‘And?’ she managed to ask.
‘Do I look like a man who cares about anything other than you being here?’
A small laugh of sheer surprise and something else escaped her. ‘No, you don’t.’
Instead of answering her, he rose, pulling her with him. His gaze never left her face as he bent and lifted her into his arms.
‘Your leg.’
He shook his head. ‘To hell with my leg, Annabell.’ He carried her to the bed and laid her down.
She watched him, nearly paralysed by what she was doing, what they were about to do. She had wanted this for weeks, since the first time he kissed her. Yet, the enormity of what she was about to do nearly overwhelmed her.
He laid on his side beside her, propped up on his left arm, his bare flesh gleaming in the pale light from the window. She turned to face him, still fully clothed.
‘We’ll go slowly.’ His voice was thick with desire and his eyes were nearly black with his arousal.
‘Not too slowly.’ She did not think she could bear to have what they were about to do take forever. She had been anticipating it too long already.
He smiled. ‘Eager?’
She couldn’t smile. ‘Yes.’
He traced the line of her chin to her jaw and up to her ear with one finger. Shivers chased down her spine. No man had ever touched her so gently, so erotically. Then his hand slipped into her hair and she felt him pull the pins out one by one and saw him toss them to the floor.
‘You have beautiful hair,’ he murmured. ‘I want to bury myself in it.’ He dug his fingers into her curls and spread her hair out on the pillow behind her head. ‘Lovely.’
Unable to lay passively, Annabell followed his lead. She took hold of his waving hair and combed her fingers through the thick satin.
He grinned at her. ‘Shall we play follow the leader?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
He laughed outright, the sound joyous and sexy and incredibly arousing. ‘Who is the leader?’
‘You,’ she said without hesitation.
‘My pleasure.’ His eyes turned slumberous. ‘This time.’
His hand left her hair and travelled down her neck to the edge of her bodice. The fine linen of her nightdress was nearly transparent and cut just below where her breasts began to swell. He traced the line of fine fabric with his finger, followed with his tongue, then with his lips. She felt alternately hot and cold as his mouth caressed her sensitive skin. Her fingers flexed in the thickness of his hair, holding him to her.
He moved to a nipple and nipped it through the thin material of the bodice. She gasped as lightning jolted to her loins. As though he sensed her reaction, he took the sensitive nub into his mouth and sucked long and strong until she thought he pulled a string that directly connected her breast to her womb.
He looked up at her, a knowing gleam in his eyes. ‘This is just the beginning,’ he promised.
‘Just the beginning,’ she said so softly she barely heard herself.
Her fingers fluttered along the smooth expanse of his shoulders. She wanted to dig her nails into his muscles and urge him closer, but she knew he intended to take this slowly. Agonisingly slow. She closed her eyes with a sigh.
His hand cupped her left breast, his mouth still caressing the other one. The fine wool of her robe and finer linen of her chemise were all that separated his flesh from hers. She could feel his heat like a brand. Or maybe that was her skin that burned because of his touch. His thumb found her nipple and flicked across it, creating a friction that made her want him to do other things to her. Deeper, more penetrating things. He squeezed and rubbed until she felt as though the centre of her being was intimately connected to her bosom and that what he did to one would be instantly, crashingly felt by the other.
He moved on. She felt as though paradise had been instantly taken away.
‘Oh,’ she breathed, ‘don’t stop.’
He chuckled low in his throat. ‘That was only the beginning. I have much more to show you.’
She released a shuddering breath and came back to hover on the edge of sanity. Vaguely she knew it was her turn. She was to do to him whatever he did to her, but his hand was smoothing down her hip, kneading and caressing as it went, leaving fire in its wake down her outer thigh. His fingers caught at the thin material of her gown and pulled it inexorably up until she felt the warm air of the room on her bare skin.
She licked suddenly dry lips and opened her eyes. He stared at her, his gaze intense and questioning. Without his saying so, she knew he was giving her one last chance to flee, to stop this madness they were embarked on.
She lifted her face to his and caught his head with her hands and pulled him to her. His kiss was fire and ice and heat and passion and everything she had ever imagined it would be, everything it had always been and more. But it was not gentle. The gentleness was gone now that need rode them like a demon.
She met his demand with everything in her. Her tongue darted out to meet and dance with his. Her lips slanted to give him better access to her moist warmth. She revelled when he accepted everything she offered and gave her back more in return.
She could feel his heart beating hard and fast against hers. She felt his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath he took. His fingers clenched against the skin of her outer thigh.
‘Help me,’ she muttered. ‘Too many clothes.’
He chuckled and his fingers were everywhere. Before she could appreciate how skilled he was, her robe was on the floor with her nightdress beside it.
He rose above her before easing himself down so his chest crushed her breasts. His skin was hot and rough against the tender flesh of her bosom. Looking down at her, his eyes slumberous with passion, he began to rub against her. The wiry hairs that spread across his chest scraped and tickled her nipples, making the buds harden in exquisite delight.
When she was hot and needy and thinking she could take no more, he lowered his mouth to hers and hungrily took her lips and her moans. She wanted him to never stop. His hands spread her legs apart and she wanted him to sink completely into her.
