Now he provided the new beginning she so desperately needed. And the chance to free herself from worries over Jeremiah, who had probably never spoken a word of truth unless it served him, and even then his motivations were to be questioned. Nathanial, meanwhile, had never lied to her. She could trust him.
She would marry him.
And with that assurance, the sun shone a little brighter, its warmth cutting through the November chill like a burst of misplaced springtime. She finished her afternoon chores basking in it, and by the time Nathanial came home she wore one of the most genuine smiles she had in months.
He noticed.
“You are happy,” he observed later that evening. They had finished the evening meal and seen her mother to bed, and were now bringing firewood to the house. Nathanial had insisted on doing it alone, but Faith had been carrying the wood in for as long as she could remember, and a marriage arrangement did not change her ability to do so.
She insisted otherwise, and he agreed.
Her Nathanial.
Would she ever get used to it?
“I am happy,” she admitted, unable to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. And why should she? Guilt threatened to tug at her joy, but she ignored it. Her aunt would want for her happiness.
Aunt Ruth had loved Nathanial. Ruth would have loved them together.
Faith loved them together.
She settled a pile of kindling on the porch and turned, jumping when she found Nathanial standing mere inches from her. Her surprise was quickly engulfed in heat—not just the heat from his body, but the heat that crawled through hers with his proximity.
“I love seeing you happy,” he said. His voice came as a low murmur that sent shivers through the inferno.
In the darkness, they might have been the only two people in the world. “I love being that way.”
He caressed her cheek with his folded hand, his thumb dragging her lip when he lowered his touch to her shoulder. Her deep breath drew his attention to her eyes, and he held her gaze as he leaned to cover her mouth with his. Gentle at first, then probing until she feared her knees would no longer hold her. He must have sensed it, for he pulled her so close she felt his interest lodged between them. At the contact, he groaned, the sound quickly lost to another kiss—one that carried on until she suffered for her want of him.
By the time they broke free, they were both breathing heavily. There, in the moonlight with only their clothing and his erection between them, she wanted more.
And as her betrothed, he could grant it.
“Where will you sleep tonight?” she murmured.
He paused—just for a moment—then grinned. He kissed her lightly, not fully breaking contact when he spoke so his lips caressed hers. “Why do you ask? Have you taken away my blanket?”
He had been sleeping on a mat near the fire. It was hardly what one might expect of a man who was quite possibly the richest in Salem, but he had done so without complaint.
“Suppose I knew of a more comfortable spot.”
His ministrations came to a stop, as if he could not fully believe the words she had not been able to say. “Are you sure, Faith?”
The hope in his eyes nearly undid her. She swallowed a bundle of nerves that had taken up residence in her throat. “If you are sure you want me as your wife, then yes.”
He looked into her eyes for a long moment before he spoke. “I do.”
Her belly flip-flopped like mad, but her response could not be denied. “I do, too.”
Chapter Fifteen
Nathanial had never been so hard in his life. Faith, beautiful Faith, did not excuse him at her door as was proper, but took his hand and led him inside.
Once inside her room, she shut the door—quietly, firmly—and turned to him, a shy smile on her face. She approached him, her steps tentative, and settled her hands against his chest. If she stepped a hair closer, she would find evidence of his desire pressed against her thigh, and the thought both thrilled and embarrassed him. She had been flush against him only minutes before, but he need not present himself as a man who could think of nothing else. “Our marriage contract does not obligate you,” he said in a hushed voice. “Not until we are joined.”
“What happened before,” she whispered boldly, “was not nearly enough. We can be joined this night.”
“Yes,” he said, grinning and twisting her reference to handfasting—a simple promise between couples to be as one. “We can join this minute. But what of our marriage?”
She gave him a light jolt to the shoulder. He captured her momentum and held her against him, his manhood caught in the exquisite pressure between them. Her chest heaved, and the trumpet of her heart nearly undid him. “Show me the ways of a husband,” she whispered.
Though her breath was hot on his skin, a chill found his spine. He wanted to ask if she was sure, but when her fingers began to work his buttons he had answer enough. She could not relieve him of his clothing quickly enough. He wanted to intervene and tear at the threads until skin met skin, but he would not deprive her of this moment. He would not deny himself. He had not wanted anything so badly in the whole of his life. This woman…she would leave him undone, and he could only hope she would care enough to gather the pieces when it was all over.
It never has to be over. Could his fortune be so grand? He would trade all of his coin to make this moment last. If she could truly be freed from her burdens, even for a little while, there was no cost he would not pay—nothing he would not do. Faith had not been away from Salem…she knew not what awaited elsewhere. He could show her what it was like to live out of the shadows—away from the hangings. Away from his family and his father’s ridiculous claims. But soon that time would come. He would take her away and her joy—their joy—would never end.
It had only begun.
