by Burke, Darcy
“I suppose we don’t have to.” She gave him a sunny smile. “I am happy to share one bed if we must.”
“Tomorrow,” he croaked, closing his eyes. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
Not by half.
As she finished unbuttoning his waistcoat, she felt his pocket watch. Pulling it free, she looked at the time.
“Hugh,” she said softly, huskily. “It is tomorrow.”
His eyes flew open, and his nostrils flared. “I am marrying a wanton.”
A bead of apprehension stole over her courage. “Does that upset you?” She was afraid of his answer and braced herself for the worst.
“Not at all. Thank God.” He lifted her into his arms, sweeping her feet clear of the floor, and started toward the bed. Beds.
He stood between them and stared into her eyes. “Did you doubt yourself?” At her nod, he swore under his breath. “I will try never to cause you to do that again. I love that you’re a wanton and that you are impatient to begin our life together. I’m impatient too. I’m ravenous and maybe even deranged with lust, really, and I’ve no wish to frighten you. I’ve never experienced such strong feelings before.”
She looped her hands around his neck. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s certainly better than marrying for other reasons such as duty or expectation.”
Joy unfurled inside her and spread to every inch of her being. “I am so lucky I found you.”
“Not as lucky as I am.” He captured her mouth in a scorching kiss. “And don’t argue.” He smiled as he set her on one of the beds, then circled around the other before pushing them together. “Better?”
“Quite.” She kicked her slippers off the other side of the bed and lifted the hem of her chemise in order to unfasten her garters.
“Oh wait, please.” His voice was low and tortured. Moving quickly, he removed his dress shoes and waistcoat, depositing them on the floor. Next came his breeches, but he paused before he’d finished unbuttoning his fall. “Are you sure you want—”
Growing bolder with each moment, she moved to the end of the bed where he now stood. “If you don’t remove your clothing, I’ll remove it for you. In fact, I’d be delighted to provide assistance.” She put her hands on his and slid a button free of its hole.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and she felt the length of his shaft beneath her fingertips. Heat rushed into her face—and much, much lower—but she refused to be intimidated by the unknown.
She finished with the buttons and pushed the breeches down over his hips. He cupped her head and began to pull pins from her hair. “I want to see your hair down.”
Edging backward from him so he had to drop his hands, she removed the rest of the pins until the weight of her hair fell across her shoulders. She took the pins from his hand and deposited the lot on the table beside the bed—the one he hadn’t moved.
She turned to see him stripping his stockings away, then he came around to where she knelt on the mattress. Her chemise had loosened and shifted when she’d traversed the bed on her knees, exposing the top of her shoulder and the crest of her breast. It was more flesh than anyone besides her maid had ever seen.
His gaze locked with hers, and he gently touched her bare skin just below her collarbone. She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“That would be impossible when I’m with you.” She gripped the sides of his shirt, using it to pull herself to the edge of the bed. He lowered his head, his lips caressing her collarbone. He brushed her hair aside to reveal her neck and dragged his lips up to her ear, then back down again to the hollow at her throat.
With each touch of his lips, she felt a new sensation—a heaviness in her breasts, a tingling in her belly, an ache between her legs. Everything was connected and completely within his control. He cupped the underside of her breast, and she felt it in her core, gasping as she flattened her hands against his sides, seeking his heat and hardness.
Grasping the hem of her chemise, he slowly pulled the garment over her head, exposing her body to his eager gaze. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
She’d never thought so before—her mother had always said she was too thin, too small, that her features weren’t “lively” enough, whatever that meant. But now, with Hugh, she felt beautiful and cherished. Loved.
“My turn,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt.
He took over, whipping the linen over his head and hanging it over the corner post of the bed. She stared at the expanse of his chest. It was impossibly wide, with a ripple of muscles and a faint smattering of auburn hair. She tentatively reached for him, her palm flattening against his breast. Lightly, she ran her fingertips over his nipple and wondered if he felt a tingling sensation there like she did.
He lifted his hand to her breast once more, this time cupping her, flesh to flesh. His hand was warm and big, easily encompassing the small globe. He dragged his thumb over the tip, and her breath caught. He repeated the movement, sending licks of sensation straight to her sex.
Then his finger joined his thumb, and he gently tugged. Penelope closed her eyes as a soft moan raced from her lips. He did it again and again. Each time, the pleasure was more, and then he did the same to her other breast. She feared she might whimper.
A hot, wet sensation on her nipple pushed her over the edge. She cried out, opening her eyes to see that he’d bent his head to her breast. He kissed her there the way he kissed her on the mouth, his lips and tongue wreaking delicious havoc on her senses.
She gripped his shoulder and clasped the back of his head, holding on to him lest she be swept away. He suckled her, drawing on her nipple until she moaned. The ache between her legs grew, and she began to understand what might happen.
Hugh’s hand slid down her abdomen. His knuckles grazed her sex. She jerked, shocked by the contact, and opened her eyes. He touched her again, then lifted his head. “Tell me to stop at any time, and I will.”
She nodded, unable to speak. Keeping his eyes on hers, the connection between them grew as his fingers stroked through her hair and along the folds hidden beneath. His touch was tantalizing and wonderful, but somehow not enough.
