Ah, yes, his clothes. They took the long way around to the small door the footman took them to, in order to avoid Marcus. He was still standing, staring at them as if he’d seen a ghost. She hoped to God he would come to the same realisation that she had. Otherwise someone would have to intervene. She didn’t have the least idea how that would come to pass or what was involved.
She had to get out of here.
Henry took them to the top guest floor, where Harry had his rooms. He opened the small servant’s door and let them through. From there it was easy to slip into his room. Virginie didn’t hesitate.
A burden had left her once she’d made her final decision. For the past few days she’d hesitated. Did she really want this man? Could she give up the passion she found with Marcus? Now she knew she had to. Could she go through life never seeing Marcus again? Another yes. She’d have to try, at least until she’d finally broken the addiction she’d forced herself into.
Because she wasn’t done with it yet. It hung on, sending yearnings through her body, making her want to run to Marcus, to take more of what she found. Could Harry provide her with some release?
Harry took her to his sitting room, a small but comfortable apartment much like the one she’d had when she’d stayed here, and bade her sit. “I’ll change and be with you directly,” he said.
And wash, no doubt. But she didn’t want that. She needed—something. Contact, perhaps. She took his hand. “I’ll help. Don’t send for your valet.”
He raised a dark brow but said no more. He led her through the connecting door and she found herself in his bedroom. The bed was of dark wood, with rich green covers and drapes. Very masculine in appearance. Did Amidei ensure his guests had rooms that suited them? Or was it an accident that she’d stayed in a room decorated in the shade of forget-me-not blue she liked best?
He had fresh water in the can next to his washstand. Cold, but clean and fresh. She poured a generous amount into the porcelain basin and dipped the sponge in it. Glancing over at him, she saw he was watching her, standing with his arms folded. “Take off those clothes, they’re ruined.”
“Is this what I’m getting myself in for?” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. He crossed the room to the bed and pulled off his coat. “If that’s the case, I can’t wait.”
His waistcoat followed the coat, and then he tugged his shirt, the one with the ruined lace, over his head. His hands went to the buttons on his breeches. “Is this enough, or do you want more?”
No, she wanted to admire his magnificent torso first. Shaking her head, she beckoned to him.
“You’ll ruin your lace,” he pointed out.
The riches of her ruffles were sewn to her shift with a running stitch that was purposely easy to remove. She pulled the ends and tugged off the deep double ruffles, tossing them on to the washstand. “Now I won’t.” He strode to her, picked up the lace and returned to the bed to place it at a distance from his soiled clothes.
His torso was bare and clear of blood. Only his hands, throat and face were marked, and only by specks and smears of dried blood. She wrung out the sponge and set to cleaning him. He held still while she wiped his face, dabbing the sponge into each craggy crease, which he made worse when he smiled.
“I never thought I’d smile today,” he said. “But you’ve made me so happy.”
“I will try to do so.” Pushing her troubles to the back of her mind, she realised she might be doing that for some time to come. But faced with this vision of male pulchritude, it might not be as hard as she’d imagined.
He had a massive chest, dusted with black hair, which clung in curls in places. It thickened towards his waist and narrowed into a suggestive line. He radiated heat, even more now he was half-naked. “You don’t have to try. Just be you. We’ll work through this, I swear it.”
“You can’t make to happen. I will be a good wife to you.” She was determined to do that, whatever it cost her. “I won’t betray you.”
“I was prepared for it,” he admitted. “You are, after all, Venus. She had many lovers.”
“One at a time,” she said. “Only one at a time.” She dabbed away the last of the blood on his face and turned her attention to his wrists and hands. His shirt had covered his arms and taken the brunt of the damage. “You could have killed each other.”
“The others would have intervened before that happened.” He touched his lips to her forehead. She loved the way he did that, so gently for such a big man. “I like your touch.” He hesitated, as if he would have said something else.
Smiling, she completed her self-imposed task, then met his soft gaze. In this brightly lit room they had nothing to hide. Not anymore. He knew all her secrets. All that were worth knowing, anyway. The most important ones, like what she’d done and how she’d betrayed herself and her fellow immortals.
Maybe this was the time to reveal more secrets. Physical ones. She flattened her hand on his chest and closed her eyes, allowing herself to savour the sensation of the silky hair rubbing against her palm.
“Not every woman appreciates a man like me,” he said. “Hairy.”
“I love it,” she said softly, and moved closer. She rubbed her cheek on his chest. He breathed softly, standing quietly, letting her take the lead. “It feels comfortable.” Almost as if she’d done it a million times before. But she hadn’t and the thrill of discovery lay before her. His arms came around her, and he cupped her head with the back of his hand.
“I have the license,” he said. “We’ll marry tomorrow and go into the country. To my house.”
“Where is it?”
“Cheshire. I’ll have to travel north to visit the village in Cumbria where the Simpsons live. I need to do that much, especially now their daughter is no more.”
Reminded of the day’s sad occurrences, she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“What?”
“Talk about the Simpsons?”
“On purpose?”
She gazed at him with the knowledge born of her goddess in her eyes. “To stop this going any further.”
