by Candace Camp
He sighed. “Lily is given to high emotions. Do you think her heart is truly captured?”
“I’m not sure,” Eve admitted. “She does relish a dramatic situation. I think she enjoys, a little, the tragedy of it. But I believe she really cares as well. She was saying tonight that she feared her Season would be a waste, that she would never fall in love with any other man but Mr. Carr. I know that young girls say such things and two months later are head over heels about another gentleman, but . . .”
“He means no harm to Lily. Neville cares for her. He promised he would make no advances to her, and I believe him.”
“Perhaps not. But this afternoon I came upon them alone in the herb garden.” She colored and glanced away, remembering what had transpired between them in the same place.
It was a moment before Fitz spoke, and Eve wondered if he, too, was thinking of the night of the wedding. Did it warm his blood to remember her mouth opening beneath his, her skin heating to his touch?
“I see.” There was a certain huskiness to his voice that made Eve think that he had not forgotten. “Were they—”
“No,” Eve assured him quickly. “They were not in a compromising position. But it is a secluded area, and they were alone. The way they stood bespoke . . . longing.”
The word hung in the air between them, naked and evocative. Fitz’s gaze held hers; Eve could not look away. There was something in his eyes that melted her inside, and she was aware of a treacherous desire to curl up in his lap and lay her head against his chest, to have his arms shelter her.
“Sometimes,” Eve said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “words can be as dangerous to a girl’s heart as any kiss.” She knew she was no longer talking about Lily but herself. “She knows there can be nothing between them, and yet she cannot help but hope, cannot keep her heart untouched.”
“He may feel the same. It is difficult to live in such close proximity and not have feelings grow stronger.” He leaned toward her. “It is hard not to want her when you see her at every turn. When you smell the scent of her perfume on the air when you walk into a room. The most foolish things can make your pulse race, like finding her glove dropped, unnoticed, on the floor.”
Eve swallowed. What he had said stirred her as much as if he’d stroked his hand down her arm. She pulled her gaze away, struggling not to show the emotions racing through her.
“I’ve missed you,” Fitz said, and the simple words sent a shiver through her. “The past few days, not being around you . . .”
“Not through any doing of mine!” Eve flared. “You are the one who has stayed out of my company. When I come into a room you leave. One would think I have the plague.”
He stared at her. “You think I have done that because I wanted to?”
“I cannot imagine why else you would. Obviously you have tired of the chase.” Eve knew she sounded sulky, but surely she had good reason. It was annoying that he had paid no attention to her for days on end, as if she were the veriest nothing, and now he was speaking sweet words about perfume and pulses racing. It was even more galling that she responded so easily to it.
“I did it because you asked me to.” Something flashed in Fitz’s eyes, and he stood up abruptly. He took a step toward the fireplace, then swung back. “You asked me not to seduce you. You told me you could not have an affair with me. You could not afford the risk to your reputation. Did you not mean that? Was that merely a ploy?”
“No!” Eve shot up, too, pierced by guilt as much as by anger. She had told him to stay away from her. But had she, deep inside, hoped that he would not do so? “No. It was no ploy. I cannot have an affair with you. But I did not mean that I never wanted to see you again. That we could not be friends.”
“Friends? Well, that may be easy for you, but it’s bloody difficult for me. What am I supposed to do, sit with you, dance with you, talk with you, and not want you? How am I supposed to do that? Just the sight of you makes me—” He broke off and swung away, picking up the poker and shoving it into the fireplace.
The charred logs broke and flared into life again, glowing red and shooting up sparks. He continued to poke at them, saying, “What about the colonel? Am I supposed to watch him flirt with you and not care?”
“Flirt with me!” Eve stared. “Colonel Willingham was not flirting with me.”
“The hell he wasn’t.” Fitz turned back around, slamming the poker down into its stand. “You may think he’s nothing but your dead husband’s commander, but I saw how he looked at you. I watched the two of you, sitting there laughing and talking.”
