The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  “We cannot go back to how things were. Too much has happened. Our lives are so different now.” She moistened her lips. “But you’re the only man I have ever wanted. I would like to know you, Ross, to know the pleasure that comes when two people share a special bond, a deep connection.”

  The devil on his shoulder rubbed his hands gleefully, eager for an opportunity to sate his curiosity, to know if joining with her would be everything he imagined it to be. The saint in him raised his hands to the heavens and prayed for caution. What if this experience made him want her all the more? If she left again how would he cope? But he was too weak to deny his body, too weak to deny his heart.

  Holding her tightly to his chest, Vane leant forward and tugged down the blinds.

  “Then kiss me again, Estelle. Convince me this is truly what you want.”

  She sat up, shuffled to straddle him. “I need you, Ross. Help me to forget every painful memory.” She claimed his mouth in a ravenous assault, teased his lips apart and delved inside. It was as though she could not taste him deeply enough, as though she was famished and he was her only sustenance.

  The wild, erotic dance of their tongues sent the blood rushing to his cock. He’d never been so hard, never been so eager to consummate an alliance. The sudden urge to feel every inch of her took hold. Frantic hands traced the curve of her hips, gripped her buttocks and drew her against the evidence of his arousal.

  A moan escaped her lips.

  Good God.

  His mind was lost in a heady cloud of lust, of desire. It surrounded him, flowed through his body in pleasurable waves.

  “We should be at home in bed, naked,” he murmured against her mouth. “Where I can worship your body as you deserve.” But in truth, the urgency to fill her full eradicated all thoughts of a more thorough seduction.

  “I cannot wait, Ross. If we stop now … I …”

  He heard the unspoken words. This might be his only opportunity to have her. The dream to possess her still lived inside him. This was about claiming what he craved, surrendering to the light, admitting she was his only weakness now.

  “Just tell me you want me.” Vane’s voice sounded gravelly, hoarse. He tugged at the hem of her dress, slid his hands underneath, up past the top of her stockings. “Let me hear you say the words.”

  “You know I want you. It has always been you.”

  That was his undoing.

  “Then forgive me, for I lack the strength of will to prolong this moment.” Never had he imagined himself saying those words. “I need to be inside you. Deep inside you. Undo my breeches.”

  He did not have to ask twice.

  She shuffled back as her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons. A growl rumbled in his chest when her small hand dipped inside. She hesitated, but then her fingers settled around his cock and freed him from his constraint.

  “Hurry,” she begged.

  His mind was too muddled to think. The potent essence of this woman filled his head. The need to drive home obliterated all else.

  Estelle dragged up her dress, her erratic movements and laboured breathing a clear sign of her eagerness to join with him too.

  He positioned himself at her entrance. Heaven was but inches away. “I cannot wait a second longer,” he panted.

  “Do it now, Ross.”

  With one hand settling firmly on her waist, he pushed inside her in one long fluid movement, up to the hilt.

  Time stopped.

  Buried deep inside her hot, wet core, Vane held her there and allowed himself a few seconds to appreciate the magic of the moment. His heart sang in celebration.

  “Oh, Ross.” Estelle’s head fell back.

  Never had he seen anything more beautiful. She belonged to him. Long before the first time his heart pulsed upon seeing her. Long before they ever met.

  He withdrew slowly only to plunge back into her welcoming body. Estelle gasped and arched her back, her breasts rising against the confines of the material. Oh, how he wanted to free them, to tease her nipples to peak, to feast like a king. She ran her hands over his shoulders and balled his shirt in her fists.

  Vane could sense she wasn’t sure what to do. Hell, her inexperience beguiled him — only made him want her all the more. He would be her tutor from now on, and he would await each lesson with eager anticipation.

  And so he settled his hands on her hips, ready for the first exercise in a course that would last an eternity, and guided her movements until she rode him in a unique yet intoxicating rhythm.

  “Oh God.” Vane watched her come up on her knees and sink back down again and again. “That’s it, love. Just like that.”

  He met her with equal enthusiasm. His measured thrusts became more urgent, more powerful than the last. With Estelle, he didn’t need to think of new or novel ways to please her. He didn’t have to pretend this was the most erotic experience of his life — for it truly was. All he cared about was watching the look of pleasure on her face as he filled her body.

  “Don’t stop,” she panted.

  “Trust me. That is not an option.”

  Every delicious slide into heaven took him closer to the edge. He reached between them, managed to push two fingers against her intimate place. Estelle responded to his touch, rubbing against him in a delightfully erratic fashion.

  “Hmm. Ross.” Her tongue skimmed her lips. He wanted to devour her mouth but he would stroke her to completion before taking anything more for himself.

  “Come for me, love.”

  She was the only woman he wanted to come against his fingers, the only woman he wanted to pump his cock with each tremor of her climax.

  She reached behind him and held on to the seat, rocked her hips and ground against him, massaging his solid member in the process.

  She gasped, shuddered, came apart on a pleasurable sigh.

  Vane could no longer keep his passion contained. “Ride me, love.”

  As her tremors subsided, Estelle did as he asked, taking him deep inside her, raising up, and sheathing him again and again. Her wicked mouth covered his, hot and demanding, every stroke of her tongue sending him wild.

