Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal

by Lara Temple

  ‘Lily, you were made for me. You’re mine.’

  She didn’t answer, intent on his body, his hands as they pressed her back until she felt the bed against her thighs. She looked up, meeting the naked passion in his gaze. There would be no going back, no escape, he was hers.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lowered her on to the bed, bringing him with her, bringing his mouth to hers, raising her hips as his hand traced down from her breasts, his fingers skimmed up and over the soft curls between her legs, gliding between her thighs and sending a tingling cascade outwards from that point like ripples on a pond. Her mouth stilled under his, too shocked to react to the intensity of the sensations. His kiss softened, a gentle brush of his lips over hers mirroring the gentle brush of his fingers on her thighs, up between her legs, finally touching her where she never even touched herself. Before she could even react and pull away, a bolt of lightning struck though her. She sank back, breathless with the shock.

  ‘Hush, don’t worry, I know what I’m doing...’ His voice was hardly more than a rumble of sound, coursing through her like her own blood, but instead of soothing her it stung, sobering her. Of course he knew what he was doing. He had done this countless times before, would do it again, whether he married her or not. At no point had he promised anything else.

  But sanity was a weak weapon against what his hand was doing.

  ‘Let me show you what you are capable of,’ he whispered against her mouth before his lips moved lower, trailing fire over the rise of her breast so that her nipple hardened, pushed against the muslin, seeking his touch. His fingers kept sliding against the damp heat between her legs, each stroke tightening the spring coiled about her. It would break, she knew it had to break, and her with it.

  He pressed his mouth to her breast, his breath spreading over her skin, its edges reaching the hardened arc of her nipple, making her muscles clench in anticipation about his fingers as his lips approached, her whole body a collection of warring elements vying for the attention of that beautiful mouth, those skilled hands...

  The next words were just a lick of heat against the apex of her breast and struck a bolt of agony through her body and her mind.

  ‘Trust me...’

  Trust me.

  Finally the caged tiger struck, slashing her with the memory. Of her mother running down the path towards the docking boat, like a little girl, excited, ecstatic at her husband’s return, uncaring of the fact he had probably come from another woman’s bed.

  ‘No!’

  The cry of denial that burst from her was so sharp his caressing hands stopped immediately. His hand touched her cheek, his eyes narrowed and questioning. He looked beautiful and dangerous and she wanted him more than she had wanted anything in her life and he scared her more than the hosts of hell. She scared herself even more.

  ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?’

  The endearment sounded so real it stung like a slap. The worst was that she now had to choose. She knew he would stop if she asked. A choice. What did she choose?

  ‘Alan,’ she whispered, wishing she could have kept that burst of pain inside her. She didn’t want him to stop, no matter where it took her. She wanted more of this. She wanted him.

  So she clung to him as his mouth captured hers again, shivering as it skimmed over her cheek and down to the excruciatingly sensitive skin of her neck, lingering on the silky consistency of her earlobes, demolishing her. She didn’t resist when he took her hand from where it clung to his shoulder and pressed it against the unbearable heat between her legs. She moaned as her fingers slid against the slick dampness, guided by his.

  ‘I want you to see what you are capable of, what you can do for yourself. Someone like you shouldn’t hide from her own fire. You shouldn’t be afraid to touch yourself. Let me show you... I won’t hurt you, I promise.’

  Of course, he would hurt her in the end, in soul if not in body, but she no longer cared, as long as he was touching her. She wanted him to show her.

  The pleasure was different, more muted but deeper in pitch, subterranean.

  His hand moved on hers, pressing, teasing, torturing her. She was shaking with it. He was gathering her like the threads of a tapestry, weaving her into this new body, the finest of textures, from rough to soft, silky and frayed. She was everything under his hands, his mouth, being filled with his beauty. She wanted to be filled by him.

  Without conscious thought her other hand reached out and met the hard pressure of his arousal through the fabric of his pantaloons and a sound between a groan and growl ran through him and into her, his hand stilling on hers and she could feel him shaking as well.

  Now she could concentrate on every point of contact between them, exploring the geography of their shared passion. They were at the edge of a whole new landscape and he had given her only a glimpse of this new world. There was such a force in her to take what she could right here, right now because it was the only thing she had ever really wanted. She hadn’t known what wanting was until she had met Alan. She hadn’t known who she was until she had met him. Now she knew.

  ‘God, Lily. You’re destroying me. I want to be inside you, disappear inside you... I want to go in so deep I never come out.’

  She could feel his words, a flame rising where he was touching her, shooting up hot and hard inside her. She wanted him to make them real, to follow that heat and replace their fingers with the rigid muscle pressed against her hand. So deep he would never come out. He was already inside her soul, she wanted him inside her body. She was drowning, the only breaths she was taking were coming from the heat of his mouth on hers.

  Then his fingers brushed hers away and set about demolishing her. Each sweep sent shards of lightning up through her body, tightening it unbearably. It was devouring her, but she wanted more, she wanted him with her. She wanted him as torn apart by need, but he was holding back. She could feel the acute tension in his breathing, in the frantic pulse in his blood and his tension where their bodies touched and she knew he was as desperate for the release as she, waiting for some sign from her or from himself to take the step from which there was no return.