Eve planted her fists on her hips. “Now I’m not allowed to talk to anyone? Or is it just the colonel? Pray, give me a list of who—”
Her words were cut off when Fitz, muttering an oath, took a quick step forward and grabbed her wrist, jerking her to him, his mouth coming down to seize hers in a searing kiss.
Chapter 13
His kiss did not startle Eve. She realized even as his lips touched hers that she had been waiting for this moment. However wrong it might be, however foolish, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted the heat of his body pressed against hers, the hard iron of his arms around her. No amount of reasoning and logic could hold sway against the primal hunger surging up in her.
Eve’s hands went to his shoulders, not to push him away but to cling to him. He lifted her up and into him, and she felt the heavy throb of his desire. And though she suspected that it was quite shameful of her, she reveled in the feeling. Mouths locked together, they kissed as though they could fuse and join, their bodies melting into a single flame of passion.
Fire danced along her veins, and she wanted only to feel more, to burn brighter. Her brain whispered that it was madness, but Eve ignored it. She kissed him, her tongue twining with his, and ran her fingers down his chest and beneath his jacket, gliding over the satiny cloth of his waistcoat. She wanted more; she wanted to feel his skin beneath her fingertips, to touch and explore without restraint.
Deep down she knew that this was why she had come here tonight. None of the reasons that she gave herself was the truth—or at least only skimmed the surface of the truth. She had felt Fitz watching her tonight; despite her denials to Vivian, she had sensed his jealousy and the desire that lay beneath it. She had yearned for that hunger to flare into life, to sweep her up into the inferno that raged through them now.
He murmured her name as his hands moved over her, exploring the soft curves of her body. Even through the fabric of her dress and underclothes, Eve felt the searing heat of his hands, and she shivered, her nipples hardening. He made an inarticulate noise and reached up to strip off his jacket and fling it away. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of his waistcoat, opening it, but still it was not enough for her. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and slipped her hands beneath the soft cambric, gliding over the smooth skin of his stomach and up to his chest.
A tremor shook him at her touch, and his fingers dug into her hips, holding her to him. They kissed hungrily as Eve’s hands roamed over his body beneath his shirt, skimming the curves and lines of thick muscle and harder bone, delighting in the textures of satin-smooth skin and wiry curling hairs, the fleshy nubs of his masculine nipples.
With an oath he broke away, raking his fingers back through his hair. “No. If we go on, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” Eve followed him.
He let out a groan, his eyes flashing. “Don’t say such things. I’m on the edge of my better nature here. If you don’t leave now . . .”
“I don’t want to leave. Look at me.” She took a step closer, stopping directly in front of him, only inches away, and looked up into his eyes. “I am telling you, I don’t care about all those things I said before. I won’t regret this in the morning; I have made my decision. I don’t want to grow old and fade away, never knowing what I could have had, what I could have experienced. I want to know, to feel, to have . . .” She made a vague gest
ure. “Everything. Whatever happens, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life regretting what I gave up.”
He looked at her, his body taut, his eyes the burning blue of the hot center of a flame. “Eve, think . . .”
“I’m done thinking. I want you.” Eve’s hands went to his shirt, grabbing hold and crumpling it in her clenched fists as she pulled him toward her, going up on her toes to touch her lips to his.
His arms lashed around her like iron, and his mouth dug into hers. He kissed her as if he would never stop, as if he could not get enough of the taste of her mouth. Eve felt as if she had gone up in flame, as though the heat of his hunger raced through her, fueling her own fire.
Her hands went beneath his shirt again, running over his muscled back and down, seeking out the indentation of his spine and following it until the waistband of his trousers blocked her exploration. She came back up his sides, tracing the ridges of his ribs, and around to the front of his chest. She wanted to see him, to watch her hands on his flesh, to explore his body with her lips and tongue. As she thought of these things, an ache grew between her legs, heated and damp, pulsing with a primitive hunger she had never experienced.
