He pulled away, regarding her with unsmiling eyes. “Yes,” she said, softly, simply nodding in response to his silent question. His hands went to the ribbons of her nightdress. Forcing himself to slow down, he pulled the silken bows, one by one, until they came undone. Rowena sat motionless under his hands. He then lifted and turned her wrists, unfastening the tiny pearl buttons before pulling the nightgown’s sleeves from her arms. The fabric pooled around her waist, and he looked at her, bare in the early-morning light. She remained still for the long, deliberate scrutiny, her nipples lifting and hardening in the cool air.
He held the swell of her breasts in the palms of his hands, his thumbs flicking the nipples, his eyes holding hers before he lowered his head and drew his tongue in a slow, easy stroke, first over the right breast and then over the left. Rowena caught her breath, stilling her voice, as though they were both afraid of breaking the silence that held them in its thrall.
Rushford caught her waist and lifted her effortlessly from the mattress, sliding the nightgown off her legs. Slowly, he unfastened the tapes of her pantalets, pushing them along her hips. Then he rose and looked down at her as she lay on the bed, vulnerable in her nakedness. He had never seen her in daylight, he realized; his hands had been those of a blind man. Now he saw her long limbs and the gentle curve of her hips, the surprising fullness of her breasts, high and firm.
He swiftly took off his coat and neckcloth and pulled his shirt over his head, memories, honor, and scruples a spot on the far horizon. He reached for the buttons on his breeches, greedily drinking in the young woman before him, hair tumbling on her shoulders, trembling in her eagerness. He slid the buttons free and slipped his trousers over his legs, stepping out of them. Then sitting down beside her, he lowered his head to lightly kiss her lips, pushing her hands away, easing her thighs open. Trustingly, she closed her eyes and eased herself into the cushions while he slipped a finger between the sleek moistness between her thighs, gently stroking her pulsing flesh.
She arched her hips against the sensation and sighed against his lips. He eased his fingers in another small distance, watching the play of emotion over her face. She moaned softly, and he massaged her with practiced skill, slowly sliding deeper, touching and stroking. She kept her eyes shut, lost in sensation, floating in a blissful sea of concentration centered between her legs. The tempo of her breathing increased, and she moved her hips in a slow undulation, reaching for a pleasure point, lifting into his hands for his heated touch.
Rushford had done this hundreds of times with all too many women, but never before had he watched so closely the flush of arousal color a woman’s skin or observed so scrupulously the panting gasps as he slowly penetrated and withdrew, taking careful note of the increasingly frantic arching of her slender hips. He kissed her again, inhaling her whimpers while stroking her fevered flesh, wanting her with a fierce violence that was foreign to him. His self-control had been tested over the years but never like this. Schooling his impatience, he murmured against her mouth. “No more bad dreams, Rowena, only this. You’ll feel me deep inside, sliding infinitely slowly, filling you.” His hands continued cupping and stroking and as he spoke, the heat inside her burned higher with each hot word. “But this time you will remember every instant, with every nerve in your body.”
She arched a final time into his hands, her climax tensing every muscle, a low moan escaping her mouth, the breath hot on his lips. They lay that way for what seemed an infinity until finally the cadence of her breathing slowed and she lay replete, eyes shut, a small smile on her lips. “I knew there was something about you, something familiar . . .”
“I suppose my vanity should be pricked that you’d forgotten.” His voice was teasing, his arms still around her.
Her eyes slowly opened and her smile widened. “Don’t make fun, Rushford,” she said, reaching up to touch his hard chest. “I remembered in some part of me, how your body felt so right next to mine, your scent, the way you made me feel safe.”
“What else do you remember?” he asked carefully.
She turned her head away, stretching with unalloyed pleasure against the sheets. She was finely boned and taut, the years of riding and outdoor pursuits honing her body to perfection, he thought, with none of the easy plumpness of women of leisure and rank. “I do not wish to speak of it right now,” she said, “particularly when I sense we’re far from finished here.”
“As long as you’re sure this is what you want.”
“I knew the first time,” she murmured without hesitation. “I would have died without you in my arms. Don’t ever forget that.” Once again, he was struck by her startling honesty, totally without pretence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, breaking her own promise not to delve further. “When I first came to you that night in Belgravia Square?”
The bare bones of the story were all he was prepared to reveal. He stroked the silk of her cheek. “In some ways your fractured memories were a gift—which I did not want to destroy.”
“And why you continued to push me away?” She frowned. “Even as I thought you a complete stranger, I sensed that you were not telling me everything.” Pausing, she plucked the linen sheet. “We have much to discuss.”
“Later.”
Her eyes shone, her mood quickly transformed. “At last we agree on something wholeheartedly.” She wriggled beneath him enticingly.
He smiled faintly. “I sense that you’re not satisfied yet?”
She waved an arm in his direction languidly. “You are insufferably arrogant. Of course, I’m satisfied and you well know it.” She leaned up on her elbows, arching her back, giving him a view that lengthened his erection by several inches. “But there’s always more.” She had the eager look of a young girl surveying a box of bonbons.
