by Julia Quinn
“I will have you,” he pledged, yanking off her chemise and placing his hand over her heart.
“I will have you,” he groaned, just before his mouth closed over her nipple.
All she said was, “Yes.”
And Blake's heart soared.
Caroline arched her back as high-pitched sounds of desire escaped her mouth. It seemed that for every longing he fulfilled, he created two more, whipping her body into a frenzy of need.
She wasn't certain what to do, but she knew she wanted to feel his skin against hers, so she moved her hands to the buttons of his shirt. Her movements were rough and clumsy, however, and she soon found herself pushed aside by Blake, who tore the garment off with a savage cry.
A second later, he was back on top of her, the heat of his bare chest against hers. His mouth slanted over hers, and he devoured her from the inside out.
She moaned into him, clutching at his back, then skimming her hands down to the waistband of his breeches. She paused, gathered her courage, then hooked one finger underneath., touching the smooth skin of his buttocks.
Blake's lips slid across her cheek to her ear, murmuring, “I want to feel you,” against her skin. His breath was hot and moist, and so very erotic. She could feel each of his words even more than she could hear them.
“I want to feel you, too,” she whispered.
“Oh, you shall. You shall.” He rolled off her just long enough to divest himself of the rest of his clothing, and then he was on top of her again, the hot, naked length of him burning into her skin.
The surf was rising, and the cold water tickled her bare toes. Caroline shivered, but the movement only rubbed her more intimately against Blake, and she heard him groan with desire.
“I'm going to touch you,” he whispered, his voice hot against her cheek.
She knew what he meant, but it was still a shock when he brushed his fingers against her most intimate place. She stiffened, then relaxed as his lips pressed up against her ear with a soft, “Shhh.”
One finger slipped inside her, and she gasped with pleasure. “I want to touch you, too,” she said.
He let out a ragged breath. “It would probably kill me if you did.”
Her eyes flew to his face.
“I want you so much,” he tried to explain. “I'm damned near bursting with it, and I can't—”
“Shhh.” It was her turn now to comfort him, and she placed a gentle finger on his lips. “Just show me. Show me everything. I want to please you.”
A hoarse sound came from deep in Blake's throat as he nudged her legs apart. He touched her with the very tip of his manhood and nearly flinched at the pleasure of the contact. She was so hot and willing, and he knew she wanted him, damaged soul and all.
“Oh, Caroline, I'll make this good for you,” he vowed. “I'll bring you such joy. I promise.”
“You already have,” she said softly, then gasped as he began to penetrate her.
He took her slowly, giving her body time to adjust to his size and strength. It was so difficult to hold back when every fiber of his being ached to pound into her, branding her as his own. Something very primitive had been awakened inside him, and he didn't just want to make love to her; he wanted to devour her, possess her, bring her such pleasure that she couldn't even dream of giving herself to another.
But he held back, straining to maintain a gentle touch. She wasn't ready for the ferocity of his desire. She wouldn't understand it. And he cared too much to frighten her.
He cared.
It was a stunning revelation, and his entire body froze.
“Blake?”
He'd known he liked her, he'd known he desired her. But it had taken this moment of intimacy to realize that his emotions were far more intense. He, who had thought that he'd lost the power to feel anything deeply, had been touched by this woman, and—
“Blake?”
He looked down.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, a touch of wonder in his voice. “No. As a matter of fact, I think that everything might actually be just right.”
A hint of a smile graced her lips. “What do you mean?”
“I'll tell you later,” he said, worried that this magical feeling might disappear if he examined it too closely. “But for now…”
He pushed forward. Caroline gasped.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“No. It's just that—I feel so, well, full somehow.”
Blake let out a shout of laughter. “I'm not even halfway there,” he said with an amused smile.
Her mouth fell open. “You're not?”
“Not yet,” he said solemnly. “Although this”—he pressed forward, the motion bringing exquisite friction to them both—“does bring me a little closer.”
She gulped. “Only closer? Not all the way there?”
He smiled slowly and shook his head. “Of course if I did this”—he gave his hips a tiny thrust—“I'd be almost there.”
“But did you—Am I still—”
“—a virgin?” he completed for her. “Technically, I suppose, yes, but as far as I'm concerned, you're mine.”
Caroline swallowed and blinked back tears, barely able to contain her emotions. It was amazing what a simple sentence could do to her. You're mine. Oh, how she wanted that to be true. Forever.
“Make me yours,” she whispered. “In every way.”
She could see in his face how much his restraint was costing him. The night air was chilly, but Blake's brow was beaded with sweat, and the muscular cords of his throat stood out prominently.
“I don't want to hurt you,” he said, his voice straining against itself.
“You won't.”
And then, as if the last bit of his reserve had been used up, he let out a hoarse cry and plunged forward, sheathing himself within her completely. “Sweet Lord,” he gasped. “Caroline.”
