by Lisa Kleypas
“It’s helping me quite a lot.” Cam’s hand slipped into the back of her drawers. She wriggled in violated modesty, her clothes dropping ever more rapidly toward the floor.
“I have to see you in daylight.” His mouth chased lightly, hungrily over her throat and shoulder. “Monisha, you are the most beautiful woman, the most…” His hands moved with increasing impatience, pulling hard at her clothes until a few stitches popped.
“Don’t, this dress doesn’t belong to me,” Amelia said anxiously, fumbling to unfasten the borrowed garments herself rather than have them torn. She froze at the sound of footsteps coming along the hallway, passing the closed door without stopping. Most likely it was a servant. But what if someone had seen her entering Cam’s room?… What if someone were searching for her at this very moment? “Cam, please, not now.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He lifted her from the circle of discarded clothes. “I know it’s soon after your first time.”
She shook her head as he laid her on the bed. Clenching the fabric of her chemise with both hands to keep it in place, she whispered, “No, it’s not that. Someone will find out. Someone will hear. Someone will—”
“Let go, hummingbird, so I can take this off you.” There was a flick of devil’s fire in his eyes as he said mildly, “Let go, or I’ll rip it.”
“Cam, don’t—”
She was interrupted by the sound of rending linen. He had torn it completely down the front, the fragile material drooping on either side of her.
“You’ve ruined it,” she said in disbelief. “How am I to explain this to the maid? And how am I to put my corset back on?”
Cam didn’t look at all apologetic as he pulled the remnants of the chemise away from her body. “Take off your drawers. Or I’ll have to rip those, too.”
“Oh, God.” Seeing no way to stop him, Amelia pulled the drawers down over her hips. “Lock the door,” she whispered with a scarlet face. “Please, please lock it.”
A quick smile passed over Cam’s mouth. He left the bed and went to the door, stripping off his jerkin and shirt along the way. After turning the key in the lock, he took his time about returning to the bed, seeming to enjoy the sight of her burrowing beneath the bed linens.
He stood before her half-naked, the breeches riding low on his hips. Amelia dragged her gaze away from the sleek, tightly muscled surface of his torso, and shivered between the cold layers of the bedclothes. “You’re putting me in a terrible position.”
Cam finished undressing and joined her beneath the covers. “I know other positions you’ll like much better.”
She was pulled against him full-length, his body large and startlingly warm. He ran his hands over her, discovering she was still wearing garters and silk stockings. With a smoothness that left her gasping, Cam disappeared beneath the covers, his broad shoulders tenting the layers of linen, wool and velvet.
Amelia tried to struggle to a sitting position but fell back with a whimper as she felt his mouth against the soft skin inside her thigh. He untied the garter, letting it fall away, and began to roll the stocking down her leg with torturous slowness, his lips following the path of furling silk. His tongue ventured into the hollow behind her knee … glided over the clenched muscle of her calf … the delicate side of her ankle. The silk was gently tugged away from her clenched toes. It took fierce concentration not to cry out as she felt his hot, wet mouth closing over her toes, one at a time, sucking and stroking while her ticklish foot jerked in response.
By the time the second stocking was removed, Amelia was steaming. She fought to push the covers back, away from her overheated skin. The tips of her breasts contracted tightly as they were exposed to the cool air. Cam pushed her thighs wide, her legs crooked over the hard bulwark of his shoulders. His fingers sifted through the springy curls, and he kissed her tenderly, licking into the heat and tension, circling and drawing lightly. Too much … not enough … Amelia strained beneath the soft-flicking torture.
He settled a hand over her stomach, rubbing in soothing circles. “Lie easy, sweetheart.”
“I c-can’t. Oh, do hurry!”
Cam laughed softly, his parted lips dragging across her sensitive flesh. He traced her with his tongue, made her wet, and blew against the dampened curls. “It’s better for you if I don’t hurry.”
“No it’s not.”
“Much you know about it. This is only your second time.”
