She made a sound of derision, as if he was talking nonsense. “There’s not going to be a baby.”
“When it comes to this subject, you don’t know what you’re talking about, a fact we established weeks ago. But unlike you, I do know, and I can assure you that if you stay, I will give you everything you are so lusciously asking for, making odds of a baby quite high.”
“I don’t think so.” Reaching into the pocket of her robe, she pulled out a red velvet envelope that his checkered past enabled him to recognize at once.
“I’m told,” she said as he stared at her in disbelief, “that the device inside this packet prevents babies.”
“God,” he choked, stepping back again, at the absolute end of his tether. “Oh, my God.”
“It’s called a French letter.”
“I know what it is,” he shot back, his voice a rasp. “How do you know what it is?”
She shrugged, so nonchalant, she might have known about condoms all her life. “I saw something about them in a magazine. I didn’t know what they were, not then, but—”
“Where did you get it? You can’t buy them since you’re not married.”
“The baroness, of course. I went to her after the ball, and she gave it to me.”
He groaned. “The baroness. Of course. I should have known.”
“She explained everything. How babies are made, what happens, and . . . and . . . all of that.” Her cheeks flushed rosy pink. “It was quite a revelation, I must say.”
He could not talk about this with her. Not now, not when she was standing in front of him—again—in nothing but a nightgown. “I’m so glad you’ve been made aware of the facts of life,” he said tightly, pulling the envelope from her fingers and tossing it aside.
She seemed not to notice the sarcasm. “That night in the library makes so much more sense now. I’m so glad I understand what to expect.”
“I had a plan, damn it,” he muttered, appreciating—not for the first time in the past two months—that when a man was in love with a madcap ginger, chaos was the order of the day. “Why is it that every time I have a plan, you manage to wreck it?”
“Sorry.” She bit her lip, trying to look contrite, but to his eyes, she just looked deliciously naughty. “But when you realize how you truly feel about someone, waiting even a few hours to tell them seems intolerable. That’s why I’m here.”
He stared, hope and disbelief warring for control, his jaded side telling him not to go making assumptions.
“I seem to have rendered you speechless,” she murmured.
“Let’s get this clear.” He grabbed her arms, held her fast, not certain he could ever let her go again. “I’m in love with you. Are you saying you’re in love with me?”
“Yes.” She smiled, so radiant and beautiful, he couldn’t breathe. “Yes, I’m in love with you. I realized it when we were dancing, because when you were talking about standing by and letting other men have a chance, I couldn’t imagine it. In fact, I can’t imagine letting any other man ever touch me the way you did.”
He was too thunderstruck to reply. What could a man say when he was handed heaven on a plate?
“So,” she said in the wake of his silence, “are you going to let me have my way with you? Or do I have to be even more shameless,” she continued as she freed another button of her robe, “and take off all my clothes before you capitulate?”
He tried to hold back, his instincts, his reason, and all his superior experience telling him that despite her declaration of love and all her newfound worldly wisdom about the physical side of things, she didn’t truly understand what she was doing.
And what about their future? Yes, he’d bought a house, he would be giving her the home she wanted, but the plans he’d made would mean other compromises, big ones, ones he knew she wouldn’t want to make. He ought to resist, wait, at least until after tomorrow.
But then, she slipped another button free, his throat went dry, his resistance crumbled, and any notions of waiting or resisting went straight out of his head.
“Only if you’re sure,” he said. “Because once it’s done, there’s no undoing it.”
“I understand, and I’m sure.” She tugged at her sash, her robe came apart, and he could take no more. He grabbed her, hauled her into his arms, and kissed her.
When his lips parted, hers did, too, and he took her mouth in a long, slow kiss as he slid his hands between them. As he unbuttoned her nightgown, his knuckles brushed her breasts, threatening to flare his lust out of control. But he strove to keep it in check, knowing he had a long way to go tonight if he was to win more than her body.
To slow things down, he slid his hands away from her breasts and took a step back, earning a cry of dismay from her that caused him to press a finger to his lips.
“If we’re going to do this,” he said softly, “we have to be quiet about it. There’s chaps on both sides of me, and if we make any noise, they’ll wake up and know I’ve got a woman in my room. And since you’re the only one I’ve danced with, they’ll guess that it’s you. We can’t have that, so mum’s the word. All right?”
She nodded. “As long as you’re not stopping,” she whispered.
“No. I don’t think I could resist you now if my life depended on it.”
But he didn’t move to touch her, and when she stirred as if to move even closer, he held up one hand to stop her. “I want this to be right for you, and despite your recently acquired knowledge, I know a bit more about this than you do. So, we go at my pace, not yours. I’m in charge. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” She smiled back at him, then bit her lip, slanting him a wicked look from beneath her lashes. “For now.”
Jonathan drew back, raking a hand through his hair and working to get his bearings. Virtually all his sexual knowledge had been gained with women who were anything but innocent. It had been a decade since he’d been at risk of deflowering a virgin, and during that episode, he’d been a fumbling eighteen-year-old of woefully limited experience, a formal engagement had already been announced to both families, and he and the girl in question had been fully dressed and standing in a coat cupboard under a staircase—hardly the place for slow and tender lovemaking. Nonetheless, he knew that was precisely what would be required of him tonight, and having already spent weeks in a very precarious condition, he paused a moment to draw a profound, shaky breath.
