Amara Royce

by Never Too Late

  When he felt low but unmistakable stirrings of desire, he decided touching her, even just stroking her hair, was no longer wise. He rolled away from her and tried very, very hard not to be aware of her supple, voluptuous body next to his. It took him a long time indeed to find sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Evans Principle 11: Intuition and impulse are two very different things. Trust your intuition, but never act on impulse.

  Sometime in the night, still dark, Honoria woke, intensely aware of her surroundings. Aware of the fine linen that chafed gently against her bare skin, so much bare skin. Oh. Right. Intensely aware of young Lord Devin’s likewise naked and finely muscled body next to her. Oh. Right. Of what had transpired earlier in the darkness. Oh, God. It was almost too much to bear, the absurdity of this moment.

  She should be worried for her reputation, she surmised, except that there couldn’t possibly be anyone in the world anymore who cared a whit for her respectability. Even in youth, she’d been far from desirable marriage material once she transformed from the daughter of a baronet to the daughter of a merchant. As for her current reputation, one needed fundamentally to be seen in order to be viewed in a negative light. No one saw her. Not really. No one would notice if she became someone’s mistress. No one, she realized, would notice if she disappeared or died. There might be the idle “I wonder what ever happened to . . .” And Erich would miss his earnings and need to find work; he might even spare her a moment’s recollection as a kind employer. Minnie felt like family, but she and Erich had never been close. A few regular customers might cluck at the misfortune of the store’s abrupt and mysterious closure. Her suppliers would note the interruption in transactions. But she doubted anyone would spend time speculating about what happened. And no one would put any effort into looking for her. If she dropped off the face of the earth this night, her absence wouldn’t be noticed for weeks, if at all. No one would miss her. No one saw her.

  The realization made her deeply, unbearably lonely. Despite herself, she wept into the plush, white pillow beneath her head, trying to be as quiet as dust.

  Perhaps he heard a stray sob, or felt the bed shake ever so lightly as she wept, or maybe, just maybe, he subconsciously registered her deep well of sadness. Whatever the cause, she felt his arm tighten around her, which only made her sob harder. Soon she felt him shift and loom over her, propped on one arm.

  “Nora, what’s wrong?”

  She’d embarrassed herself so much in his presence already that she couldn’t stand to paint herself as the pitiable lonely old crone. She couldn’t trust herself to speak at all.

  “Are you still in pain?” he asked as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “From . . . earlier?”

  She rolled to her back, careful to hold the blanket tight to her chin, and shook her head. “No. The pain is gone.”

  “Is it the shop? I know the burglary is quite a shock. It’s understandable, but those objects can be replaced. The shop can be renovated. You are safe, and that is the most important thing.”

  You are safe, and that is the most important thing.

  His words shot so directly to the target of her sorrow that fresh tears sprang to her eyes. His hand stroked tears away from the corners of her eyes.

  “It’s just,” she finally said, “been quite a day, as you said. Apparently, I am overwrought, and my mind runs away with me.”

  “What is it?”

  She answered his question with one of her own.

  “What do you see when you look at me? Truly?”

  “I see a woman. An enchanting, forthright, beautiful woman.”

  “Such pretty words.” She would have scoffed if she had the energy.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s too easy. That’s the kind of thing you could say to any girl to make her moon-eyed. What do you see when you look at me?”

  He left the bed and lit a fresh candle. A warm glow surrounded them, and when he sat on the edge of the bed, he appraised her slowly before speaking again.

  “I see lustrous brown hair that you do not have the time or inclination to coiffure. I see deep brown eyes that dance when you laugh, which you do not do nearly often enough. I see that your shoulders are too frequently knotted from stress and work.” Somewhere in his catalog, the tone of his voice shifted, as if he’d lost track of his original intent and gotten caught up in his own thoughts, deciphering some code or puzzle. He stroked her hair away from her face. “I see that you are fiercely independent and capable. But I also see that you keep your true self tucked away. You can converse competently with anyone on most subjects, but it takes an exorbitant amount of energy from you. I see that, as much as you want the life of a hermit, you are fundamentally heartsick, lonely for human companionship, even as you prevent others from trying to connect with you in meaningful ways.”

  She wanted to object, wanted to deny his claims. But the fact that he saw her so clearly took her breath away. He understood her. Whether he would care if she dropped off the face of the earth, she would deal with some other time. For this moment, he saw her. And she wanted to see herself through his eyes.

  She reached for him and was confused when he resisted, statue-like.

  “Regardless of what happened earlier, my promise to you still stands, Nora. If you say no, I will not touch you. You asked for companionship and comfort tonight, and all apparent evidence to the contrary”—he looked pointedly down at his body and hers—“I will not do anything that you don’t expressly wish.”

  “Kiss me,” she whispered, fierce and sure.

  He leaned his face toward hers and kissed her lightly, like a butterfly alight. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders as she tried to pull him close.

  “Don’t tease,” she said. “I said kiss me.”