  “I need to withdraw,” he somehow managed to say. But he wished he could push her onto her back, cover her body and drive long and hard. “When I do, I need you to touch me.”

  She raised herself high enough for him to disengage. “What now?” she said, still straddling his thighs.

  “Now,” he breathed.

  Estelle gripped his shaft and he covered her hand with his own and showed her how to stroke him. Every muscle in his body tensed. Vane jerked his hips, pushing his cock through her dainty fingers. He came over the soft skin of her palm — so damn hard he almost choked.

  His guttural groan drowned out the patter of rain on the carriage roof. He reached into his coat and gave her his handkerchief, watched in awe as she cleaned herself and then looked at him.

  The ripples of pleasure still coursed through his body. Their ragged pants filled the air. Estelle leant forward and touched her forehead to his. A deep sense of satisfaction enveloped him, coupled with a feeling of peace he had never known. This was the only place in the world he wanted to be.

  A place he was destined to visit.

  A place he was determined to remain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Estelle closed her eyes and relished the closeness of Ross’ body. They sat touching foreheads until their breathing settled. Never had she felt so sated, so blissfully happy. During the moment of intense pleasure, she had almost professed her love, but she knew that her eagerness stemmed from her heightened senses.

  Ross sighed contentedly, and his breath breezed over her cheek. At some point, she would have to move. But in the intimacy of the moment, the rest of the world no longer existed. Like this, it was easy to forget they had spent any time apart.

  Estelle raised her head and kissed him once on the lips. Oh, his taste was so addictive. “I should straighten my clothes before we reach Whitecombe St
reet, though I have no idea where we are.”

  During the wildly passionate encounter, she had been so lost in loving Ross she hadn’t considered that they were rattling along in his carriage.

  A sinful smile touched his lips. “We were to stop in Whitechapel.” He looked so calm, so sated, not at all like the devil who stormed into Mr Erstwhile’s shop to demand answers.

  She climbed off Ross’ muscular thighs and fell into the seat opposite. Embarrassment pushed to the fore, replaced by a flutter of desire when she watched him tuck his impressive manhood back into his breeches and fasten the buttons.

  Ross shuffled forward and raised the blind nearest to her. He studied the passing houses for a moment.

  “It seems Wickett has run his errand and we are on our way home.”

  Estelle heard him speak, but her mind was engaged in an internal conversation. After surrendering to her craving for this man, her body felt different. A little sore and tender in places, and blissfully in tune with the universe. But this state of euphoria would fade. And then she would have to face the stark reality that she loved a man she could never have. The intense longing would never leave her and would only be compounded now, having sampled the true magnificence of this man.

  Despite his comment to the contrary, Ross would marry eventually. They were both intelligent enough to know that any children born from their alliance would always bear the mark of her shame. And Ross could not beat every member of the ton into submission.

  Estelle brushed her skirt and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears.

  Silence ensued.

  Ross’ intense gaze settled on her face. “What are we to do now?” he said in a rich drawl.

  “Do?” Her pulse rose a notch. “Why must we do anything?”

  “Then allow me to rephrase the question. Are you still intent on leaving London after what has just occurred?”

  How could she answer when she didn’t know what to do anymore?

  “By your own admission you have had relations with other women,” she said, choosing to be aloof as a means of self-preservation. “How is this any different?”

  “How is it different!” he repeated, seemingly unimpressed with her answer. “Please tell me you’re joking. Eight years may have passed, but the same raging need flows through our veins.”

  “What happened brought us both comfort at a time—”

  “Trust me. Comfort was not what I tasted on your lips. Comfort is not what I felt when thrusting inside you, nor when you panted my name and shuddered in my arms.”

  She shivered at the delicious memory, wishing she could go back to the beginning and relive it all over again. “You’re right. It meant more than that.” The perfect moment would live forever in her heart. She would embrace it during long, lonely nights. “What do you propose we do?”

  For the first time, she witnessed a look of panic mar his handsome features. “Do?” It passed quickly, replaced by a wicked glint in his eyes. “I propose we return to Hanover Square. I propose we spend the next week in bed and take matters from there.”

  So it was lust, not love, then.

  “Have you forgotten that I have work to do in the shop? I cannot abandon the Erstwhiles, not while Mrs Erstwhile is unwell.”

  She wasn’t saying no even though she knew she should.

  “Estelle, while I admire your loyalty to them, you no longer need to work for a living.”

  Anger erupted. Such an intelligent man should know better than to preach nonsense. “Oh, and what do you suggest I do, my lord? Perhaps I should call my man of business and ask him to increase the rents. Perhaps I might sell the family jewels to give me an income while I sit about idle.”

  “A man is not idle because he owns land,” he admonished. “And you would want for nothing if you stayed with me.”

  The comment robbed her of breath. Good Lord, her worst fears had come to pass. Ross did not see her as a woman of equal status — not anymore.

  “So you’re proposing I become your mistress.”

  “Mistress?” He seemed confused.

  “That is the name for a woman who has intimate relations with a man who supports her financially.”