She couldn't fight off a crazy urge to laugh. “Oh, Blake,” she gasped. “I see the difference now.”
“Do you?”
“There's more?”
He nodded. “Just wait and see.”
And then he began to move.
* * *
Later Caroline couldn't decide which part she'd liked best. Was it the feeling of completeness she felt when they were joined as one? Was it the primitive rhythm of his body as he claimed her as his own? Certainly she couldn't discount the explosive climax she'd felt, immediately followed by Blake's shout of passion as he left his seed in her.
But now, as she lay in his arms, the ocean breeze caressing their bodies, she thought that this might be the best of all. He was so warm and close, and she could hear his heartbeat as it slowed to its normal, sedate pace. She could smell the salt on his skin and the passion in the air. And there was something so right about it all, as if she'd waited her whole life just for this moment.
But mixed in with her happiness was an uneasy fear. What happened now? Did this mean he wanted to marry her? And if he did, was that only because he now felt it was the right thing to do? And if that were the case, did she care?
Well, of course she cared. She wanted him to love her with the intensity of emotion she felt for him. But maybe he would learn to love her if they were married. She might be miserable if she married a man who didn't love her, but she knew she'd be miserable without him. Maybe she should just close her eyes, jump in, and hope for the best.
Or maybe, she thought with a frown, she ought to remember that he hadn't said more than two words to her since they'd made love, and certainly nothing about marriage.
“Why the long face?” Blake asked, idly stroking her hair with his fingers.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just woolgathering.”
“About me, I imagine,” he said quietly. “And my intentions.”
She drew back in horror. “I would never dream of manipulating you into—”
“Shush,” he said with soft authority. “I know.”
“You do
?”
“We will be married as soon as I can obtain a special license.”
Her heart leaped. “Are you sure?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A stupid one,” she mumbled. Hadn't she just decided that she didn't care if he wanted to marry her just because it was the right thing to do?
No, that wasn't right. She did care. She was just going to marry him anyway.
“Caroline?” Amusement was evident in his voice.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
She blinked. “Did you ask me one?”
“I asked you if you would…” He paused. “No, actually I didn't ask.”
Before Caroline realized what he was about, he rolled over and got up on one knee. “Caroline Trent, soon to be Ravenscroft,” he said, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
If her eyes hadn't filled with so many tears, she might have actually chuckled at the sight of him proposing to her stark naked. “Yes,” she said, nodding furiously. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good.”
Caroline closed her eyes for a few seconds. She wanted to close off all her senses so that she might savor the moment in her mind. No sight, no touch, no smell—nothing to distract her from the exquisite joy in her heart.
“Caroline?”
“Shhh.” She waved her hand at him and then, a few seconds later, opened her eyes and said, “There. What were you going to say?”
His expression was curious. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing, I—Oh look!” She pointed up at the sky.
“What?” he asked, his eyes following her finger.
“The sky must have cleared up. The stars are out.”
“So they are,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “But then again, you were the one who said they were there all along.”
Caroline squeezed his hand in hers. “Yes,” she agreed. “They were.”
A half hour later they were dressed—albeit rather disheveled—and trying to slip into the house as quietly as possible.
James, however, was waiting in the front hall.
“I told you we should have used the back stairs,” Caroline muttered.
“I assume you're back for the night?” James said mildly. “Perriwick wanted to lock the door, but I wasn't sure you'd brought a key.”
“We've decided to be married,” Blake blurted out.
James merely lifted one eyebrow and murmured, “I thought you might.”
Chapter 21
prov-e-nance (noun). Origin, derivation.
I cannot claim to know or understand the provenance of romantic love, but I'm not sure that it is something that needs to be understood, just appreciated and revered.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Ravenscroft
They were married one week later, much to the delight of Penelope, who insisted upon purchasing a trousseau for the bride. Caroline had thought that the two ready-made dresses Blake had purchased for her were a luxury, but nothing could compare to Penelope's idea of a suitable wardrobe. Caroline let her soon-to-be sister choose every-thing—with one exception. The dressmaker owned a bolt of blue-green silk the exact color of her eyes, and Caroline insisted upon having an evening gown fashioned out of it. She had never given much thought to her eyes before, but after Blake had skimmed his fingers across her eyelids and declared her eyes the exact color of the ocean at the equator…Well, she really couldn't help becoming a little bit proud of them.
The wedding ceremony was small and private, with only Penelope, James, and Seacrest Manor's servants in attendance. Blake's older brother had wanted to come, but one of his daughters had taken ill, and he didn't want to leave her. Caroline thought that was as it should be and penned him a note expressing her desire to meet him at a more convenient time.
Perriwick gave the bride away. Mrs. Mickle was so jealous she insisted upon playing the part of mother of the bride, even though that role didn't entail her actually taking part in the ceremony.
Penelope was matron of honor, and James was best man, and a lovely time was had by all.
