And she forgave him, if only for one night, for a few stolen moments.
She told him with her kiss, with her lips and tongue. With her hands, wandering over him wherever they could. His firm rump, his strong arms, his broad shoulders. They kissed as if it were the first time their mouths had ever met and as if it was the last time they ever would.
Her questing fingers found the fall of his breeches, and she worked the rest of the buttons free as his tongue played with hers. When his cock sprang free into her hand, long and thick, velvet-smooth and warm, she moaned into their kiss. Her fingers tightened, grasping him at his root and stroking.
His hips pumped, and he made a low, heady sound of need. Yes. He was as desperate as she was. The love between them had been a lie. So too had been his promises he would find a way to persuade her father to allow him to marry her. The desire, however, had been all too real.
It was now.
Real and breathtaking.
Their kiss turned even more frenzied than before. Together, they removed the remainder of the barriers of cloth keeping them from what they wanted most. His breeches and stockings were gone, so too her night rail.
Clutching each other, still kissing, they somehow made their way to the bed. She was on her back, beneath him, Graham nestled between her thighs. Her first thought was that it felt so right, so familiar. How many times had she dreamt of this, of him, over the last lonely few years?
She wanted to tell herself this was temporary. An illusion brought about by her suppressed desire. That one night meant nothing. That she could take her pleasure the way so many men and women did, and think nothing of it tomorrow.
But that was a worry she would save for the sun.
Tonight, she had the only man she had ever loved in her bed, and she was remembering what it felt like to be wanted. What it felt like to be touched tenderly. To be savored and desired. She would fret over regrets when she did not have his big body pinning hers to the bed.
“Han,” he said her name as if it were a prayer as he dropped reverent kisses all over her body.
Down her neck, over her collarbone, to her shoulder, where he bit gently. Then back to her ear, where he tongued the hollow behind it and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.
“My God, I could breathe in the scent of you forever, and it would still not be enough,” he said raggedly.
She believed his words, because she felt the same way about him. She clutched his shoulders and pressed her face to the silken strands of his hair. She had never seen another gentleman with hair such a rich, bold color. Every part of him was so unique, so perfect to her. Emotion swelled within her, along with the carnal need, before she could control herself.
She had missed him. Dear God, how she had missed him. His face, his voice, his scent, his touch, his body over hers, inside hers…
He was still kissing her as if she were a gift. As if she were a goddess fallen from the heavens for him alone. Lingering kisses over her breasts. He took first one nipple in his mouth and then the other, drawing on each so sweetly, nipping the hardened peaks with his teeth before licking away the sting.
Her fingers sank into his hair, so thick, so soft. Touching him like this was a dream. She had longed for him, how she had lain awake nights, recalling the way he had made her feel. Even through her anger, through all her hurts, though years passed, she had never forgotten.
His mouth trailed a path of decadent heat down her belly. His hands caressed her so gently, she could weep. He kissed her hip bone, caressed her inner thighs, spread them wide. She did not even have any chance to be embarrassed, to feel a hint of shame at the way he exposed her.
He lowered his head, his tongue dipping into her folds. The first lick over her desperate skin made her cry out. Dimly, she recalled where she was, that she must not be loud. She held the back of her hand over her mouth, stifling her moan. He parted her and sucked her pearl the same way he had her nipples.
Her hips bucked as liquid heat and molten need shimmered through her. She was filled with stars and light and radiance. Burning for him. Always for him. Only for him. His tongue flitted over her core, and then he licked into her. Her heart pounded, everything within her tightening like a knot.
After so long, without desire, the pleasure was overwhelming, and she was already on the edge. When he returned to her pearl, flicking his tongue over her in slow, steady swipes, and sank a finger inside her, she lost control. His finger was deep, curled to find a place inside her she had forgotten existed. A decadent place, a reactive place.
She shuddered and came apart. Bliss crashed over her with such violent splendor she had to bite her hand to keep from crying out and alerting the entire wing to the illicit sins she was engaged in.
“God, I love the way you taste,” he said, still licking her and moving his finger inside her as the ripples of her spend chased through her.
She had no words.
The sight of him, his handsome face buried between her legs, undid her. It was as if the walls she had built around herself had come crashing to the ground. Her defenses were destroyed, nothing but rubble all around them.
She hungered for more. For him inside her. For everything that was wrong and bad and iniquitous. Everything that went against all her vows to herself. A final gift: him inside her. That was what she wanted.
As if he heard her thoughts, he rose over her, his powerful body tense, a beautiful study in angles and planes. In strength and muscle and tenderness, all at once. He guided himself to her entrance, the thick tip of his cock teasing her with a promise of fulfillment.
“Do you want me, Han?” he asked, his voice a feral growl.
His summer-blue eyes scorched her alive.
“Yes.” The sweet susurrus of her complete surrender seemed to hover in the air around them.