Her frankness surprised and delighted him. The women in his past were much more coy about their demands. “I have my share of masculine pride,” he said with a glimmer of self-mockery touching his eyes.
Rowena’s fingertips brushed over his chest. “I’d never have believed it,” she murmured.
In response, he simply smiled his promise, lying down next to her, moving a leg over her thighs, drawing her close against the warmth of his body. It was his turn to close his eyes, the scent of her skin filling the air around him. He inhaled greedily, his hands running over her back, learning again the curve of her hips and buttocks, the smoothness of her skin, the delicate flare of her spine. He felt the press of her breasts against his chest, the tautness of her nipples as he tasted of her mouth with a searching tongue. His need was urgent, eclipsing everything but the immediacy of his delayed desire. With a soft moan, Rowena moved against his hard flesh, her thighs tightening as she held him in the warmth of her body, sliding her hip against a muscular thigh. Her words whispered against his mouth.
“Don’t think. Not now, Rushford,” she said with ferocity, as his palms flattened against the silk of her thighs, opening her. He touched her slick core, and she moaned her need. He lifted his head, gazing down at her as she sprawled beneath him in abandon, her hips lifting unconsciously, her thighs parted, moisture on the satin of her skin glistening in the glow of the morning light. Her tongue touched his lips and she said, “Now, please ...”
A wildness surged through him, and somewhere inside he knew he was irretrievably lost. He feasted his eyes on her body, taking in the skin that stretched taut over her rib cage, curving into the hollow of her stomach. He lowered his head to lavish his tongue into the shell of her navel. He moved over her, and his hands lifted her hips to meet his hardness, sliding an inch into her. A slow smile spread over her face, and her eyes widened as he moved in farther, the incursions short and then longer. All the while his hands continued to roam, finding the places that made her wild with desire, stroking and then backing away.
He kissed her again, more forcefully this time, the blood simmering in his veins when he finally entered her with a swift thrust that forced a cry from her throa
t. He renewed the rhythm, slowly and then faster; Rowena’s breath came in gusts from her throat. She sought his mouth with her own and clawed at his back, arching up to meet his thrusts, driving him deeper and deeper still, assuaging a shared hunger.
Lust clawed at his senses, and he brought her legs to rest on his shoulders, filling her to the hilt, balancing them both on the edge of pleasure and pain, punishing her and most of all himself with the most exquisite torment he’d ever known. This wasn’t right. And yet it was right, so right, he thought, biting back a groan. Rowena reached with her hands, pulling him down toward her so he would fill her more deeply still, not wanting gentleness, preferring the savage thrusts that were driven by a need that more than matched her own. She kissed him hungrily, moaning her rapture into his mouth as their breaths merged into one.
When the climax came, it jarred him to his bones, the shocks reverberating through their joined bodies. It all but killed him, but he pulled out in time, her legs still spanning his shoulders, her heart pounding against his. They lay locked in each other’s arms, shattered by what had passed, not for the first time, between them. They were drained beyond reason, their bodies hot and damp. Rushford rolled off Rowena, but they continued to touch, shoulders, breasts, legs, despite the emotions he tried to shutter behind the mask of his closed eyes. He settled down beside her, throwing one arm across her shoulders.
“Stay here . . . with me,” he whispered, the echo hot in her ear. And she did.
Rowena awakened several times, the warmth of the morning sun turning into the heat of daylight.
Now when she rolled on her side and looked at Rushford, everything was familiar to her, from the breadth of his shoulders against the linen sheets to the clean lines of his jaw, the strong nose, the deep-set eyes. How could she ever have forgotten him? Forgotten this? She didn’t want to think and she didn’t want to remember but only to feel. Moving by instinct, she slid her body over his, watching him close his eyes and absorbing his tremor of pleasure. He caressed her bottom and then dropped his hands on the bed. Sitting up, she straddled him, gazing into his face, the silence heavy around them. Taking a deep breath, she reached out to brush back the hair that had fallen onto his forehead, studying his every feature, understanding fully that while they shared a passion, they knew little of one another.
As though she had done it all her life, she mounted him, impaling herself slowly upon his pulsing erection, holding hands, fingers interlocked as she rode him up and down, moving around in little circles. Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse exploding, the pleasure acute. To be in control of his every movement, to have him where she wanted him, while he caressed her core with those clever hands and fingers, she could feel him growing harder and bigger, on the edge of lust. They were both holding back, desperate for another taste of sexual oblivion.
He squeezed her hand tightly, and never taking his gaze from her eyes, he pressed his lips to hers and then trailed small kisses to her breasts. His kisses turned to sucking and then biting, encouraging her to ride him, harder, faster. She came first, long and strong and overwhelming, lost in a vast void of bliss, scarcely aware of his pulling away to spill his seed on the smoothness of her abdomen.