Caroline smiled her way through the next few days. She couldn't ever remember being as happy as she was as Caroline Ravenscroft of Seacrest Manor. She had a husband and a home, and her life was as near to perfect as she could imagine. Blake hadn't professed his love to her, but she supposed that was too much to expect from a man who had until recently been in so much emotional pain.
In the meantime, she would make him as happy as she could, and let him do the same for her.
* * *
Now that Caroline truly belonged to Seacrest Manor and vice versa, she was determined to make her mark on the small estate. She was puttering in the garden when Perriwick approached her. “Mrs. Ravenscroft,” he said, “you have a visitor.”
“I do?” she asked in surprise. Hardly anyone even knew she was Mrs. Ravenscroft. “Who?”
“A Mr. Oliver Prewitt.”
She paled. “Oliver? But why…”
“Do you want me to send him away? Or I could have Mr. Ravenscroft deal with him, if that is preferable.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. She didn't want her husband seeing Oliver. Blake was likely to lose his temper, and he'd hate himself later for it. She knew how important it was to him to apprehend Oliver and his entire ring of spies. If he blew his cover now, he'd never get the chance.
“I'll see him,” she said in a firm voice. She took a deep, cleansing breath and set down her work gloves. Oliver had no power over her now, and she refused to be afraid of him.
Perriwick motioned for her to follow him into the house, and they made their way to the drawing room. As she passed through the doorway, she saw Oliver's back, and her entire body tensed.
She'd almost forgotten how much she hated him.
“What do you want, Oliver?” she said in a flat voice.
He looked up at her, seven different kinds of menace lurking in his eyes. “That isn't a very affectionate greeting for your guardian.”
“My former guardian,” she corrected.
“A minor technicality,” he said with a little wave of his hand.
“Get to the point, Oliver,” she ground out.
“Very well.” He walked slowly toward her until they were nose to nose. “You owe me,” he said in a low voice.
She didn't flinch. “I owe you nothing.”
They stood that way, staring each other down, until he broke away and walked to the window. “Quite a nice piece of property you have here.”
Caroline suppressed the urge to scream in frustration. “Oliver,” she warned, “my patience is wearing thin. If you have something to say to me, say it. Otherwise, get out.”
He whirled around. “I ought to kill you,” he hissed.
“You could,” she said, trying not to show any reaction to his threat, “but you'd go to the gallows, and I don't think you want that.”
“You've ruined everything. Everything!”
“If you mean your little plot to make me the next Prewitt,” she spat out, “then yes, I have. Shame on you, Oliver.”
“I gave you food. I gave you shelter. And you repaid me with the worst sort of betrayal.”
“You ordered your son to rape me!”
He advanced, jabbing his stubby finger in her direction. “That wouldn't have been necessary if you'd cooperated. You always knew you were meant to marry Percy.”
“I knew no such thing. And Percy didn't want the marriage any more than I did.”
“Percy does what I tell him to.”
“I know,” she said in a disgusted voice.
“Do you have any idea the plans I had for your fortune? I owe money, Caroline. Lots of money.”
She blinked in surprise. She had no idea Oliver was in debt. “That's not my problem or my fault. And you certainly lived well enough off my money while I was your ward.”
She stared at him in shock. Oliver had always lived so well. He insisted upon the finest of everything. “Then where did all your money come from?” she asked. “The new candelabra, the fancy carriage…how did you pay for them?”
“That was from—” His lips pressed together in a firm and angry line. “That's none of your business.”
Her eyes widened. Oliver had almost admitted to smuggling—she was sure of it. Blake would be very interested.
“The real power was to come when you married Percy,” he continued. “Then I would have had control over everything.”
She shook her head, stalling for time while she thought of something to say that might prompt him to incriminate himself. “I would never have done it,” she finally blurted out, knowing she had to say something to keep him from growing suspicious. “I would never have married him.”
“You would have done what I told you to!” he roared. “If I had gotten to you before that idiot you call your husband, I would have held my boot to the back of your head until you obeyed.”
Caroline saw red. It was one thing to threaten her, but no one called her husband an idiot. “If you do not leave this instant, I will have you forcibly removed.” She no longer cared if he incriminated himself or not—she just wanted him out of her house.
“‘I'll have you forcibly removed,’” he mimicked. His lips spread into a menacing grin. “Surely you can do better than that, Caroline. Or should I say Mrs. Ravenscroft? My, my, how we've come up in the world. The newspaper mentioned that your new husband is the son of Viscount Darnsby.”
“There was an announcement in the newspaper?” she whispered in shock. She'd been wondering how Oliver had known where to find her.
“Don't try to act surprised, you little slut. I know you put that announcement there so I would see it. It's not as if you have any friends you'd want to notify.”
“But who—” She caught her breath. Penelope. Of course. In her world, marriages were immediately announced in the newspaper. She'd probably forgotten all about the need for secrecy.