She swayed a little herself, breathless and unsteady, her senses spiraling madly around her.
Come? Come where?
But where else could he mean but to his bed?
He waited, clearly wanting her consent when another man would only have demanded.
This was her chance, she realized, her opportunity to refuse and flee from him at last.
She looked again at his open hand, his wide, waiting palm.
Without giving herself another instant to think, she laid her own hand within.
Chapter 13
The room spun around Drake as he and Anne Greenway sank together onto the feathery softness of his bed.
In the near darkness, he’d stripped her of her clothes, the curiously sensible cotton garments falling in a soft heap onto the carpeted floor. Odd, he’d thought fleetingly, considering she’d always been clothed in something filmy and flimsy in his other dreams—some thin scrap of material that fell away at his slightest touch.
But this was like no dream he’d ever had. There was a strangely realistic quality to it that left him puzzled, as if something wasn’t quite right. One minute, everything seemed to be swimming hazily around him, dreamlike and muddled, while in the next, events seemed as clear as daylight, as though the experiences he was having were actually happening.
Were they?
Or were they not?
He honestly wasn’t sure. If he hadn’t known better, he would think he was drunk. But that made no sense since he rarely overindulged when it came to spirits. Besides, he was sure he’d been soundly asleep when he’d found her bending over him in his bed. And why in heaven’s name would Anne Greenway, his housekeeper, be in his bedroom, leaning over him while he lay naked and sleeping, unless it really was a dream?
Has to be a fantasy, he told himself, as he slid his hands over the rich silk of her skin and hair. But then again the sensations were so vivid and compellingly real. He could even smell her, each new breath filling his head with the delicate fragrance of rain-washed violets and the intoxicating spice of sultry feminine heat.
Dream or reality, he really didn’t care at the moment. The only thing that mattered was the fact that Anne—beautiful, desirable, forbidden Anne—was lying in his arms, her body warm, naked and wanting, exactly like his own.
Taking her lips, he kissed her with a dark urgency, craving her the same way he did life’s most vital necessities. But neither food, nor air, nor water could compare to the simple beauty of her slightest touch, the quiet majesty of her body entwined with his own.
In faith, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d hungered for a woman so strongly—or if he ever had at all. The intensity of his passion left him ravenous, his body shaking with the need to join himself to her, to lodge his flesh so deep and true it really would seem as if they were one.
With that goal in mind, he pleasured her with his lips and hands, her answering moan a symphony to his ears. Her hands moved over him as well, small feminine palms that made him ache and arch, his muscles tightening with a savage need that made him shudder.
Dappling kisses along her throat, he roved lower, exploring each new span of flesh as though it were a territory he was set on conquering. Cupping one round, supple breast in his hand, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm beneath him. Her legs moved restlessly against the sheets, her short fingernails raking lightly over his back.
In that moment, he knew he had to taste her. Bending, he drew the tautened nub into his mouth, laving it with his tongue the way he would an especially delicious morsel of candy.
How sweet she is, he thought, better than sugared fruits and summer rose petals.
She whimpered and thrust her fingers into his hair, as she had done earlier, clearly determined to hold him in place. Only too happy to oblige, he suckled eagerly, closing his eyes as he drew upon her with increasing ardor.
He gasped a few moments later when she began playing her fingers in and along the dip at the base of his spine. His shaft hardened more, if that was possible, blood draining out of his head to pulse in thick, violent beats. Unconsciously, he thrust against her hip, then raked her plump breast with the edges of his teeth.
A throaty cry soughed from her lips, her fingers clenching briefly in his hair while the other hand wandered in random paths up and down his body.
With a shiver, he skimmed his mouth lower, scattering kisses over her belly and hips and thighs. When he reached the triangle of soft curls between her legs, he paused, trying to decide whether he wanted to touch her or taste her—or both.
But this was his dream, after all, and he could do as he liked. And what he liked was her—everything about her.
Without further consideration, he parted her thighs with his hands, feeling her legs tremble beneath his grasp.
And then he lowered his head.
Sebastianne’s eyes popped wide, a strangled gasp sticking in her throat.
Mince alors, what is he doing? Surely he isn’t kissing me where I think he’s kissing me!
But from the slick, wet glide of sensation in her most intimate of parts, she was forced to accept the fact that he was.
Instinctively, she wanted to push him away, then curl in on herself and hide with shame. Yet even as she gathered herself to refuse him, her body had other ideas, arching toward him rather than away, wanting more rather than less.
Ah, Dieu, she thought, as her quavering fingers twisted helplessly into the sheets. Never had she known such exquisite pleasure, such mindless delight. It was as though he’d found the very heart of her and was making it come alive from the inside out. Making her come alive from the inside out.
In rapid pants, shallow breaths rasped from between her lips, her senses overwhelmed by a wealth of uncontrollable needs and barely tapped emotions. Yearning rose within her like a maelstrom, turning her half-mad and nearly wild.
