by Adele Clee
Mr Trent inhaled deeply. “An admirable attitude, though I can assure you, no one shall harm Miss Vale while she keeps my company.”
Miss Trimble raised the candle to examine his features. “I know enough of rogues, sir, to know they often hide their appetites beneath noble protestations.”
Mr Trent stepped back. “And I know enough about devious women to know an immoral harpy often resides behind the facade of a prim busybody.” When Miss Trimble gasped, the gentleman inclined his head. “You may escort Miss Vale into her room, though I shall not enter mine until you’re safely behind the door of room ten.”
“Miss Trimble, you have nothing to fear. I would trust Mr Trent with my life.” Verity was quick to defend the gentleman. “But I appreciate your concern.” She bid them all good night, entered her room and closed the door. Minutes passed before she heard the deep rumble of masculine voices in the room next door.
His voice.
Lawrence Trent.
Her heart sighed as his name swept through her mind.
She had fallen in love with him.
Having never been in love, it was the only explanation for these confounding sensations. It hurt to be apart. A strange delirium came over her whenever he held her gaze, whenever he claimed her mouth in the sensual way that made her dizzy. All she wanted was to race to his room, kick Mr Cavanagh out into the corridor and sink into Mr Trent’s warm embrace.
The gentleman appreciated honesty. Perhaps the time had come to face facts and make her feelings known. Indeed, she contemplated the dilemma while undressing in the dark. The prolonged anticipation was like an unquenchable thirst. A compulsion to drink in the sight of him, to taste him until the craving subsided.
She slipped into her nightgown, tried to ignore her aching breasts as they brushed against the soft material. Sleep would elude her tonight, and so she padded over to the window to watch the rain splashing on the sill.
Memories of the night she met Mr Trent filled her head. A graveyard encounter beneath the moonlight. She’d been startled at first, scared, but they soon fell into easy conversation. After the horrific encounter with the masked rogue, she should have been afraid of every man, and yet something about the look in his eyes had brought comfort.
Heavens.
The more she thought about Mr Trent, the more unlikely she was to get a wink of sleep. Focusing on the sound of the rain proved soothing until movement near the iron railings in the square sent her heart shooting to her throat.
A lone figure lingered in the shrubbery, watching her window, oblivious to the rain lashing his hat and coat. In the gloom, it was impossible to see his face. His gloved hands gripped the iron bars as if he were a prisoner and she one of the privileged who’d come to sneer and gloat. An ominous aura surrounded him. Dark. Evil. His menacing spirit seemed to reach out to her with its gnarled fingers, to choke every breath from her lungs.
Fear held her in a state of paralysis.
The fiend raised a hand and drew the letter B in the air with his long index finger.
Brethren!
She stumbled back, hugged her body as if the action might protect her from the sinister threat. She must tell Mr Trent. But then would he not race from his bed in pursuit of this monster? One more knock to the head might prove fatal.
Her heart thumped hard against her chest.
Agreements must be kept.
What if this rogue found a way into her bedchamber?
What if he’d come to claim payment for Sebastian Vale’s debt?
Without further thought, she hurried to the door and prised it gently from the jamb so as not to disturb Miss Trimble. She peered out into the dark corridor. The pounding pulse in her throat eased upon finding it deserted. She slipped out and closed the door quietly, crept to Mr Trent’s room.
Worried about disturbing other guests, she tried the handle before knocking, and to her surprise found the door unlocked.
Verity entered the room to see Mr Cavanagh slouched in a chair, his strong legs visible beneath his toga. His eyes were closed though she doubted he was sleeping. Mr Trent stood barefooted and naked to the waist, the muscles rippling in his back as he plunged his hands into the porcelain bowl on the stand and washed blood from his face and hair.
The lump in her throat felt as large as a boulder. “Mr Trent.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice. “Lawrence.”
He swung around, water dripping from an ebony lock hanging over his brow. “Miss Vale?” His gaze slipped to her nightgown, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
It was the only place in the world she wanted to be.
He brushed the errant lock of hair from his brow, glanced at Mr Cavanagh, who’d sat up upon noting the intrusion, and said, “Wait in Miss Vale’s room until she returns. And I suggest you tiptoe for fear of rousing the intrepid Miss Trimble.”
Verity stared at the broad expanse of Mr Trent’s chest, at the bulging muscles in his arms, and almost forgot the reason she came. She cast Mr Cavanagh a sidelong glance. “There’s a pistol in my satchel, a knife in a sheath under the pillow. Lock the door and keep them with you.”
“Why, is Miss Trimble out baying for blood?” Mr Cavanagh’s sinful smirk would falter if he knew of the fiend hiding outside. “Give me five minutes alone with the woman, and she might see my way of thinking.”
“This is no time for arrogance.” Sheer terror sent bile bubbling up to her throat. “They’re out there, watching, waiting.” She raised a trembling finger and pointed to the window.
Mr Trent frowned. “Who’s out there?”
“The Brethren.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lawrence stared at Miss Vale and tried to rein in the erratic nature of his thoughts.
Focus on the Brethren, not the woman in a nightgown with her hair hanging loose.