If they wanted to say things to one another, the opportunity never came. It was only there in their eyes, the passion and urgency and lust. They spoke with their bodies. Later, as the sun rose still higher in the sky behind the curtains, they rose from the bed. Moments later, overcome with renewed passion, Rushford held her up against the peach silk-covered wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He started again with her mouth, with deep kisses while his hands caressed her breasts. He played with them, burying his face between them as his erection throbbed inside her. He was lost, she somehow understood, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and leaning back and away from him against the wall so he might continue his kissing. Her legs were still wrapped around him, and she used her grip to ease herself on and off his penis. He moved in time with her, controlling the tempo with exquisite, drawn-out ease.
They came. And then they slept, waking again when the sun began its afternoon decline. He took her on her knees, with him behind her. He had a way of tormenting her with desire, teasing her and holding back until she begged for more. She loved the warmth of his lips on hers, the demand of his tongue in her mouth. His kisses could take her over, and she felt herself giving in to him as the day turned once more into night.
When they finally emerged from the bed, it was well past dusk. “You can come out now,” Rushford said, glancing at her shape under the covers. “You must be starving. No worries. I asked the servants to leave trays outside the door.”
She sat up slowly from beneath a mound of sheets, watching with appreciation as he walked resplendently nude to the door, returning with a tray balanced on each hand, then placing them on the bed.
“You make a superb manservant, Rushford,” Rowena said, reaching for the hand he held out to her, easing into a seated position.
His smile was infectious as he watched her lift the silver covers from the plates before her and take in the rich venison stew, small dauphinoise potatoes, and green beans. “Will you not join me, my lord?” she asked. “Your recent endeavors have surely sharpened your appetite.”
He looked at her propped up against the pillows, disheveled from their lovemaking, her nakedness only half covered by the disarray of linens. “My appetite is only for you,” he said.
“That sounds decidedly romantic. I almost feel as though I should believe you.”
“Perhaps you should.”
A small silence fell while Rowena told herself she didn’t dare think any further into the future. She glanced away, uncomfortable with her thoughts. She knew this man was not for her to have by her side where she suddenly, desperately wanted him. The realization stunned her, and she tried to concentrate on the simple task of moving the fork to her mouth. They had been thrown together by a twist of fate, nothing more. But she didn’t want to think about that now. His cool murmur forced her gaze back to his. “We have to talk, Rowena,” he said.
She patted the napkin to her lips. “You’re angry. Regretful.”
“No. Absolutely not.” They had both agreed to the step they’d taken.
“There is nothing to regret,” she said forcefully. “You found me in the river and saved my life. I’ll never forget that. And then when I needed something more . . .”
“Sex is not comfort, Rowena.” His voice was different now, cooler, more remote.
“I am no child, Rushford, despite what you believe. Do you think that what we did over a year ago and these past hours was in any way based on an emotion as pallid as comfort ? If you do, then you are sadly mistaken.” Inadequacy burned in her chest. “I know I am not as experienced as Miss Barry or any other of your mistresses might have been,” she began.
He interrupted her, catching a gesturing hand in midair. “Don’t slight yourself, Rowena. You are simply superb. Perfect. No argument.” His voice was low, scarcely audible.
He kissed her palm before releasing it. She said wisely, “Then let’s enjoy this veritable feast for the moment. We can speak of these things later.”
The concession was his to make. Rushford reached for a linen napkin and sat opposite her while Rowena lounged on the bed. They ate in companionable silence broken only by murmurs of appreciation and sips of wine that Rushford had decanted.
“That was wonderful,” Rowena said finally sinking into the pillows at her back. “But you didn’t eat much. And you’re very quiet.”
He glanced up.
“You’re looking at me as though you’ve despoiled a maiden.”
“You’re not exactly what I’m accustomed to.” He lifted his wineglass to his lips.
A flare of anger lit in her chest. “I think we’ve already established that fact. You mean that you are unaccustomed to virgins. I’m your first—is that right?” she asked with her usual candor. “Or more correctly, perhaps, I was yo
ur first virgin when we met over a year ago.” She folded up the napkin on her lap. “I’m becoming increasingly irritated by your condescension, Rushford. I am not some silly doll-like creature who doesn’t know her own mind. You should know that by now.”
“There’s no possible way I could overlook that fact,” he said dryly. The sound of a door closing, followed by footsteps and the splash of water, interrupted their conversation. “I ordered us a bath,” he said, and she noted that he appeared to welcome the disruption, nodding toward the small door in the corner of the bedchamber, which led to the water closet.
“Us?” She smiled flirtatiously, her ill humor suddenly fleeing as she acknowledged that she was the one who had Rushford for the moment. She also recognized full well that she could never compete with the pantheon of women who had come before her. But she wouldn’t think of them now. Throwing the coverlet aside, she slid her legs over the bed. “I’m more than capable of making my own decisions,” she continued. “Which is precisely the reason I came to you in the first place.”
“You mean the second time.”
Her brows rose. “You found me the first time, the details of which I’m anxious to hear. And yes, I made my way back to you, unwittingly, although something drew me toward you. Obviously the memories, the dreams, and the nightmares I had suppressed.” She gathered the linen around her body, though unaccountably unembarrassed by her nakedness. “How did you find me?” she asked bluntly.
The Darkest Sin Page 16