Then suddenly, and without the least bit of warning, the storm broke, ripples of astonishing pleasure breaking over her in heavy, crashing waves. She shuddered and writhed, wondering how she would possibly survive.
Somehow she did, though, her heart continuing to beat fiercely inside her chest, as the world spun dazedly around her.
She’d just started to recover when Drake began again, using his fingers as well as his mouth this time, so that she was left nearly incoherent by the time he’d finished.
Limbs quivering, body aglow, she lay completely pliant as he slowly eased his way up her body again, kissing and touching her in delectable intervals as he went.
Holding himself above her, he crushed her mouth to his for a long, hungry, possessive kiss that demanded both her surrender and her participation. Finding her strength again, she kissed him back, matching his every touch with an equally enthusiastic one of her own.
Below, she let him part her legs with his knees and settle himself between.
“If this really is a dream,” he said on a hoarse rumble, “it’s by far the best one I’ve ever had.” Then he thrust inside her, filling her completely.
She clung, shivering at his deep, heavy penetration. It had been years since she’d been with a man, and even then, her days as a wife had been so brief she’d been left little more than a maiden.
Part of her wasn’t ready for this, for Drake. He was so forceful, so masculine. But another part of her knew this claiming was long past due and that she was glad it was him.
Being with any other man would have been unthinkable since being with another man wouldn’t have included love.
She gave a quiet gasp at the realization, as the truth spread slowly inside her.
Ah, no, how could I have allowed this to happen?
But she had.
Without the least intention on her part, she’d fallen in love with Drake Byron.
Then he bega
n to move, and her body came powerfully to life even as her mind went blank with ecstasy.
Jesu, she’s so tight, Drake thought as he worked himself within her. Her body fit him like a sleek, hot, velvety sheath. Just the sensation was enough to drive him right to the edge. Somehow, he held back, wanting to know she’d taken her pleasure again before he gave himself permission to claim his own. Besides, their coupling would be better; couplings always were when the woman enjoyed herself as much as he did.
Yet she isn’t just any woman, he knew, relishing the feel of her slender arms wrapped around his back, her shapely legs twined around his waist.
This is Anne. And finally, at last, she is mine.
Needing her, all of her, he captured her mouth in a fervid kiss, tangling his tongue with her own as he established a demanding rhythm that she was compelled to match. He drank in the sweet scent of her skin, his own skin growing hot and slick with a light sheen of perspiration. His pulse thundered out a crazy tattoo between his ears, his blood pumping in thick, sultry beats through his veins.
Gliding his fingers over her pliant flesh, he stroked the tender peaks of her breasts before roving lower, then lower still to tangle between their merged bodies.
A long, keening moan issued from her throat as he touched her most sensitive places, her hips thrusting upward to meet his own as her body bowed with unmistakable rapture and shuddering, gasping completion.
Then he too gave himself over, stripping off the last of his restraints as he thrust with a raw, almost primitive need inside her. Bliss poured through him as he climaxed, his entire body shaking from the devastating force of his release.
The world spun around him for several long moments before he rolled to his back and cradled her against his heaving chest. Closing his eyes, he wondered again how she could be anything but real. Stoking a hand over the length of her tousled tresses, he let himself dream.
Sebastianne lay stunned, returning slowly to herself as she listened to the reassuring rhythm of Drake’s heart beating beneath her ear. She knew she should leave, memory of the imprint of the key returning to her like a ghoulish specter. Still, she didn’t have the strength to move; Drake had wrung every ounce of energy from her body with the heady beauty of his lovemaking.
Never in her life had she known such bliss. Never before had she been so content. She wished this moment would never end.
But it will, whispered a cruel voice. It must.
For now, though, she would steal a few moments more. She needed him, needed this in a way she wouldn’t have imagined possible even a few hours ago.
He was asleep again, his breathing slow and measured once more. With the sleeping draught still pumping through his system, would he even remember any of this come morning? For her sake, she knew it would be better if he did not; yet she couldn’t help but wish otherwise.
Snuggling closer, she let herself drift, praying for tomorrow never to arrive.
Some while later, she awakened with a start, blinking into the grey darkness that warned of the approaching dawn. Zut alors! she cursed, remembering everything, aware that she must leave Drake and the warm comfort of his arms while there was still time.
Ever so carefully, she extracted herself from his embrace, relieved when he didn’t move but instead slumbered on. Aware she dare not light a candle, she felt her way carefully across the room, searching with her toes for the soft cotton of her nightgown and robe puddled in a heap on the floor.
Luck helped her find them, and remained on her side while she pulled on the garments with shaking hands—the wax case with the imprint lying like an accusation in her pocket. She located her slippers as well, tucking her feet silently inside.
Listening a few last moments to Drake’s quiet breathing where he lay in bed, she put aside the ache in her chest and forced herself to turn away. With a soundless turn of the latch, she let herself out.
