He looked over the top of her head, down the length of the gallery. Ascertaining that they were alone, he took her hand and led her to the edge of the room. He spun her, as if taking a step in a dance, and the next thing he knew, he had her up against the wall with his hands braced on either side of her. She was looking up at him with eager eyes and parted lips, and he could smell the flowery fragrance of her perfume.
“Is this what you were longing for?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He looked down at her moist and tempting lips.
“Have you ever been kissed, Lady Rebecca?”
“Never in my life.”
“Then you might want to prepare yourself,” he said in a low whisper, “because I intend to be your first.”
He dipped his head and tasted at last the flavor of that warm, sweet mouth.
A tiny whimper escaped her and she slid her arms up over his shoulders and wrapped them around his neck, urging him to press his upper body to the lush swell of her breasts and pin her tight to the wall. She was surprisingly eager, which was by no means a complaint.
Her thumb stroked the line of his jaw. His body quickened, and he deepened the kiss. She kissed him in return like a seasoned lover, though he knew she was not. Her sexuality simply came naturally, he suspected. He had picked up on it from the beginning.
She tipped her head back and he kissed the side of her soft neck.
“What if someone comes?” she asked.
“There’s no one here,” he assured her, holding her close.
“Oh, Lord Hawthorne, you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this.”
“What else have you dreamed of?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“I couldn’t possibly say.”
He pressed his mouth to hers again, then brushed his open hand down the front of her neck where the swell of her breasts was driving him mad with lust. He simply could not resist her. “I really wish you would. I want to hear you say wicked things.”
She blinked up at him and tipped her head back against the wall. Her eyes glimmered with desire. “I’ve dreamed of what it would be like to feel you on top of me, and I like to imagine how heavy you would be. Every time I imagine it, I can almost feel you inside me.”
They were hardly the words of a virgin. But she had said she’d never been kissed. Was she lying to him?
Whether she was or wasn’t, it hardly mattered. In fact, Devon would almost prefer it if she were not a virgin, so that he could take her to his bed this very night—with or without a wedding ring.
She whispered with breathless anticipation. “I’m still afraid someone will come.”
He brushed his lips against her ear. “Don’t be afraid. No one will see.”
“How is it you always have everything under control?”
“But I don’t,” he openly replied, lowering himself onto one knee and looking up at her while she rested her hands lightly upon his shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
He gave no answer. He simply kept his gaze locked on hers as he slid his hands down her waist, feeling the shape of her hips beneath all the layers of her satin gown. He moved his hands over her thighs and knees and down her calves until he reached the lacy hem. He continued to look up at her, noting by the rise and fall of her luscious breasts how quickly she was breathing.
He reached under the gown and wrapped his hands around each tiny foot, his grip gently pulsing.
Another whimper escaped her, revealing a mixture of shock and fear and delight. “This is very wicked,” she said.
“Yes.” He slid his hands up to her slender ankles, feeling the fine texture of her stockings while he stroked the inner bones with his thumbs. Still, he did not pull his gaze from hers, for it gave him great pleasure to watch her eyes roll back slightly as she inhaled.
She was leaning forward now with more of her weight resting on his shoulders. He slid his hands up a little farther to the warmth at the backs of her knees, drew two figure eights there on each one, which made her quiver, then he ran his fingers like feathers down the length of her calves to her ankles. He lingered there a moment, then returned to her knees, rubbing his thumbs in tiny circles over the soft flesh.
“Higher?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Yes.”
He slid his hands up the front of her thighs until the tips of his thumbs slipped into her split drawers. The heat of her body was intoxicating, and he paused a moment, considering his options. Dare he go farther? Was it even necessary? He’d already done more than enough to require that he propose and she accept.
But the fact was, at the moment, this had nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fierce yearning taking over his body. He wanted to make love to her. Marriage proposal or no, he wanted her in his bed.
He continued to look up at her beautiful face while he touched her intimately. Then he found it. Her maidenhead. She was indeed a virgin. Not that it mattered at this point, because he wanted her regardless of anything.
Her eyes had fallen closed, and her arms were locked straight, braced upon his shoulders while her body swayed to and fro. “That is heavenly,” she gasped, squeezing his shoulders tighter and tighter until she was clutching the fabric of his jacket in her fists. “Don’t stop now. Yes, like that…that’s right…”
He continued until she shuddered and quivered and gasped with delight—he was not sure he’d ever brought a woman to a climax so quickly—then her upper body tipped forward, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, that was magnificent,” she said. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Evidently, so did she.
He checked again, left and right, to make sure there was no one about, then withdrew his hands from beneath her skirt, smoothed it out, and rose to his feet. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, lazily.
“I thought you told me you’d never been kissed,” he said.
She appeared somewhat surprised by the remark. “I haven’t.”