“God, no!” Raising his hands, he cupped her face and bent his head.
His kiss seared her. No gentle salute this, but a claiming, as he took her with strength and purpose. He repeatedly thrust his tongue into her mouth, plunging as if imitating the act of love. She responded in kind, holding him close, determinedly taking him again and again.
The news that they would travel away from London sent a shot of panic through her, and she didn’t understand it. Rather than face its meaning, she fell into his embrace. So very rewarding. He kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He sucked her tongue when she slid it between his lips, tasting every part of her mouth.
His hands left her face when she slid her arms around his waist. She couldn’t get close enough, her side hoops hampering her. She wanted flesh.
As if reading her mind, he tugged the kerchief away from her neck. It fell away, baring the skin on her upper chest, and then more, as he set to unhooking the closed front of her gown. She’d worn a long kerchief tucked into buckles, creating a pretty fall of fabric. But the buckles were for show, and the gown was fastened with a series of hooks. He set about them, as skilful as any lady’s maid. Her gown sagged as he released it, drooping off her shoulders. With one sure push and a couple of tugs, he had it off her, and the garment fell to the floor.
She hadn’t known a man who could loosen a lady’s stays so neatly. He managed it while still kissing her and then he had her breasts in his hands. He groaned into her mouth and broke the kiss, staring down at her, his eyes gleaming.
“You are lovely, my lady.”
That sounded good. Marrying Harry would give her a British title once more. She hadn’t realised that until this moment. She’d be “my lady” to most people. A relief. But now she was “my lady” to one person. The one who was holding her breasts, stroking his thumbs over her nipples and making the velvety tips
erect for his pleasure. He did appear pleased.
“Your skin is a miracle,” he said, so low she could barely hear him, then he dropped down on one knee. That must hurt him, but he showed no sign of it. “I have to taste you,” he said, and followed suit. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and pulled on it, caressing it with his tongue.
Virginie gasped and put one hand on the surface of the washstand. The ridge where the cold china tiles met the polished wood frame dug into her palm. She pressed further, needing the contact to keep her balance.
While he sucked and played with her, his other hand tweaking her other nipple to a similar state to the one in his mouth, he brought up his free hand. He removed hers from the piece of furniture, guiding her to place it on his broad shoulder.
Hard, smooth muscle met her skin. Miles of it, as firm as she could ever want. His power seemed unending and excited her beyond reason. This man could take her any way she liked, and she couldn’t stop him. The fact that he was stopping himself thrilled her. He would have to restrain his instinctive reactions. Waves of desire emanated from him. She met them with her own, needy and powerful. Different to—
Different to anything she’d known before, that was all.
He switched to her other breast, the other cooling as the wet flesh met the air, but then he had his hand on her again.
He lifted her skirt. He caught hold of her calf and shaped the muscle with his big palm, running his thumb along it to the inside of her knee. There he stroked, and Virginie discovered a new area that was sensitive to a man’s touch. He tickled and caressed before moving to the top of her stockings and tracing the edge. Her garters were tied just above her knee.
“More,” she said.
He dotted little kisses around her nipple, his eyes half-closed, then ducked under her skirts. “I love your smell.”
So straightforwardly said! Her feminine aroma must be wreathed around him in the enclosed space. Although far from a virgin, she let herself enter this new territory, completely unknown to her.
She felt his incredulity as his lips closed gently around her clitoris and he flicked his tongue over the tip, as he’d done to her nipple. His low purr vibrated through her flesh. Virginie shuddered as her reaction met his and their minds chased the same end. He wanted her to—could she come like this?
Goddess of love she might be. Experienced she was not. She and Marcus usually attacked each other in a frenzy, eager to get to the main course. They rarely had time for foreplay. Harry was about to expand her sphere of knowledge.
Now he pulled on her clitoris, sucked, and as he did so he touched her. When she gave a sharp cry, he chuckled, another sound that added to her desire, pushing her ever closer to the edge. He pushed a finger inside her. Such an intimate act, done in bright, broad daylight!
She sobbed his name as her channel closed around him in sharp spasms. She came, hard and fast, totally unable to control her reaction to his tasting. While she clutched his broad shoulders he sent her soaring, gasping in shocked delight.
He didn’t stop until the last tremor died away. Then he grabbed his cane, planted it on the floor and came to his feet. Curving his other hand around her waist, he led her to the bed, but instead of lying down, they sat on it. Her side hoops wouldn’t allow for her lying down comfortably and she certainly could not rest her head on his shoulder as she did now.
When she reached around to unfasten her petticoat, he stayed her hand. “No, that’s enough for now.”
“But don’t you want to…?”
“No. I want to have a proper wedding night.” He kissed her, soft and sweet, almost innocent. “We’ll leave something for then, and since it’s tomorrow night, we won’t have to wait for long.”
That was so romantic she melted. She was still soft and dreamy in the aftermath of her orgasm, content to have him hold her. But an impressive erection raised a ridge in the fine fabric of his breeches. He was completely dressed from the waist down. “Would you wait if it was next month?”
