The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  “No. Oh, no.” He cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. “I thought only that you might be a trifle sore. The truth is, I am not accustomed to untried maidens.” He smiled faintly. “I would use care with you.”

  “Oh.” Genevieve leaned her head against him, smiling to herself. “I am not so very delicate, you know.”

  “No?” He slid his hand over her shoulder and down her back.

  “No.” It was tempting standing this close to him, touching him. Her fingers itched to touch him in other places. He did not seem to mind her boldness, and on that thought she slipped her hands up across his abdomen and over the jutting points of his hip bones, curving back to smooth over his rounded buttocks. She felt him prodding her, and she knew her touch had pleased him.

  So she did not cease her explorations, but continued down onto his thighs and back, digging her fingertips into the fleshy mounds as he had done with her. Her mind went to the other things he had done, the tormenting, arousing way his mouth had teased her. Without stopping to think, she pressed her lips against his chest. He was wet from the pool and faintly salty, his skin warm. She wanted to taste him more.

  She went to one flat, masculine nipple, circling it with her tongue before clamping her mouth around it. A groan escaped him, and he dug his hands into her hair. Genevieve lifted her head, and her voice was teasing as she said, “But perhaps we should wait.”

  “Waiting be damned.” His grin flashed.

  He lifted her again, sliding into her as she wrapped her legs around him. A sharp, deep surge of satisfaction went through her as he buried himself deep within her. Bracing her against the bank of the pool, he kissed her, taking her mouth as surely, as deeply, as he took her body. Genevieve clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he sent the desire inside her ratcheting up, higher and higher, until she was aware of nothing but him and the roaring hunger inside her. He shuddered, his seed pouring into her, and at that moment, the tension in her broke and washed through her. She buried her face in his neck to stifle the groan of pleasure that erupted from her.

  He sagged against her, and for a long moment there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing. Genevieve struggled to pull her scattered thoughts together—to pull her very self together, it seemed.

  “Ah, Genevieve, it seems you are death to my good intentions,” he murmured, and nuzzled against her hair. The rich satisfaction in his voice signaled his evident pleasure in that fact. “ ’Tis your fault, you know.”

  “Mine? I like that,” Genevieve retorted in mock indignation.

  “Did you?” He kissed her neck. “Like it?” He raised his head, looking down into her eyes. “I am sorry if it was too soon.”

  “Yes, I liked it.” Genevieve felt a blush spreading across her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide it, resting against his shoulder. A bubble of contented laughter rose from her. “I liked it very much.”

  Evening was rapidly falling, and they retreated to the cottage, where Myles lit the fireplace already laid for them. Genevieve put back on the dress she had worn earlier, though her undergarments were too soaked to wear.

  Myles professed disappointment in her dressing at all, but he smiled, his eyes drifting down her. “Still, this will do well enough.”

  “I don’t know why you should look so,” Genevieve replied tartly. “You cannot see that I have anything less on.”

  “Ah, but I know it.” He brushed the back of his hand across her breast, his eyes darkening at the involuntary response of her body. She gave him a severe frown, but he only laughed, turning away to pull on his breeches. “However, if you look in the drawers, you will find some of my sister’s clothes that I had brought over.”

  “I hope you had them bring food.” Genevieve went over to open the drawer of the small chest. “I am starving.”

  “We must keep you fortified.” He opened the cabinet and pulled out a loaf of bread and a sack of apples. “There’s a cold cellar out back; there should be something there.”

  He returned a few minutes later, bearing a meat pie and a healthy slab of roast, and they sat down to their feast. They talked and laughed as they ate, with the ease of those who had known each other for years, yet freed by their new intimacy from the constraints that had always lain on their conversations. Myles recounted tales from his younger days with Alec and Gabriel, making Genevieve laugh so hard she had to hold her sides.

  Later, hunger sated, Genevieve sat down in front of the fire to untangle her still-damp hair, happy to discover that the servants had also brought a comb and a brush.

  Myles settled down behind her, taking the brush from her hand. “Here, let me.”