She gave a little sob as he used his tongue again. “I can’t bear much more of this.”
He licked over her, fiendishly sweet, and inside her, lewd and deep, until she was breathing in moans and his hot breath was shivering against her. He moved upward, his body settling into the taut slip of her thighs, and he entered her in a thick slide. She gasped at the shock of him filling her, pushing until she gasped, and dug her fingertips into his shoulder.
Cam paused, staring down at her with dilated eyes, the irises bright gold rims around circles of fathomless midnight. “Amelia, love…” His kiss tasted of salt and intimacy. “Can you take a little more of me?”
She fought to think above the confusion of pleasure, and shook her head jerkily.
The corners of his lips deepened with a smile. He whispered, “I think you can.”
His hands played over her, solicitous fingertips sliding to the place they were joined. He pressed inside her, a low rhythmic movement, and his fingers were astonishingly gentle, almost delicate, as they stroked in time to the patient thrusts. Gasping, she arched to take him deeper, and deeper still.
Every time he pushed, his body rubbed hers in exactly the right way. She began to lift eagerly, anticipating each invasion, panting for it, sensation building on sensation until it culminated in a blinding swell of delight … and another … another … she felt him begin to withdraw and she moaned and twined her legs around his hips.
“Amelia,” he gasped, “no, let me … I’ve got to…” Shuddering, he spent helplessly inside her, while her body gripped and stroked the hard length of him.
Still locked together, Cam rolled Amelia to her side. He muttered something in Romany. Although she didn’t understand a word, it sounded highly complimentary. Limp with pleasure and exhaustion, Amelia rested her head on the solid curve of his biceps, her breath catching as she felt the occasional twitch and pulse of him in the depths of her body.
Cam reached for her left hand. Taking the signet ring between his fingers, he drew it off easily and gave it to her. “Here. Although I’d rather you left it on.”
Amelia’s mouth fell open. She examined her hand, then the ring, and hesitantly pushed it back on the same finger. It slid over her knuckle and back again with ease. “How did you do that?”
“I helped you to relax.” He ran a coaxing hand along her spine. “Put it back on, Amelia.”
“I can’t. That would mean I’ve accepted your proposal, and I haven’t.”
Stretching like a cat, Cam rolled her flat again, his weight partially supported on his elbows. Amelia drew in a quick breath as she felt him still firm within her. “You can’t lie with me twice and then refuse to marry me.” Cam lowered his head to kiss her ear. “I’ll be ruined.” He worked his way to the soft place behind her earlobe. “And I’ll feel so cheap.”
Despite the seriousness of the matter, Amelia had to bite back a smile. “I’m doing you a great favor by refusing you. You’ll thank me for it someday.”
“I’ll thank you right now if you’ll put the damned ring back on.”
She shook her head.
Cam pushed a bit farther inside her, making her gasp. “What about my personal endowments? Who’s going to take care of them?”
“You can take care of them”—she squirmed to the side to set the ring on the bedside table—“all by yourself.”
Cam moved with her obligingly. “It’s much more satisfying when you’re involved.”
As he reached to retrieve the ring, his body shifted higher in hers. She tensed in surprise. He felt harder ins
ide her, thicker, his desire gaining new momentum. “Cam,” she protested, glancing at the closed door. She grabbed for his wrist, trying to keep his hand away from the ring. He grappled with her playfully, turning until they had completed a full revolution across the mattress and she was under him again.
He was rampantly aroused now, teasing her with slow lunges. Twisting beneath him, Amelia pushed at his dark head as he began to kiss her breasts. “But … we just finished…”
Cam lifted his head. “Roma,” he said, as if by way of explanation, and settled back over her. If there was a hint of apology in his tone, there was none in the insistent rhythm of his thrusts, deep caresses that invaded and soothed, and before long her protests had melted into purring moans.
