by Lily Maxton
He sank to his knees before her. “I know I don’t have a particularly luxurious life, but…you’ve been happy here with me, haven’t you?” He placed his hands on her knees. She started, but she didn’t remove them.
“Why would you even want to marry me, Adam?” she said, desperate to put space between them. He was backing her into a corner where she’d be too vulnerable to protect herself. “I’m used goods.”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “When I’m with you, I—” He stopped, started over. “You make me feel young with my whole life ahead of me. A life full of possibilities, and—” He smiled wryly. “And magic.”
She swallowed, stunned. Her eyes pricked with tears. Each word he spoke was devastating in its impact, like an arrow sailing past every wall she’d ever built around her emotions, sinking straight into the center of her heart.
Then the devastation was complete.
Because he leaned forward and kissed her.
Chapter Twelve
Kisses were simply lips touching lips. At least that was what Julia had always thought. In her entire life, there had been only one boy’s kiss that had transcended that superficial definition. And now, with the man he’d become, it was even more potent.
Adam’s kiss was a revelation.
A soft, insistent give and take. Neither mouth found complete mastery over the other. When one was the master the other yielded, and yielded with pleasure, with a sigh of sweet surrender, because its own mastery would surely come.
It was a dance.
Intricate and sensual. A slow slide and a soft press. Breath stealing breath. Hands, exploring, touching, with both gentleness and hard heat.
This, she thought wildly, giddily, this is who you are. This is what you were made for. Not with any other man. This, with Adam. Only him.
Oh, she was a stubborn fool! How long would she have fought this if he hadn’t shown her? How long would she have denied that they belonged to one another, that their souls were entwined? Would always be entwined?
I have loved no one but you. She might have said it aloud. She didn’t know.
Adam drew back abruptly. He stared at her. His eyes were dark, his lips bruised. “What did Riverton do?” he asked quietly.
“He…he kissed me. And he touched me, between my legs.”
“He didn’t—”
“No,” she said. “I couldn’t go through with it.”
“Why?”
She felt like laughing. Why? There were a thousand reasons why. But in the end, they all seemed to dwindle down to one reason, and he was kneeling at her feet, with his hands on her knees.
“Why do you think, Adam?”
He tilted his head and studied her intently. “Do you want this?” His voice was like gravel. His hands slid up her thighs slowly, and she knew one word would stop him.
But she wouldn’t stop him.
“Yes.” She grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand firmly to her sex, through the muslin of her gown. The warmth seeping between her legs vanquished all memories of Riverton. “Feel how I want you.”
His nostrils flared. He leaned forward, forcing her thighs apart to accommodate his broad upper body. His hand went to the back of her head to pull her into another kiss. This time it wasn’t transcendent—it was lusty, and earthy, and urgent. Her dress got shoved up past her knees and his hands peeled away her stockings and garters. He caressed and petted her exposed skin. He teased her mercilessly, always stopping his path at her inner thigh, making her arch back to try to force his hand to travel farther up.
While his tongue slid across her lower lip and licked into her mouth, she pushed his coat off his shoulders and tore off his cravat. She’d never been annoyed by it before, but as she unbuttoned his waistcoat, she realized that men wore entirely too many clothes.
It took forever to uncover his upper body. When the final garment joined the heap on the floor, she was confronted with a broad chest and wide shoulders, a stomach kept flat by the outdoor work he did, arms that were large and sinewy. He was no delicate aristocrat. He looked like a pagan god. He looked like he could break her in two.
And all of that strength was hers to command.
But Adam apparently had his own ideas. He pushed her dress all the way to the top of her legs.
“Put your foot on the chair,” he commanded.
She stared down at him, and then she did what he asked. She raised her leg and bent her knee to rest her foot on the seat of the chair, exposing herself to his lambent gaze. Her body was open to him, completely open.
Her heart thrummed, and lust, slow and lethargic, crept into her limbs. Her inner muscles clenched. The sight of him watching her with that expression of unguarded hunger was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
Her breath stopped as he leaned forward slowly, and rushed out when his mouth touched her sex. Her hips jerked. She nearly sobbed when he abruptly pulled back.
“Did I hurt you?” Red dusted his cheeks.
He looked uncertain, and tenderness flooded through her. It didn’t matter that he was less experienced—she desired him, whether he was a virgin or whether he’d known a dozen women. She leaned forward far enough to kiss him, to taste her own musk on his lips. “Please do it again.”
His mouth kicked up in a smile, and he did it again. This time, he used his tongue, gently sweeping it along her swollen flesh. Her head fell against the back of the chair. “Yes, there,” she breathed.
He pressed his tongue down harder.
She whimpered, arching back, against his eager mouth. She wished she’d removed her clothes. She wanted to push her naked breasts into his palms as he devoured her.
He must have had the same thought. He stood, taking her hands and pulling her up from the chair. Then her dress and petticoat were bunched in his fists, and he pulled them over her head.
