by Eva Devon
Damn Clyde.
Edward waited, hands tense upon his thighs. He waited for her gaze to crackle with fury, for her to turn from the room or for her to simply let her gaze sweep over him as if he were not there.
Instead, she stood still, unbent, glorious. Her blond curls, half-unpinned from her long journey, glowed honey about her face in the late light.
She did not look displeased nor did she dismiss him. In fact, she stared at him.
Even more, she held his gaze. And there in the depths of her eyes was something he had not expected to see again.
Desire.
No, not desire. That was too tame a word for what he saw. Hunger. Unapologetic hunger shone in her sapphire orbs.
A distant memory danced before him. Once, she had offered herself to him. He had denied her, determined to wait for marriage. Determined that they be good.
What a fool he’d been. Life had offered its glorious possibilities to him and he’d been too damned idiotic to take them. He’d been determined to follow society’s edicts.
That determination had added to the destruction of his life.
So, as he, too, held her gaze and felt his blood begin to sing for her, he tossed the artificiality of societal goodness to the winds.
The only thing he was interested in now was Emmaline Trent in his bed and in his arms. The rest could be damned.
As if compelled by his presence, Emmaline left Mrs. Barton and the Duke of Clyde’s sides and crossed the room.
He could not tear his gaze away, nor did he wish to. He was transfixed by the way her hair coiled over her shoulders and the way in which her crimson travel costume skimmed her body like it was a lover.
How he longed to strip that travel jacket and frock from her person. He’d savor every pale inch of her body, pleasing it as she’d always deserved.
But first, first, he longed to take her mouth with his, that rosy, lush mouth which had once always held a smile for him.
When she stopped before him, he still could not speak. He was overwhelmed by the power of his own feelings.
“Hello, Edward,” she said softly.
That voice. . . God. It did things to him. Things which nothing else could ever hope to do.
“Have your wits gone wandering?” she teased.
“No, Emmaline,” he said, speaking without allowing himself to censor his thoughts. “They are engaged.”
“Oh?” she breathed. “In what?”
His hands were but inches from skimming her skirts. How he longed to reach out and. . . “You might not forgive me if I say.”
“I thought we were to have no lies?” she whispered.
At long last, he glanced about, noticing the company and how several of the guests were staring. He did not give a fig for them but he and Emmaline were not there for the entertainment of others.
Oh, no. At long last, they were there for each other.
He slid along the piano bench. “Sit beside me,” he all but whispered back.
She bit her lower lip. Then much to his relief, she did exactly as he hoped.
“Shall we play together then?” she asked as they faced the keyboard.
“I think we shall make a fine harmony together, do you not?” he asked, his voice deep with promise.
Her hands trembled slightly but her voice did not shake as she replied, “I always thought so.”
Edward placed his hands beside hers. “Then let us begin.”
Chapter 15
As the last notes of the duet filled the air, Emmaline willed herself not to fly apart. All of this seemed so impossible. . . But she could not deny that she and Edward had been hurtling back together again from the moment they parted.
Mad as it sounded, it was undeniably true.
Oh, they had taken different paths. They had both suffered. And as she slid her fingers off the keys, she knew one thing. They would never, ever speak of the past. It had to be an unspoken agreement between them. There would never be any true recovery from what happened. It had been too deep, too powerful, too awful.
But now, if they could but forget, they could revel in each other as both of them had always wanted to do, before the actions of others had driven them apart.
She glanced at Edward through her lashes, barely able to contain the feelings rioting through her at the feel of his body so close to hers. If she moved but a little, her entire side would brush his. Heady stuff, indeed, given their prolonged distance. “Will you walk with me, my lord?”
His fingers trailed along her hip in the barest whisper as he stood. “It would be my pleasure.”
Carefully, as if committing herself, she took his offered hand and allowed him to help her to stand.
Ignoring the curious looks of the company, she and Edward began to stroll towards the hall.
“Lord Hart,” the Duke of Clyde said from his place by the fireplace. “No doubt, the lady needs to stretch her legs after so long a confinement in her coach. I suggest ye show her the grotto.”
If she’d been an innocent miss as she had been so long ago, her cheeks would have burned. But it was clear that Clyde expected his guests to treat his home as if it were their own, and he was not about to start ensuring they all behaved exactly as a London mama might hope.
Well, how a London mama might hope until after her child was locked in matrimony.
Edward gave a small bow towards their host and then, as if they were children released from the last day of school, they made their way out of the castle with undue hurry.
They walked wordlessly, both of them unwilling to break the agreed upon truce.
Edward, who seemed very acquainted with the place, led her to a stone path that descended towards the loch.
The feel of her legs eating up the rough ground was delicious after sitting for so very long. She could have marched up into the high bens if he had been so inclined.
But no, it seemed as if he would lead her deeper into the glen.