Amelia wrapped her arms around him, her legs, trying to contain all that hard male flesh, while the steady, rocking pace of his thrusts brought her to the edge of release. But he withdrew before she could reach it, and turned her over, and for an agonizing moment she thought he had decided to stop. Covering her with his body, Cam used his knees to push hers wide. He muttered in a mixture of English and Romany, enough for her to understand that he wouldn’t hurt her, this would be easier for her, and she whispered yes, yes, and then he was sliding impossibly deep, his hands steadying her hips as she backed up instinctively.
Her head dropped, her gasps muffled against the linen-covered mattress. His hand slid to her sex, fingers spreading the furrowed silk. Pleasure shimmered through her in waves, each one stronger, higher, until she was shuddering, drowning, sighing. Cam’s sudden withdrawal was a shock of unwelcome emptiness as he made his last thrust against the sheets and groaned. Stunned and disoriented, Amelia remained with her hips propped high, her flesh pulsing and smarting with the need to have him back inside. His hand came to her buttocks, rubbing in a warm circle before he pushed her back down.
“You’ll have me,” Cam whispered. “You’ll have me, hummingbird. I’m your fate—even if you won’t admit it yet.”
Chapter Eighteen
After Cam had gone, Amelia found herself wandering despondently through the large manor.
It was quiet in the house, everyone having retired to their rooms for afternoon naps. Preparations were being made for the earl and countess, and Lord and Lady St. Vincent, to leave for Bristol in the morning. They would stay at the home of Lillian’s sister and brother-in-law, Daisy and Matthew Swift, for the last fortnight of Daisy’s confinement.
Lillian was anxious to see her younger sister, with whom she was extremely close. “She’s been in splendid health through the whole thing,” Lillian had told Amelia, with obvious pride. “Daisy’s healthy as a horse. But she’s very small. And her husband is quite large,” she added darkly, “which means any babies of his will probably be oversized, as well.”
“One can’t fault him for being tall,” Lord Westcliff, who was sitting beside his wife, had pointed out laconically.
“I didn’t say it was his fault,” Lillian protested.
“You were thinking it,” the earl murmured, and she raised a pillow as if to hurl it at him. The effect of marital strife was spoiled, however, as they grinned at each other affectionately.
Lillian turned her attention to Amelia. “Will you and the others be all right in our absence? I hate to leave with things so unsettled, and Mr. Merripen under the weather.”
“I expect Merripen will heal very quickly,” Amelia said with utter confidence. Other than the time he had first come to them, he had never been ill. “He has a robust constitution.”
“I’ve requested the doctor to visit daily,” Westcliff said. “And if you have any difficulties, send word to Bristol. It isn’t that far, and I’ll come at once.”
Heaven knew how they had been fortunate enough to have Lillian and Westcliff as neighbors.
Now, as Amelia made her way through the art gallery, her gaze moving over paintings and sculptures, she became aware of a terrible hollowness inside. She couldn’t think how to make it go away. It wasn’t hunger, fear, or anger, it wasn’t exhaustion or dread.
It was loneliness.
Nonsense, she scolded herself, striding to a long row of windows that overlooked a side garden. It had begun to rain, a cold soaking glitter that fell steadily over the grounds and rushed in muddy streams toward the bluff and the river. You can’t be lonely. He hasn’t even been gone for half a day. And there’s no reason for it when your entire family is here.
It was the first time she had ever felt the kind of loneliness that couldn’t be cured with just any available company.
Sighing, she pressed her nose against the cold surface of a windowpane, while thunder sent vibrations through the glass.
Her brother’s voice came from the other side of the gallery. “Mother always said that would flatten your nose.”
Pulling back, Amelia smiled as Leo approached her. “She only said that because she didn’t want me to make smudges on the glass.”
Her brother looked drawn and hollow-eyed, the pastiness of his complexion a striking contrast to Cam Rohan’s clover-honey tan. Leo was dressed in borrowed clothes, these so fine and precisely tailored, they must have been donated by Lord St. Vincent. But instead of hanging gracefully as they did on St. Vincent’s elegantly spare frame, the garments strained over Leo’s bloated waist and puffy neck.