“More,” she whispered, uncertain from where the word had come. Thought seemed difficult as sensation took over.
He turned her on the bed and guided her back until she lay flat atop the coverlet. With a hand on her breast, and a hand between her legs, he touched her gently, teasing and tormenting. He lightly pinched her nipple, drawing a soft cry from her lips. Next, he slid the tip of his finger inside her, a brief but welcome intrusion.
Then he touched a spot at the top of her sex, pressing and moving his fingers, and it was everything she’d begun to hope for. Pleasure built inside her until it seemed a living thing, coaxing her to an awareness she’d never imagined. There was just her and Hugh, their breath, their bodies, their mutual desire.
His touch on her breast and her sex overwhelmed her with need. Her body thrummed, desperate for what must come next. Then he kissed her, his mouth warm and wet, as his finger came fully inside her.
Her body stretched, and he withdrew—briefly. He returned, sliding in and out again, creating a friction that drove her body to rise off the bed to meet his thrusts. His hand left her breast and joined the one at her sex, his fingers rubbing that spot that craved release.
He speared his tongue into her mouth, then drew back, whispering, “Come for me, Pen. Let go and break apart. I will pick up every bit and put you together again. Always.”
It was precisely as he said. Something inside her tightened, she gripped his shoulders, then let go. Ecstasy rushed over her, splintering her into too many pieces. Not too many for him. He would make her whole—now and forever. Of that she was certain.
The bed depressed as he climbed on beside her. She opened her eyes slightly, just enough to see his beloved face. A fine sheen of sweat had beaded across his brow, and his eyes were dark but the gold at the center shimmered with desire.<
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He moved over her and settled himself between her thighs. “Lift your legs around me.”
She did as he said, wrapping her legs around his hips. She’d never felt so open and exposed. Her sex throbbed with pleasure—a mad combination of satisfaction and need. “Can I touch you?” she asked softly.
He took her hand and curled it around his sex, his eyes never leaving hers.
She moved her fingers over him, exploring his cock. She loved the soft velvet of his flesh over the hard steel of his erection. “It feels so big. Will it…fit?” She felt silly for asking.
“Yes, but I will go very slow. I must beg your forgiveness, because this time will likely not be comfortable, especially at first.”
With her free hand, she cupped his cheek and looked up at him with love. “I trust you. Please don’t worry about me. I want this. I want you.”
“See, I am the lucky one,” he whispered before kissing her.
He put his hand over hers and guided his shaft to her sex. It was different from his fingers, of course. She stretched much more to accommodate him as he edged forward. True to his word, he moved slowly, almost too slowly, as he slid inside her. Halfway in, he withdrew and started anew, going slightly faster. He did this a few times, and the discomfort of having him inside her began to dissipate. But then he went deeper and deeper, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from crying out. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant.
He left her again and kissed her brow. “Is it too much?”
She shook her head. The friction of him leaving had sparked something reminiscent of the release she’d just experienced. “No. Please don’t stop. I want to get wherever it is I need to be. With you.” She rocked her hips up and clasped his backside, urging him back inside her.
This angle was better, and he pushed into her, filling her. When he made to leave again, she held him tight against her. “Just stay. For a moment.” Or several moments. Her body grew accustomed to him, and the spark intensified. Then his pelvis twitched, rubbing against that spot at the top of her sex, and she sucked in a breath. “Again,” she begged.
He moved his hips against hers, rotating. She dug her fingers into his flesh and increased the friction of their bodies.
“Penelope, I have to move. Hold on to me, sweetheart.”
He withdrew again, but not completely. Then he drove forward, filling her again, and she moaned as pleasure bloomed. Over and over, he thrust and retreated, and each time, her body sought his, her legs squeezing around him.
That same something inside her tightened once more, and then his hand was between them, stroking that spot that pushed her to the edge until she toppled right over into rapture. He kissed her, devouring her cries as his body moved over and into hers. Then his lips were gone, and he groaned, his body shuddering with his release.
He cried her name and repeated it, his voice diminishing with each utterance, “Pen, Pen, Pen.” Then, “I love you.”
She cradled him close and kissed his temple, his cheek, his mouth. “I love you too.”
Chapter 14
Hugh startled awake. He blinked, trying to acclimate himself to his surroundings.
A room at the Leek and Sieve.
The warmth of Pen snuggled against his side.
Today was his wedding day.
At least he hoped it would be.
Doubt niggled at the back of his mind. Why should he be worried? He had the license and Pen had said yes. Two dukes would bear witness, as would a member of Parliament who was a barrister. What could go wrong?
Her parents could be waiting with an army of Runners and other people who would seek to stop the ceremony. Legally, they had no standing. He just hoped they all respected the law. Given that Hugh had resorted to kidnapping—sort of—he had to assume his adversaries would consider similar measures.
Hugh said that he considered his wife’s parents to be adversaries. And yet he knew she would agree.
His wife. He smiled to himself. Almost.
He looked at her dark head resting on his shoulder and briefly wondered if that was remotely comfortable for her. Smiling, he lifted his head and bent his neck to kiss her forehead.