  “It’s tiresome,” Genevieve warned, leaning back on her hands.

  “Mm. Perhaps to you.” He dragged the brush through her silver-gilt hair with long, smooth strokes, releasing each strand slowly to float back down to her shoulders. “I, on the other hand, have wanted for years to see it down.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Can’t you?” He smiled faintly and smoothed his hand over her tresses. “Unbound hair whispers of a lady’s boudoir. ’Tis the prerogative of the man who shares your bed.” He twined a lock around his hand, bringing it up to press it to his lips. “And your hair is beautiful. Like spun silver.”

  Genevieve looked at him in surprise. “It’s so pale.”

  “Like moonlight.” He began to brush it again.

  “Like ice.” She gazed at him steadily. “I know that men call me the Ice Princess. Cold and—”

  “Perfect.” His grin was a trifle cocky. “It takes a brave man to approach such perfection.” He leaned forward to brush his lips against her forehead. “To dare to bring a blush to those cheeks. A sparkle to your eyes.” His lips followed his words, touching each cheek. “To kiss your lips into rosiness.”

  He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. His hand spread out across her stomach, moving possessively over her. “Your mouth looks well kissed now, my lady.” His deft fingers found the tight button of her nipple, squeezing it gently. “It is not ice in you, Genny, but pale fire.”

  Genevieve’s breath shuddered out. “Myles . . .”

  “Mm?” He nuzzled her neck with velvet-soft lips.

  “You are a terrible flatterer.”

  “I protest. I am an excellent flatterer.” His hand slipped down the front of her dress, cupping her breast as his mouth teased at her ear, sending heat slithering through her. “But it isn’t flattery, is it, if one speaks the truth?”

  “You cannot want to again,” she said, but her voice caught on the words, spoiling the scolding tone she had intended.

  “Can I not?” His breathy laugh at her ear increased the shivers running through her. He nibbled her earlobe gently. “I fear you are too enticing for me to be moderate in my appetite. I should like to lay you down and cover your body in kisses.”

  “Myles! You are utterly indecorous.”

  He laughed unrepentantly, his fingers working downward into the V of her legs. “I am. And so should you be.” He kissed a trail down her neck, saying coaxingly, “Come, Genevieve, take off that frock and let me show you.” He reached down on either side, bunching up the material of her gown.

  “Stop that!” Genevieve laughed, slapping his hand lightly, and she pulled away from him, twisting around to look at him. “I cannot imagine why you are so eager to see me naked. One would think you would have had quite enough of that already.”

  “Not nearly enough.” He grinned, reaching for her hands to pull her back to him.

  “You just want to embarrass me.”

  “I do enjoy that a bit.” He leaned in to kiss her thoroughly. “But far more than that, I enjoy looking at you.”

  “Why? I am tall and gawky and—”

  “Genevieve!” He looked at her in genuine surprise. “Do you really not know how beautiful you are?”

  “Oh, I know my face is well enough, though I have been to
ld that I lack . . . vivacity.”

  “That could have been said only by someone who had not angered you as I have.”

  Genevieve grimaced. “But I am not girlish or dainty or pleasantly curved as a woman should be.” She looked away. “Oh, what a nonsensical thing to be talking about.”

  “Come here,” Myles told her sternly, pulling her up onto her knees. He reached down and grasped her gown, whisking it off over her head.

  “Myles!” Instinctively, her hands moved to cover herself.

  “No, none of that.” He put his arm around her and eased her back onto the rug. Reclining on his elbow beside her, he took her chin in his hand and looked down into her eyes. “Now . . . we have discussed the beauty of your hair, how it flows like the palest, finest gold, like pure sunlight.”

  He took a lock, rubbing it between his fingers and letting it drift down slowly, catching the glow of the fire. He curved his forefinger over her brows and cheeks and nose. “And we’ve touched on the perfection of your face, the porcelain beauty of your skin, the pale rose of your cheeks.” His finger traced the lines of her lips. “The sweet curve of your lips.” Myles kissed her lips lightly. “Matched only by the sweetness inside.” His mouth returned in a deeper kiss, his tongue teasing her lips open. “And that chin.” He kissed the part in question. “A very Stafford chin, always leading the way. Your neck.” He stroked his finger over her chin and down the line of her throat. “Long and elegant.”

