She stared up at him with such longing that it made his heart miss a beat. “Y-you really mean that?”
Grabbing her hand, he pressed it against his erection, which strained against his trousers. “It’s not as if I could lie about it, given this.”
Her eyes darkened to the blue of storm clouds as she caressed him through the fabric. “My . . . well . . . that is very . . . interesting.”
“This shows how much I ache to be inside you, dearling,” he said hoarsely as he slipped his hand between her legs to rub and arouse her. “To take you and make you mine. In this place. At this moment. And I realize you deserve a proper bedding, in a soft bed with sheets. You deserve better than a quick tumble on a table on a rooftop.”
He thrust his growing cock against her hand. “Yet even knowing that, knowing it’s mad and unwise, I want it. I want you. But only if you’re willing.”
“It’s not as if I could lie about it,” she rasped, echoing his words as she undulated against his hand, her damp warmth driving him utterly insane. “Lord help me, but I do want you . . . as much as you want me. I just don’t know . . . what to do.”
“I’ll show you.” He’d show her that marital relations could be intoxicating. That even a marriage based on lust could be pleasurable. And that, in her case, he felt something more than—
God, no, it was only lust. Surely it was.
But as he slid his hand inside her wrapped gown to fondle one of her sweet breasts, he knew he was lying to himself. This was obsession. And for a man who’d never been obsessed before, it felt dangerous.
He didn’t care. Caught up in his need, he pulled her bodice apart enough to jerk down her shift and corset cup so he could seize her lovely naked breast in his mouth.
“Oh my, yes . . .” she breathed as he frantically undid his trousers and drawers. “But you must show me what to do, how to . . . to touch you. I want . . . to be a real wife to you.”
A real wife? He wasn’t even sure what that was, or that he could be a real husband to her. But he couldn’t think about that just now. Because he would die if he couldn’t be inside her, with her, part of her.
And none of the rest mattered.
Seventeen
Delia couldn’t believe she was sitting half-naked in the sun and wind while Warren put his hands all over her. She ought to be embarrassed.
Instead she felt wild and daring and giddily happy. Warren had sought her out as soon as he’d arrived from town. He’d done his best to reassure her about their future, despite now knowing more about her family and their troubles.
And he’d promised to be faithful to her. Sort of.
I can safely promise never again to spend my nights in the stews.
She would hold him to that. But first . . . “Show me how to please you. I want to touch you, too.”
With a growl, he grabbed her hand and curved it around his now bared arousal. His eyes slid shut as a look of pure bliss swept his features. “God, yes, dearling. I love having you caress my cock. You have no idea . . .”
She’d heard the men speak of their cocks at Dickson’s, not knowing that they meant this strange rod of flesh.
Fascinated by the length and rigidity of it, she stroked it with great delicacy. “Like this? Am I doing it right?” She didn’t want to hurt him.
“It’s fine,” he breathed, “but it would be better if you held it . . . more firmly. Show me . . . you’re not afraid of me.”
“I’m not.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was much larger than she’d expected. And that . . . that cock was supposed to go inside her? Lord.
But she did as he asked and gripped him more tightly. With a taut groan, he thrust into her hand. “Like that, yes. Oh, God, you’re perfect.”
Then he blotted out whatever she might have answered with a soul-consuming kiss. His hands grew bolder, one of them darting a finger inside her below while the other pinched her nipple lightly and made her gasp with surprise, then pleasure.
“I’ve thought of nothing but this since the day I met you,” he said against her mouth. “Even then, I wanted you.”
“I wanted you, too,” she admitted. “But I knew it was mad.”
He nipped her lower lip. “Why? Because of my reputation?”
“Yes. And the fact that you can . . . have anyone you want.”
“Not anyone.” He freed her other breast. “I gained you only by default.”
As he bent to lave her with his tongue, she threaded her fingers through his luscious hair. “That’s not true. If you’d offered for me at any point—”
“You would have accepted? Never.” He tugged gently at her nipple with his teeth, shooting lusciously wanton sensations throughout her body. “You’re too stubborn . . . to go easily.”
“Yet I’m here now.” She clutched him against her breast. “With you.”
“Thank God. I don’t think I could have borne another day without making you mine.” He delved deeper inside her with his finger while his thumb fondled her at a different spot, making her squirm at the delicious thrills coursing through her. “You’re so hot and wet for me, dearling. I need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” she murmured. His finger in her wasn’t enough, though she wasn’t sure why. “Make me your wife.”
With a growl, he shifted their bodies so he could ease his rigid cock inside her.
My oh my. That was . . . different. It fit better than she’d expected. She was plenty aware of its size and girth, of the strange feeling of having something foreign thrust up inside her. But that warred with the satisfaction at having him joined to her at last.
There was a quick piercing discomfort, so fleeting she hardly noticed. And then Warren was filling her to the brim, giving her all of himself.
“Heavens,” she gasped, swept up in the acute pain-pleasure of having him buried inside her. She wished he’d withdraw, then wished he wouldn’t.
He stopped moving entirely. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t know how to answer. All right wasn’t exactly how she’d describe how it felt. Invasive. Fascinating. Intimate. “I—I think so.”