They were suspended in time. Or perhaps time ceased to exist. The past, the present, fell away. He slid inside her. One deep thrust, and she was stretched and full, so full of him. His mouth crashed down on hers in a hungry, carnal kiss. Their tongues tangled, and she tasted herself as he began moving within her.
Her legs wrapped around his waist. They fit together so perfectly, so naturally. It was as if they had not spent the past five years apart. They kissed as their lovemaking turned frantic. She twisted from the bed, trying to get him deeper inside her as he began a punishing rhythm. He reached between them and stroked her pearl.
She tried to tell herself she must not allow him to spill inside her.
Tried to recall the disaster he had made of her life before.
But then the wave of her next spend came crashing down on her, hard. She tightened on him, her legs locking on his hips as ecstasy replaced all thought. Sensation rolled through her like the waters of a flood, in one huge rush. He drove into her one last time, and then the muscles of his back tensed. On a groan, he emptied himself within her.
And Hannah, fool that she was, held him there, to her, their sweat-slicked bodies united, hearts pounding in unison.
Chapter Eight
Then
Hannah’s favorite room in Falwyck Abbey’s sprawling two hundred chambers was the library. On account of the terrible rains sweeping through the countryside that morning, Graham’s note had instructed her to meet here.
It was fitting, she thought as she walked slowly down the wall of books, scarcely even perusing the spines of the volumes as she passed. Fitting she would be meeting the man she loved most in the place she loved best.
On the heavy, heart-thudding thought, she exhaled slowly.
It had not taken her long to realize the truth.
She had not confessed it to Graham just yet, of course. But she was sure of her feelings. Certain of the emotion running through her. The day he had pulled her into the apple tree, the first time he had kissed her, had changed everything. She had gone from a lady who was helplessly enthralled to a lady who was desperately in love.
And she was going to tell him.
&
nbsp; Today.
If she had the courage, that was.
You are going to have the courage, Han. Graham has strong feelings for you as well. Otherwise, he would not be pursuing you as he has.
But no matter how many times she reassured herself that Graham’s every action toward her had shown her how he felt for her, her stomach was nonetheless tied up in a half-dozen knots as she awaited him.
The door clicked open, and the air in the library changed. It fairly sizzled. Hannah spun about to confirm what she had already known without needing to look—Graham had come.
And oh, how handsome he was, cutting a dashing figure in his buckskin breeches, riding boots, and dark coat. Her heart pounded furiously at the sight of him, and she could not keep the smile from her lips any more than she could maintain the distance propriety decreed.
To say nothing of the fact they ought not to be alone together. Her lady’s maid was otherwise occupied, and if they were caught, it would be the ruin of her reputation and a precipitate wedding for them both. Chaperones were dreadful weights when Hannah could be alone with Graham. When she could touch him, kiss him, speak with him as she wished.
Her feet were moving now, flying over the thick Aubusson, taking her to his open arms. Would someone wander into the library and discover them? Did she even care? Questions and thoughts ceased to exist when he caught her to him, his gaze devouring her with greedy tenderness that made her breath hitch.
“Han,” he said warmly, his voice vibrating with such undisguised delight that she could not help but to feel as if she were the greatest treasure, laid before him.
“Graham.” She said his name with the reverence of a prayer as she buried her face in his neck.
Just above his cravat, she found the magical space of skin that was just him, and she inhaled deeply of his scent, so familiar and beloved. Only a day had passed between now and when she had last seen him alone, but it may as well have been a century for as much as every part of her rejoiced at his nearness.
“I missed you,” he breathed into the crown of her head, placing a kiss there, his arms tightening around her waist.
The desperate urge to kiss his neck beset her, but she told herself she dared not be so forward. Thus far, she had been content to allow him to control the pace of their secret assignations.
Instead, she swallowed, tipped back her head to survey him. “I missed you as well. Were you riding this morning before the rains began?”
Hannah stifled a sudden pang of hurt at the possibility that he had gone riding without her.
“Your brother accompanied me,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Else I would have invited you. I did not dare refuse him lest it rouse his suspicions.”
The reminder of the secret they kept made her frown, stealing some of her joy at seeing him and being in his arms, held so close to his heart she could absorb the beats. “Do you suppose it shall always be thus for us, Graham? I am not certain I can bear to remain forever your secret.”
Because she wanted more.
Far more.
Everything, in fact.
She wanted to be his wife. The mother of his children. Lady Graham. That was what she longed for most.
His countenance grew stern, his sensual lips tightening as his eyes searched hers. “Surely you cannot believe I would keep you a secret forever. What must you think of me, darling? That I am the world’s greatest cad?”
“Of course not,” she hastened to assure him. “I think you are the world’s finest gentleman.”
He frowned. “I am hardly that, else I would not be sneaking about with you, meeting you in secret. I pay you insult, Han, with each meeting. I can scarcely bear myself any longer. I cannot fathom how you do.”