She disposed of his vest and tugged his shirt from his breeches, then flattened her palms against his stomach and moved them upward. She was bold, and he feasted on it. He could want this woman, wholly and without question, for the duration of his days and still revel in her proximity…that she would choose him as the man to take her innocence.
To take her hand.
His muscles quivered involuntarily against her touch, his knees threatening to defy him. Unable to take it anymore, he swiftly grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head.
They had not a candle in the room, but the moonlight poured inside and bathed her in a most glorious light. She stared at his chest with such interest that he grinned. “You have seen a shirtless man?” he inquired.
“Not one so big.” She traced a circle around his flat nipple, causing him to suck in a breath. Her smile widened. Still fully clothed—something he would have to remedy—she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tormented body part.
In that moment, he was certain he knew the power of a lightning strike. Her touch thundered through him, leaving him aching and hot with need. He could not remember ever wanting anything so much as he did in that moment—ever needing anything as much as he wanted her bare skin at his fingertips, her body pressed to his. He fumbled mindlessly at her buttons, his success at freeing them minimal. Then her small hands pushed his big ones away, and she made quick work of the damnable fasteners. When the fabric finally fell away, it was he who was breathless.
“You are beautiful,” he said. And she was truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Tresses of her soft brown hair fell to her shoulders and trailed against skin turned milky white by the moon. Her breath was quick, but she stood before him without reservation, her shoulders back and eyes direct upon him. Her breasts were full, their peaks tight. Below, the gentle swell of her abdomen offered a soft contrast. He was at once doused with the urge to touch her, though he was afraid, for the heat of her skin under his fingertips would be his undoing. He knew that as surely as he took breath.
She allowed the remainder of her clothing to drop, and he could only stare as it pooled against the floor, leaving her nake
d before him. “Stunning.”
“I am quite sure I am not the first to hear such utterances from your mouth, but I enjoy them nonetheless.”
“Verily,” he assured, “you will be the last.”
She smiled and melted him. “Thank you for not denying it.”
“What I have said or done in my past no longer matters. There is just this moment, and I could hope for nothing more than what you offer me now.” Though he hated to tear his eyes from her, he had the presence of mind to move a small table in front of the door, which was otherwise absent a lock. “Not to trap you,” he said. “But to ensure our privacy. If at any time you wish to stop—”
“I will not.” She reached for his waistband, but he denied her, quickly kissing away the small frown that shaped her lips.
“In time,” he said. “But not yet.”
“I hardly think it is fair for you to refuse me.”
“Perhaps not, but if you touch me you will end this right here and now.”
“And then you will not be capable of beginning again?” Smiling sweetly, like a woman who knew she had already won, she again reached for his breeches.
Nathanial accepted his fate, keeping his protest—along with a great slew of profane utterances—to himself. Already he wavered on the edge of control, and he had nothing but the threat of her eyes upon his sex.
Her eyes, then her hands.
She tugged away his breeches before he could adjust himself, leaving him hung up in his undergarments. It was enough of a blow to settle his raging need, but the reprieve did not last long, for she wrapped her soft, small hand around him and tugged with a mere whisper of a grip. Her touch dragged his sensitive skin and threatened his well-being…and he could not want for anything more.
The way she smiled had him questioning her innocence all over again. She knew too much, and if this was what instinct drove her to do, he would be a broken man by morning.
Hell, he would be a broken man in minutes.
When she adjusted her grip, he was ready, snagging her fingers and moving them safely away. His length bobbed between them, its protest clear, but he focused on distracting her. Distracting himself was another issue—one without resolution—but if he could keep her hands busy, he might last long enough for her to know pleasure.
“We need to say our vows,” he whispered. “Before we can consummate them.”
“Very well then. I, Faith Downing, take thee, Nathanial Abbot, to be my wedded husband, to love, cherish, and to obey—” She broke off, muffling her mouth against his shoulder. She shook gently.
“What is the matter?” Was she laughing? Or crying? Neither one seemed preferable considering he was naked before her.
“My apologies,” she said. “It is just that I have never been one to obey.”
“I may have noticed,” he said mildly. As if he did not have this beautiful, willing woman in his arms, naked against him. “And I will love you for it all the more. I will settle for your trust, for it, along with your love, are the greatest of all gifts.” He kissed her tenderly, and the gentle touch quickly turned hungry. His tongue delved deeper and she matched him stroke for stroke until they were both moaning and…as of yet unmarried.
“Hang on,” he murmured through a kiss. “We are yet to finish.”
She wriggled against him. “I should hope that to be the case.”
He closed his eyes at the exquisite sensation and prayed he would not be the first man to come in the middle of his marriage vows. “Faith Downing, I, Nathanial Abbot, vow to be yours until death do us part according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth.”
As the words settled over them like so much moonlight, he touched her mouth, wasting little time before pressing for entry. As soon as her lips parted, he was tasting her, sweeping every delectable corner of her mouth and growing more frantic by the moment. Remembering how she had acted when he toyed earlier with her breast, he quickly claimed one, first with a gentle caress. When the flesh pebbled beneath his fingertips, he found her nipple and squeezed.
