A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  With one hand at the back of her head to hold her steady, he swiftly untied her nightgown at the neck, pulling the thin strings out, then placing his fingers on her collarbone, caressing her warm skin in small circles until he pulled one sleeve from her shoulder.

  And then he released her mouth and began a long trail of tiny kisses along the line of her jaw, down her neck to the base of her throat. She responded in kind, leaning her head back to give him access to her throat, her fingers threaded through his hair as she clutched him.

  Garrett felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, heard the rushing of blood through his veins, entranced by her sudden, aching show of desire as she whimpered and attempted to pull his head lower.

  He gave as she begged, feeling a wondrous tightening within as he lowered his hand, turned it, and skimmed her breast with his knuckles, back and forth across her nipple, feeling it harden at once beneath the soft cotton.

  She fell back against the pillows, and he followed, leaning over her as he gently kissed her neck and throat, finally placing his large palm over her breast and caressing. And then, as he caught her mouth with his once more, moving deeper, growing more forceful, he pushed his hand inside her nightgown to touch the skin he craved.

  Her nipple felt warm, hard, and as he gently squeezed it, she moaned and arched her back, begging with her body for more.

  With a quickness that defied the action, Garrett released her and knelt beside her, allowing her to stretch out on the settee, gazing down to her beautiful face, her half-closed eyes glazed with passion, her silky hair spread out across the pillow.

  He touched her lips with his fingers, and she kissed them, reaching for his chest to caress him lightly with her own.

  “Take me to bed, Garrett,” she ordered in a fast breath of longing.

  He inhaled deeply to calm the building passion inside him. “Not yet. I can see you better by the fire.”

  She smiled a little. He lowered his hand and placed it on her ankle, then slowly he began to draw his fingers up her leg. She squirmed as he pushed her nightgown upward, ever farther, until his fingers reached her inner thigh.

  He paused to stroke her there with delicate movements, and she opened her knees a bit to give him access to the most intimate part of her. But he waited, watching her, knowing he’d once seen her face just like this, her lips moist from his kiss, her skin flushed with a building tension, her gaze melding with his, pleading with him silently to give her the release she craved.

  He smiled, and whispered, “You need this as much as I do.”

  She nodded minutely, then lifted her hips to urge him forward. He pulled his fingers back down a little, teasing her to distraction. She whimpered in frustration, and he quickly raised the bottom of her nightdress and pushed it up nearly to the apex of her thighs.

  Leaning over, he kissed her mouth quickly, then lowered his head to her neck and chest, leaving tiny pecks of pleasure, one hand threaded through her hair, the other resting on the side of her hip. And just as he placed his lips on the tender skin above her breasts and laid his cheek between them, he raised his hand to cup the mound of curls at the center of her.

  He moaned as she gasped from the contact, staying perfectly still, his eyes closing as he relished the moment, the feel of her femininity and the sound of her quick-beating heart. For seconds he did nothing, and then very, very slowly, he pressed a finger up into her folds to find the sweet nub of her desire, wet and ready for him.

  Garrett drew a shaky breath as he stroked her once, twice, listening to her whimper of pleasure as she clutched his head to her chest. She coated his finger, enveloping him within her soft, heated flesh, and in that instant a powerfully sweet image struck him hard—of her scent, her feel, the sound she made as she climaxed in his arms two years ago.

  The slight memory had returned with such force that his breath caught in his chest, and he choked back a roar of pure joy.

  In one swift action, he grabbed her nightgown with both hands and pulled it up over her body. She raised her head to help him, and in seconds she lay nude before him.

  He faltered as he gazed down upon her by firelight, giving himself a new impression of her radiance. And then he dropped his mouth to hers once more and gave in to the sensual pleasure that threatened to undo him.

  Then he closed his mouth over her breast and he teased it gently, sucking her nipple and kissing it, skimming it with his lips.

  A soft moan escaped her as he pushed her thighs apart with his fingers, then touched her intimately once more, stroking her softly, readying her. When he moved his head lower, the heat between them building, the tiny sounds from her throat nearly caused him to lose himself too soon.

  He skimmed her belly with his lips, then lowered himself to the center of her femininity, inhaling deeply the scent of absolute beauty. He stroked her breasts with the fingers of one hand, the nub of her cleft with the other, kissing her thighs, her small mound of curls.

  She gave herself over to the pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, her hips and legs moving involuntarily as he brought her nearer to the peak of release.

  Her slick wetness drove him wild, her scent to madness, as her soft moans begged for her fulfillment.

  At last he pulled his hand from her breast and reached for the buttons of his trousers, loosening them swiftly and removing them in one smooth action.

  Lifting his body, he placed his knee between her legs, moved his hands to the sides of her hips, and lowered his mouth to the center of her desire.

  She sucked in a breath through her teeth as he opened her cleft and began to stroke her with his tongue.

  She gasped, her head falling back as she threaded her fingers through his hair and clutched him against her. Immediately, he found his rhythm, and she followed the movement, pressing into him with each stroke of pleasure he gave. He marveled at her sweet taste of desire for him, at the depth of her longing, and within seconds he knew she was nearing her crest.