“All right, then,” he said at last and reached up to slide her robe off her shoulders. As it fell to the floor, he could see the faint circle of her nipples beneath the thin batiste nightgown, a sight that threatened to snap the tight leash on his control before they’d even begun, but he paused for another slow, deep breath, then lifted his hands and cupped her breasts through the fabric.
Her arms came up around his neck. Her breathing quickened, warm against his throat, as he shaped her breasts in his hands. They were every bit as full and lush as he remembered—not surprising, since that night in the library at Upper Brook Street had been haunting him for days.
Her nipples were hard and round as pebbles, and he toyed with them, rolling them in his fingers. She gasped, her arms tightening around his neck, and when her hips stirred against his own, he groaned low in his throat.
Jonathan pulled back, but he could gain no reprieve. Her arms slid down and her fingers began pulling apart the edges of his smoking jacket.
He groaned again, knowing what she wanted, uncertain he could endure giving it to her. He grasped her wrists. “I’m supposed to be in charge, remember?”
“But I want to see,” she whispered, blushing as she kissed him.
He relented, releasing her wrists and letting her slide the garment from his shoulders. When she touched him, fanning her palms across his bare chest, he inhaled sharply, tilting back his head, enduring the sweet agony as her hands glided over his shoulders and chest, but as they lowered to his abdomen, he couldn’t take any more.
He once again grasped her wrists. “If you keep teasing
me this way,” he said as he pulled her hands down, “this is going to be over far too soon.”
She slanted him a wicked look, that necklace sparkling at her throat. “Would that be so bad?”
“Yes, it would. I told you, I’m in charge. And it’s my turn for a peek.” He gathered the folds of her nightgown in his fists. “Lift your arms.”
She complied, and as she stretched her arms toward the ceiling, he pulled the gown upward and over her head, baring her body completely.
He didn’t touch her, but just the sight of her was enough to threaten what little control he had left, for the reality of her was even more exquisite than any of the images conjured by his fevered imagination. If raw sexual heat could kill a man, he’d have burned to ashes on the spot.
She was blushing all over, her skin a soft, delicate pink. Her face was turned away, loosened tendrils of her gorgeous hair falling across her cheek. Gently, he pushed back the loosened strands, tucking them behind her ear, then he ducked his head, pressing kisses to her hot cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips.
“Now that I know you love me,” he murmured as he tossed her nightgown aside and cupped her breasts again, “there’s something else I’ve got to know.”
“What’s that?” she asked, a soft gasp as he caressed her.
“Will you marry me?”
She nuzzled his neck, pressing a kiss to the base of his throat. “You said earlier I had plenty of time to decide about that.”
“That was before you came to my room in the dark of night, hurled yourself at me in this shameless fashion, and admitted you’re in love with me. I think I’m entitled to a definite answer on the subject of matrimony, because if you think I’m going to let any other man near you after tonight, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Trying to play the heavy-handed guardian again, I see.”
At those words, he felt a twinge of alarm, suspecting that she was equivocating, but when he pulled back, he saw that she was smiling—that mysterious, knowing smile—and he laughed low in his throat.
“Oh, so you want to tease, do you?” he murmured. “Two can play this game.”
He captured her mouth, kissing her deep and slow as he slid his hands down her breasts, over her stomach, and around her hips. “Marry me,” he said against her mouth as he shaped her buttocks in his hands.
She stirred and brought her hands to the waistband of his trousers as if to unfasten them. But he knew he couldn’t let her. He was rock hard, and if she started making explorations of that sort, he’d never be able to hold out, and he wasn’t about to spoil her first time by going too fast. Besides, his other objective was just as important.
Hands on her hips, he gently pushed her backward, maneuvering her toward the foot of the bed, then he eased one hand between her thighs. “Still can’t decide?”
“Jonathan,” she moaned, her arms coming up around his neck, her hips stirring against his hand, her legs tightening instinctively, but he did not relent.
“I can see I shall have to be more persuasive,” he murmured and turned his hand, cupping her mound. She made a shocked sound, her knees buckling, her arms tightening around his neck. He caressed her, relishing the silken wetness of her core, but then he pulled back again. If she wanted to tease, so could he.
He grasped her wrists, then he pulled her hands down to her sides. “Hold on,” he ordered, and wrapped her fingers around the brass of the footboard behind her.
He kissed her again, sliding his hand back between her thighs. She eased back against the footboard with another soft moan as he continued to caress her, and the sight of her this way, with her head tilted back and her lips parted with desire and her body fully bared to him for lovemaking, she was more beautiful than anything he could have imagined. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing, round and full, their nipples a rich brownish-pink in the lamplight.
He bent his head to suckle her breast as he caressed the silken folds of her sex, relishing how slick and wet she was. Her breathing was coming in pants, her hips working against his hand.
“You are naked in my arms,” he said. “I think you should do the honorable thing and marry me.”