  She should not scoff at the offer. A mistress was all she could hope for should anyone discover the truth about her scandalous time in France. If only she could forget this man, move away to the country and take a husband, raise a family and let society believe she had perished in the shipwreck.

  “Are you saying you would accept the offer should I be inclined to make it?” Ross sat forward awaiting her answer with a look of keen interest.

  “The fact you have asked the question means you do not know me at all.”

  Ross snorted. “Forgive me for thinking that the eight years we’ve spent apart has changed us irrevocably. How am I to know what you think or want when you keep so many secrets?” He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “The lady I remember would not have permitted me to make love to her in a carriage.”

  Estelle gasped at the implication that she was somehow loose with her affections. She had given up everything so that this man could sit on his gilded throne.

  “You self-righteous ass,” she spat. Anger bubbled away inside, but it was merely a reaction to years of hurt. “I permitted you to make love to me because you’re the only man I have ever wanted. You’re the only man I would ever willingly give myself to, and yet you have to ruin what would have been a beautiful memory.”

  Ross gulped at her sudden outburst, shock tainting his features. “Estelle, I did not mean it like that. I was—”

  “I don’t care how you meant it. Clearly, we are different people now, but I do not need you to remind me of my shortcomings.” Estelle glanced out of the window, relief flooding through her when she noted the familiar surroundings of Whitecombe Street. “If tonight proves anything it is that we cannot live for the past.”

  The carriage slowed. The wheels were still rolling when she grabbed the handle.

  “You’re beginning to sound as philosophical as Mr Erstwhile,” Ross mocked. “Why do I get the sense this is all my fault? So I spoke thoughtlessly. Forgive me for being human. Forgive me if I fail to understand what the hell is going on.”

  The carriage stopped, and she opened the door. Despite the torrential rain, she stepped down to the pavement. Tears welled. The memory of what could have been, pushed to the fore. She could have been his wife not his whore.

  “It is not your fault, Ross.” Estelle turned to face him. “It is mine. I was too weak to fight for us. I was too frightened to do anything but surrender to those who professed to have our best interests at heart. And I will spend my life living with that regret.”

  The dam burst. Tears fell. She swung around, rushed to the front door of the apothecary shop and hammered hard with her fist.

  “Estelle, wait.” Ross jumped down and came up behind her.

  “Leave me be.” She knocked again. “Go home, Ross.”

  The soft glow of candlelight appeared and drew closer to the door. Mr Erstwhile peered through the glass pane. He raised his hand in recognition. “Just a moment.”

  “I should have stayed in France. I should have stayed away.”

  “Come back to the carriage.” Ross gripped her shoulder. His touch almost made her yield. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell just happened. Tell me how we have gone from sharing a heavenly experience to this.”

  Mr Erstwhile turned the key and sheltered behind the door as he opened it. “Heavens above, come inside before you catch your death of cold.”

  Estelle stepped over the threshold. She turned and placed her palm on Ross’ chest when he attempted to follow her. “Good night, my lord. Thank you for escorting me home.”

  “Wait. At least explain what you meant when you said you were frightened,” he said as she closed the door. “Estelle!”

  Estelle turned the key before Ross had an opportunity to try the handle. She hurried from the shop to the small parlour,
aware that Mr Erstwhile traipsed slowly behind.

  A cloud of confusion filled her head.

  Love was not always perfect — she knew that. Love often required a sacrifice. But she would rather be without Ross than be his mistress. She would rather be without him than be made to feel inferior. She paced back and forth while wringing her hands. Ross called out to her again, his voice but a faint mumble now.

  “Would you care for some tea?” Mr Erstwhile, said ignoring Ross’ pleas. “Or would something stronger suffice?”

  “Do you have sherry?”

  “Indeed.” He glanced over his shoulder upon hearing Ross rattling the shop door. “His lordship seems rather insistent this evening.”

  “He will leave in a moment.”

  “Perhaps he wishes to return your jacket and bonnet.”

  Estelle ran her hand over her hair and glanced at her dress. In her hurry to leave the carriage she had forgotten her clothes. “We were caught in the rain. They were wet, and I removed them as I did not want to catch a chill.”

  “A wise decision.”

  “I’m sure his lordship will return them tomorrow.”

  Mr Erstwhile pursed his lips. His inquisitive gaze journeyed over her face. “Will you be here tomorrow, Estelle, or will you be on the next mail coach to heaven knows where?”

  The insightful comment caught her short. “Why … why do you say that?”

  “I may be old, but I am not blind. The day we met aboard the ship it was clear you were running from something.” He paused. “Now sit by the fire and warm yourself. Ideally, you should change out of those damp clothes. But I fear that if you go to your room, I might never see you again.”

  “A lady cannot run forever.” Estelle dropped into the seat, picked up the poker and prodded the coal.

  Mr Erstwhile smiled. “Then I shall pour us both a sherry before you beat the lumps of coal to powder.” He ambled over to the decanters on the sideboard, poured two drinks and returned to sit by the fire.

  “To whom or what shall we make a toast?” he said raising his glass. “To friends and family wherever they may be. To love, for there is nothing finer in this world than two souls who belong together.”