  “Like a giraffe.”

  “Like Nefertiti,” he corrected. “It is an invitation to a man’s mouth, a delicate pathway down to what he most desires.” He laid feathery kisses down her neck, his fingers gliding down to drift across her breast.

  Genevieve clapped her hands over her breasts, saying. “I am flat, like a boy.” She turned her head away, her jaw setting mulishly.

  “Like no boy I have ever seen,” Myles retorted with a grin. He slid his hand across her chest, slipping beneath Genevieve’s hand and cupping her breast. “Your breasts are perfect, exactly right to fit into my palm, firm and round, like the most succulent fruit, and tasting of heaven.” He bent over her, kissing her breasts, pulling the nipple into his mouth with a languid suction, his tongue working on it, so that when at last he pulled away, the bud thrust up hard and red and glistening. “With the most delicious raspberry on top.” He gave the same treatment to her other nipple, and the movement of his mouth seemed to pull at a chord in her that tugged all the way down through her, inciting the damp heat between her legs.

  He leaned back on his elbow, surveying her body like a man studying a treasure. Genevieve watched him, torn between embarrassment and pride, and vying with both, hot desire thrummed in her, stroked into being by the caress in his gaze. He ran his hand slowly over her breasts and stomach, curving over the bony ridges of her pelvis and onto the long line of her thighs.

  “Your body is lithe and lovely, your legs so long, so firm, that a man could drive himself mad thinking of them wrapping around him.” His eyes flashed gold as he looked into her face. “As they did to me only hours ago.”

  Genevieve gazed back at him, unable to tear her eyes away. Her breath came shallowly in her throat. His words made desire coil in her abdomen as surely as his touch. She realized that she was waiting, every nerve alive, her pulse throbbing, aching for him take her.

  “I have imagined you naked for years now.”

  “Myles!” Her eyes widened. “Really? But you never said anything—”

  “Tell my friend’s sister that I desired her?” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “ ’Tis not the sort of thing one reveals to a gently reared young girl. But still, I thought of you. Whenever I held you in my arms during a waltz. When I saw you standing across the room at a gala. Or even just sitting in your drawing room. I thought of how you would look beneath your frock, peeling your garments from you piece by piece. I imagined the curve of your breasts, your hips, the shallow dip of your belly. And I wondered whether your hair was the same silver gilt below as it was above.”

  His fingers crept down, tangling in the curls at the apex of her legs. Genevieve drew in a shaky breath at the touch of his hand on the soft flesh, separating and exploring the slick folds. Without her thinking, her legs moved apart, giving him access to her innermost secrets. He propped his head on his hand, leaning on his elbow, his eyes intent on her face, as his fingers aroused her, teasing and tormenting the spiral of hunger inside her into ever tighter and tighter coils. Genevieve could not hold back a whimper as passion shimmered in her, stretching achingly close to that peak of release. She pushed up against his hand, her hips circling.

  “No, not just yet.” His finger slid away from the hot center of her desire. He bent to kiss her mouth while his fingers again stoked the flames in her, bringing her nearer and nearer to the edge. He raised his head. “Almost there, love. I want to watch it take you. To see you melt into pleasure.”

  “Myles . . .” Her head turned restlessly against the rug, the movement of her hips urging him on.

  Then it struck her, pleasure so hard and intense she groaned, convulsing helplessly. As the tide of pleasure rushed through her, her body relaxed, turning so limp and liquid she felt as if she could melt into the floor. She gazed up at Myles, her eyes lambent and faintly dazed. His features were taut with desire, his whiskey-brown eyes alight with golden depths.

