“I won’t.” Hands sliding up into his hair, she pulled his head down.
He kissed a damp, hot trail along her chest, laving the skin of her cleavage. “You make the brandy taste sweeter.”
If a response was needed, she couldn’t manage it. Nothing made sense, except his mouth on her body, his tongue on her skin. Then he closed his lips over her breast. “Please,” she cried, knowing only that she needed more of him. Now.
Tugging at the collar of his shirt, she moved her hands lower and started on buttons, luxuriating in every inch of his feverish flesh exposed against the backs of her fingers.
“Not here, love.” Somehow he managed words, several of them, and pulled away from her long enough to bend and scoop her up under her knees. He lifted her in his arms.
“Where are you taking me?” In some fearful corner of her mind, she imagined him putting her in a carriage and sending her back to her father, thinking he’d done the proper, gentlemanly thing.
But he was already striding toward the threshold of his office, out the door, and up the carpeted stairs. Finally, his gold-blue eyes met hers. Hope had turned to determination, desire matched with certainty. “I’m taking you to bed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
DECLARING HE WAS taking her to bed earned him the most erotic grin he’d ever seen in his life. A victorious cat-in-the-cream expression mixed with sensuality and desire. He knew with absolute certainty that May wanted him as he much as he needed her.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a weak, nagging voice reminded him that nothing had changed. George Cross still wished him ill. Associating with Rex could put her in danger. But she was soft and warm in his arms, not some delicate miss. She was a woman with a will as forceful as his own. A woman who’d chosen him. Chosen this moment.
By the time he reached his bedroom door, he could no longer hear that inner voice of warning and doubt. Her scent was all he could smell, her breath was all he could hear, and the heat of her body against his was all he wanted.
“It’s lovely.”
Rex thought the deep purple wallpaper was a bit much, but May seemed enthralled. The wonder in her voice made him smile. Leave it to May to notice the furnishings when he was aching to have her beneath him. Or on top of him. Or any way he could get her body next to his.
“I can only take credit for the bed.” A stately, dark carved piece the antique dealer assured him had belonged to a wealthy Tudor explorer. “The house’s previous owner did the rest.”
He placed her gently on the bed as he spoke, though she seemed loathed to let go of him. She kept her arm around his neck a moment before trailing it down his shirt front, lower across his belly, and then down to his cock. He’d never been so hard, never ached like May made him ache.
“It’s so big,” she purred, as she stroked him, tracing his length with her fingers. Then she twisted her head, glancing on either side of her. “The bed, I mean.” She emitted a soft, breathy laugh.
He touched her breasts and turned her laughter to a moan. She was lush and ripe, filling his palms and making his mouth water. Ducking his head, he took one dusky pink tip in his mouth. She tasted of brandy and rose-scented woman. He nudged her back until she lay on the bed, and she gathered her skirts up and opened her legs to cradle him between them. She offered herself to him like a gift, the sweetest he’d ever received. The desire to claim it, the gift of her love, her trust, and the future she offered him, caused an erratic thumping in his chest. Nothing mattered as much as the need to make love to her, to give her pleasure, to make her his, once and for all.
“I want your clothes off,” she commanded, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“We should dispense with your skirts too.” Lifting off of her, he tugged his half-open shirt over his head and felt her fingers working the buttons of his fly. The notion of getting off the bed, even to shuck his trousers, was an unappealing one, but May was already tugging them down his hips, biting her lip in determination.
Standing long enough to free himself of the rest of his clothing, he swallowed hard at the sight of May lifting the still-damp chemise over her head and then reaching back to unclasp her skirt.
“Let me help you.” But she was already scooting the fabric over her hips, layers of what seemed like a half dozen underskirts. Only her lacy drawers remained in place, the fabric so thin he could see the dark curls between her thighs.
A shiver traced up his back, and he began trembling like a novice boy who’d just gotten his first sight of an unclothed woman. That heat and chill brew of anticipation and uncertainty he should have shed as a child. No moment compared to this one between them. This was trust. This was giving of themselves in an irrevocable joining. For better or for worse, he would be hers, and she would be his.
May was trembling too, still biting her lip at she took in his naked form. Seeing her fear made him forget his own.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, love.” He kneeled on the bed, bending over her, taking her mouth as he eased her onto her back. She stopped shivering. The moment her arms wrapped around his neck, he stopped quivering too. He settled between her thighs, right where he belonged.
He took his time kissing her deeply, thoroughly, before trailing his mouth along her neck, over her breasts, suckling each peak in turn until she bucked against him. He kissed the creamy smooth flesh of her belly, then tugged the ribbon free on her drawers, inching the fabric over the swell of her hips. Scooting down, he positioned himself between her thighs, watched her eyes flutter closed and her full lips open on a gasp as he dipped his finger into her tight, wet heat. Then lowered his head to taste her, laving long, firm strokes until she was shivering again, until she called his name and burst apart beneath him.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice ragged and low, as he raised his body up to kiss her.
A sharp pain shot through his chest followed by a soothing swell, as if her words had broken something inside him and healed him at the same time.