  ‘I want to feel you, all of you, take your pantaloons off.’ Even to her it sounded like a command. He gave a choked laugh, his hand stilling, then his thumb flicked the nub of pleasure and her body arched up against him in sweet agony.

  ‘Your wish is my command.’

  She almost wished she hadn’t said anything because she didn’t want him to move away from her, not even to pull off his clothes. Like the unveiling of a statue she watched the linen pull away from the sculpted ridges of his chest and shoulders, the silky straight dark hair that tapered down from his chest, the angle of his hip bones as he moved to take off his pantaloons. She pressed her legs together at the sight of his erection, not in rejection but because her body contracted as if he was already inside her. Then he was leaning over her, his hand closing on her cheek and jaw almost painfully, his eyes dark and intent over hers.

  ‘You’re mine, Lily. There is no going back.’

  She shook her head. She knew that. She had made her choice.

  ‘Touch me. I want to feel you.’

  ‘You will. Believe me, you will. I just hope you don’t hate me by the end of this, Lily.’

  That sobered her a little. She pressed her own hands to his face, meeting the intensity in his eyes. His words should have frightened her, but they just strengthened her resolve. Somehow she would reach him. Whatever it took.

  ‘I’m not scared of you, Alan.’

  He groaned, sinking his forehead against hers, and then he captured her mouth with a kiss that drove every thought and fear from her mind. His hands began demolishing her again, then slid deep between her thighs, parting them, stroking the soft inner flesh until she rose against him, and then his weight was between them, his erection thudding hot and ha
rd where he had been touching her. She heard her voice, soft shuddering moans he muffled with his mouth as he poised himself at her entrance, teasing her to a pitch of need.

  ‘Lily. You’re mine.’

  The words were all the warning she had before he penetrated her, the pain shooting sharp and hard through her. Her nails sank into his back and they both froze, breathing hard.

  ‘It’s over. I’m so sorry. It’s over.’

  She could hardly hear the words, her ears were ringing, her body torn between pain and the unsatisfied need and the pleasure he had promised. Then the shock centred and she was still there, waiting.

  ‘What now?’ she breathed.

  His head sank so that his cheek pressed against hers and she realised he was shaking.

  ‘Are you laughing?’ she demanded.

  ‘Only a madman would laugh at a moment like this, sweetheart,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her ear and cheek, heating her again. ‘I’m not laughing, I’m dying. Please, please don’t move or you will kill me.’

  She could feel the wriggling tension again, the delicate imbalance inside her, waiting for the fall.

  ‘But if I don’t move, I might die. What do we do?’

  ‘I’ll have to sacrifice myself, then.’ He groaned, his body sinking against hers, shifting her legs further apart, sliding against her, not leaving her, just sliding his hand between them, finding the point of contact between them, and her shudder became an ache. The pressure of his fingers against her unleashed pleasure so powerful it spread through him and back into her, up to her breasts that were begging to rub themselves against the hair on his chest and the hard muscles underneath. As he moved inside her, over her, against her, she forgot pain, fear, the future. There was only now and the twisting, unrelenting joy that was just within reach if he would only...

  He closed his teeth over her earlobe, whispering the words against her.

  ‘You are magic. You’ll come with me, love. Give yourself to me.’

  The coiled spring snapped and joy spread through her, warm honeyed pleasure moving through her body, lighting her from within like a paper lantern, and then she burst and sank back, gasping for breath as his body continued to shudder and thrust against her until slowly he sank down on her, his arms gathering her to him, his mouth against her hair, repeating her name.

  * * *

  Alan eased off the bed. Whether he wanted to or not, it was time to leave her. Tomorrow he would leave as early as possible to sign the papers for the Grantham Road building and then come back and make the arrangements to put the special licence to use. Now that the possibility of a child was no longer hypothetical it was crucial there be no chance of scandal surrounding Lily or their children. He owed her that.

  He curled his fingers into his palms against the need to run his hand over the curve of her hip under the cover, down the line of her leg, to wake her and see in her eyes that she knew what had just occurred between them. Not a seduction, but an admission and a pact.

  It had not been as he expected. He had no knowledge of deflowering virgins, but he had prepared himself for the worst, to go as slowly as a mule cart and to have to comfort a tearstained and shocked young woman after the act. He should have known nothing that involved Lily would proceed as expected. He also should have known that slow was not an option. It had been impossible to go slowly. She had been so responsive, so alive and unbridled...beautiful in her joy. Tearing through whatever remained of his defences like a cannonball through gauze.

  He always did his utmost to give pleasure. It was a mark of pride. But there had been no such consideration here—he had needed to see her climax, to watch her melt, soften, tense into that final ecstasy. He hadn’t just wanted to give her pleasure but show her she had that capacity herself. It had never occurred to him it would be as satisfying as his own physical release and much more addictive. When she had climaxed a second time, he had been completely caught in the wonder of it, in her beauty, as awe-inspiring as the shifting ocean.

