He shoved those thoughts away and began to unbutton her pretty dress. She hissed out a sound of pleasure against his lips as he slid his hands into the gap he created, beneath her chemise, against her bare skin. He raked his nails there gently, and she arched against him.
“Oh God,” she murmured, turning her mouth into his throat, sucking at his skin until his vision blurred.
He tugged the dress and chemise down together, and then stepped back to look at her. The fabric drooped at her waist, revealing the gorgeous expanse of her skin, the swell of her breasts that he wanted to worship for the rest of his life.
He reached for her, dragging the back of his hand against her flesh. She caught his hand and turned it, forcing him to fully cup her. He smiled at her ardor, her silent demand. And he so wanted to fulfill it. Fulfill her without her having to expend any effort beyond accepting.
But they were running out of time now. Less than a week remained of her party, and back in London it would be too easy for her to convince herself that they needed to fall back into their old habits, their past relationship. He needed her to surrender, or at least start to surrender, to the idea of more.
Which meant he had to make her begin to admit it.
“Tell me what you want, Emily.”
She blinked at him. “I think it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
He chuckled as she arched into him again and her nipple brushed his palm. “Tell me, not show me.”
Her jaw set, and he realized she was gritting her teeth. He stood firm, waiting for her. Hoping she would give him just this inch, praying it would be the first of many that would bring them closer than friendship, closer than sex.
If only she would just say the words.
* * *
Emily couldn’t breathe as she stood there, eyes screwed shut, feeling Cav waiting for her. Saying what she wanted felt so damned intimate. It felt so vulnerable. It felt…it felt like a point of no return.
Was she ready for no return?
“I want,” she whispered without answering that question for herself. “I-I want…”
“There’s no wrong answer.” His voice was so deep and soothing, so gentle in the quiet.
“I want you to taste me,” she admitted as heat suffused her skin. “I want you to touch me all over and then lick me. And then…” She opened her eyes and made herself meet his gaze. “And then I want you to take me. Hard and fast, not like you have to protect me but like you want to…to mark me. That’s what I want.”
His pupils had dilated with every word she said, and now he loomed over her, suddenly bigger and darker and stronger. He rubbed his hands down her bare sides until he hooked his fingers beneath what remained of her dress. He tugged and it fell away. Then he swept her up and deposited her on the bed.
She had barely positioned herself on his pillows when he began doing exactly what she asked. His hands cascaded down her body and his tongue followed. He sucked and nipped, he squeezed and teased. Her body lit on fire with every touch, and she opened her legs wider as he wedged himself there.
He peeled her open, grunting at the sight of her, already wet and ready for him. He bent his head and licked her, while at the same time he glided a finger inside. As he sucked and stroked with his tongue, he added a second finger, a third, and she lifted to his thrusts and gave herself over to sensation.
The world and all its confusion drifted away as she met his rhythm, bearing down on him with every thrust of his fingers and sweep of his tongue. He focused his mouth on her clitoris at last, sucking her hard enough that stars exploded in her vision. She dug her fingers into his hair, holding him there as she writhed to find her pleasure.
When she did, it was explosive. She rocked against him, gasping and moaning and riding the wave of pleasure that felt more like a tidal force that could wash everything away. Just as the orgasm faded, he dragged himself up her body, nipping with his teeth, soothing with his tongue. He took her mouth, letting her taste her release as he positioned himself at her sex.
“Emily,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She forced herself to follow the order. He was so close that meeting his eyes felt like locking herself to him. Joining with him in a deeper way than just being taken by him.
“I have already marked you,” he murmured as he slid into her in one smooth thrust. “You are marked and that will never change.”
He thrust again, harder. “Because no matter what happens, you will think of these nights we shared.”
Harder and faster now as she lifted to meet him, pleasure rising in her all over again. “You will dream of my cock in you, Emily. You will dream of my fingers and my tongue.”
She began to gasp for air as he ground hard and thrust harder.
“And when you look at me, you’ll know I know that. It will be the secret you cannot keep. Not from me.”
She came as he kept talking, kept telling her about the wicked secret they would both know. The words didn’t matter. She felt the truth in her bones rather than in her ears.
He was pounding harder and harder as he whispered those things in her ear, and just as her orgasm faded, he reared up and came, the heat of him splashing across her belly and her breasts. Their eyes held again and he reached down as if to wipe himself away. She caught his wrist and let him watch as she instead rubbed his essence into her skin.
“Bloody hell, Emily,” he grunted as he flopped down beside her and dragged her to rest her head against his shoulder. For a little while they were quiet together, the only sound the occasional crackle of the fire.
“Why did you bring up the topic of my future marriage?” he asked.
She rested a hand on his chest, feeling his heart there. Comforted by the steady thud. “The topic has come up several times during our time here,” she admitted. “By more than one lady. There are some who believe this Season will be the one you begin taking your search for a bride more seriously.”
She felt him stiffen slightly, and then he let out a long sigh. “It may be true.”
Four words. Simple on their surface. Not said cruelly or with any meaning that could be taken as such. And yet they stabbed her heart in a way she couldn’t fully express. Certainly she couldn’t have explained the sensation.