She turned, and it took him a few fumbling tries to unlace her stays, but those were soon on the floor, as well. Her chemise quickly followed.
He drew her against him, her back against his chest, his warm, hard body sheltering hers. He kissed down the side of her throat and her shoulder, lingering, tasting her skin. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking over the nipples, stroking them until they beaded. His hands smoothed over her stomach and thighs.
She ached and writhed and wanted, and when his fingers moved from between her legs they came away slick with desire, and there were moans erupting from her throat that she couldn’t control.
It didn’t seem very fair that he hadn’t yet been reduced to a similar state. She could feel his erection pressing against her. So she reached behind her and unbuttoned the flap of his trousers, letting it spring into her hand.
He groaned low against her throat when she took the head and squeezed. At this angle she couldn’t do much, but she let her fingers drift over the silky length, exploring, reveling in the hot strength of him.
He broke away, and when she turned to face him, his eyes were wild. “I need you. Now.”
Yes, now sounded like a very good plan.
She glanced at the stairs up to the bedchamber. Too far. She glanced at the table. Too uncomfortable. With a sense of rising panic, she glanced at the settee. Too small. She could just lean over something, she supposed, but she wanted to see his face—
“The rug,” he said roughly.
Yes.
She grabbed his wrist and led him to the sitting room, and then they were tumbling down on the thick rug together, and she was crawling over him, straddling his hips. He held her waist between his large hands and guided her down. Slowly, her body sheathed him, inch by glorious inch.
She gasped, stilling at the sensation of Adam filling her. Oh, Lord, it was good.
Finally, she thought.
Oh, God, finally.
Their gazes caught and held, and for an instant, something raw and powerful stirred between them.
Then she braced her hands on his chest, arched her back, and when she moved, when they move
d together, she knew it was clumsy and jerky. She knew the small sobs that came from her throat weren’t low and seductive, but primitive and uncontrollable.
The mind that had always been working during lovemaking, always thinking about the next move, the next sensual thing that would please her lover, was completely blank. It was as though she’d been playing chess, and someone had come along and knocked all the pieces off the board, and told her there were no rules to follow.
Somewhere, somehow, she’d lost herself. She had no name, no past. She was sensation and emotion and pleasure.
“Please,” she heard a voice say. “Please.” It could have been her sobbing the word. It could have been him. She didn’t know who said it, and she didn’t know exactly what it meant, and it didn’t matter.
He sat up while they were still connected. His warm arms circled around her, one along her waist, one along her back with his hand cupping her head. He drew her against his chest as her hips rocked. He kissed her, long and relentless, like a dying man trying to pull nourishment from her lips.
That was how they both found their release—locked tightly in each other’s embrace.
…
Julia awoke and squinted into sharp daylight. She groaned when she moved and her head started throbbing. It felt like she’d drunk too much wine. It must be lack of sleep. Eventually they’d made their way to the bedchamber, but once she and Adam had started, they couldn’t stop. They couldn’t get enough of one another.
“Adam.” The name emerged as a sigh. She stretched her hand out and frowned when she felt nothing beside her except cool linen.
She dressed hurriedly, brushed her hair, and pinned it haphazardly, washed her face with the cool water that sat in a small basin on the side table, then rubbed some toothpowder over her teeth. She was coming down the staircase just as the outside door opened.
Adam stopped in the doorway and looked up at her. He had dirt on his cheek and mud under his fingernails. Her chest ached—it felt too tender, as though one touch might shatter her. For a moment, they stood frozen.
Then he glanced down at himself. “I should wash,” he said, sounding a little self-conscious.
She closed the distance between them. “I like you as you are,” she said. Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks, and she was angry with herself for blushing.
He made her feel so open. So exposed. She didn’t enjoy the feeling. She wanted to wrap herself up and hide, but she couldn’t hide from him. It would be a futile gesture.
He kissed her, his dirty hand against her jaw, and she leaned into him, pressing her face into his palm like a cat. When he pulled back, it was with heavy reluctance. She watched him stride up the staircase.
She didn’t know what to do with herself, so she busied herself in the kitchen making tea. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned, and was caught in the dazzling warmth of Adam’s smile.
“Is that for me?”
She shrugged and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “For both of us. If you want any, that is. I know I didn’t ask, but sometimes you drink tea in the morning…” She stopped, aware that she was a little too close to rambling. Like some kind of green girl after her wedding night, she thought with a trace of chagrin.
“Thank you. That sounds perfect,” he said.
She was intensely aware of his presence behind her. Now that the primal magic of last night had faded, the harshness of reality came flooding in.
She was carrying another man’s child. Eventually, she would start to show.
She had to tell Adam. Maybe he wouldn’t forgive her, but she was strong. Even if saying the words that would destroy his love would be like cutting out her own heart, she would find a way to muddle through.
She opened her mouth to speak, dread settling on her like a heavy wool cloak, but she was too slow, too reluctant—Adam beat her to it.
