by Shana Galen
Finally, he pulled away. “Are you trying to drive me mad?”
“I told you I want you,” she said, voice breathless.
“We’re supposed to go slow this first time.”
She laughed. “I never was very good at following anyone else’s plans.” She kissed him again, nipping at his lips playfully until his hands slid up her waist and cupped her breasts. The feel of his thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples made her gasp in surprised pleasure.
Andrew took advantage of her distraction to flip her over. She protested loudly until his mouth silenced hers. And really, she did not mind. He was warm and solid on top of her, his fingers caressing her tenderly, moving from her shoulder down to her waist and then… She groaned.
“You were serious, then,” he murmured against her collarbone. “You are ready for me.”
“Yes,” was all she could say as his fingers delved between her legs and parted her. Her legs seemed to fall open of their own accord. She had no control over her body at this point. She was entirely at Andrew’s mercy. He seemed to know what she needed, what she craved. His fingers played her body, stroking and plucking and gliding. And then his fingers were inside her, slick with the evidence of her desire. He pressed up, and the sensation heightened until she all but cried out from pleasure. Then he withdrew, and she wanted to scream.
“Shh.” He soothed her with kisses. “I want to go with you this time.”
She saw him reach down and open the fall on his trousers. He stood and peeled them off, and she stared at the evidence of his arousal. He was large and rigid and surprisingly beautiful. And yet she still felt a stab of panic at the thought of what was coming next. What if she could not breathe; what if he would not stop; what if he hurt her?
He must have seen something in her eyes, because he held up both hands. “Lily, it’s still me, Andrew. I’ll stop whenever you wish. We’ll go no further now, if that is what you want.”
She nodded. Disappointment flooded through her. She had thought she might be able to go through with it. She wanted him so badly, but all desire was quickly being eroded by her fear.
“I also have another idea,” he said. He lay down beside her, leaving plenty of room between their bodies. “I’m at your disposal.” He linked his fingers and put his hands behind his head. “You are in control.”
She sat and frowned down at him. He did look much less intimidating this way. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Why not begin again? As I recall, you were threatening to ravish me?”
She shook her head at him. How could he speak so lightly at a time like this? How could he be so patient with her? She could see quite clearly he wanted her. Wasn’t he annoyed at having to wait? Wasn’t he angry that she, who was supposed to be a notorious courtesan, knew very little about the act for which she was famous? Her past experiences had been exercises in fear and submission and pain. She’d had virtually no control over what happened. And now he was offering her complete control. She had to admit, she was intrigued. She leaned down and kissed him, and though he kissed her back, he allowed her to lead. He did not unlink his hands or urge her to do what he desired. He seemed quite content to do whatever she wanted. She kissed his mouth, his neck, his chest. It was muscled and smooth, and gooseflesh appeared when she stroked him. She kissed him all the way to his navel, then reached to touch his hard member. He inhaled sharply but made no move to stop or encourage her.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. This is a pleasant torture.”
She laughed, because she knew what he meant. His own touch often seemed a most pleasant form of torture. Despite the fire in the hearth, she was cold, and she climbed on top of him, remembering the luscious feel of skin against skin. She saw his hands unlink, claw into the bedclothes, then link again behind his head. “You’re struggling for control,” she noted.
“Suffice it to say you do not realize the power of your allure. And this position…” He looked up at her, admiration in his gaze. “I do not think I have ever fully appreciated its merits before.”
“Touch me,” she said. “I want your hands on me.”
Slowly, as though he didn’t trust himself, he unlinked his fingers and held his hands out to her. She moved them to her waist and then guided them slowly upward so they caught the heaviness of her breasts. He teased her until she was all but breathless, and then his hands slid down, cupping her bottom. He lifted her slightly, and she felt him heavy and hard between her legs. He was showing her what to do, if she so chose. Her heart pounded, and she leaned down to kiss him, feeling safe in that act. His hands moved up and down her back, and she began to move with them, his hard length beneath her arousing her. Heat pooled between them as her need increased. She moved more quickly, trying to sate that need, and finally reared up and took him in her hands. She rose on her knees, which trembled with apprehension, but the need overwhelmed the fear this time, and she guided him inside her.
His hands left her back and gripped the bedclothes. His knuckles were white as she moved over him, taking him inch by inch. She tensed, expecting pain, but there was none, only the pleasant fullness of him. But now what was she to do? She had thought this would ease the yearning.
“Rock back and forth,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Find the rhythm you like.”
“Is this hurting you?” she asked.
“No!” His voice was emphatic.
She tried his suggestion, rocking slowly. Andrew groaned. “Are you certain you are not hurt?”
“You are killing me. Incredibly slowly,” he said, eyes closed and jaw muscles straining. “But it’s the kind of death I prefer.”