“I love you, May.” That damnable trembling started again as he sank into her heat, reminding himself to go slow.
Impatient as ever, she lifted her hips to nudge him deeper.
Rex grinned against her neck, licking a line of salty, honeyed skin. “Easy, love.”
“I don’t want easy,” she insisted, bending her knees and sliding a heel along his calf. “I want you.”
He never imagined laughter while he pinned May beneath him and drove into her slick warmth. But when she gusted out a laugh, followed by a moan, he smiled too. Instinct took over. Fear fled. This was the woman he’d dreamed about, ached for. This was May, her sweet body welcoming his, her moans pushing him to drive deeper, to find a rhythm that he promised to remember because it made her clutch at his shoulders, dig her nails into flesh, tug at his hair. She lifted her head to catch his mouth, kissing him until she cried out, calling his name, demanding he come with her over the edge.
Moments later, she reached down to pull the covers over them and curved her body against his, her legs between his, their chests fit together. He wasn’t sure which heartbeat between them was his and which was hers. His trouble-trained mind, always seeking out the dark edges, began dreading the moment when she’d leave his bed. If she didn’t return to her father’s house before morning, he’d give Sedgwick another reason to hate him. Yet he couldn’t imagine letting her go, or spending another night in his huge bed without her by his side.
“You’re worrying,” May said sleepily, nuzzling her head against his chest. “I feel it in your body.”
“We have to get you back home.” The prospect of sending her away made him as miserable as the notion of her traveling the few miles back to Grosvenor Square on her own. Best he accompany her or send her in his carriage.
“Not yet.” She ran her fingers along his bruised cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“To be honest, I can’t feel anything but you.” Whatever the wayward turn of his thoughts, his body knew only May. Her w
armth, her soft curves, her brandy-rose scent.
“Then let me stay awhile. Now stop worrying and kiss me.” She closed her eyes and pursed her lips. He grinned before taking everything she offered.
Later, he stroked a finger across her cheek. “Will you always be so bossy?” he teased.
May shrugged, her breasts rising and falling enticingly against his chest. “Perhaps I am too used to getting what I want.”
“Tell me what you want.” Everything, anything, he’d give it to her.
“Just you.” She tilted her hips, his own lovely temptress. “All of you. Nothing hidden. No secrets between us.”
No one could disarm him as she could. If anyone else asked to tear down his walls, he’d build them higher, stronger. But this was May. This was the bliss he’d almost lost. Almost walked away from again.
“You have me, love. You always have.”
A HOWL STARTLED May awake. Perhaps a scream. It echoed in her mind, though she could no longer hear the sound.
Rex. His arms, his scent, his heat surrounded her, and she let her body relax against him.
Her eyes snapped open when she heard the sound again, felt it rumbling in his chest before he groaned as if in pain. She stroked his arm with one hand, his sinewy thigh with the other, and he released a contented sigh. His slow, steady breaths told her he was still asleep.
She remained awake, continuing to feather her fingers across his skin, marveling at all his firm edges. He didn’t cry out or rouse again, and she held her breath as she carefully lifted his arm and got out of bed.
The world was so much colder without his body tucked up to hers. When they were married, she looked forward to never having to leave his bed, their bed, in the middle of the night. Never having to part from him again.
Her chemise was dry, but she cursed under her breath when she remembered her bodice had been discarded in his study. His shirt would have to do. It smelled of cologne and his unique scent. She breathed deep as she buttoned the garment and watched the regular rise and fall of his chest as he slumbered.
With one hand on the edge of the bed, she bent over him, brushing a kiss on his uninjured cheek. “No more nightmares, my love,” she whispered, before forcing herself to leave him.
A clock on his mantel indicated the midnight hour, and she was thankful to encounter no servants and find the lights turned low as she made her way downstairs. Slipping the front door latch proved a precarious business, but she managed it without rousing Mrs. Hark and made her way out into the moonlight.
The walk back home was a short one. She went as quickly as she could, lifting her skirts to pick up her pace when a gentleman stumbling up to his townhouse startled her.
Once inside her front door, May collapsed against the wood, listening for any noise or movement in the house. A wheezy rattling sounded in the darkness, and she turned the hallway’s gaslights up enough to determine that no one else was in the hall. The sound came again, and then again, at even intervals, and she patted the spot over her racing heart when she realized it was Mr. Graves, snoring loud enough to be heard from his upstairs bedroom.
She made her way to her own room and meant to undress, but the moment she sat on the edge of the bed, drowsiness won out. Lying back, she could think only of Rex. No hope seemed too audacious, no challenge too daunting, as long as they were together.
Suddenly, a voice startled her awake. Her maid greeted her as she did each day when drawing the drapes aside to let in morning light. Except this morning, the girl gasped and stood staring at her with a hand clasped over her mouth.
“Good morning. Is my father at home?”
“H-he hasn’t returned yet, miss. Shall I bring a tub up so you can bathe?”
“Yes, thank you.” May tried for the imperious tone her mother used with mastery, but she ended up sounding giddy and overwrought. “Has Mr. Graves gone down to breakfast?”