“I’m going to resign from my position,” he said.
She turned to face him, startled. “That’s a little drastic, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to work for Riverton anymore. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding a position as head gardener somewhere else. We could go as far away as you like.”
He was assuming they would be together. That she would go with him. That he would want her to go with him.
“I told you my man of business has found a house for me.”
“Has he?” he drawled.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped, annoyed that he sounded so skeptical.
He only smiled, as though amused by her. “He’s written to you before. So far, you haven’t gone to look at any of the houses.”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“When?”
“When I want to!” she practically shouted at him. She realized she sounded childish, so she lowered her voice. “One night of…of…nice”—more like glorious—“lovemaking isn’t going to make me change my mind. I won’t marry you, Adam. Anyway, it’s rather masochistic of you to want to marry a courtesan. You’ll be mocked for it. Other men won’t respect me. They’ll be forward. They’ll say things you won’t like to hear.”
“I’ll tear apart anyone who insults you,” he growled.
She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. “That’s a nice way to solve your problems! You can’t just go around tearing people apart.”
“I can protect myself,” he said firmly. “I don’t need you to do it for me. And I’m half-Irish, Julia. I’ve heard things I don’t want to hear for most of my life. I’ve learned to grit my teeth and ignore it all. If you refuse me simply to protect me, I won’t thank you for it.”
“That’s not the only reason,” she said, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the reason that mattered to her most. “I’d rather not bind myself to anyone.”
He stepped closer, crowding her against the kitchen work table, and placed one hand on either side of her. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
“Then why are you still here?” he asked. “When I woke up this morning, I expected an empty bed. I expected you to be gone. But you were right there next to me.”
She lowered her eyes to a point somewhere past his shoulder. She had a fierce desire to curl against him, to find shelter within him. But that kind of shelter was too precarious. Too easily withdrawn. “I apologize if I’ve given you false hope,” she said coolly. “Has it occurred to you that I’m only staying because you’re the first man I’ve been with in quite some time who knows how to use his cock?”
He stiffened. His face went smooth and his mouth tightened. She hated that she’d hurt him, hated that she’d made him look that way, but before she could take back the words, he spoke.
“I’m glad I pleased you,” he said. “If that’s all you’re here for, let’s not waste time with conversation.”
His mouth came down on hers, fierce and punishing. Her arms wrapped around his neck instinctually. God, how she wanted him, with an ache that was somewhere between pleasure and pain. She wasn’t afraid of him. Wasn’t scared that he would hurt her. She didn’t think she could ever feel anything but pleasure under this man’s hands.
But she remembered the maid would be in to clean the cottage. She might not be prudish, but she certainly didn’t want an audience.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “We should go upstairs. The maid…”
He grabbed her hips and lifted her to the table edge. “Then you’ll have to come quickly,” he said, remorseless.
But though his voice was hard, his touch gentled. His hands stroked over her breasts and down her stomach and along her back as though he would never tire of the way she felt. His kisses left her weak—they were goading and relentless, tongue and lips and teeth, forcing her to give as much as he gave.
When he reached down to unbutton the flap of his trousers, she was already pulling up her dress with shaking hands. He entered her in one slow glide. She clung to him, dimly aware that the water for the tea was boiling
over.
He dragged down the bodice of her dress, allowing one breast to escape the fabric. He caught the rosy tip between his finger and thumb as his hips moved faster. When she stiffened and started to tremble, he pinched the nipple hard, and her release was upon her, fast and overwhelming. Her name fell harshly from his lips when he shuddered in her arms a few moments later.
In the aftermath, they clung together like survivors of a shipwreck, breathing heavily, clammy from sweat. His head rested in the crook of her neck. She brought her hand up and let her fingers trail through his thick black hair. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but what good would that do?
He kissed the skin where her neck met her shoulder, and whispered something, his breath on her damp skin sending shivers down her spine. She barely caught the words, but they were spoken just loudly enough that she did. She recognized the Irish phrase he’d used the night he’d carried her away from Blakewood Hall—graw-muh-cree.
“What does it mean?” she asked quietly.
“My love,” he answered. “Love of my heart.”
Her fingers tightened in his hair. She’d suspected his feelings, but hearing the actual words overwhelmed her. She wanted to curl up inside him with the mad wish that he would never, ever let her go.
“If begging would help, I’d throw aside every bit of pride and get down on my knees. But I don’t think it would do any good,” he said ruefully.
“I don’t want you to beg,” she whispered.
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
It felt as though her heart was shattering in her chest. “Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow.”
The rest, the part about what would happen after tomorrow, remained unspoken. It was a promise she couldn’t give.
Chapter Thirteen
“Aren’t you usually back at the cottage by now for dinner?” Cassandra asked as though Julia was an errant child.
They were in the housekeeper’s office, sitting across from each other, and Cassandra had just won another round of piquet. Julia was having trouble concentrating. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. She didn’t want Adam to worry.