  She whimpered softly, her breath coming fast and hard, and just as she whispered his name at the peak of abandonment, he pressed a finger inside of her to feel what she felt, to know the extent of her pleasure. And at that moment she came.

  She arched her back and pushed into him, a long, soft moan escaping her throat, her muscles within pulsing with their own rhythm of release as she gave in to his demand. She held him tightly as he continued his glorious assault, second by second, until she relaxed and shuddered beneath him.

  Before she returned to sanity, could say or do anything, he raised himself over her and kissed her hard on the mouth as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  She stretched out willingly across the sheets and within seconds he hovered over her, his fingers once again between her legs, caressing her, needing her, and unable to wait much longer to discover the riches she offered.

  Quickly, he lifted one of her knees with one arm, holding himself above her with the other hand flat on the bed. Then, to his surprise she reached for him, lightly grasping his erection, gliding her thumb through the beading moisture at the tip and circling it slowly.

  He squeezed his eyes shut to stay his release from her simple touch, attempting to draw a full breath, basking in the feel of her fingers on his most sensitive part. This reality was better than his dreams, than his fantasies of her, as she gave him all of herself without restraint or hesitation. For seconds he stilled his body, prolonging the wait, wanting to imagine for a final time what she might have felt like as he’d entered her two years ago, knowing without any doubt that this time he would savor the gift.

  “Garrett…”

  He raised his lashes to look down at her face, clenching his jaw as he reeled from an awareness that passed between them. And then, with her sweet guidance, he placed himself at the center of her, caressing her wet cleft with the tip of him until at last he felt himself slip inside her moist heat.

  She stiffened a little from the tightness, and he paused, giving her a few seconds to ad
just before he began to glide slowly, deeply inside of her. She kept her gaze locked with his, licking her lips as she pressed her palms to his chest, beckoning him with a gentle lift of her hips until she encased him completely.

  He stilled as he came to rest deeply within her, forcing himself to control his breathing, his pounding heart, until he was absolutely ready to surrender. She reached up and touched his face, and with that he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her fully, passionately, his tongue gliding across her lips, then delving inside in search of hers.

  She began to move beneath him, and he lost his resolve. He lowered his head to her breast, running his tongue across her nipple until it hardened. Immediately, she moaned, and he took it into his mouth as he started to gently circle his hips against hers, finding a rhythm that would bring her to orgasm once more.

  It didn’t take her long. She squirmed beneath him as he lightly sucked the taut peak, her breath quickening, body arching into his. Then he lifted himself just enough to reach down and press his fingers between them, stroking her slowly at first, then faster, enticing her along.

  He gritted his teeth, watching her from above. She kept her pleading gaze locked with his, whimpering softly, her palms on his shoulders, moving her bare leg up and down along his with each smooth thrust of his hips.

  “Please—”

  And then her eyes widened, and she ground her nails into his skin.

  “Oh, God, Ivy, yes,” he coaxed her through a rasp. “Let me feel you—”

  She cried out, gripping his arms, her hips rocking into his of their own accord. He moved faster, feeling each wave that coursed through her, each pulse of her pleasure, and in seconds he reached the brink of insanity.

  Groaning low in his chest he came hard, spilling himself deeply inside of her in an explosion of ecstasy that surpassed its promise, clinging to each surge of satisfaction in an effort to make the oneness last, to capture the passion forever.

  She held him close and he wrapped his arms around her as he stilled the movements of his body, as his breathing slowed, and he relaxed against her at last. Then without words between them, he rolled onto his back and drew her into him, pulling the sheets and quilt over them both as they snuggled down into the pillows.

  She nestled her head beneath his chin, curling one leg over his hip as he stroked her hair with gentle fingertips and rested his lips on her forehead.

  She had given him more than he could have imagined, more than a repeat of a memory. She had given him back his life.

  Chapter 15

  Lady Margaret Dartmouth had been in love with Benedict Sharon since her coming out three summers ago. They’d met at a cotillion at her home in Brighton, and the moment she accepted his offer to dance, her heart had been lost.

  A ruggedly handsome man with sandy hair and sharp features, his dark eyes had drawn her to him upon first notice, and he had been just as taken with her. She was a lady of the finest kind, properly bred, lovely in appearance, discreet when she should be, pleasant to every acquaintance, and yet she had a free spirit and a penchant for getting into trouble that most gentlemen found annoying in a gently bred lady. Not so with Benedict. His troubled youth drew him to her, leading him to frequently say that in her he’d found freedom—freedom to relax and be adventurous, and freedom to enjoy himself with a woman.

  He’d asked her to marry him not two months after their initial dance, and she had accepted, though knowing her parents would be more than a trifle irritated that she would choose the second son of a baron over Paul Garrett Faringdon-Burke, Lord Rye, a man older than Benedict by several years, who would one day inherit a far better title, she and Benedict had kept their love affair secret from everybody. She knew in the end her parents would relent because as far as they were concerned, as the youngest daughter of four, she usually got what she wanted. And more than anything on earth, she had wanted Benedict Sharon.