He chuckled. “I’m not a saint. Probably not. But I’m not a satyr either. I can wait for a day.” He stroked her hair, twining a curl around his finger. “You’ve made me very happy. It’s not something I can say yet outside this room, but I’m glad you chose me.”
“There was no choice.” She said it flatly, with a bitter edge. But best he knew the truth. “I could not choose Marcus. We are neither of us what we should be when we are with each other. We don’t work properly.”
“It’s the addiction.”
“Yes.”
“But you could have returned to France,” he added. “You chose me instead of that.”
“Yes, I did.” She hadn’t realised until he pointed it out. She had chosen him over France. She’d liked France and there she would not carry the scandal that had erupted there. The French wouldn’t care about a little public display. But Virginie didn’t want to run away. She’d have stayed and fought it on her own if she’d had to. She hadn’t fallen into Harry’s arms from a weak sense that she needed someone to look after her, because she didn’t. She had decided on Harry because she liked him. Heavens above, what was the world coming to? “I like your honesty and your sense of honour. I like that I don’t have to be constantly talking with you.”
He kissed her forehead in that way he had and this time she moved into his kiss, then lifted her head for more. He obliged, and they lost themselves in each other for precious moments. He was so much more than she’d expected, and she hadn’t sampled everything he had to offer yet. Recalling that, she let her hand drift over his crotch, and received a satisfying blast of heat and the sensation of sheer strength.
He took her hand and moved it aside, linking their fingers together before finishing the kiss. “If I have to wait, so do you.”
She loved that he was confident enough to say that. He was taking control, and she loved a man who could do that and take the woman with him. In this case, her. She wouldn’t let him have things entirely his own way, but letting someone else take the pressure from time to time appealed to her. For the last five years she’d had nobody to do that. Before that her husband had ailed, and she’d seen to the estates on her own.
“You’ll be a very rich man. I have extensive holdings in France,” she murmured.
“I’m a wealthy man already. My father didn’t have much land, but it’s built over rich mineral resources. We have coal, salt and even tin.”
“Appropriate for Vulcan.” She initiated the kiss this time, and he cupped her cheek. She loved the way he took his time. She had never had much time—before.
“Come, my lady. We’ll make ourselves decent and I’ll see you to your carriage. Then I’ll see you next tomorrow.”
He proved an adequate, if not skilled lady’s maid. The only garment she needed help with were her stays. He tightened the laces he’d previously unfastened with reasonable efficiency, considering his lack of experience in that area.
Restored once more, she paused at the door to his room. They would go downstairs as if leaving from the first floor public rooms. But she didn’t care. Her reputation was lost. Tomorrow she would start to get it back. Nobody would concern themselves with a widow visiting her future husband the night before the wedding. Not unless something went wrong. It would not. It must not.
“Do you have much experience?” Recalling his skill when he tongued her, she had begun to wonder. “Do you have a woman waiting for you in the north?”
His mouth creased in a smile. “A respectable woman should not even think of that.”
“This one is thinking of it. And I’m not entirely respectable.”
He claimed another kiss and she gave it gladly. “Then to put your mind at ease, I’ll answer. No. I have nobody waiting for me except my mother.” He turned serious. “She lives in the main house, but after she has introduced you to the estate, she may retire to the Dower House.”
“Won’t she resent my presence?”
“Lord, no, she’s constantly compla
ining about her duties! She asked me to find a bride when I came to London. I told her I was going to support my fellow immortals and conduct a little business, nothing more.” When she would have pulled away, he drew her back. “You were a surprise, I swear. I was planning to go home unencumbered, but now, I won’t go home without you.”
Relieved she wouldn’t be displacing a resentful woman, she was nevertheless put in mind of her own mother.
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Will you tell me one day? All of it?”
“Possibly.” At the moment she didn’t care.
Chapter Twelve
Harry remained on tenterhooks until he actually saw her. Would she come? He had no idea, but if she didn’t, he’d find her. The licence was good for months yet.
Then there she was, standing in the doorway of her drawing room. The vicar was here, the necessary papers lay on a side table, and d’Argento and Ellesmere were standing as witnesses. Some of the other immortals were present too. Harry had written to his mother yesterday, to tell her he’d acceded to her wishes to find a bride. He was ready. More than ready.
What madness had persuaded him not to take her yesterday? He ached with longing for her. Tomorrow they’d travel north, and while he’d done his best to assure reasonable lodgings, one could never be completely certain of coaching inns. If they took detours to stay with friends or one of his other estates, then the journey would take even longer. He wanted her home, in his private kingdom, where he could protect her. He had a feeling he would need to do it in the turbulent times that lay ahead for all gods.
He would not tell her that his feelings ran far deeper than mere liking. Or that he wanted her more than was sane. Enough that she had agreed to marry him. Her reaction to his attentions yesterday had shocked him, as if she wasn’t used to such treatment, but she was Venus, the goddess of love. Surely she had far more experience than he did.
Not that he was without experience. Enough to know that the woman in blue standing in the doorway was the epitome of pure lust. No, more than that. The urges sweeping through him now encompassed more than lust. Caring, protectiveness, even trust. The things people often called love. As a matter of fact, he called it that too. Though he doubted she would. At least, not yet.
Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 Page 12