She gasped, but he did not relent from the kisses. He was forced to release her hands so he could minister to her, but she did not reach for his sex. Instead, she plunged her fingers into his hair and drew him closer, devouring him with her tongue and her lips and her teeth. She nipped at him and he growled, dragging his kisses to her collarbone as she moaned and arched her back, her breasts jutting proudly. He took the invitation readily, his mouth closing without hesitation over the tip.
She dragged in a breath that spoke of pleasure, and he smiled, his lips not relenting from their hold on her flesh. He was vaguely aware of her fingertips leaving marks on his back, but the pain was his pleasure to bear. Without breaking suction, he lifted her and settled her against the mattress, then promptly switched to the other breast, leaving her writhing all over again.
But this time she fought back. She grabbed his shaft, and before he could twist away from her, she had run her hands along his length and back again. Despite her hesitance, her grip was firm and he was helpless to escape it. She clutched him with both hands, her fingertips a gentle caress that existed in excruciating contrast to the circle of her thumb and forefinger, with which she trapped him as she worked him up and down.
Two hands.
Damn.
He released his pursuit of her breast and kissed his way down her belly until she was forced to release him. But his freedom was short-lived, for even the brush of linens against his arousal proved to be torture.
“You have not changed your mind, have you? About joining with me this night?”
She did not speak, but she pulled him up for a kiss and he had answer enough. He dove readily into the kiss, but there was no distraction great enough for him to forget the sweet slickened folds awaiting him. He nudged at her opening and braced himself, hoping he would not cause her much pain, but just as much hoping he would find her untried. No circumstance could change his vows to her, but when he encountered resistance relief flooded him. It did not last, though, for when he slid into her drenched heat, he was overwhelmed by the desire to pound into her until his legs gave out. He settled for working his way in, easy, gently, until he was buried to the hilt and she trembling beneath him.
“Should I stop?”
“Not ever.” Her eyes were glassy and as full of unspent emotion as any he had ever seen.
“At some point I will have to.”
“Later.”
Had any woman ever been so beautiful? She lay beneath him, her hair sprawled against the bedtick, her body open to him. He followed her gaze to the point where they joined and eased out an inch, watching somewhat awestruck as his body climbed, then wedged back within her heat.
How would anything ever top this moment? Nothing had ever, ever felt so right. He ached to withdraw and dive back in, to hear the smack of his pelvis against hers. The heat was already incredible, the sensations unbearable. He was the first man she had ever accommodated, and taking care to remember as much took every ounce of restraint he could muster—especially when she clutched his shoulders, wide-eyed, and moved her hips against him. He had always thought himself his own man, but the moment he gave up all control he realized he was lost to this woman. His wife. It did not seem real that she might be his, but there was absolutely no denying the heat of her body clenching his. Squeezing him. How friction could exist when she drenched him was beyond his understanding.
But some things were not meant to be understood.
Faith had pushed him too damn far. She had ground her hips until he could not take it anymore, and all of his plotting and planning to be a gentleman went straight to hell. His self-restraint crashed with the force of the fiercest storm, and he gave in.
He gave everything.
Faith had teased and taunted him, though she knew not through her innocence what she asked. She sure as hell knew then. He devoured her, tasting every warm crevice of her mouth as he ground his hips into hers, then withdrew and do
ve back through her heat. He was on the edge—he had started there—and it was all he could do to hold it together until she joined him. He kept his pace steady, pushing deeper, grinding harder, until her breathing grew ragged and she began to spasm around him. When he sensed she was close, he reached between them and found her center, closing his roughened fingertips over her sensitive nub at the same time he closed his mouth over her breast. One he pinched, the other he sucked, all while the bed rocked beneath them and rattled the walls.
And then they crashed.
White-hot need exploded, raining down and setting fires. He thought his heart might never slow, and then he realized the trembling came from her. Feeling like the world’s biggest ass for losing sight of his need to be gentle, he rolled off of her and lay there, chest heaving, while the cool air found his skin. “Should I apologize?” He meant the words in jest, but he had yet to catch his breath and his tone held no humor.
“For what?”
“Not minding my manners.”
She reached for his hand and smiled as she wound her fingers through his. “Rather than express regret, perhaps you should fail to mind them more often.”
He drew her fingertips to his mouth and kissed them gently. “That, my love, is a promise I can keep.”
Chapter Sixteen
Faith woke as she usually did, when the first breath of dawn began to soften the night outside her window. But there was nothing usual about the warmth of Nathanial’s arms around her, or the naked length of his body next to hers. Her hair, which she usually plaited before sleeping, was a tangled mess. It was through a couple of particularly unruly strands she found sleepy blue eyes resting on her.
When he caught her looking, he smiled. “Good morrow.”
The Sins of a Few (Entangled Scandalous) Page 13