“Just, miss.” With that, the girl scurried from the room as if she’d seen a ghost rather than a disheveled woman wearing a man’s dress shirt.
May chewed at the nail of her index finger, heard her mother’s voice chastising her for the breach in decorum, and forced her hand down to her side. She couldn’t wait for a bath and being fastened into all the layers of an elaborate day dress. A notion, more like a plan, had begun to form in her mind, and she knew just the man to aid her.
Making her way to the breakfast room, she repeated her proposal in her mind.
“Good morning, Mr. Graves.”
She caught him midbite, and he choked on a square of toast and slurped a few sips from his teacup before turning to face her.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
One look at her and he shot up from his chair, making his place setting rattle and sending his napkin fluttering to the floor.
“My God, what’s happened to you?”
Before she even considered telling him the truth of it, heat rushed to her cheeks. Perhaps she should have at least changed out of Rex’s shirt.
Mr. Graves pointed at her, eyes widened in a horrified expression. “There’s blood on your collar.”
Somehow she hadn’t noticed, but now that she looked, the splotches and stains were plain. All shed from Rex’s wound. “Please don’t worry, Mr. Graves. It’s not my blood.”
He waved his hand, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it now that he was done pointing, and spluttered, “Am I not to worry that you’re wearing a man’s shirt covered in blood?”
It was a valid question but not at all what she’d rushed downstairs to say to him.
“Let’s sit. Shall we?”
He followed suit when she took a chair, but his gaze remained fixed on her—or rather, Rex’s—shirt collar.
“How did you blackmail Rex six years ago?”
His jaw worked and his mouth opened, but nothing came out beyond sounds of offense and disgust. Finally, he managed, “It’s hardly the worst thing Seymour has asked me to do.”
“Never mind that. Did you actually have the means of framing him for theft, or did you just threaten it?”
May recognized his discomfort. He sat up straight, jaw tensed, as if she’d wandered into distressing conversational territory.
“Let’s choose another topic, Miss Sedgwick. You are, in fact, wearing a gentleman’s bloody shirt.”
She waved off his moral outrage and insisted, “Forget the shirt, Mr. Graves. I need your help to assist Rex. You and my father owe him—and me—for what you did six years ago.”
“Your father won’t see it that way.” Whether he felt chastised or sympathetic, May’s words seemed to soften Mr. Graves. His brow furrowed into the concerned look he often wore. “I will always assist you, if I am able. What is it you wish me to do?”
Bowing her head, May tapped her finger on the tablecloth and considered how best to propose her plan. She hated engaging Mr. Graves in anything that might bring him harm, but George Cross could bring violence into all of their lives. She was wearing the shirt to prove it. Allowing the man to color their future with ugliness and brutality, as well as cause Rex to feel he needed to push her away to protect her, was unthinkable.
“Mr. Leighton’s father is a thief, and one not averse to employing thuggery to extort money from his son.”
“George Cross.”
“You know of him?”
Graves avoided her gaze and finally stood to approach the window looking out onto the back garden, as if he preferred that to meeting her eyes. “We hired a Pinkerton man to investigate your beau, Reginald Cross, as he called himself then. Obtaining a copy of his birth registry led us to look into his father. Seymour even employed an inquiry agency here in London.” He finally turned back to face her. “We didn’t learn much, only that he wasn’t the kind of man your father would wish you connected to in any way.”
Pointing again to the stained collar of Rex’s shirt, he added, “If he did whatever caused that to Mr. Leighton, surely you understand why.”
“We don’t choose our parents.” As she said the words, May thought of her own father’s flaws. Rex had been given few choices in life, and yet he’d reshaped his future. She’d been indulged with options, and yet class, propriety, and her parents’ expectations had allowed her few choices.
Now she’d chosen Rex, and she could allow nothing, not his father or hers, to come between them.
“When you threatened him with incarceration for theft, you planned to frame him.”
Mouth drawn down, eyes hooded, Mr. Graves looked suddenly older and terribly sad. “It all sounds very ugly to hear it from your lips.”
“I’m not interested in guilt, Mr. Graves. I’m interested in deterring George Cross.”
Graves stalked toward her. “You want us to blackmail a criminal? Threaten a man who beat his own son?”
“Yes, precisely.” May clasped her hands together as if he was a child who’d just given the right answer after being quizzed by his nanny. “That’s the gist of it.”
Open mouthed, he continued to stare, even as his eyes shuttered into narrowed slits.
“Well, what do you think of my idea, Mr. Graves?”
“I think, Miss Sedgwick, that you are very much your father’s daughter, and quite as reckless as he is.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
FOR THE FIRST time in years, Rex woke with a smile on his face and a woman’s scent on his sheets. If his usual nightmares plagued him, he couldn’t recall the misery of twisting and turning, and he hadn’t woken with a start. Unfortunately, he had woken alone. The memory of May’s body next to his was fresh, but the bedding beside him was cold, and he sat up, desperate to know if she’d made it home safely.
Washing and dressing himself quickly, he didn’t bother to call for Brooks. The young man had improved as a valet, but his questions tended to slow Rex down.
One Dangerous Desire (Accidental Heirs) Page 21