She reached her room without incident, meeting no one on the stairs. Falling onto the bed, she huddled with her knees drawn into a ball, knowing she would have to get up again soon. She was painfully aware she would need to pretend that she’d passed an easy, uneventful night, and that nothing at all had changed.
As for Drake?
What if he remembered? What if he did not?
Either way, his reaction would do nothing to cure her already broken heart, for she could never stay with him. Nor could she ever let him know of her love.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she let the tears flow.
Drake squinted against the sunlight filtering beneath the heavy bronze damask curtains in his bedroom. Rolling over, he buried his face against the pillows and willed himself to go back to sleep.
Although considering what time he’d retired to bed last night, he ought to have had plenty of rest by now. Thinking back, he recalled that he’d eaten dinner and drunk a glass of port, then he’d grown so tired that he’d come up to bed and fallen straight to sleep. Flashes of memory chased through his mind, scenes and sensations rising from the depths of his nocturnal oblivion.
What an amazing dream I had, he thought. In truth, it had been the most extraordinarily sexual dream he’d ever had, not even the randy longings of his teenage years could compare. The memory alone was enough to make his body tighten with remembered pleasure and a shiveringly intense level of satisfaction.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Anne Greenway really had been in his bed. If he hadn’t been aware it was only a dream, he would have believed that her soft arms actually had been curved around his shoulders, her legs locked at his back as he thrust deeply into her warm, feminine depths. And that he’d kissed her, over and over again, her mouth as warm and rich as sweet cream, the intoxicating fragrance of her skin playing erotic games with his head.
Even now he could smell her—fresh violets in a cool, early-morning field.
Delicate violets.
Turning his head, he breathed deeply into the crisp linen case covering the pillow beneath his cheek, smelling the scent of flowers more strongly than before. Real flowers that had nothing to do with dreams, and a genuine, entrancing feminine scent that lingered on the fabric.
A scent that smelled exactly like . . . Anne Greenway.
His eyes popped open, and he sat upright, the sheets pooling around his bare waist.
By God, that was no dream. I really did sleep with her last night.
Chapter 14
I should run while I still have the chance, Sebastianne thought the next morning as she forced herself to go about her usual duties. Seated at her office desk, she dipped a pen into an open bottle of black ink, then began copying out next week’s menu in her best copperplate hand.
If I time it right, she mused, as the quill scratched over the vellum, I could stuff a few of my belongings into a pillowcase, since my suitcase would be far too noticeable, then sneak out the back servants’ door before anyone realizes I’m gone.
But running wasn’t an option, she concluded with an inward sigh. At least not without the cipher—and in order to get her hands on that, she needed the key.
An image of the small case with its wax imprint came to mind, along with the place beneath her mattress where she’d hidden it. As soon as may be, she planned to take the imprint to the locksmith and have him fashion a duplicate key. Until then, she would simply have to brazen it out and pray that Drake didn’t realize what she’d done.
Lord Drake, she corrected herself sternly. It wouldn’t do to let herself start thinking of him in casual terms, regardless of the fact that she’d lain naked in his arms last night, as intimate as a woman could possibly be with a man. Breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly, soul-shatteringly intimate in a way she knew she would never forget, not even if she lived to be so old she could barely recall her own name.
Laying down the quill, she pressed a fist against the sudden ache in her chest. How could I have let
myself fall in love with him?
Hadn’t she sworn when she’d come to this house that she would keep her emotions inviolate? Hadn’t she assured herself she would complete her mission and leave with no ties or regrets?
So how had it all gone so horribly wrong?
Not only had she come to like and admire the other servants with whom she worked—a realization that made her feel guiltier by the day for deceiving them—but now she’d done the very worst of all by tumbling head over ears for their master!
Bon Dieu, how was she going to carry on? And what if Drake caught her?
She trembled at the idea, fearing his retribution nearly as much as the inevitable heartache she must face at losing him.
He was a proud man. And smart, too smart to forgive being duped and manipulated. Should he realize . . .
Fingers trembling, she wiped them against her skirt as she pushed the thoughts away—or tried to, her nerves frayed to the point of exhaustion. Of course a nearly sleepless night hadn’t helped. She wished she could sneak away and take a nap. Even if her duties permitted it, however—which they didn’t—she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. She wondered if she would sleep even tonight, despite her weariness.
Smothering a yawn against the back of one hand, she picked her pen up again.
She’d just begun to concentrate once more on the menu when a soft tap came at the door. Pausing, she called her permission to enter.
“Beg pardon, missus,” Jasper said, smiling a friendly greeting where he stood tall and lanky just inside the door. “Came to tell you that his lordship is wanting his breakfast.”
Her pulse jumped at mention of Drake.
So he’s awake, is he?
Glancing at the clock, she saw the time was a few minutes past ten. Ordinarily, Drake was an early riser, but considering the night just past, she wasn’t surprised he’d slept late. She would have enjoyed sleeping late herself. Speculating, she wondered at his mood. And more to the point, how much of last night did he recall?
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