“The Brethren,” he repeated, his tongue thick as he imagined the delights that lay beneath that one thin layer of material. No doubt her hair would slip like silk through his fingers. No doubt her feet were bare though he daren’t look down. “When you say they’re out there, do you mean in the square?”
He noted the panic in her eyes, a fear that stemmed from more than sleeping alone in a strange hotel room. Dismissing all amorous intentions, he darted to the window, whipped back the curtain and stared out into the night.
“Don’t let them see you!”
“Them? You saw Layton and Wincote?”
Miss Vale hurried to his side and tugged his arm to pull him away. “I saw one man, a sinister creature lingering in the square. He leered at me, raised a gloved hand and drew the mark of the Brethren.”
Lawrence patted the dainty fingers gripping his forearm before stepping forward and peering out of the window. “I see no one there now.” He turned to Cavanagh. “Wait with Miss Vale while I go outside and look.”
“No!” Miss Vale grabbed his hand. “Stay with me. Tomorrow, we will visit Mr Wincote as you suggested, and you can beat the truth from him if you must.”
Mr Cavanagh came to his feet. “Were I not dressed in this silly garb I would pursue the villain.”
“Neither of you must leave this hotel, not tonight. Tomorrow, we will turn the tables and launch an attack.”
She was, without doubt, the bravest woman he’d ever known.
Lawrence couldn’t help but capture her chin between his fingers and stroke the delicate skin at her jaw. “There is nothing to fear, not while I’m here.”
With a surreptitious glance at Cavanagh—who had shown a sudden interest in a painting of fruit on the wall—she turned back to face him and whispered, “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I want to be with you.”
The last comment spoke of a feeling he could not identify, not lust but something more complex. He bent his head, his mouth but an inch from her ear. “You know what will happen if we’re left alone in this room.”
Being a man of determinable insight, Cavanagh slipped discreetly from the room and
closed the door. Lawrence heard him enter Miss Vale’s room and turn the key in the lock.
“I know what will happen.” She cupped his cheek and forced him to look at her. “You will make love to me in this quaint hotel room, and I will welcome your attentions because you’re the only man I could ever grant such a liberty.”
How was it this woman had the power to shatter his resolve? “One look at you and my defences melt like wax beneath a flame.”
“Lock the door, Lawrence. Show me the tenderness, the deep affection that such an intimate act brings.”
And there was the difference.
This was to be a joining of hearts and souls, not just bodies.
“I have never wanted a woman the way I want you.”
A smile brightened her eyes. “Then show me how to love you.”
Love him?
Years of trapped emotion burst free from its prison. His airways narrowed, and he swallowed hard to banish the ache in his throat. He blinked away the water threatening to blur his vision. Good God! He’d not shed a tear since he was a boy.
“They say tears soften the heart,” she said with her usual perceptiveness. She came up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.
“I’m not crying.” He closed his eyes and captured her mouth, drank in the essence of the woman he would marry if only she would give him a chance.
She broke contact. “Then perhaps you ought.”
“I can think of a better way to soothe my tortured soul. Do you trust me, Verity?”
“With my life.”
He dropped to his knees, pressed his forehead to her abdomen and relished the feel of her fingers pushing through his damp hair. He didn’t care that she touched the wound for the sense of joy outweighed the pain.
“If you’re uncomfortable just tell me.” He was too weak to fight these feelings anymore. He looked up and met her gaze as his hands skirted beneath the hem of her nightgown to stroke her soft thighs. “If you want me to stop just say the word.”
“Should you not lock the door?”
“In a moment.” He could not wait to gaze upon every voluptuous curve. “Let me look at you first.”
Bunching the hem of her nightgown up to her waist, he raised it over her head and threw it to the floor. Then he stepped back and gazed upon the naked form of the only woman who’d ever wanted to learn how to love him.
She used her arms to cover her modesty, but he took hold of her hands and held them wide. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you?”
A lifetime.
Longer than that.
“And now I’m here, standing before you as naked as the day I was born.” She gestured to his breeches. “But I’m a lady who demands equality.”
“Allow me to rectify the discrepancy.” He strode over to the door and turned the key before swinging around to face the vision of Venus. “I should warn you. My body already throbs with need.” He wasn’t sure she understood his meaning. “A certain part of my anatomy might appear larger than expected.”
“Based on everything I know about you, I imagine whatever you intend to show me will be impressive.”
“Don’t be afraid.” He unfastened the buttons on the waistband of his breeches and took a few slow steps towards her. “Regardless of your initial thoughts, I guarantee we will fit in every conceivable way.”
She gasped as he pushed the garment past his hips and his cock sprang free. “Lord, you most definitely spoke in earnest.”
“I’ll never lie to you.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “No. Integrity flows like blood through your veins.”
“Integrity?” Since meeting her, he’d fallen far from grace. “I’m about to take your virginity out of wedlock. Who am I to preach of moral standards?”
She raised her chin, though her bottom lip trembled before she spoke. “You’re about to take the virginity of a woman who is in love with you. I see nothing wrong in that.”
For a few seconds, he couldn’t breathe.