  “Teasing can be just as enjoyable,” he said as his lips trailed lightly down to the hollow in her neck. Still only his lips. His hands were braced on either side of her head, his body hovering above her.

  “Damn it, man. I said kiss me.” She tried to pull his head toward hers, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Oh, but can’t you see . . . that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He suddenly dipped his head to nip gently at her breasts, first one, then the other, back and forth, light as air. She moaned, and possibly squealed, as her body twisted and shook under his mouth.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Her patience at an end, she sat up to meet his mouth, her chest against his, not caring that she might as well try to move a mountain. And he did not disappoint her. With their mouths and bodies pressed hard together, she felt consumed in flames. Their tongues touched and slid and explored. Her fingers wove through his hair as she opened to him.

  He pulled away from her slightly.

  “You wished me to kiss you, and now I have. What else do you wish?”

  “Touch me.”

  “Why?”

  She huffed and said, “Because with you I feel alive, I feel real. Please . . . touch me.”

  “Tell me where.”

  She shook her head, shy and self-conscious.

  “Shall I give you some options?” He placed his hand on her collarbone. “Here?”

  “Lower.” Her voice was tentative.

  He slid his fingertips down the slope of her breast to the tip and hovered there, barely making contact. “Here?”

  She arched toward him, but his hand followed the motion, keeping its distance. She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” His fingers brushed across her nipples again, and she shivered. But that was no longer enough.

  “Lower.” Her voice grew husky as her body vibrated with tension.

  He smiled. His hand traced the underside of her breast and came to rest on her stomach. Her muscles contracted and undulated beneath his palm.

  “Here?”

  She shook her head vehemently.

  “You know where! Please!”

  Slowly, he slipped his hand lower, fingers questing, dipping into her dark,
downy curls. She gasped. Gently, his fingers stroked her sensitive folds. She sighed and jerked. Alive, she said. Yes, every inch of her seemed alive, seemed to quiver at his touch. He found her sweet nub and increased the pressure of his massaging fingers. She writhed and moaned. Then one of his fingers found her, slipped into her hot, wet core to find a spot that made her cry out at the sudden intensity. He immobilized her with his body as his hand worked her. Her body bucked and twisted, yet he leaned into her and would not back down. His mouth covered hers to swallow her cries as he pushed her over the brink.

  His hand gentled, and his mouth moved lower to lavish attention on a nipple, while her shudders subsided.

  “Have I touched you to your satisfaction?” he asked eventually.

  She pulled his mouth to hers again, whispering a quick “Yes” before she entangled her tongue with his. He lay his head down next to hers.

  “Do you think perhaps you can sleep now, darling?”

  “But—” She still clung to him, and then she used actions to replace words. Her hand slid down his arm to his hip. He sucked in his breath involuntarily. When her questing hand finally made its way to wrap around his throbbing member, it was his turn to tremble.

  “Are there any other services I can provide for you, my darling?” His attempt at an offhand tone proved wobbly and unstable, at best. She laughed low in her throat.

  “Yes,” she said emphatically. “Love me.”

  She didn’t care anymore that her voice broke, that it dripped with desperation, that she begged. “Love me,” she said. Right then, it was all she wanted.

  Despite the repeated waves of pleasure, her body still craved more, knew there had to be more, even if it involved pain. It wanted with a greed she didn’t recognize and couldn’t control. He paused above her, and she looked in his eyes, those soft green eyes, glittering at her like cut emeralds.

  “I promise—I promise you,” he said, “this will not hurt like last time. There is so much pleasure to be had beyond the pain.”

  She nodded solemnly, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked

  Tell him! He already knows the marriage wasn’t complete. She shut her eyes to silence the voices in her head. Of course she trusted him. It was she who shouldn’t be trusted. Be honest with him!

  “Nora?”

  She opened her eyes at the pleading tone in his voice and stared at his mouth. I want this so much. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Just this once. I’ll let him go, but let me have this moment.

  “Nora, please say you believe me.”

  Without speaking, she lifted her lips to his and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him down to her.

  Slowly, so slowly, he came into her, filling her incrementally, inch by inch. He breathed heavily with the exertion and focus. The sensations were indescribably strange to her. He was right—there was no pain at all. Instead, she felt such exceedingly unique friction—soft and hard, smooth and ridged, sensitive skin sliding against sensitive skin. Then he fully impaled her and hit a spot that made her cry out, this time in stark, overwhelming pleasure. He groaned as he withdrew almost completely and slid firmly into her again. Whatever his hands and mouth had done to her before were ripples on a pond, compared with these tsunami waves of ecstasy that made her practically jump out of her skin. She couldn’t catch her breath as he thrust into her again, again, even deeper, even harder. Her hands dug into him, one on his back, the other on his buttock, her legs wrapped around his, all to pull him ever closer. Her back arched, all her muscles tensed, her body shook—until now, and now, and now again, the pleasure exploded through her and she cried out insensibly. Even as the waves subsided, she felt him continue his onslaught, still fully erect within her, driving faster and harder. He seemed to fill her even more, impossible as that seemed. Without warning, yet another explosion of ecstasy, even more massive than the first, left her flailing, screaming “Oh, Alex! Alex! Oh, God!!!” with him putting his hand over her mouth to quiet her while he thrust into her one last time, releasing himself into her fully.