He was torn. That much she could see. The urge to unburden herself to him could no longer be contained. Hannah raised a hand, cupped his jaw. “You cannot pay me insult, and I do wish you would not be so unfair to yourself. You are a good man, honorable and true. And I…I love you, Graham. You have stolen my heart forever. I will wait until you are prepared to ask my father for permission. I will wait for you as long as you need.”
Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to assume he would speak to her father.
Or to suppose he would wish to court her, to ask for her hand.
But she did not think she mistook him. The last few weeks they had shared, both in London, and here at Falwyck Abbey, did not lie.
Could not lie.
Graham was hers, and she was his, and one day soon, she would be his wife.
His arms tightened, drawing her even nearer. “You…love me?”
He sounded dazed. He looked dazed.
Dear heavens, had she said too much? Too soon?
Be brave, Hannah.
She met his gave, unwavering. “I love you. I think I have always loved you, from the time we first met.”
“From the time we first met,” he repeated.
“Yes.” A sudden wave of shyness overwhelmed her. Her lips and tongue would form no further words.
“Three years ago,” he said. “You were wearing a pale-yellow morning gown, and you were sketching. Your crayons had created hopeless smears on your skirts, but your drawing of the lake was beautiful.”
He remembered.
Hannah’s lips parted. “You told me there was rain coming, and you offered to carry my supplies back to the house.”
“And you told me to go to the devil because you had yet to complete your work,” he recalled with a rueful grin.
“I did not tell you to go to the devil,” she denied, that long-ago day forever imprinted upon her memory. “I told you I would leave when I was ready.”
His stare traveled over her face like a caress. So tender. So intimate. So knowing. “You may as well have done. I know you well enough now, Han, to infer what you truly meant.”
“You had only just arrived with Max,” she said. “I was not certain I could trust you then.”
Indeed, she had yet to have her presentation in those days. Her mother and father had filled her with the fear of scoundrels and rogues who might attempt to turn a lady’s head. She had supposed he may have been one. How foolish she had been then. There was no man more trustworthy than Graham.
She would give him anything if he but asked.
“And what of now?” he asked solemnly. “Do you trust me?”
“With all my heart,” she said, belatedly realizing he had not returned her affections. “Do you trust me?”
More importantly, do you love me?
“Utterly, Han.” His head dipped, and their lips connected for a slow, moving kiss, before parting again. “I am in love with you, too. I think I have been from the day I saw you in your hopelessly ruined gown. But we were both of us too young. The time was not right.”
“What of the time now?” she dared to ask. “Is it right?”
“Shall I speak to your father? Is it what you want?” His gaze searched hers.
Did he need to ask?
“Yes.” Hannah rose on her toes, pressing her mouth to his once more.
What she wanted more than anything was to be Graham’s wife. She wanted to love him forever. To give herself to him completely. To take his name, bear his children. That was what she longed for, what she desired more than anything else.
He broke the kiss, gazing down at her. “Yes you want to be my wife? Yes you want me to offer for you?”
“Yes.” She kissed him again, happiness bursting inside her. She was a boiling teapot, running over. Emotions flowing everywhere. “Yes to both questions.”
“Thank you, darling.” He lowered his forehead to hers, pressing them together. “I will go to your father before the house party is at an end.”
Her heart swelled with hope. “Do you promise?”
He nodded, solemn and handsome and everything her heart yearned for. “I promise, my love.”
Chapter Nine
Now
Graham woke as the earliest strains of dawn filt
ered in through gaps in the window dressings. The fire had died to nothing more than the glow of coals in the grate, and the air was cold. He was surrounded by golden curls. He held a sleeping, decadently naked woman in his arms. The scent of lovemaking lingered in the air. His cock was a rigid reproach, standing erect and ready.
He had made a horrible mistake.
More than one, as it happened.
A whole, damned series of them. And they always involved one woman.
Han.
Carefully, to keep from waking her, he disentangled his legs and arms from hers. She slept on, looking as peaceful and serene as an angel in the early morning’s light. The bedclothes were rumpled, and in her slumber, she had twisted them about her waist, meaning her breasts were on full display, her sweet, pink nipples puckered in the chill air.
Taunting him.
Calling for his lips.
His prick twitched, ever the traitor to his mind and heart. What he would not give to stay here with her in bed all day, to fuck her a dozen different ways and tell the rest of the world to go to the devil. But though he was every bit as crazed with wanting her this morning as he had been last night, without the accepting cloak of darkness, he had no excuse to remain.
He could not hide his follies when the servants and other guests began moving about, beginning their days. Bedding her last night had been a grave lapse in judgment. An aberration, he told himself, slipping from the bed at last.
But not even the frigid morning air on his naked skin was enough to wilt his erection. Nor was it enough to cool the fires of desire burning through him for her. Had he told himself he could bed her once? That he could banish the poison of wanting her by making love to her?
He was a fool.
Worse than a fool.
Wooed in Winter Page 6