Water sprang to his eyes. Damnation! He was a strong, virile man, not a blasted chit. His first instinct was to take her claim and prove it false. And yet, he’d known from the beginning that he could trust her word. But this … this messed with his mind … this did strange things to his body.
“Don’t be afraid.” Her voice was soft, seductive. She closed the gap between them. “I have no expectations. But I cannot lie to you, either.”
“You should have every expectation.” There was a hint of vehemence in his voice that had no place in such an intimate setting. “You deserve more than this.”
“You think too much.” She placed her palm on his bare chest—just as he’d taught her to do at the masquerade—sending shock waves through his body. “You allow the past to invade the present when it has no place here.”
“Does the past not inform everything?”
Her hand slid up to his shoulder, and his cock jerked in response. “All we have is this moment. Let’s not waste it. If you cannot make love to me, let me make love to you.” A chuckle left her luscious lips. “Though I cannot promise it will satisfy on a level you’re used to.”
“Now you’re thinking too much.” He pushed aside all chaotic thoughts and focused on the beautiful soul standing there, offering him the world. “I’m immensely satisfied before we’ve even begun.”
“Then there is no pressure on either of us to perform.” She clasped his hand. “Come, let us climb into bed and take it from there.”
He could hear the nervous edge to her voice, knew that she had roused the courage of an advancing battalion just to appease him. The thought stirred a need to give her everything when he had been conditioned to give nothing.
“Allow me to be of service.” He scooped her up into his arms, covered her mouth with his and swallowed down her excited giggle. When her tongue entered his mouth, he deepened the kiss, drank from the only person who had the power to banish the pain of the past.
When their desire reached fever pitch, and their breathless pants drowned out all whispers of doubt, he carried her to the bed and lowered her down onto the mattress. He stood, counting his blessings, until the lady trailed her fingertips along the muscles in his abdomen, lingered an inch from his cock.
“Tease.” He laughed, and his chest felt lighter.
“Show me how to please you.”
He considered asking her to wrap her hand around his solid shaft, but the need to worship her overtook his own desire for release.
“Pleasuring you will please me.” He moved to the end of the bed, climbed up and covered her body. He kissed her with a tenderness that belied his powerful exterior. He stared into those dazzling blue eyes and stroked her face, rolled his hips so she might get used to the feel of his thick arousal brushing against her sex.
“Heavens!” A little whimper escaped her when he broke contact to shift his weight slightly to the left. “I can barely gather my wits.”
“Soon, you’ll struggle to form any coherent words,” he said, ready to lavish the pert pink nipples pleading for his attention.
He laughed at her sudden look of confusion, rejoiced when he took her nipple into his mouth, when his tongue explored the rosy peak, and she moaned and writhed to his tune. He caressed her thigh, slipped his fingers into the tangle of damp curls and stroked back and forth.
“Lawrence!” She clutched his hair, arched her back and tried to direct him to the other breast. But he had another destination in mind. “Oh, Lord.” She sighed as he kissed a blazing trail down to her navel. “What?” was her shocked response when his mouth closed over her sex. He inhaled the scent of her desire as his tongue mimicked the stroke of his fingers. “Please!” she begged, clutching the bedsheets in her fists.
Never had he seen a more arousing sight.
He waited until she jerked her hips and her body shook with the evidence of her climax, until she cried his name and said she needed him, before taking hold of his erection and positioning him
self at her entrance.
“Do you still want me, Verity?” He could taste her sweet essence on his lips. It would take every ounce of strength he possessed to stop now.
“Yes. Oh, how I want you.” She struggled to catch her breath. “More than anything. More than ever.”
He needed no further inducement. He pushed inside her a mere inch. The maddening sensation of wanting to thrust hard, to bury himself to the hilt, and wanting to proceed with the utmost care and caution almost rendered him insane.
Verity must have read his mind.
Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips, drew him just that bit deeper, enough to send him veering over the edge. “Pain and discomfort cannot be avoided.” Once he’d pushed past her maidenhead, she was his. “But I’m told it will soon pass.”
“Don’t wait, Lawrence. Do it now.”
She clung to him as he closed his eyes and thrust home.
Bless the saints!
Her warm, wet channel surrounded him, hugged him so tight the slightest movement sent waves of pleasure rippling to his toes. But his heart sang the loudest. Love pumped through his veins. Love flooded his body in a euphoric rush.
“Is it too much?” he heard himself say though he struggled to detach from the sheer joy of the moment. “Just say the word, and I shall withdraw.” He moved, but her pained gasp held him rigid.
“Just give me a moment.” She swallowed deeply. “Perhaps if I move first, I will grow accustomed to the size of you.”
“I am yours to command.”
The beauty beneath him arched her hips, rocked slowly against him at first. Each movement brought immense satisfaction, though out of respect for her situation, he suppressed a guttural groan.
Before long they began moving together, in unison, in blissful harmony. The languid pace gave him the opportunity to watch her, to note every sweet gasp, to study the hazy look of desire swimming in her eyes.
As she got used to him, he thrust harder, deeper, though he delivered every stroke with a passion that went beyond pure lust. That said, he would bring her to a climax again. He would feel her muscles tighten around his cock, needing him, wanting him.