“It will get better, I swear.”
Better?
Next thing she knew, he was drawing out, then coming in again with slow, steady strokes that made her pulse beat a rapid tattoo. At first she felt dragged upon a journey she didn’t understand. She told herself it was enough to be here with him beneath the azure sky dotted with clouds. To know he would be her husband. Forever.
Then he pulled her a bit more forward on the table and caught her behind her knees to urge her legs around his waist. “Tuck your heels behind my thighs, dearling,” he urged her.
She did so, giving a little gasp of delight when that sensitive spot between her legs bumped squarely against him.
That’s when everything changed. This time when he drove inside her, it sent a frisson of pleasure echoing through her. He did it again and again, changing the journey into a thundering rush into the unknown, where he was driving her forward with thrust after thrust against the part of her that craved his touch.
“Ohhh . . .” That’s what he’d meant by better. “That is . . .”
“Incredible?” he breathed. “Because that’s how . . . you feel to me.”
“Yes. Oh yes.” Incredible and astonishing and beyond anything she’d ever known.
She fisted her hands in his shirt to hold him close as her body rose to meet his. The more he pounded into her, the more the world shrank until the only thing in it was her and Warren barreling forward. Together. Inextricably joined.
Soon all she knew was the rasp of his whiskers, his rapid breaths against her cheek . . . the ache in her heart to have the whole of him. It was mad and rash and she wanted it to go on and on . . .
“My lovely . . . amazing . . . wife. You belong to me now,” he growled against her throat.
His possessive words delighted her. But they weren’t enough. She needed him to be hers as well.
She’d make him hers if she had to seduce him every hour of every day for a month. “You belong to me, too,” she hissed against his ear. “Promise me.”
He choked out a laugh. “Yes, wife. Whatever you want.”
His caresses grew rougher, sweeter, until a roaring filled her ears and her body surged up and on, and she felt as if she were almost at the end . . . of her journey.
His jaw tightened. “God . . . bloody hell . . . that’s it . . . Come for me, dearling. Please, my sweet, sweet . . . Delia . . .”
Then he drove into her hard one last time, and with a cry, she vaulted over into paradise.
Warren wasn’t certain how long he’d stood there after he’d exploded inside his soon-to-be wife. Long enough for him to soften inside her, yet not long enough that he wanted to let go of her.
God, had he really just taken her like some tart on a table on a rooftop? That wasn’t the way to endear a respectable woman to him.
Yet she hadn’t seemed to mind. Judging from the way she’d clenched on his cock as she’d come, she’d found pleasure in it, too.
As she let out a long sigh of what he hoped was satisfaction, he buried a kiss in her lovely neck, fragrant with her lemony scent. “So. Are you still worried about . . . not pleasing me?”
“Did I please you?” she asked, a hint of coyness in her voice.
“As if you need to ask.”
He lifted her off the table so she was wrapped around him, and she squealed. Strutting around with her clinging to him, he said, “I can demonstrate again exactly how much you pleased me, if you want.”
She laughed down at him, his wanton wife-to-be. “Perhaps we should save something for the wedding night.”
He cast her a mock frown. “Oh, very well. If you insist.” And in truth, she was probably sore, anyway.
Letting her slip down his body inch by intoxicating inch, he took her mouth for a long, hot kiss that had her straining against him. Only then did he pull free.
She made a moue of protest, and he laughed. “That, brat, is so you’ll be just as eager for me tomorrow night as I’m going to be for you.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” she said with a secretive little smile that had his body rousing again.
But before he could do anything about it, she strolled over to the table. He followed, fastening up his drawers and trousers as he went.
She laid her hand on his coat. “It appears I’ve given your valet more cause for complaint.”
He looked over her shoulder to see a spot of blood staining the inside of his coat. It sobered him. “I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?”
“No. I’m told that a little bit of blood is normal.”
“Told by whom? Your sister-in-law, who informed you that a woman must ‘endure’ marital relations? I don’t know if I’d trust her.”
“The deflowering part wasn’t that bad, truly.” She faced him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “And what came after was quite . . . nice.”
“Nice?” He dragged her against him. “Nice? I’ll show you nice, you teasing wench.”
As she gave a giddy laugh, he bent to kiss her.
Suddenly a noise sounded from far below them. “Warren? Delia? Are you there?”
Damn. Clarissa.
“Shh,” he breathed against Delia’s lips. “If we stay very quiet, perhaps she’ll go away.”
Two floors below them, the door to the folly opened and closed.
“Where are you?” A voice came wafting up the spiral staircase.
“That’s Brilliana.” Delia broke free of him. “And she will not go away. Besides, they’re sure to see my bonnet hanging on the window latch.”
Bloody hell, she was right.
As she hurried to restore her clothing to rights, he picked up his hat, then went to examine his coat. The blood hadn’t gone through to the other side, thank God, though the coat was pretty much ruined now.
Even realizing that some of the blood might stain his shirt, he put the coat back on. He was happy to lose a shirt and coat in the process of reassuring his wife-to-be about their . . . suitability for each other in the bedchamber.
Hell, he was happy to lose them just for the chance of bedding her.