  But mostly he wanted to lock her to him, body and soul, as deep as he could go. He wanted to wake her and make her climax a third time while he was inside her up to the hilt so he could feel that beauty surround him, feed on her whimpers of pleasure from within. Become part of her joy.

  He had come to both signal his surrender and try to tie her to him and he had only proven to himself how futile and unworthy his resistance was. He should have known that day at Saltford that she was his fate, that she had stolen his capacity for pleasure, for feeling alive.

  He bent and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and touched his mouth gently to the ridge of her cheek, breathing her in. She stirred and moaned faintly and his body clenched around the memory and promise of joy. He would give her a dozen children if it made her happy. Whatever it took to keep her, to see light warm her eyes.

  ‘You’re mine, Lily,’ he repeated, but she didn’t stir and eventually he left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lily pulled at the long willow leaf, stripping it from the thread-thin stalk. The pale late-autumn roses she placed on Rickie’s grave were shivering in the breeze, their cream petals stained pink at the tips.

  After last night she didn’t know what to think at the news that Alan had left for Bristol with his groom close to first light. Nothing, probably. She knew how desperate he was to close on the new property. He had solved one problem, or so he probably thought, and now he was off to solve another. Then he would return and set about sealing their fate.

  She pressed her hand to her stomach and closed her eyes in a silent prayer. How did one know if he had practised any of those means to avoid conception? Her discussions with those women in her father’s forbidden house had taught her a little about what men like him did to avoid breeding bastards, but she thought she would have remembered if he had used one of the French gloves they had mentioned or if he had...well, stopped in the middle. But she didn’t have the experience to judge. Could he have forgotten to be careful? It wasn’t like the Alan she had come to know, but perhaps. And if he had forgotten, it meant she might even now...

  What would he do if she was?

  Those women had also been very clear about the means they employed if precautions failed. They were sometimes dangerous, but as they said, it was that or lose their livelihood. Such slips could mean starvation for them and the child to be born.

  No, whatever happened she knew Alan would never make such a demand of her and she would certainly never accede to it. He would abide by his responsibility here, too, and it would either destroy whatever fragile bond existed between them or finally break through to him and the love she knew he possessed.

  ‘But I would still like it to be his choice, Grim. Not something else fate forces upon him. Is that foolish of me?’

  Grim yawned and lay down, snuffling at the grass, and she knelt by him, wincing at the stinging between her legs.

  ‘You agree I should marry him and risk everything, don’t you? I can see that you do. But on my terms, at least until he sees reason. You see, I can be as constant as you and much more devious.’

  She pushed to her feet, brushing at the grass.

  ‘Are you coming? No. Very well, stay here and watch over Rickie.’

  * * *

  ‘Miss Wallace. Mr Marston is here to see you. In the Rose Room. Lady Ravenscar and Lady Catherine are not yet awake, miss. It being so early still.’

  ‘Thank you, Partridge,’ she said, ignoring the pointed note in the elderly butler’s voice. Time to clear the decks.

  Marston was standing, hands clasping his gloves, his expression wary as she strode towards him.

  ‘Good morning, Philip. I am glad you came so early, there really is no point to beat about the bush any longer. I think you know what my answer is. You aren’t in love with me and I am in love with another man, it is as simple as that.’

/>   Marston drew his gloves between his hands with a resigned smile.

  ‘You are right that I knew what I was coming to hear today. The tension between the two of you is as palpable as a pea-soup fog. But a word of advice, if I may. Don’t let him have his way too easily. You are in a strong negotiating position, so negotiate.’

  Lily thought of her total capitulation the previous night. It was imprinted in every inch of her body, in the throbbing sting between her legs and the rawness where his stubble and teeth had grazed the sensitive skin of her breasts; in the yearning of her skin and the occasional echo of pleasure where he had touched her and shown her how to touch herself.

  She laughed at the futility of his offer.

  ‘I don’t know if I would make it to the negotiating table, let alone stand firm on my demands. I don’t expect him to love me, men never fall in love with me, but I do want more than he is willing to offer.’

  ‘My dear girl, I’ve watched quite a few men fall in love with you. You just never realised it.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘That is kind but inaccurate, Philip. Certainly none of them ever said anything to me.’

  ‘Men do need some encouragement if they are to risk themselves, Lily. We are fragile vessels.’

  ‘So are women.’

  ‘True. Well. What will you do now?’

  ‘I don’t know... Marry him and see if I can win him over in the end, I suppose. I honestly don’t know what I should do.’

  She must have looked as lost as she felt because he hesitated and sighed.

  ‘Out of pride I really shouldn’t be helping him, you know...’

  ‘You are helping me, not him. Besides, since he might be your brother-in-law one day, I don’t think you should antagonise him more than necessary.’

  His jaw dropped, but the flush that spread over his cheeks confirmed her suspicion that he and Catherine were rather more attracted to each other than either realised and she laughed, relieved. What a mistake she had almost made. Both of them.