She moved again, slowly, watching as he visibly held himself back from whatever it was he wanted. And then she felt her own desire pierce through her, and she could no longer hold herself back. She rode him, quickening her movements until they reflected the frenzied passion she had known would be between them. His hands were on her hips now, holding her as she took him. And then suddenly everything broke free, and she reared back and succumbed to pleasure. The sensation came upon her in waves, each stronger than the last, until she was all but weeping. She collapsed on top of him, out of breath and damp with perspiration.
He held her for a moment, his hand caressing her back, and then he gently flipped her over. He was still inside her, and she realized he was still quite hard and quite large. “I thought that went away when…”
“That was for you,” he said. “With your permission, this is for me, though I might be able to last long enough to please you again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you trust me?”
How could she not? She nodded.
“Good.” He bent and kissed her again, moving inside her with the same slowness she had used on him. The sensation was not unpleasant, and when she looked up, his gaze was locked on hers. She could not look away from his eyes. They were windows to his feelings—desire, need, tenderness… love?
She must have mistaken that last one.
His fingers moved between their bodies, stroking her where she was most sensitive. She gasped. “Andrew!”
“Let it happen,” he told her. “I have you.”
She arched up to meet him, and white-hot pleasure exploded around her, inside her. This time the feeling was sharp and fast and verged on ecstasy. He thrust deep, and she cried out again, wanting more and more of him. But just as quickly, he pulled away, and she felt warm, sticky liquid on her belly.
He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily. And then he grasped his shirt and wiped her off. She watched him, and burst into tears.
Seventeen
Andrew stared at her. He was no Don Juan, but surely his performance did not merit tears. He tamped down the feeling of panic rising in his chest. “Lily, are you hurt? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing!” She swiped at
her wet eyes. “You did everything right.” And then she gave him her back and burst into more sobs.
Andrew lay back and tried to catch his breath and think what he was supposed to do now. If he had done everything right, did that mean she was crying because she was happy? Why the devil did women do such things? It made a man’s head spin.
And his head had already been spinning. Lily wasn’t the only one affected by what they’d just shared. Andrew had never felt anything like that before. The physical aspects had been more than he could have hoped for or expected, but it was the warmth he felt in his chest—about where his heart might be—that concerned him. He was not the kind of man to spend hours in bed with a woman. He did not sleep in anyone’s bed but his own.
It was full dark now. He should have been encouraging her to dress and make ready to go to the chapel. But he did not. Instead, he found he wanted to hold her. Just hold her.
Devil take it! There was something wrong with him. Next he’d be quoting Byron or some such nonsense.
And still Lily sobbed beside him. He was going to have to do something about that, and he did not think jumping up and dressing would help the matter.
“Lily.” He touched her shoulder. Damn it. She was cold. He lifted the coverlet and wrapped it around her, covering himself as well. This was cozy. He did not want to like it. “Lily, don’t cry. Tell me why you’re crying.”
She turned to him, and her nose was red and her cheeks tear-stained. And still he thought she looked beautiful.
She walks in beauty, like the night… his mind taunted him.
He was doomed. Doomed.
“You care about me,” she sobbed.
He should have thought it obvious by this point, but he thought it might be wise to keep quiet.
“You knew I did not want to beget a child, and you took precautions.”
Was that all? She’d probably cry for a week if he told her he was quoting poetry about her in his mind.
“And I really do believe you would have stopped if I’d asked.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have been pleased, though,” he added. He did not want to sound too saintly.
She laughed, which was better than the crying. “I wouldn’t have been pleased, either.” She cupped his cheek. “You were wonderful. I’ll never forget it.”
“I had hoped to repeat it.”
She smiled at him and tucked her head under his chin. He found he liked her there, curled up against him, and he enfolded her in his arms, pulling her closer. He did note she failed to reply when he’d mentioned their future together. If she’d been another woman, he would have attributed it to modesty; but though she might not be as experienced as she claimed, she’d lived the life of a courtesan. She was neither modest nor easily shocked.
Perhaps she saw no future for them.
And perhaps he was behaving like a ninny. These thoughts were better suited to his fifteen-year-old sister.
And so he held her and marveled at how much he enjoyed the simple act. How her hair smelled faintly of lemon, and how her breathing grew regular as she fell into a light sleep.
And then his thoughts turned to his father. He did not want to believe the duke was capable of all Lily claimed. What reason would the duke have for wanting the King’s men dead? The duke might be a glutton for wine and women, but he was not a fool. Killing spies would not bring back the money he had lost in the war. And it was not as though the rubies Lily spoke of were a secret. They were not the sort of thing anyone in the family talked about, and the gems were not paraded about. The stones were whole, not broken into pieces and fashioned into jewels. The family had possessed the rubies for centuries, and their association to the duchy was well documented.
Which meant if the duke hoped to pay assassins using the rubies, he did not care about being caught. That made no sense. No peer of the realm could possibly want to sully his name or that of his family by going to prison as any common criminal might.