“One can only hope you feel better than you look,” Amelia said.
“I’ll feel better once I can find some decent refreshment. I’ve asked thrice for wine or spirits, and the servants all seem damnably absentminded.”
She frowned. “Surely it’s too early in the day even for you, Leo.”
He extracted a pocket watch from his waistcoat and squinted at its face. “It’s eight o’clock in Bombay. Being an internationally minded fellow, I’ll have a drink as a diplomatic gesture.”
Ordinarily Amelia would have been resigned or annoyed. However, as she stared at her brother, who seemed so lost and miserable beneath his brittle façade, she felt a rush of compassion. Walking forward, she put her arms around him and hugged him. And wondered how to save him.
Startled by the impulsive gesture, Leo remained still, not returning the embrace but not pulling away, either. His hands came to her shoulders, and he eased her away.
“I should have known you’d be maudlin today,” he said.
“Yes, well … finding one’s brother nearly roasted to death tends to make a woman rather emotional.”
“I’m just a bit charred.” He stared at her with those strange, light eyes, not at all the eyes of the brother she had known all her life. “And not so altered as you, it seems.”
Amelia knew immediately what he was leading to. Warily she turned away from him and pretended to inspect a nearby landscape of hills and clouds and a silvery lake. “Altered? I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“I’m referring to the game of hide-the-slipper you’ve been playing with Rohan.”
“Who told you that? The servants?”
“Merripen.”
“I can’t believe he dared—”
“For once he and I agree on something. We’re going back to London as soon as Merripen is well enough. We’ll stay at the Rutledge Hotel until we can find a suitable house to lease—”
“The Rutledge costs a fortune,” she exclaimed. “We can’t afford that.”
“Don’t argue, Amelia. I’m the head of this family, and I’ve made the decision. With Merripen’s full support, for what that’s worth.”
“The two of you can go to blazes! I don’t take orders from you, Leo.”
“You will in this instance. Your affair with Rohan is over.”
Feeling bitter and outraged, Amelia turned away from him. She didn’t trust herself to speak. In the past year, there had been so many times she had longed for Leo to assume his place as the head of the family, to have an opinion about anything, to show concern for someone other than himself. And yet this was the issue that had provoked him to take action?
“I’m so
glad,” she said with ominous quietness, “that you’ve taken such an interest in my personal affairs, Leo. Now perhaps you might expand your interest to other topics of importance, such as how and when Ramsay House will be rebuilt, and what we’re going to do about Win’s health, and Beatrix’s education, and Poppy’s—”
“You won’t distract me that easily. Good God, sis, couldn’t you find someone of your own class to dally with? Have your prospects really sunk so low that you’ve taken a Gypsy to your bed?”
Amelia’s mouth dropped open. She spun to face him. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing. Our brother is a Roma, and he—”
“Merripen isn’t our brother. And he happens to agree with me. This is beneath you.”
“Beneath me,” Amelia repeated dazedly, backing away from him until her shoulders flattened against the wall. “How?”
“There’s no need for me to explain, is there?”
“Yes,” she said, “I think there is.”
“Rohan’s a Gypsy, Amelia. They’re lazy, rootless wanderers.”
“You can say all that when you never lift a finger?”
“I’m not supposed to work. I’m a peer now. I earn three thousand pounds a year just by existing.”
Clearly there was no headway to be made in an argument when one’s opponent was insane.
“Until this moment, I had no intention of marrying him,” Amelia said. “But now I’m seriously considering the merits of having at least one rational man in the household.”
“Marriage?”
Amelia almost enjoyed the look on his face. “I suppose Merripen forgot to mention that minor detail. Yes, Cam has proposed to me. And he’s rich, Leo. Rich rich, which means even if you decide to go jump in the lake and drown yourself, the girls and I would be taken care of. Nice, isn’t it, that someone’s concerned about our future?”
“I forbid it.”