“Then may I ask...?” He paused, not quite sure how to articulate himself in a respectful way. “How do you know the things you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely you’ve had some experience,” he continued, prodding her. “I’m not criticizing. I’m just a little...perplexed.”
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he replied with a chuckle of dismay. “But usually, young ladies like you are a little less…how shall I say it…prepared for what I did just now. It shocks them, unless they’d already been to all four corners of a gentleman’s bed, if you understand my meaning.”
“Oh.” Her face drained of color. “I understand,” she said, “but I assure you that I have not been to any of those corners.”
He couldn’t help but smile. She seemed very prim and proper all of a sudden. “I believe you.” He rested his hands on her hips. “I think.”
“But you must,” she insisted. “There is a very simple explanation. You see, I... Oh, this is all very awkward. But if you must know, I found an old diary a few years ago, not long after we met that night in the woods, and every entry is about...” She hesitated.
“What we just did?”
“Yes, and other things.”
He nodded his head. “Ah, I see. The mystery is solved.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Of course. But where in the world did you find such a diary?”
“Under a loose floorboard in my father’s stable,” she replied. “It was written in 1828 and was covered in dust, so it had obviously been there for quite some time.”
“Do you know who it belonged to?”
“No, only that her first name was Lydie. She describes her love affair with a young man named Jess. I think he might have been a servant who worked for my grandfather.”
Devon ran a finger lightly over her cheek. “I must say, that sounds like very compelling reading. Do you have it with you?”
“It’s in my room.”
In her room. Indeed.
“Might I borrow it?” he asked.
“Definitely not,” she said. “It’s terribly wicked. You would be shocked and scandalized.”
He grinned again at her charming innocence. “I think I can manage the upset.”
Her lips pursed with shameless chagrin. “We are behaving very badly, my lord.”
“Without question. And please, call me Devon,” he said, knowing that to encourage the use of their given names was yet another clear indication of his intentions.
“And I hope you will call me Rebecca,” she replied, indicating her intentions as well. She slowly blinked up at him, and the effect was pure seduction. “But how should I give the diary to you?” she asked. “I don’t want anyone else to see it.”
“I will knock on your door this evening after everyone has retired and pick it up.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I may lack experience, but I do know that that would be highly improper.”
“And this wasn’t?” he reminded her with a chuckle. “Trust me, darling, it will be our little secret. No one will know.”
She glanced around the gallery, as if to make sure they were not being watched. “All right,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips to hers again and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I am going to want more of you,” he said.
“And I, you,” she replied, resting her hands on his forearms. “But I do hope you believe that I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me.”
“I have the exact impression I wish to have,” he assured her, as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, realizing all at once that he was not only attracted to her physically, but he was quite enamored with her as well, which was not what he’d had in mind when he imagined choosing a bride in such a rush, for he was not a romantic. He was a realist, and he had certainly never imagined desiring a woman who would remember a simple rescue years earlier and view him in an idealistic fashion. As if he were some sort of hero.
He had experienced such a thing before with disastrous consequences, and it had shaped him into the man he was today—a man who was exceedingly cautious with women and their emotions. A man who did not seek romantic, all-consuming love.
No, he had never wanted to be the sun, the moon, and stars to a wife, yet for some reason he could not seem to kick free of the wave that was carrying him into his future. It was all happening very fast, and after what just occurred, after the liberties he had taken with Lady Rebecca and the things he had said and implied—and what might very well happen later tonight when he visited her room—this would all have to be decided upon and arranged quickly. There could be no turning back. No escape.
He had, for better or worse, closed the window on his options.
Chapter 9
As soon as Rebecca entered the drawing room with Devon at her side, Lady Letitia fixed her scalding eyes on them both and pursed her lips.
Devon escorted Rebecca back to her aunt, who asked about the artwork they had viewed, but when he turned to go and mingle with the other guests, he nearly stepped on Lady Letitia’s toes, for she had approached him from behind.
“Lord Hawthorne, I would be pleased to entertain your guests now. I have already selected a piece of music I think you will enjoy, and my mother has offered to accompany me on the piano.” She looked past Devon’s shoulder to glance smugly at Rebecca.
“That would be splendid,” he replied. “Please, take your places whenever you are ready.”
She strode to the piano, and her mother joined her. The guests found places to sit, while Devon moved to the fireplace and leaned an elbow upon the mantel. Lady Letitia looked to him for a signal, and he nodded to begin.
She sang the timeless classic, “Home, Sweet Home,” showing off an insistent vibrato in her voice and furrowing her brow with a dramatic outpouring of emotion.
Letitia curtsied deeply when she finished, and the applause began. “Thank you so much. You are so kind.” She cupped her hands together in front of her and gestured toward Devon at the mantel, suggesting he deserved applause as well, for arranging her performance.