And yet, if Lily’s claims were correct, a prison was his father’s future residence. Once she had the evidence she sought, her superiors would act. There was no reason Andrew could not act now. He knew where the rubies were hidden. His mother had hidden them there and told him where they were because he was the heir. Might any other documents his father wished to hide be in the same location? There was no place safer or more secret. No one knew about it. Come to think of it, not even his father knew of it. In which case, the documents would not be there. And yet he had to see for himself. His sister’s words came back quite suddenly.
You did not see what she was really like, Andrew. She could be cold and, well, frightening.
Andrew felt a chill. He shook his head, but he could not shake his unease.
Carefully, so as not to wake Lily, he climbed out of bed and began to dress. The lamp had gone out, and the fire had burned down, but he knew his way about the room in the dark. The shirt he’d been wearing was soiled, and he had to open his clothes press to search for another. He pulled on a fresh one and then donned his coat. No sense in running about in the night in a white shirt. He’d be a beacon for anyone who happened to look out the window.
“You are not planning to go without me, I hope,” a voice said in the darkness.
He sighed as she sat up.
“I see that was your plan.” Her tone was accusatory, and he could hardly fault her.
“I did not want you to put yourself at risk. I will go alone and bring back anything of importance.”
“It is my duty to put myself at risk,” she said, sliding off the bed and stumbling about in the dark. She did not know his room as well as he. “I should have never involved you.”
He found his tinderbox and lit a taper. “You did not have much of a choice. Go ahead and dress. I’ll wait for you.”
“How accommodating.”
He had to assist her with her purple gown. He could have acted like an insufferable ass and refused, but the truth was he rather liked dressing her. He liked any excuse to touch her. He gave her a black cape he’d bought one year when he particularly admired the dandies. It was a bit long for her, but it would conceal the pale skin of her neck and shoulders in the darkness. He led her out of the house through the servants’ stairs. He did not want to meet his father or one of the other guests and have to answer questions. No doubt his father was already questioning the whereabouts of his fiancée. He was not a man to suffer inattention.
Finally, they stepped outside. The rains had passed, but the ground was soggy and muddy. They had picked their way carefully across the lawn, especially as it was a cloudy night and the moon was intermittently visible. At one point, Lily’s boots tangled with her cape, and she had to pause and straighten her garments. Andrew waited for her, looking back toward the great house. He thought he saw the flash of a light in one of the windows, but he might have imagined it. Still, he felt a sense of urgency. Lucifer would strike soon. Possibly even tonight. Andrew wanted Lily back inside, where she was safe. Or at least safer.
When they reached the small family chapel, Andrew pushed the door open. In the daylight, the building was flooded with sunshine. Stained glass windows abounded, as did many of the regular sort, and they lit the floors with color and light. In the dark, it was a place of shadows. There was a central aisle with a single wooden pew, worn and shiny from centuries of use, on either side. At the front of the chapel stood a large white marble altar on a raised dais. Three steps led to the altar on which stood a gold cross and several candles. Pedestals dominated the corners of the chapel with their large candles poised on top. He’d slipped his tinder box into his pocket, and he drew it out now and lifted a lantern placed beside the entrance. When it was lit, he walked to the altar and lit a brace of candles. A warm light suffused the place, and he lifted the lantern, shining the light about.
In the lantern’s light, he noticed the thin layer of dust all ar
ound. When his mother had been alive, there had never been any dust. She would not have allowed it. He felt his gaze pulled toward the stained glass window of Saint Peter, depicting the man with a halo and a key. That has been his mother’s favorite window. She had liked to come here and look at the window and enjoy the solitude. Sometimes she invited him to come with her. They’d sit together, her arm around his small shoulders, and she’d whisper prayers, all of her hopes and dreams for him. Once he’d asked her about the key the apostle held, and she’d told him it was the key to heaven.
“It must be heavy,” he’d said, thinking of the jingle their housekeeper made when she walked with all of the keys to Ravenscroft Castle in her hand.
“Or very light. It all depends on your heart.” She’d squeezed his shoulders and left him to ponder those words. She was always making remarks he did not understand. But when he looked at Lily now, her red hair burnished by the candlelight, he thought he knew what his mother meant. His whole being felt light when he was with her, as though he could do anything, carry any burden as long as she was beside him.
“I feel as though I should pray,” Lily said, meeting his gaze. They were the first words she’d uttered since they’d left his room. “I haven’t been inside a church in years.”
“Now you’re just gloating.”
She gave him a ghost of a smile. “Not at all. Courtesans and fallen women are not welcome in the house of God.”
“That’s strange. I would think your sort would need it all the more.”
Her smile widened. “No one wants my sort tainting anyone else. Just the sight of me might spur a virtuous woman to take up a life of dissolution.”
“One could only hope.” He held out a hand. “Care to join me, my little Jezebel?”