They heard steps on the stairs, and Delia hastened over to call down, “We’re up here, admiring the views!”
Moments later, the two women emerged onto the roof.
Mrs. Trevor eyed him with suspicion. “Didn’t you hear us come in?”
Delia cast him a warning glance even as her lips twitched in a clear struggle not to laugh. “It’s very windy up here,” she said blithely. “You can hardly hear a thing.”
Clarissa accepted that explanation. “So what do you think? Shall we have the ceremony here at the folly?”
“Yes,” he said, eager for mischief. “We could do it right here on the roof.”
Now Delia’s lips were really twitching. “We could not. First of all, the table is in the way. Second, someone is sure to back up and fall over one of those parapets. We’ll do it downstairs. With the windows open, since it’s a bit warm inside.”
“That does sound marvelous,” Mrs. Trevor said with one last wary glance at him. “Let’s go down and figure out where we wish to put things. We need to get the servants over here soon to start decorating, too.”
And with that, Mrs. Trevor and Clarissa trooped down the stairs, chattering about roses and doilies and something called a pom-pom.
Delia paused only long enough to chide him. “Have the wedding up here, indeed. You just want to revel in watching a holy father stand on the spot where we indulged in a bit of—”
“Ecstasy?” he said with a smug smile.
“Wickedness, more like. You love to surround yourself with it.”
“I do indeed. Let this be your warning, my dear. You can remove the man from the wickedness, but you can’t remove the wickedness from the man.” And for emphasis, he swatted her lovely plump bottom with his hat.
“Stop that!” she said, and hurried to the staircase. But he caught a ghost of a smile crossing her lips as she disappeared down the stairs.
With a chuckle, he followed her more slowly, reminded that he hadn’t seen her bottom in the flesh yet. Or her hair tumbling down around that bottom. He hadn’t even really had a good look at her breasts or her dewy quim.
Well, as she’d said, they should save something for the wedding night. He meant to do a better job of making love to her then, when he had all the time and space in the world for it. She wouldn’t refer to his efforts as merely nice next time, to be sure.
For the next hour, he tried to endure the prattle of the women as they tramped about the folly, measuring and plotting. By the time they headed back toward the house, the sun had begun to sink.
Clarissa glanced over to where he strolled arm in arm with Delia. “Where are you two going after the wedding tomorrow? Lindenwood Castle is rather far from here. And doesn’t Parliament open soon?”
“It does, indeed. Which is why I mean to spend at least our wedding night at my town house.” Warren slanted a look at Delia. “Assuming it’s all right with my future wife.”
“You mean I get a choice?” she teased.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Pray do not cast me in the role of overbearing ogre, brat. It doesn’t suit me.”
“I don’t know.” She smirked at him. “Sometimes I think it suits you quite well, Lord High-and-Mighty Knightford.”
Clarissa laughed. “Like my husband. These two have a tendency to announce their plans with an air of fait accompli. ‘Command first, ask afterward’ seems to be their motto.”
Warren scowled. “In my case, it’s only because I’m not used to taking a wife into account.”
“You’d better get used to it,” Delia said saucily. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“You mean, you’re stuck with him,” Clarissa teased.
Warren shot his cousin a hard look. “Don’t pretend you’re not pleased
as punch about it, dear girl. You’ve been trying to marry me off since you were sixteen.”
“And it only took me nine years to be successful.” Clarissa’s smile faded. “Though I do wish I’d started planning the actual wedding nine years ago. We still have so much left to do tonight. However will we get it all finished?”
“You could borrow some of Niall’s servants,” Warren said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Someone hailed them from the path ahead, and he added, “Speak of the devil, here he comes now. You can ask him yourself.”
Mrs. Trevor, who’d been walking ahead of Warren and Delia on the path, stopped short so quickly that they nearly mowed her down.
Even as Warren was wondering about that, Niall reached them. “There you are, sister,” he said jovially to Clarissa. “I hear there’s to be a wed—”
He halted mid-sentence as he caught sight of Mrs. Trevor. “Brilliana!”
Brilliana? Niall knew Delia’s sister-in-law? And by her Christian name, no less?
Having noted that herself, Delia glanced up at Warren in bewilderment, and he shrugged. He’d had no idea.
Mrs. Trevor dropped into a curtsy. “Lord Oliver. How good to see you again.”
Hastily, Warren corrected her. “Pardon me, Mrs. Trevor, but it’s Lord Margrave now that he’s inherited the title.”
“Oh, right, of course,” the woman said, her cheeks now a peculiar shade of red.
Niall said nothing, just stood there gaping at Mrs. Trevor as if someone had brained him with a mallet. Having never seen his cousin at a loss for words before, Warren was tempted to torment the man about it.
But some instinct kept him silent.
“I . . . had heard you were living in Spain, my lord,” Mrs. Trevor ventured.
That snapped Niall out of his trancelike state. “I was. Well, Portugal, more recently. Until a couple of weeks ago when I returned to England.” He drew himself up stiffly. “I’d heard that you were married.” He glanced beyond them. “Is your . . . husband around here somewhere?”
The Danger of Desire Page 18