  Genevieve reached up, putting her hand on his chest. His flesh burned as hot as his eyes. She moved her hand across him lazily. “Don’t you want—”

  “Oh, I want.” He grinned and bent and kissed the corner of her mouth. “If you are ready?”

  “I’m not sure I can move.”

  He shucked off his breeches, revealing exactly how ready he was. Taking her hips in his hands, he tugged her up and over to straddle him, making Genevieve’s eyes widen in surprise. He guided her as she sank slowly onto him, delighting in the way she fit around him.

  “What do I do?” she asked, though instinctively her hips began to circle slowly.

  Pleasure flickered across his face. “Whatever you wish. Lead the way.”

  “Whatever I wish?” Her eyes lit up with devilry. She ran a fingernail down the center line of his chest.

  “Indeed. I am sure you will enjoy tormenting me.”

  “Myles . . .” she said in a playfully scolding tone, lifting up, then gliding back down in a slow dance that turned his breath ragged. “One would think I were quite wicked, the way you talk.”

  He slid his hands up and down her thighs, his movements growing ever more restless as Genevieve experimented with this newfound pleasure. She knew now what he had meant earlier, for it excited her to watch his face change with each new sensation, holding out against the driving hunger until it built to almost unbearable heights. Then the pleasure took him, and he jerked against her, holding her hips in place as he thrust hard and fast, and Genevieve found that, amazingly, she, too, was swept with passion all over again, tumbling with him into the same dark abyss of pleasure.

  She collapsed upon him, her breath rasping in her throat, and he wrapped his arms around her. They held each other, spent and at peace.

  Eleven

  Myles stood at the window, watching Genevieve stroll toward the cottage. They had found a wild plum bush not far from the falls, and while he was bringing in the food from the cold cellar, she had gone there to pick plums for dessert. She was wearing a simple cotton frock, and her feet were bare. Her silvery hair tumbled around her shoulders, shimmering in the sun. She carried the plums in her skirts, gathered up in front, and her long legs were bare from the knees down. The lack of any sign of a petticoat or undergarment told him that she had thrown on only her dress after their swim.

  His groin tightened at the sight of her, as seemed to be the case so often this week. He had known that Genevieve stirred his senses, and their verbal sparring was exhilarating, so he had hoped that theirs would be a marriage that carried far more than convenience in its wake. However, he had not been prepare
d for how thoroughly she aroused him in almost every way. They had spent a week here at the cottage, and during that time they had explored the mysteries of the marital bed, making love whenever and however the fancy struck them. And Genevieve, despite her initial shyness, had been a willing and adventurous partner, even if she often protested in shock before she plunged ahead into some new delight.

  She had awakened sensually during their days together, and the cool correctness of her demeanor had melted away. She laughed and teased, giving as good as she got. This morning he had been astonished—and delighted—when she had awakened him with caresses, initiating their lovemaking. Looking at her now, he had to wonder when, if ever, she had walked like this down a country path, hatless and disheveled. She looked, he thought, more like a mistress going to her love nest than the daughter of an earl.

  Genevieve saw him watching and waved saucily. Myles went to meet her and greeted her with a kiss. She chuckled, shoving at him with her shoulder.

  “Stop. You shall make me drop my hard-won plums. I had to climb that little tree to get the best of them.”

  “I am sure they are worth it.” He peered down into the basket formed by her skirt and selected one of the deep purple fruits. He bit into the warm, sweet flesh, the juices trickling over his tongue. “Mm. Almost as sweet as you, Lady Thorwood.” He bent to kiss her again.

  “Delicious.” Genevieve ran her tongue over her lip, and desire pinched at him again.

  “The kiss or the plum?”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Enough of that. What about the rest of our supper?”

  “Cheese, bread, and wine to go along with our plums, as well as a bit of sausage.”

  “It’s rather like having the fairies flit in and take care of you, isn’t it?” She smiled and bit into one of the plums, and the sight of her white teeth piercing the plump flesh sent lust corkscrewing through him.

  Myles wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her into him, burying his lips in hers. When at last he raised his head, Genevieve’s face was flushed, her eyes a pale blue flame.