With an impatient noise she broke their kiss, her hands going to the ties of his shirt. He stepped back, shrugging out of his waistcoat and fumbling at the ascot around his neck, cursing as it tangled, and finally jerking it free. Fitz whipped the shirt off over his head, then returned to her, his fingers going to the multitude of small buttons down the back of her dress.
Eve, finding herself in a perfect place to do exactly as she wanted, put her hands on him, drinking in the sight of his bare flesh as her fingers glided over the curves and planes of his chest. She twined her fingertips through the V-shaped patch of curling hair at the center of his chest and skimmed her nails over the flat masculine nipples. A chord thrummed through her as she watched the buds tighten, increasing the ache in her loins. Boldly she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his skin.
He jerked, and his fingers dug into the cloth of her dress. Eve started to pull back, but he whispered, “No, no, stay.”
Fitz curved down over her as her mouth made its way across his chest, his fingers tugging at her buttons. Now and then he let out a little sigh or groan, and his fingertips dug into her back, and once he stopped and pulled her up for another deep, searching kiss. In this manner it took some time for him to undo her dress, but at last he did, and he shoved it down to pool around her feet, quickly untying her petticoats and sending them after it.
“Now,” he told her, his eyes slumberous with passion, “it’s my turn.”
He reached down and unfastened the ribbon of her chemise, pulling the satin bow undone. The top of the garment sagged slightly, revealing more of the soft curves of her breasts above it. Fitz spread his hands out on her chest and slid them slowly down, turning to slip his fingertips beneath the chemise and draw the cloth lower and lower.
Eve felt the texture of his fingertips on the sensitive flesh of her breasts, the tug of the fabric as it caught on her nipples, then dragged over them. Even that small touch heightened her arousal, centered in the heat between her legs. Her eyes closed, and her head fell back as she lost herself in the sensation. He stroked his hands over her smooth breasts, shoving the loosened chemise down over her hips. The material stuck for an instant, and he pushed it the rest of the way, setting off a little ripping noise. But neither of them cared.
Fitz caressed her breasts, gazing down at her soft, enraptured face. Her tongue crept out to wet her lips, and a tremor shook him, his hunger swelling. But still he moved slowly, adoring her with his fingertips. Her breasts swelled, the hard centers thrusting out. Eve trembled, loving the engorged ache of her nipples yet wanting more, needing more. Her breath caught in her throat, and for an instant fear flashed through her that once again she would be left wanting, that this longing that built and throbbed inside her, a yearning far greater than any she had ever known before, would never be fulfilled.
Then he bent and took one nipple in his mouth, and heat flared through her, taking her past fear or thought. She was suddenly raw need, naked pleasure, and with every stroke of his tongue, each pull of his mouth, she was flooded with passion.
Fitz bent and picked her up. He carried her over to the fireplace. After spreading out her petticoats to shield her from the rough texture of the wool rug, he laid Eve down. Kneeling beside her, he untied her pantalets and drew them down, his hands sliding the material over her thighs and calves. He lifted her feet one by one and took off her slippers, pulling off each garter and sliding his hand beneath the stockings to remove them.
He sat back on his heels, looking down at her with eyes that glowed hotter than the embers in the fireplace. The red light bathed her pale skin. The circles of her nipples were swollen and red, damp from his kisses. As he gazed at her, they tightened even more, and she moved her hips restlessly, squeezing her legs together. He stood, quickly divesting himself of the rest of his clothing.
His member sprang free, thick and quivering, and Eve’s eyes were drawn to it. Her mouth opened a little, and she drew a quick breath. Her teeth caught her bottom lip. She could not look away, could think only of him inside her. This was new to her, completely unfamiliar, and she was filled with a roiling excitement that was part fear, part eagerness. Her body ached for him, the yearning between her legs spreading, throbbing. Yet she thought, too, of the pain, the breaching that she had never experienced, and suddenly she wished that she had told him, had explained . . .