  Yet that was only weeks before his older brother Richard, Baron Rothebury, had been arrested and charged with opium smuggling. Her parents were horrified, as were all the gentry, by the scandal. And it left her with nothing but the shock of knowing the one man she loved most in the world had now been tainted by society and would never be able to formally ask for her hand.

  She’d been devastated, all but deciding to remain a spinster, or perhaps run away with Benedict, if only she could see him one more time, if only he’d ask. And then a miracle happened. Soon after the scandal broke, he appeared at her side after church, secretly passing her a note. Just before dawn the next day, she sneaked out her bedroom window and met him in the garden. Not only did he tell her he loved her still, he asked her to marry him regardless of the scandal, confessing a plan that, although dangerous in many respects, if carefully accomplished, would forever seal their fates, allowing them to be together, and in the process providing them with a fortune. For her part, all she had to do was accept Lord Rye’s proposal; Benedict would do the rest.

  It took her all of ten minutes to decide. The hardest part, admittedly, was pretending to be happily betrothed to Paul, a rather quiet man not particularly amused by her audacious ways. Oh, she found him marvelously handsome, but rather dull, and, frankly, they had little of interest to discuss between them. Margaret had learned early on that his mother had coerced him into asking for her hand, out of duty, she supposed, but since he spent much of his time in London, she didn’t have to see or converse with him frequently. All the better, as she’d needed to plan for the start of a fabulous life in southern France with Benedict, just as Paul assumed she was planning for their very dull future and tedious wedding back in Brighton.

  Yet, in the end, everything went wrong.

  The night of their betrothal party had been the end of happiness for her. Benedict’s great plan to steal the Martello tiara had succeeded because she had worn it, even against Paul’s wishes, simply by charming his mother into allowing it. But when Ian Wentworth, the Earl of Stamford, had arrived and questioned her even as he attempted to captivate her with his magnificent charm and perfectly handsome face, she knew there was more involved than her simply stealing the diamonds for Benedict. Stamford seemed to be wherever she was, watching her from a distance as if she were the only woman at the ball. And it took her no time at all to realize that he couldn’t have cared any less about her, he wanted the diamond tiara for himself.

  Ian Wentworth ruined her life that night. She had been able to drop the tiara down into Benedict’s hands from an upstairs window before dawn, but with the Earl of Stamford keeping such a close eye on her, he’d made her own escape impossible. She had no choice but to remain in the house for the night, under heavy chaperone, and hope Benedict would send word for her the following morning.

  Two days later, he sent a note, and she met with him secretly. He would attempt to remove the diamonds and sell them separately, then meet with Paul in London to exchange what was left of the tiara, the rubies and gold, for a price. And he was certain Paul would meet him because he’d sent word and made the arrangements pretending to be Ian. But Benedict had gotten greedy, deciding to attack Paul and take whatever money he had on his person that night. And then he had promised her, with a love she understood to the depth of her soul, that once he sold the diamonds he would come for her, and until that time she would carry on with the lie that was her betrothal to the Marquess of Rye.

  She never heard from Benedict again.

  For a time she tried to assess her love affair with Benedict, wondering if she had misjudged him, if he had used her all along to retrieve his diamonds. But in the end, she rejected that notion. Their love had been real, and he had asked her to marry him before his brother’s downfall, before he needed her support to secure their future by helping him steal the Martello treasure.

  It was almost two years later when she learned that Benedict had disappeared after returning to Winter Garden. He’d never told her of his need to return to the town of his birth, and she only learned about it after discovering that Paul had
purchased the Rothebury winter estate through Benedict’s solicitor in London. In the end, she decided Benedict was planning to leave for the Continent with her after securing funds by selling everything. But then, as if overnight, he was just…gone.

  Margaret held back unshed tears as she thought about her plan. Fortunately for her, she had family in Winter Garden. Distant family, true, but even so, her great-aunt, Lady Isadora Birmingham, had been happy to receive her. And given Aunt Isadora’s fading memory, she thought it a splendid idea to keep her niece’s visit a secret so she could surprise everybody at the masquerade ball.

  The diamonds—and the secret to Benedict’s disappearance—were in the house. She knew it, which was the only reason Paul and Ian’s sister were here, the only reason Paul would have purchased the Rothebury estate. Since Benedict had told her about every secret the house possessed, she probably knew more than they did. And if luck smiled upon her, she would finally learn the truth.

  He’d grown used to the darkness and the cold, even the smell, but he could never get used to being chained like an animal. And yet he was drugged so much of the time, he had no idea what day or even what year it was anymore, or even how long he’d been living in hell.

  The woman who attended to him every day had just left, dropping his bread and broth on the table and forcing the laudanum down his throat. He tried to fight her, but had grown so weak with the passing of days that his mind had become numb. He didn’t think he knew her personally, and although he could never see her fully because of the cloak she wore in candlelight, something about her seemed vaguely familiar, like someone he might have met years ago, another lifetime. She said very little, and she wasted no time in completing her tasks each day. He wished he could kill her, but even if he could gather the physical strength, doing so would likely leave him to starve to death, chained to a wall. The only thing that seemed to revive him was her arrival each day to bring him food and water, which told him only that she kept him alive for a reason.