“My grandfather and my uncle have been patient these last few years,” he continued. “But they have expectations. They will not force me to marry…yet. Though if I refuse to walk the path that has been laid out for me, I suppose they might. I admit I’m surprised to hear this rumor has been circulating.”
She began to trace small circles against the muscles of his chest. His heart rate increased as she did so. “You are a catch,” she said at last. “Diamonds and mamas will be on the hunt for you if there is even an inkling you might be open to the idea. They’ll create a scenario where you are, even if you think you’re not.”
“I suppose so,” he said, and he suddenly sounded tired. She glanced up and found him frowning toward the fire, his mind clearly taking him away from her.
She cleared her throat. “Have you…have you thought of who you might…consider?”
That brought his attention back, sharp and sudden and harder than any look he’d ever given to her. “Don’t lie naked in my arms, in my bed, and try to matchmake me, Emily.” He shook his head. “Don’t.”
Her eyes went wide at that stern admonishment, said in a tone that seemed to spark in her bloodstream. Before she could respond, he caught her elbows and dragged her up his body. His mouth took hers, harder than before, more insistent as he positioned her still ready body over his rapidly hardening one.
He claimed her in one angry thrust, then he caught her backside and began to grind her over him as he continued those claiming, forceful kisses that swept her away and woke things in her she never would have thought were possible.
But as she surrendered to them, her last thought was still of the idea that Cav would marry. Someone, anyone. And then things would change even more so than they had when they became lovers.
<
br /> And that terrified her.
Chapter 12
Eleven Ladies Dancing
Three days had passed since that troubling afternoon in Cav’s bed. They’d been filled with maids milking (and flirting shamelessly, which had distracted the gentlemen of the party considerably), drummers drumming (far more headache-inducing than Emily had imagined) and pipers piping. (It turned out one could only tolerate one or two piped musical selections before one wished to run screaming from the room. Only those of Scottish descent had truly enjoyed that three-hour extravaganza.)
None of the events had seemed to push her guests closer together, either. Her matches were lackluster at best. Hostile at worst.
The party was turning into a disappointment all around. And that had only been magnified by the growing strain between her and Cav. She had been the one to make the rules of their affair, but every moment that passed, she struggled with them.
She didn’t know how to be with him anymore when she wasn’t curled in his bed, giving and receiving pleasure that seemed to wash away plans and reason and everything else but him and his hands and mouth and cock. That was what she thought of night and day, even when they were standing in a parlor, surrounded by people who couldn’t ever discover the truth of what they were doing.
Meanwhile, Cav seemed perfectly fine. For all the desperation and passion he brought to her body in his chamber, once outside those four precious walls, he acted exactly the same as he always had toward her. He joked and played and escorted and danced and smiled all while she felt the grate of desire down her spine from just standing too close to him.
Of course, he had more practice in separating heart from body. He could not care at all and still derive pleasure. That was what rakes did, after all. In truth, she was likely just another warm body in his bed. Pleasure explored, but eventually forgotten in the warm glow of every other woman he’d derived it from.
For her it was more complicated. Sometimes she felt confused, as though she cared for Cav on a deeper level than mere friendship. As though she could even…love him.
But that couldn’t be. It was only that she’d never bedded a man she didn’t love. Andrew was her only point of reference.
“You look beautiful, my lady.”
Emily started because she had gotten so wrapped up in thoughts of Cav that she had lost track of what her maid, Mary, had been doing as she readied her for the night’s Epiphany Eve masquerade ball. This gathering would be larger than any of the others, and included many who hadn’t been part of the country party.
Mary motioned toward the mirror, and Emily looked. She did look nice. She wore a new gown, one with fine beading and perfect gathering that created a waterfall of silk down the front of her dress. The sea-blue color matched her eyes perfectly. Cav liked gowns that did that. He always complimented her on them.
Drat. There she was, thinking of him again. She’d had the dress designed months ago with this ball in mind. She couldn’t have been thinking of what Cav would want then…could she?
“My lady, do you not like what I’ve done with your hair?” Mary asked, her brow wrinkling in concern.
“I do,” Emily assured her with a forced smile. She looked at her hair. Mary had curled and lifted and pinned it into a gorgeous swath of gold. “I love it—you are wonderful, as always. Now, shall we place the mask?”
Mary nodded and drew forth the most beautiful mask. To match her blue dress, Emily had it designed with peacock feathers and paste sapphires. Her smile widened to something more genuine as Mary settled it carefully so it wouldn’t muss her hair.
She looked herself and yet not at the same time. A mysterious lady who could pretend to be anyone and anything else she wished to be. What would she do with that freedom? If she were someone else what…and who…would she pursue at a masquerade ball where a lady could be…naughty?
She feared she knew the answer to that question. Feared the thrill that worked through her at the idea. Cav kept returning to her mind, it seemed. Despite the fact that she knew their friendship was the most important thing. Despite the fact she already felt she was destroying it every time she inched closer to him.