But then he was beside her again, stretched out, his knee insinuating itself between her legs, opening her to him. He leaned over her, his arms braced on either side of her body, and bent to kiss her. Eve flung her arms around his neck, trepidation flying away from her as his mouth took hers. As they kissed, his hand glided down her body, caressing every inch of it. His fingers twined through the curling thatch of hair between her legs, and when she clamped her legs together he teased them open. She could feel the smile upon his lips.
Eve could not hold back a noise deep in her throat as his fingers slid over the most intimate part of her, exploring and caressing, opening her to him. She blushed, embarrassed at her own response but too aroused by his touch to let the embarrassment hold sway. If she was consumed by desire, no less was he. She could feel the insistent pulse of his manhood against her leg, hard and urgent. Eve wanted to curl her hand around him, to feel him swell and pulse within her grasp, to learn the texture and thickness of him, but such boldness was beyond her, even in her passion-drugged state.
His mouth left hers, traveling to nibble at her earlobe. Eve shivered in delight as he explored her with his lips and tongue. All the while his fingers never ceased to roam between her legs, stroking her thighs and moving down to her calves, then returning to the hot center of her. Her breath rasped in her throat as he moved lower and lower, his mouth traveling over her breasts and down onto her stomach. She arched up against his hand, almost sobbing with the need that pulsed inside her. She clutched at his back, her legs opening to him.
Fitz moved between her legs, his face stark with hunger. Positioning himself, he thrust deep into her. The pain came then, and Eve flinched, making a low noise. He froze, staring at her in amazement.
“Eve!” His voice was low and hoarse. His fingers curled into the cloth beneath her, and he began to pull back.
But Eve swiftly wrapped her legs around him, holding him to her. “No. Go on. Please . . .”
He hesitated for an instant, but when she moved beneath him he gave in with a groan, thrusting even deeper inside her. Eve let out a soft sigh, the pain ebbing, replaced by the deep satisfaction of him filling her, stretching her. She had not dreamed of this—the emptiness filled, the void she was scarcely aware of gone, the utter completion.
He began to stroke within her, moving in and out in a building rhythm, and the sensations within her changed again, turning into a pleasure so intense she had to dig her fingers into the pettic
oats beneath her, holding on against the fierce need growing inside her. She whimpered, desperately wanting something without knowing quite what, yearning eagerly toward it as the heat built within her, until it seemed that she must shatter from the intensity of her need.
And then she did shatter—pleasure bursting within her and in him at the same time, for he let out a hoarse cry and buried his face in the side of her neck as he shuddered against her. The bright joy slammed through her, sweeping out in a wave in all directions, convulsing her as it did him.
In an instant the world was gone, and there was nothing but this pleasure, this explosive bliss, blinding and complete.
* * *
Fitz collapsed upon her, and they lay, tangled and sweating, beyond words, drifting in a fog of contentment. For a long time they stayed that way, too replete to move, but finally he rolled from her.
Curling his arm around her, Fitz pulled her close to his side. Eve nestled her head on his shoulder, floating in a warm sea of lassitude. He stroked his hand down her arm and back up and bent to press a kiss to her hair.
“I had no idea,” he murmured. “Why did you not tell me? I would have . . . done things differently.”
Eve shook her head. “I—’tis hardly an easy matter to bring up in conversation. I am a widow, but I’ve never—” She broke off, blushing.
He levered himself up on his arm, gazing down into her face. “Why? How could your husband not have—” He broke off as she closed her eyes and turned her face away. “I do not mean to embarrass you. I should not ask.”
“No. It’s all right. It’s only natural to wonder. The thing is, I don’t know why. I’m not sure Bruce did. He was never able to . . . to consummate our marriage. He told me that he hoped that with me it would be different. But he was incapable. He had never been able to complete the act. He thought it was because of an accident when he was young. But honestly I don’t know. He would scarcely talk about it, even to me.”