  Long moments later, when their breathing and heartbeats returned to normal, she risked a glance at him. He looked bloody well pleased with himself.

  “That was . . .” His voice trailed off as he searched for just the right word, stroking her shoulder.

  “Indeed,” she replied. They breathed in unison as they drifted off to sleep together.

  Chapter Twelve

  Evans Principle?: Oh, I’ve lost count, my girl. Anyway, don’t waste time on regret. Ever forward !

  Night serves as an excellent cover. Wrapped in dark silence, one feels a modicum of anonymity and one’s inhibitions may fall away. But day inevitably follows. The sun sanitizes, and daylight leaves few hiding places.

  Nora woke suddenly to bright sunlight in her eyes and two maids bustling about the room. One of the two maids was tying back the drapes she’d just opened wide. The other, surreptitiously eyeing her with a frown, was laying out clothing.

  “Oh, you needn’t trouble yourself, miss,” Honoria said quickly. “I’ll just wear my clothes from yesterday.”

  “Lady Devin instructed us to clean them for you and bring you these for now,” the girl said quietly, “and there’s a bath drawn for you, ma’am.” No sign of Alex. Only right, she told herself, that he would prevent the servants from a scene, that he would need to prepare for the day. He didn’t leave me, she told herself. He just needed to leave; it was the proper thing for him to do.

  As she left the bed, she saw traces of last night’s events and wondered briefly what the servants would make of that. Monthly courses, most likely. Perhaps. And what did it matter? Few people would expect or believe what had transpired; she barely believed it herself. And yet . . . as she bathed, her body announced its many complaints: joints popped, her thigh muscles ached, sore sensitive parts would not be ignored. When she returned to the bedroom, wrapping a thick dressing gown around her, she looked at the serviceable clothes laid out for her, along with cloths that reassured her the maids interpreted the soiled sheets acceptably. She also found the young maid standing by the door, staring at her balefully.

  The girl curtsied and said, “I was instructed to help you dress, ma’am.”

  “There is no need. You are free to go,” she said. She expected the maid to be relieved and eager to leave, but the girl’s expression hardened. She couldn’t resist asking, “Is there something wrong?”

  The girl shook her head slowly.

  “I assure you that you are welcome to speak freely with me. I am not one to put on airs or expect people to hold their tongues around me.”

  “My employers are all that is kind. I would not wish to displease them in any way.”

  Honoria looked at her more keenly and finally discerned her anger.

  “Please, you may be completely frank. Whatever you have to say to me will not be repeated. This is between the two of us. I give my word.”

  Still, the girl stood, as unyielding and unmoving as granite.

  “I swear on the lives of my beloved parents, I will not tell another soul. You are so clearly dying to say something to me. Speak your mind, child.”

  The appellation must have been the flint required because the young maid instantly blazed.

  “Who are you to sneak your way into this family? You don’t deserve to be here, getting the treatment of a queen!”

  She was horrified by the accusation. The girl’s intense response suggested more than the usual employee loyalty. She strove to respond calmly.

  “I assure you I am not sneaking my way into the Devin family. It is no business of yours, but I was in dire circumstances last evening and the Devins were kind enough to assist me. You must be familiar with their generosity and kindness. I have no intention of being a nuisance to them or of imposing on their hospitality any more than is absolutely necessary.”

  “Oh, I know full well what you did. The master will tire of you and toss you asi
de like the gutter trash you are.”

  “You don’t even know me. Why would you assume that I am, as you say, ‘gutter trash’?”

  “He deserves someone finer than you, younger, prettier. He deserves a real lady for a wife.”

  “As I thought I made clear, I have no designs regarding the Devin family. Lord Devin is free to marry whomever he wishes, and like you, I hope he finds a lovely wife suited to his needs. I am not on the marriage market.”

  She couldn’t comprehend the previous night’s events, much less face accusations from a little chit who knew nothing about her. Her mind whirled with unfamiliar—and extreme—emotions. Even as she dressed, every motion seemed strange, as if she didn’t belong in her skin. The shop needed her attention, but she could not focus. Her body and her heart were already too much at war to give her head any opportunity to chime in. She’d been distraught, she told herself. That was why she’d turned to him—for comfort and escape. But she couldn’t absolve herself from responsibility. She’d wanted to be with him; in all honesty, she wanted him still. Right now. But there was no future for them together, just as the brazen maid has said. Eventually, he needed to marry a perfectly respectable daughter of the peerage and produce little perfectly respectable heirs. The only way she could be with him was as his paramour, which meant there was no way.