Before long, they came to a copse of oak trees planted in a bowl shape. The branches bowed down, providing the feel of an artificial tunnel.
And in the tunnel was a set of damp stone stairs that twisted even further downward.
Edward paused, his hand firm about hers.
“Why have you stopped?” she queried, desperate for them to reach their destination.
“We can’t go back,” he whispered. “Not after this. Is that what you truly wish? Do we descend or. . . Should we return to the castle?”
“I wish there to be no more words about it,” she replied with all her heart. “I wish us only to be present in this moment.”
Then, much to her amazement, he swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his hard chest.
He descended the twisting stairs easily as if carrying her were the most natural thing in the world.
It felt natural to be in his arms, as if she had been made for his embrace.
When they reached the bottom, the sounds of a waterfall met her ears and she gazed about at the flowers and greenery growing about it. It was a hidden paradise and, just overhead, there was an opening allowing the late-summer sun to spill in.
The scent of earth and foliage surrounded them. It was the most seductive spot she’d ever seen.
It was perfect.
Isolated. A cocoon for them to slip away from the world.
He allowed her legs to slip from his arm and he held her tightly against him.
Her booted toes touched the stone floor and she marveled at the way her body fit against his with such perfection.
Every hard inch of him pressed into her softness, including his sex which she felt against her belly like an iron rod.
That was for her. All his desire. It was for her.
He tilted her head back, all words left behind in the world above them.
His gaze traveled over her face, as if he could memorize her every look, her every feature in this moment. The rough pads of his fingers traced along her chin then he delved one hand into
her hair and let the other trail to her hip.
She clasped his shoulders instinctively, willing him to kiss her.
He pulled her upwards against him and then he bent his head closing the several inches between them.
The scent of him, spice, leather, and oranges surrounded her.
Her lips parted and he took her mouth like a man knowing he had but one night left to live.
A moan tore from her throat the moment their lips met. This was no sweet kiss. No tempered action.
It was a storm of desire unleashed upon them both. The moment he kissed her, she held on to him, kissing him back with every fiber of her being.
Never again would she be afraid to seize what she wanted. She would let nothing stand in her way. Once, she had allowed his doubts to rule their lives. Never again. There would be no apologies. There would be no hesitation. For life was full of pain in any case, and one had to take what one could when it presented itself.
She grabbed hold of his coat and pulled him closer, arching her body into his.
He groaned and as his mouth opened, she touched her tongue to his.
He met her passion, sucking her deeper into his mouth, tasting her and teasing her.
His hands roved over her back then gripped her hips, curving her hips into his hardness.
His mouth turned to the line of her neck, kissing down to the hollow of her throat. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her skin. When he met the edge of her traveling jacket, his fingers reached for the fabric and tugged.
The buttons gave way easily.
He pulled the fabric and she twisted, helping him divest her of it.
The coat fell to the stone floor and his fingers went to the laces at the back of her gown.
The way his fingers moved, it took several moments for him to free the string.
Then, she recalled the rumors. That he had been celibate. He certainly did not undress her as she expected a practiced man might. Quite the opposite. In his passion, he struggled to free her.
She did not cease kissing him as he eased the muslin from her shoulders.
The ruby gown slipped downward and pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her thin chemise and stays.
He let out a sound of rugged appreciation at the sight of her.
For a long moment, he stared at her stays as if mystified.
And she realized, he was.
He reached for the paneling and began to tug at it. But then she whipped around, giving him her back, determined to be free of her clothes as quickly as possible.
They had made the leap to lovers in an instant, and she could not wait to be one with him.
His touch slowed and she felt him begin to undo the complicated lacing at her back. He spread the stays until he could slip them away.
Gently, he kissed and nipped at her back, caressing her thighs with his hands.
She pressed her palms into the cool stone walls, wild with her need for him.
He grasped her chemise then slid it upward, exposing her bottom. To her surprise, he knelt behind her.
She gasped at the first kiss to her thigh. But then he was kissing and tracing the line of her buttocks.
Forcefully, he turned her and gazed at the apex of her thighs.
He was a man possessed but there was nothing violent about him in this moment.
Oh, no, he touched her with awe.
Gazing down on him, she stroked her hands though his thick hair. Their eyes met and the look she saw in his eyes nearly undid her heart.
Edward slid his hands over her hips, then pressed a kiss to the crease at her thigh.
“I’ve dreamt of this,” he whispered. “It has tormented me. Now, I’ll never let this go.”
Before she could even contemplate what he would do next, he parted her thighs and kissed the apex.
Her legs shook and she let out a cry of surprise.
His mouth worked over her most sensitive spot, his tongue circling.
Her head dropped back against the stone wall and she allowed herself to be transported.