He shook his head at the generous show of appreciation and directed everyone’s attention back to Lady Letitia, who thanked them all again.
Not long afterward, the Letitia found Rebecca alone on the sofa. Letitia sat down with her spine as stiff and straight as a hot iron poker. “Do you not have any talents to display?” she asked, eyeing Rebecca with scrutiny over the rim of her wine glass.
“How could anyone possibly follow your brilliant performance this evening, Lady Letitia?”
They sat in silence, looking around at everyone else, not at each other, until Lady Letitia spoke in a low voice. “In case you are wondering, I saw you go off with Lord Hawthorne earlier, and I fear I would be a very bad friend if I did not inform you that you are making quite a spectacle of yourself.”
Rebecca’s heart began to pound a little faster. “How so?”
“By being too pushy. I don’t know how young ladies are brought up where you come from, Lady Rebecca, but here in polite society—which you obviously know very little about—behavior like that can get a lady into trouble.”
Rebecca frowned. “I was not pushy. He invited me to view his family portraits, but I hardly need to explain myself to you.”
Letitia wet her lips, and finally met Rebecca’s gaze. “I really wish you would leave.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said I wish you would leave. You were not expected as an overnight guest at the palace—it was obvious that you inserted yourself quite brazenly—and you are getting in the way.”
“In the way of what?”
Letitia lifted her chin and spoke in a low voice again. “Of my future.”
Rebecca openly scoffed. “And the whole world revolves around your wishes and desires, does it?”
“I am the one the Duke of Pembroke has chosen to become the next duchess. That is why we came all this way through the putrid rain and muck. You are dreaming if you think you can walk in here and turn Lord Hawthorne’s head. You are nothing but an unsophisticated country girl.” She stood. “Lord Hawthorne might be willing to amuse himself with you in a dimly lit gallery,” she added in an angry whisper, “but he knows what his father wants. He will never propose.”
With that, Letitia turned and strode to the piano to entertain the guests with another merry tune.
Rebecca remained in her seat with a sick knot in her belly, while she glanced uneasily around the room.
“All is well?” Grace asked, probing discreetly for information about what had occurred between Rebecca and Devon in the gallery, and why Rebecca had suddenly lost interest in the party and wished to retire.
“Everything is fine,” she replied when they reached her bedchamber door.
Her aunt did not seem willing to accept such a vague answer. “You mustn’t leave me wondering, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. What happened while you were in the gallery?”
Rebecca hesitated while she considered how to satisfy her aunt’s curiosities without confessing all the wicked and depraved details. She had behaved inexcusably in the gallery because she could not restrain her out-of-control desires, and now she was troubled by Lady Letitia’s warnings.
She leaned closer and whispered. “He asked me to call him Devon.”
Her aunt placed both hands over her heart. “Gracious. That is as good as a proposal.”
“Let us not be overly optimistic, Aunt Grace.”
“But he is a gentleman. Surely he would not trifle with your affections in such a way. I am certain his fe
elings have become engaged.”
“I shall go to sleep hoping,” Rebecca said.
Grace smiled and hugged her. “You are a gem, darling. Everything will unfold just the way you want it to. I am certain of it.”
With that, they said goodnight, but Rebecca remained in the corridor for a moment, watching her aunt enter her own bedchamber next door.
Rebecca hoped she had not made a mistake in surrendering to her passions so openly with Lord Hawthorne. Now he intended to visit her bedchamber personally and borrow her scandalous diary, which she had never shown to anyone. He was actually going to read it and know all the things she had been fantasizing about over the past four years. It was beyond scandalous—far worse than being simply pushy.
With a sigh, she put her hand on the doorknob and turned it, wondering further about the logistics of his arrival. Should she dress for bed or remain in her formal evening gown until he came and left? She couldn’t imagine answering the door in her dressing gown. That would only add to the appalling list of sinful improprieties that evening.
She supposed, if she wanted to redeem herself, she could just hand him the diary though a crack in the door, then quickly shut it in his face.
Quietly crossing the threshold, she entered her dark bedchamber, but left the door open for some light while she moved to the lamp on the bedside table. She found the matches and struck one, then removed the glass chimney and touched the flame to the wick. The room took on a golden glow, and she replaced the chimney on the lantern and looked toward the large armoire, where she kept the diary hidden inside her valise.
“Did you forget where you put it?” a masculine voice asked, causing her to jump and whirl around to face the bed.
There he lay, stretched out at his ease with one long leg crossed over the other, his arms pulled back behind his head. He had taken off his dinner jacket, which was tossed over the footboard.
Rebecca laid a hand over her thumping heart. “Good heavens. What is the matter with you, frightening me like that? And how did you get up here so quickly?”
In My Wildest Fantasies (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 1) Page 10