‘Please, now, Hugo. Now.’
She wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything. She lifted her legs to give him access. She shifted her hands to his hips and pulled him to her.
He deepened the kiss and slid into her. She gasped and he swallowed the sound. He moved slowly and he swallowed her moan of desire. He lodged fully inside her until it felt as though he touched her very soul.
He released her mouth and rose up on his hands to look where their bodies joined. She felt him spasm.
‘Ah,’ he murmured, ‘I have wanted to see this for so long and to feel it for longer still.’
He turned his attention to her face and began to move slowly again. He teased her with mounting pleasure, never taking his gaze from her face.
She watched him with equal avidity. The angles of his jaw were razor sharp. His beautiful mouth was pulled back against his teeth as though he was in great pain, but she knew differently. His pupils dilated until the clear green of his irises was nearly gone. And still he moved slowly, yet each thrust was full and penetrated to the point where she gasped from tiny bursts of delight.
With each steady, slow entry he moved his hips so her pleasure increased. She thought she would explode.
She gasped and let out a low scream of release. He stayed motionless inside her until she relaxed. Then he slid out and reached for something on the nearby table.
‘What?’ For a second apprehension held her. For the first time in her life she had enjoyed making love, but Hugo had stopped. She remembered her husband had used many toys in his bedroom games, none of them to please her.
In the act of picking up whatever it was he wanted, Hugo glanced at her. He left the object.
‘What is wrong, Bell?’
‘Nothing.’ Her throat was suddenly dry, all her previous delight gone as though it had never happened.
‘Don’
t lie to me.’ He rolled off her, but did not take his hands from her. ‘That is not how we are to deal with each other. Ever.’
She realised he was upset with her. But she did not want to tell him the truth. What had happened to her before was the past. Still, she had been the one to flinch.
‘What were you reaching for?’ She couldn’t keep the apprehension from her voice.
He frowned. ‘Protection.’
‘Protection?’ What was he talking about?
‘Yes,’ he said patiently, ‘protection. To keep you from conceiving my child.’
She blushed. How incongruent. He had just made very thorough love to her, exploring her body with an intimacy that had held her enthralled and she had not been embarrassed. But the talk of carrying his child made her feel vulnerable as nothing before had.
‘I…I did not know there was such a thing. I thought…’ how very, very uncomfortable to talk of these things ‘…I thought you would just withdraw or I would use something afterwards.’
He gave her a rueful grin. ‘I would like to think I have the control to withdraw in time, but I am not sure. This is safer. Safer than you douching afterwards.’
Her blush deepened at his frank talk.
‘But that is not why you were scared when I reached for the condom, Bell.’ His voice held a firm determination she had not heard before. ‘Tell me what frightened you.’
She rubbed her eyes, feeling suddenly tired. ‘FenwickClyde used to stop, but he did so in order to find his latest toy.’ She sighed. ‘I had hoped loving you would erase that memory.’
Compassion darkened his eyes and a bone-deep anger clenched his jaw. ‘I promise to do everything in my power to make you forget that man. I promise, Bell.’
She looked at him and knew he meant what he said. ‘Thank you, Hugo.’
He came back to her and made good his word.
Chapter Ten
Hugo took the proffered billet-doux from the silver tray Butterfield held and strolled to the library. The paper smelled strongly of tuberose, Elizabeth Mainwaring’s favourite scent. He scowled and ran his fingers through the unruly wave of hair that always wanted to spill down his forehead. He should have been expecting this, but he had completely forgotten his arrangement to meet her in London.
He sat down in the chair near the desk so that the morning light fell on his former mistress’s handwriting. Iamin London. Come immediately, my dear. E. Sweet and brief, not at all like Elizabeth. Normally her words overflowed the page. Something was wrong, or she thought something was. Very likely the fact that he had not been in London to welcome her. He had meant to be.
Things had changed drastically since he last saw Elizabeth.
Hugo wadded up the expensive paper and held it in his fist, staring out at the grounds. The last of the daffodils formed yellow carpets across the garden. Soon the roses would begin to bloom and their scent would perfume the air. But not yet. It had snowed lightly last night.
He had made love to Annabell last night, their passion keeping them warm in spite of the cold outside. He still smelled of her, honeysuckle with a hint of woman. He wondered if his scent remained with her. She had taken one of his shirts back to her room with her, saying she wanted the smell of him near her. When she had explained why she wanted the piece of clothing, he had responded instantly. They had made love until it was nearly too late for her to get back to her room without meeting a servant doing early morning tasks.
And now this.
‘Damnation!’
He rose and went to the grate where a fire roared. He tossed the note into the flames and watched it burn, the smell of tuberose mingling with the acrid bite of smoke.
He had not ended his liaison with Elizabeth, even though he had known she was seeing another man as well. He had even known who her other lover was. St. Cyrus, another one of Wellington’s aides. It had not mattered to him that Elizabeth was sharing her favours. He had enjoyed her company and revelled in the lushness of her body, but that had been all. He had not loved her.