She didn’t answer, and he decided it was time for more ruthless tactics. He pulled his hand from between her thighs and sank to his knees, kissing his way down her stomach as he wrapped his arm around her hips and pulled her close.
“Jonathan,” she whispered. “Oh, oh.”
He pressed his mouth to the triangle of curls between her thighs. She shivered, her hips bucking, but he tightened his arm to hold her still and heighten the tension further as he began to caress her with his tongue, stroking the crease of her sex over and over, lightly, relentlessly, until, with a final, shuddering gasp, she came, collapsing in his hold.
He held her this way a moment longer, kissing and nuzzling her sex as the shudders of orgasm rocked her body. Then, at last, he rose, lifting her into his arms. He carried her around to the side of the bed and laid her down. His gaze locked with hers, he began to undo his trousers. “I think you should marry me and make an honest man of me.”
Wordless, she stared at him, not knowing what to say, not wanting to spoil the moment. He was demanding something she wasn’t ready to give. Her body, yes—she’d come tonight willing to give him that, including her heart. But he wanted more than that. He wanted the rest of her life. He’d said he was building a future they could share, but what if he was wrong?
He began unbuttoning his trousers, and Marjorie thought of what the baroness had said about choices, about how one could play safe or enjoy every moment, and as Jonathan slid his trousers down his hips, she tossed worries about the future aside. This moment was what mattered.
His linen followed his trousers, and when he stood naked beside her, the sight of him so flagrantly aroused made her suck in a sharp, startled breath. Even the baroness’s detailed explanations had not prepared her enough, she realized, but at least, she finally understood just what the French letter was supposed to do.
Jonathan waited, letting her have a good, long look, then he retrieved the velvet pouch from where he’d tossed it earlier and removed the long, lambskin sheath. She stared in amazement as he slid it along the length of his shaft, and then, she heard a choked, panicky sound from her own throat. She reached up to touch the jewels around her throat, as if the necklace were a lucky talisman—and perhaps it was, for her apprehensions slipped away, and she felt only the surging power that came from knowing how much he wanted her and how much she wanted him.
He seemed to sense the change in her, for he leaned over to tenderly kiss her mouth. Then, he eased his body down onto hers, pressing her back into the sheets before her courage could fail again. She opened her arms, sure she knew now what to expect, but then, he stopped, resting his weight on one arm, suspended above her as his hand eased that hard, sheathed part of his body between her thighs.
“Marjorie, listen to me.” His voice sounded hoarse, his breathing labored. “I can’t hold back any longer. I love you, and I wanted to hold out until you agree to marry me, but I can’t. I’ll have to trust you on that.” He smiled, but she could tell it was forced. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” She touched his face, kissed him. “Don’t hold out,” she whispered, moving her hips. “Don’t wait, Jonathan. Do it, now.”
“Can’t, yet.” When she moved again, sliding her thighs against his shaft, he gritted his teeth. “Don’t, for the love of God. Don’t move. Listen.”
He took a deep breath, as if striving for control. “I’ve got to warn you about this. You’ve never been with a man before, so it’s likely to hurt.”
As he spoke, his hips began rocking against hers, and as the hard part of him rubbed where he had kissed her and stroked her before, that delicious pleasure washed over her again, growing stronger, hotter. She arched into him again with a soft moan.
“Christ,” he muttered, and shifted his body to rest his weight on his forearms, bury
ing his face against her neck, and flexed his hips against her. That hard part of him pressed deeper onto her and then into her.
Caught up in a sensuous haze, she was sure she knew what was coming, but when he thrust hard, shoving deeply into her, the sudden, burning pain seemed to sear her like a fire inside, and she cried out.
He smothered the sound with his mouth, catching her shock and pain in his kiss. Holding himself rigid above her, he kissed her everywhere he could—her hair, her throat, her cheek, her mouth. “It’ll be all right. I promise. I love you, Marjorie. I love you.”
As he spoke to her and kissed her, the pain began to recede. “I’m all right, Jonathan,” she whispered, wriggling her hips, trying to accustom herself to the strange fullness of him inside of her.
At that unspoken urging, he began to move, slowly at first, then more quickly, his thrusts against her becoming stronger and deeper. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, and it was almost as if he’d forgotten about her, but he was stroking her hair and saying her name, and she realized the truth. He was caught up in the pleasure of her body and this moment.
As for herself, that first searing pain had faded. Now, her own desire was building, desire he’d evoked before with his hands and his mouth. She pushed upward to meet his next thrust, and he groaned, his arms sliding beneath her as if to pull her closer when he already seemed as close to her as he could possibly be, and she thrust up again, striving to move with him, urging him to a faster pace, and faster still, until they were both frantic, breathing hard, moving as one.
The pain was now gone, obliterated by rising desire, and with each thrust, her need rose, hotter and deeper. And then, without any warning, it reached its peak, roaring up within her in a violent, beautiful explosion that sent waves of that sweet pleasure through her entire body. “I love you,” she panted against his ear, her legs tight around him, her body clenching his as the pleasure kept coming. “I love you.”
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