In all her life, she’d felt nothing like it. As he teased her, circling and caressing, her body reacted in the most wild of ways.
She could not control the pleasure that coursed through her and, suddenly, she was gasping, unable to take the onslaught anymore. Wave after wave of release coursed through her.
He did not cease until she was languid and he stood to hold her.
He cupped her chin then kissed her softly.
“I want you,” he whispered.
“Then have me,” she urged.
Edward made quick work of the buttons at his breeches. Urgency drove them, both of them knowing how they had suffered to reach this moment.
He parted her thighs and she felt the hard head of his cock rub against her slick core.
He thrust upward and she cried out in shock.
She knew it would hurt, that it would be difficult, but even she was surprise by the sudden and piercing pain.
“E-Emmaline?” he gasped.
Though it hurt, she was determined. “Do not stop,” she demanded. “Do not.”
He slid a hand to the nape of her neck, his gaze full of confusion but still hot with desire.
“Whatever you bid,” he said. “Whatever you wish.”
And he began to rock gently against her. He reached down and lifted one of her legs to his hip, holding her so that he might enter her with more ease.
After a moment, the discomfort was gone and, soon, the deep stroke of his shaft began to feel just right.
She was so full, so full of pleasure now. It was a new world. And she loved it.
She grabbed his head and pulled it down, taking his mouth.
As she kissed him, the way his body rocked against hers managed to touch that magical spot again and again. She once again crested into pleasure.
And as she pulsed about him, he cried her name.
The tension in his body eased and he rested against her.
Slowly, he lowered her leg and he rested his head atop hers.
Their breaths came as one.
Her heart slammed against her ribs and the wild, perfect, recklessness of what they had done occurred to her and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not for anything in the entire world.
“I love you, Emmaline,” he whispered. “I always will.”
And she swallowed, stunned by his admission, lulled by the pleasure they’d shared. And to her shock, she spoke without allowing herself to think. “And I you, Edward. And I you.”
Chapter 16
Now that the barrier seemed to have fallen between them, Edward was happier than he had ever been in the entirety of his life. He could not recall a time of such absolute bliss. Such joy. In fact, such was his happy state that he was not certain if he was truly awake or simply in the most glorious dream of his life. If he was dreaming, he hoped most passionately that he never awoke.
He and his darling Emmaline did not care about the company. They ignored it entirely. They were completely absorbed by each other and the unexpected pleasure of meeting each other anew.
The Duke of Clyde seemed to have expected this outcome, the devil. Surely, he was a soothsayer. For such a hard man could hardly have been pictured as a matchmaker. But there it was.
In fact, the duke’s clear intention of throwing them together was such that he had sent them off to a hunter’s cottage at the edge of his estate.
It was, perhaps, a good thing that there were no unmarried members of their party. In fact, every single person seemed to have been picked not to blink a lash at the idea of two lovers trysting together.
No doubt, there was a great deal of scampering about the corridors of the castle at night. Even so, he wondered if worries of propriety could have stopped him and Emmaline from their reunion.
After all, their scandal was complete. Come rack or ruin, they had chosen to be lovers and hang anyone who decried them.
Bloody hell, what was the point in being
notorious, as they both so publicly were, if they did not behave in a suitably notorious manner?
So, they had. . . And they would continue to do so for as long as possible if he had anything to do with it. And he did. So, he would do all in his power to keep her happy and at ease with him.
It was why he had said nothing about her virginity in the grotto or since. At the moment, the riot of emotions that had gone through him had almost caused him to let loose his thoughts into the air.
Thank God, he had stopped himself.
Who knew how she would have reacted to such questions.
Upon the realization that he was her first, the immediate emotions had been a combination of shame, horror, and honor.
He’d accused her of being unfaithful. . . The things he and his brother had said in the church on what should have been his and Emmaline’s wedding day. . . They had been doubly heinous in hindsight.
Her virginity in and of itself was not important. He had learned long ago not to value such a thing the way some men did.
A woman who was confident in herself was the most important thing. She was not ruined or used once it was gone.
No, she was simply enjoying what God had given her. . . Her body.
How he wished he had learned that lesson as a boy. His father, an imperious man, had bedeviled his sons in what he deemed the requirements for a perfect bride.
Still, it had been difficult not to ask her why the devil she’d held on to it. She certainly could have given it to anyone she pleased. He would have thought no less of her. Society thought her to be a loose woman. . . She never had been. He had a feeling she never would be a woman who easily gave her favors. Just as he had not been able to do so.
For him, his chosen celibacy had not been about morals but the simple fact that he could not imagine being intimate with anyone but her.
Was she the same? Was he the only one she ever wished to be with? God, he hoped so.
It was so very tempting to ask. But he would not. No, instead, he had focused on everything else. On what she hoped for, what she enjoyed, what made her smile and what caused her heart to ache.