He would have to go to Elizabeth. His honour dictated that he end their connection face to face. And, she would like an expensive bauble to ease her disappointment at receiving no more—from him.
He returned to the desk chair and swivelled it around so he could gaze once more at the grounds. The bright sun had already started melting the dusting of snow. The roads would be a quagmire.
He had to tell Annabell.
He didn’t think she would appreciate him leaving her to visit his former mistress, no matter what his reasons. His hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. And, damn it, he could finally understand why. All these years he had been doing whatever took his fancy, loving women with no thought for the future. And now there was Annabell.
She was so independent. What if she left him over this? Surely not. He had not proposed marriage to her, wasn’t sure he would. Nor did he think she would accept if he did. But he didn’t want to lose her. Not yet.
He was a selfish bastard.
A knock on the door broke his reverie. ‘Come in.’
‘Hugo,’ his stepmother’s high, sweet voice said, ‘I need to speak with you.’
He turned to face her and stood up. ‘Come in, Juliet, and have a seat.’
She glided into the room and sat down in the chair he had indicated. Her strawberry-blonde hair curled around her heart-shaped face, but her complexion was so pale that the faint dusting of peach freckles stood out in stark relief. Something bothered her.
He smiled and put aside his own problem. ‘Come, Juliet. What has upset you so?’
She returned his smile, but it was forced and didn’t reach her sherry-coloured eyes. ‘Oh, Hugo. I have a request, but it is an awkward one at best.’
‘Why?’
She sighed and wrung her fingers. ‘I don’t wish to inconvenience you and I would return to London, but then you would have no chaperon for Annabell. I don’t want her reputation ruined. But I fear what I am about to ask will make her very uncomfortable here.’
Hugo quirked one brow. ‘How so?’
Juliet’s gaze skittered away from him, only to return with a resolute look. ‘I wish to invite Lord Fenwick-Clyde to visit. Or rather, wish you to invite him.’
‘What?’ Hugo wondered if he had misheard. But, no, the look on his stepmother’s face told him he had not. ‘Isn’t he Lady Fenwick-Clyde’s stepson?’
Juliet nodded. She looked miserable, yet hopeful. Telling her ‘no’ would be like kicking a puppy, something Hugo would level another man for doing. Yet, if he told her it was acceptable, Annabell might leave. Devil take it, she might leave when he told her why he was going to London tomorrow. Not that any of that would keep him from doing what was right. Some things had to be done. Going to London to see Elizabeth and asking Fenwick-Clyde to visit for Juliet were two of them. Life was a series of risks, something he had learned very well during the Battle of Waterloo.
‘This is your home, Juliet. If you wish me to invite the man, then I will.’
Relief flooded her expressive features, but she continued to wring her hands. ‘I don’t want to offend Annabell.’
‘Neither do I, but this is your home. And, as you said before, if you leave then there is no chaperon. I imagine she can tolerate the chap for a couple of days.’
Juliet’s pale face flamed. Hugo’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is for more than a few days.’
She nodded. ‘I had hoped to invite him for several weeks.’
‘I see.’
And he did. His stepmother was interested in Annabell’s stepson. Could things get worse? He doubted it, but wouldn’t bet on it.
‘Now you understand,’ she said, relief easing the wrinkle between her eyes. For the first time since she entered the room, her fingers stopped twisting.
Hugo found his fingers drumming on the top of his desk. He stopped them. ‘When do you wish to invite him?’
‘I would like the invitation to go tomorrow asking him for a week from th
at day. If you have time to do it that quickly?’
Her eyes held such a look of hope that Hugo was glad he had not refused her. Not that he would. This was her home as much or more than it was his.
‘Is he in London?’
She nodded.
‘I will deliver the message in person.’
She looked surprised. ‘You are going to London?’
‘Yes. I have some unfinished business.’
Her puzzled look intensified. ‘I… That is, I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I thought you and Annabell were doing very well together.’ Her pale cheeks turned pink.
Hugo considered her. He and Annabell must not have kept their interest as circumspect as he had thought. Juliet would never pry like this if they had.
He considered his words carefully and kept his voice neutral. ‘We enjoy each other’s company, but we are not in one another’s pocket.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she murmured. ‘I had rather thought it was more, but I must have been mistaken.’
Rather than lie to her, he said, ‘Is there anything else you wish of me, Juliet?’
‘No, nothing, and thank you, Hugo. I know this may be inconve-nient for you and Annabell.’
Hugo stood. ‘That is not the issue, Juliet. But would you mind telling me where you met the man and how long you have known him?’
She stood as well, her head barely topping his shoulder. She was what the London beaus called a Pocket Venus. And she was a wealthy widow. Fenwick-Clyde had done well. Hugo stopped the cynical thought. Fenwick-Clyde was no fortune hunter by any stretch of the definition.
Juliet smiled and her face took on a contented glow. ‘Last summer. After he returned from Waterloo. His wife had died in April and he had joined Wellington in an effort to forget. He is so sensitive.’
She looked besotted. Hugo swallowed a groan. ‘You care for him, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Her hands fluttered, something he was not used to seeing in her. All the time he had known her he had never seen her lose her composure to this extent. He hoped things would work out.
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