She glanced at the clock and gasped. “Oh, gracious, I’m a little more than fashionably late. Thank you again, my dear.”
“Have a wonderful evening, my lady,” Mary called out as Emily dashed from the room.
She hurried down the stairs and through the halls to the ballroom. Already she heard music playing and imagined far more than eleven ladies were dancing inside, to thwart her Twelve Days of Christmas theme. She walked through the open doors and couldn’t hold back her gasp.
Her staff had certainly earned the bonuses they would be receiving tomorrow for Epiphany. They had always taken wonderful care of her and tonight was no different. Her ballroom looked like a magical fairyland, with candlelight sparkling and pale blue gauze draped just so. Her staff wore plain white masks studded in gold and moved effortlessly through the crowd. They tended to guests, making everything so perfect that Emily’s eyes filled with tears.
This was likely the last event she would ever host here. The last time she would be the lady of this house.
“My lady!”
She jolted from her maudlin thoughts and laughed as she was approached by some of her guests. Not only were her houseguests in attendance, but she had called forward friends from London and the shire, as well. It was a jolly, full ballroom, indeed.
She fell into the role of hostess, complimenting all the beautiful gowns and masks, playing the game of guessing who was who as she went from person to person. She almost felt herself again as she did so.
Almost. Because she still found herself glancing around the room whenever she had a moment. She could pretend a thousand reasons for that, but there was only one that was true: she was looking for Cav.
She found him after what felt like forever and recognized him instantly despite the fact that this was a masquerade. Good Lord, but he did look handsome. Everything he wore was fitted perfectly against that body she now knew as intimately as she knew his smile or his laugh. Buff trousers, shiny boots, a fine waistcoat threaded with gold and blue that somehow matched her own dress and hair perfectly. Like they’d planned it when of course they hadn’t.
He glanced toward her as the crowd ebbed and flowed around them, and then he was moving toward her. Her heart leapt as she watched him weave in and out, but always driven to her. She wanted him so desperately in that moment. And she wanted so desperately to keep the feelings in her chest limited to mere desire.
“Would you care to dance, my lady?” he asked as he reached her. He held out a hand and she shivered. He wasn’t wearing gloves, flouting propriety as he sometimes did.
She took his hand, her stomach fluttering at the warmth of him even through her own gloves. He guided her to the dancefloor and they fell into the turns of the waltz as the orchestra began.
He smiled at her. “And how is your evening so far, my lady?”
She wrinkled her brow. Did he not recognize her? Had he just come across the room and picked her without purpose? She was just another lady in the crowd who caught his rakish attention?
“Cav, you…you know who I am, don’t you?” she asked.
His fingers tightened against her hip slightly, possessive, hungry, awakening a fire in her that she just couldn’t seem to extinguish now. “Of course. Do you really think I wouldn’t know you no matter what?”
“A masquerade is meant to trick the eye,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
He shook his head slowly. “Emily, I would know you in the dark of a moonless night. I would know you from a far distance without aid of a spyglass. I would know you in any costume, in any era.”
“H-how?” she whispered. She shouldn’t ask the question. The answer was too dangerous and she knew it. But she couldn’t help herself.
I couldn’t help myself. After the last eleven days, she really ought to needlepoint that onto a handkerchief
and carry it with her as a cautionary tale.
“I know you from the way you catch your breath or say my name or turn your head. I know you.”
His lips were curved in the little smile that was natural to him, but his dark blue eyes held hers without wavering and there was an intensity there that burned down deep into her soul. Made the rest of the room fade away, and suddenly it was as if they were back upstairs in his room, in his bed, all alone except for the walls she put between them in an attempt to not let this go too far.
But she could see now that it was too late. It was too far already. It had been too far from the first moment he kissed her.
She was shaking, but he kept her upright, just as he had for so long and through so much. She clung to him even though he was the storm that was lashing against her boat.
The music was fading now. A few more turns were all she had to stay on her feet. His smile fell away as he searched her face, and she knew he would see through her because he always did. Always had. Always would.
“Emily,” he said softly.
She shook her head as the music ended at last. She executed a polite curtsey so prying eyes wouldn’t see anything untoward.
“Please don’t,” she whispered as she pulled away from him.
He didn’t repeat her name—for that she was happy. Not only would it draw that unwanted attention, but right now she felt like a string was connecting them and if he said her name she wasn’t sure what would happen. Would it snap and separate them forever? Would she trip over it, wreaking havoc in her wake?
She didn’t want to know. Not now. Not yet. Now when her entire life seemed to be slowly turning upside down and she just wanted to find a way to stay upright for a little longer.
She did it by pretending everything was fine as she made her way out of the ballroom. She waved to friends and spoke to servants and hoped she looked steady until she exited the ballroom with a great gasp of air.
She did not want these feelings that rose up in her chest, powerful and harsh. She didn’t want the confusion and guilt and thrill that they brought with them. And she certainly didn’t want to experience them as she stood in the middle of her late husband’s ballroom with friends surrounding her, watching her every move.
Mismatched Under the Mistletoe Page 12