“Pen,” he whispered soothingly before pressing his lips to her temple. “Good morning.”
“Mmm.” She nuzzled against him, and he held her close. “Is it time to get married?”
“Almost.” He stroked his hand along her jaw and tipped her chin up so he could kiss her. The contact was gentle, and he kept it brief. “I love you. Never forget that.”
“I doubt that I will, but I invite you to remind me as often as you see fit.”
He kissed her brow. “I love you.” Then the tip of her nose, eliciting a giggle from her. “I love you.” Then her cheek. “I love you.”
Some minutes later, they broke apart, panting. Hugh resisted the urge to cup her breast and continue what they’d started. “We need to get to the church before eight.”
They rose from the bed and set about getting dressed. He helped her with her gown and waited while she finished pinning her hair. She frowned into the glass. “I am not a very adept lady’s maid.”
“I imagine it’s much easier to style someone else’s hair.”
She turned toward him, smiling. “True.”
He offered a courtly bow. “Are you ready, my lady?”
“I realize I will still be a lady after we wed, but I will be quite happy to be addressed as Mrs. Tarleton.”
“Then that is what I shall call you.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “Come, Mrs. Tarleton.”
Waiting for them outside was the Duke of Eastleigh’s coach, which would convey them to the church. Hugh had sent notes to Tom, Eastleigh, and Cole when they’d arrived at the inn last night.
Hugh helped Pen into the coach and checked his watch. They would arrive before eight, and hopefully, the ceremony would occur without incident. He was counting on this being too early for Society types to be out. However, given his idiocy last night, he had to expect they would have unwanted company.
Eastleigh’s coach came to a stop outside the church gate. So far, it looked as though his plan was working, for there were no other coaches about. The coachman opened the door, and Hugh stepped out. He helped Pen down and escorted her through the gate. She clutched his arm, and the closer they drew to the church, the more tense she became.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her glove. “It’s going to be fine.”
Hugh opened the door to the church and stopped short. Pen’s grip tightened.
Facing them were a pair of Bow Street Runners along with her parents, Findon, and the bloody Bishop of London. Hugh fought the stringent need to walk over to her father and knock him to the floor.
“Good morning, Tarleton,” the bishop said evenly. He didn’t look the least bit upset, but then he rarely displayed any emotion. While Hugh had anticipated the others, the bishop’s presence was a genuine surprise—and possible complication.
“Good morning, Bishop Howley,” Hugh answered with a bow as he tamped down his nerves.
Pen curtsied and acknowledged the bishop. However, she ignored her parents, and he was quite proud of her for that.
The bishop gave Hugh a stern stare. “Lord Bramber roused me far too early this morning to inform me that you kidnapped his daughter. Is this true?”
Before Hugh could answer, Pen spoke. “It is not.” Her voice was cool and imperious. “I left with Mr. Tarleton of my own accord so that we could be wed.”
The marquess sneered. “That’s not possible.”
Bishop Howley pursed his lips but said nothing.
Hugh clasped Pen’s hand and looked at her with pride and admiration. It took a great deal of courage for her to stand up to her father after what he’d put her through.
Her father’s eyes, similar in shape and color to Pen’s but different in every other way, glowed with fury. “You had to have abducted her last week. You
saw her when she visited your church, and you preyed upon her.”
“I did not,” Hugh said calmly, despite the outrage burning inside him.
“Nah, that were me.” Joseph strolled into the church from behind Hugh and drew everyone’s attention. Several people had entered the church after Hugh and Pen, including Joseph. “I snatched ’er from the street and put a bag over ’er head.”
“Arrest him,” the marquess said, looking toward the Runners.
“No,” Pen said, then louder, “No. I left the museum and ran into St. Giles so I could avoid marrying him.” She pointed at Lord Findon. “I refuse to marry him. I’m going to marry Hugh—Mr. Tarleton.”
The marquess’s eyes fairly burst from his head. His mouth tightened with rage. “You lied. You did run away.”
Hugh saw the man raise his fist, perhaps unknowingly, and made to move toward him, ready to take him down if necessary. However, the bishop interrupted the moment, and Bramber dropped his hand to his side.
Bishop Howley frowned at all of them. “I am not certain what is going on here, but the marquess says there is an existing betrothal between Lord Findon and Lady Penelope.”
“Is there a signed contract?” Jack Barrett, who was a barrister in addition to being a member of Parliament, stepped forward. He was one of the guests who’d arrived during the conversation. “If so, we’ll contest it. Since Lady Penelope is of age, she has the right to marry Mr. Tarleton, if that is her choice.”
Barrett’s wife, who was also Eastleigh’s sister, moved to stand next to her husband, her eyes gleaming with pride.
“There isn’t a signed contract,” Pen said. “Not yet.”
“She can’t marry him if he’s dead,” the marquess said, which earned him several gasps from those assembled. He turned to Findon, who stood beside him. “Challenge Tarleton to a duel.”
Findon turned a sickly shade of gray. “I, er, I think not.”
“Then perhaps I shall.” Bramber glowered at Hugh and fisted his hand again, though it remained at his side. “This is the height of insult—to take advantage of my daughter as he’s done.”