traced his thumb over her beautiful, pink, full lower lip.

  Winding his fingers into the curls at the nape of her neck, he tilted his head and gave her a kiss meant to tempt her into bliss.

  She gasped into his mouth and arched towards him. The faint touch of their lips was almost cruel considering how much he needed her, but they were going to enjoy every moment they had.

  Anthony traced the line of her lips with his tongue and parted her lips.

  Angling her head further back, he devoured her mouth, sucking gently on her tongue.

  Kiss after kiss drove them both wild until her hands were gripping the chair behind him as if she might fall.

  He’d never let her fall. But damnation, how he loved her wild abandon.

  His body was tense with concern that at any moment some part of it might protest, but he was more than ready for her.

  Still, he controlled himself by smoothing kisses down the line of her throat, moving lower and lower until his lips met the plump rounds of her breasts.

  Heaven. He was at last out of the bleak depths of hell and in heaven.

  In her arms.

  He slipped his hand into her stays and lifted her breast so he could swirl his tongue around her nipple. So sweet and soft, it drove him further into his indescribable desire for all of her.

  She moaned, pushing her nipple against his lips. Pure satisfaction crashed through him as he drew the soft flesh into his mouth and ever so slightly nibbled at the hard peak. Her hands dove into his hair, and he loved the slight pull of her fingers. A sure sign of her pleasure.

  Now he was on the brink of losing control. After all, this was his dream. And it was real.

  Her hand trailed lightly over his thigh and met the hard shaft pressing painfully against his breeches.

  She hesitated, stunned.

  He sucked in a harsh breath.

  Reaching down, he pressed her hand tighter to him.

  “Is that. . .for. . .” she whispered.

  Bloody hell. She truly was going to be his undoing.

  He nodded. “It’s for you, Phillipa.”

  And he wanted to give it to her.

  She kissed him wildly as he yanked at her skirts, exposing her thighs.

  “Sit astride me,” he rasped

  Without question, she did.

  Her skirts slid up, pooling at her waist and down his legs as she positioned herself across his lap.

  Knowing her sweet slit was so close and so exposed. It was almost too much.

  Desperate for her to know the pleasure he could give her, he slid his hands up her thighs and then ran his forefinger along her soft folds. He hissed at the feel of her slick need for him. She was more than ready, but he wanted her as desperate as he.

  Anthony stroked his finger over her sensitive folds, then circled gently but relentlessly over the spot he knew would give her bliss.

  Phillipa’s breath turned ragged as she climbed towards pleasure. She held onto him as if she were lost in a storm, and he was her only anchor. His finger swirled and flicked till her thighs tensed, and then he slid a single finger deep inside her. Her body tensed against his and her head dropped back.

  “That’s it, my love,” he whispered, loving the sight of her pleasure more than he’d loved anything.

  As she gasped for breath, he quickly undid his breeches.

  “I want you,” she breathed.

  “And I you, love.”

  Phillipa’s body was nearly overcome with the pleasure she’d just received. Yet, instinctively, she knew there was simply more. She knew she needed that hard shaft inside her body.

  Her body was aflame, as if he had set match to it and she loved the wickedness of it. She gripped the chair back, determined not to hurt him.

  When he drew his finger out of her, she moaned at the loss. She wanted more not less.

  But soon, she felt his hand at his breeches. She bit her lower lip as she spotted him position his hard shaft.

  Phillipa readied herself, but he did not thrust himself into her body as she had assumed he would. Oh no. He very slowly rubbed the plump tip of it up and down her slit. She jumped at the delicious sensation. It felt like silk being rubbed between her thighs. And it was perfection. Maddening perfection.

  Phillipa groaned and tried to move her hips in such a way that would force him to thrust deep inside her. Instead, he teased her more, tracing his shaft over her most sensitive spot.

  And then. . .much to her amazement, he met her gaze, took her hand in his, then guided it down to his thick, hard length.

  He was giving her the power. Giving her the choice.

  Phillipa marveled at its strength. Velvety soft, it was hard and hot. She very carefully rubbed her thumb over the little slit at the top, spreading a bead of moisture over the head.

  Anthony wrapped his arms around her and the muscles in his neck strained “My god, Phillipa. . . I am yours.”

  Those words thrilled her and filled her with an intense need. She caressed the long shaft and his thighs tensed beneath her. For a moment she was afraid she had hurt him, but from the look on his face, he was lost in desire.

  After a moment, Phillipa couldn’t wait any longer and she guided the tip to her opening. Oh so carefully, she lowered herself.

  As he entered her, there was a moment of pain.

  It was intense. Very, very intense. But she allowed herself to slide down him, inch by glorious inch, determined. Her eyes widened as his large length filled her deliciously, making her feel as if his body was somehow part of hers.

  And after a moment? The pain was gone. Replaced by shocking pleasure. The fullness? It felt just right.

  His dark head dropped back, and he let out a sigh as she slowly rode him. Gazing at her with half-closed eyes, the pure hunger in him laced her own veins with new desire and a wish to please him as he had her.

  For the first moments, she was uncertain. But then, she grew in confidence. Here in the in the moonlight, her legs on either side of his hips and her toes balancing on the floor, all she could do was trust herself.

  And feel.

  And oh how she felt!

  She felt everything. From his hard body inside her, to his hot skin against hers, to the beating of his heart. She felt.

  Sensation claimed her.

  His hands stole to her waist.

  Rising up and down on her toes, gaining purchase by gripping the chai
r, she delighted in the remarkable feel of him inside her. He tilted his hips up, thrusting to meet her. And then, as his movements were growing more fierce, more wild, he moved one hand to the place where their bodies met. Anthony circled his fingers over her most sensitive spot and, just like that, she vanished into pleasure. Wave after wave crashing upon her.

  And then? He cried her name, his pleasure as intense as her own.

  Chapter 11

  Bright Cornish sun spilled in through the tall castle windows, bathing the bed in a golden glow of hope.

  It should have felt like spring in her arms. A moment of new beginnings and possibilities.

  He did not know what it felt like. It wasn't the hopeful, eternal first moments of spring that filled him though. In fact, it was almost dread, which made no sense, for the night had been perfect.

  Too perfect. God, he was such a fool to feel thus. But given the sufferings of the last year?

  It was almost as if he could not accept the peace and goodness she brought him. Was he anticipating the end before it came?

  It was a bitter taste. One which robbed him of the joy from the night before.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, willing such dark thoughts away. No, he wouldn’t wallow. Surely, he could pull himself above such things.

  Anthony opened his eyes and gazed down at Philippa in awe. As he took her in beside him on the pale linen, his heart positively soared.

  The dread vanished. Banished. With just one look at her. And he smiled.

  He sucked in an amazed breath. How did she do that? How did looking at her inoculate him from suffering?

  It wouldn’t last. Of course not. But just now? Now. . . He felt glorious beside her.

  Carefully, he lifted his hand and gently traced it along her naked back.

  She shimmied against him and smiled in her sleep.

  Good God, she was so beautiful.

  She was such perfection. How was he so lucky to have such perfection in his life. His own body was a mess of scars and the opposite of perfection.

  He knew, in his mind, that such things shouldn’t matter. But his soul? His soul ached with it.