by Sophia Nash
“And here I was hoping for a biddable partner.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself. You’ve taught me to think like a man.” She pulled his head down until his lips were within inches of her own. “Now kiss me.”
“If you insist, Lady Sheffield.”
“That’s Mrs. Roijen,” she whispered.
He drew back slightly. Her eyelids were heavy with longing, but a smile played about the corners of her lips.
“Mrs. Roijen, eh? Sounds like someone from the frozen north.”
As she pulled him back, she whispered, “I know.”
Lost in each other, Michael gripped her to him and lifted her as he seated himself in the overly plush chaise longue. He arranged her in his lap, unable to make himself leave her.
In the heat and golden glow of the fire he stroked her cheeks…and knew happiness—the joy born of revealing all of one’s oldest fears and past to another only to be accepted despite so many sins and flaws.
He felt a tugging sensation and realized her hands were undoing his damp neck cloth. And then her delicate fingers were working his vest and disappearing under the top edges of his shirt.
“Darling,” he breathed in the heavenly scent of her hair, “you said your limbs were sore from riding. Here, now,” he whispered, lifting her again to rearrange her legs. “Turn away from me. Let me ease your poor muscles. That’s it. Lie against me.”
Her back to his chest, her knees demurely closed atop his, Grace relaxed as Michael’s large hands surrounded the clenched muscles through the layers of fabric and then pressed into the knots. It was heavenly. He nuzzled her neck. “That’s right. Relax against me.”
“Oh…” she sighed. “That feels wonderful.”
“Delighted to hear it.”
“You’re very good at that.”
His hands worked their magic. “Well, I’ve had a good bit of practice.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Why am I not surprised?” There was no small amount of annoyance in her voice.
His hands had stopped moving and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I was referring to the horses I was employed to rub down, sweetheart.”
Foolish relief filled her. “Of course you were.” She knew she should be on her guard. But she was so tired of holding back, so tired of all the complexities they would have to face in the harsh light of the days to come. All she wanted was this one moment to celebrate their future together, in whatever form it would take. He cared for her. She was sure of it. She didn’t want to examine any of the tiny cracks of doubts that might surface.
He began to work his hands along the full length of her limbs. “The animals especially like it after a long hard day’s work. Does it hurt here too?” His fingers were prodding her bottom hidden under the fine cotton undergarment and silk evening clothes she wore.
She was too shy to respond.
“I hope you don’t mind, but,” Michael pulled at her gown until it was above her legs, “this way is easier and will feel better.”
She could barely breathe.
“You pushed yourself too hard. I can feel it,” he whispered as he nuzzled the side of her neck. That essence of him reached her senses and made her dizzy with longing.
He had removed his gloves and she sensed warm, calloused palms through the undergarment. She looked down and saw his strong bronzed arms and hands working her pale thigh above her stocking tied with ribbon.
Oh, the pleasure of the overly tight muscles releasing their stiffness to his skilled hands brought such relaxation. And something she was still too shy to say out loud. For many minutes the only sounds she could hear were the rustle of material and their mutual labored breathing.
He finally leaned forward and whispered, “Would it hurt if I arranged you in this fashion?” He grasped one of her knees and placed it over the padded arm of the chaise longue. Her other limb still lay alongside his own long legs.
She trembled.
“Relax now, and let me take care of you.” His hands moved over the pantalets in a slow, workmanlike fashion, easing the taxed muscles on the tender inside of her thigh. But Grace felt horribly exposed.
He moved to the small of her back and massaged her spine through the silk and whalebone until, without a word, she felt him unbutton the gown and ease it from her. He made short work of the corset, muttering something about cursed iron cages of England. And then his fingers returned to the small ache in the arch of her back. “Tell me about riding today.”
It was so hard to concentrate when he touched her as he did. Had he any idea what she was feeling? “That is so lovely,” she murmured. “I mean, it was so lovely. Rosamunde showed me how to use the ribbons, and I trotted for a little after walking a good distance. She didn’t have to lead me.”
“What horse did you ride?”
“Fairleigh’s pony, but…”
“Yes?” He untangled her many strands of pearls and once unclasped, he slid them in a heap in front of her.
“I would have preferred Sioux.”
He chuckled and slowly moved her other leg to the opposite arm of the chaise. “Is this all right?” he murmured as he began to kneed the inside of her other sore thigh.
“I’m perfectly fine like that,” she said in a hushed, bashful tone.
He groaned and it was such music to her.
After long moments, his fingers lost the edge of labor and turned to long, lush caresses. “Relax with each stroke,” he said into her ear. “No, don’t move. In fact…yes, just like that…”
She held her breath.
“So soft,” he murmured in her hair. With each supple movement, she wondered if he would dare to reach beyond the slit in her pantalets. And the knowledge that he might was unbearably erotic. The tension made her clench her tender muscles each time he slid an inch closer.
“Relax, darling.”
She choked. “I rather think that’s impossible.”
He kissed the column of her neck. “Perhaps then, you would prefer me to stop?” His hands stilled and she could not stop the moan from escaping from her throat.
“Or…perhaps you would prefer a very little more?” At that moment his fingers slid the final inch past the thin fabric to caress the sleek folds at her center. She bit her lip to keep from shouting.
“Christ, you are magnificent,” he whispered harshly.
She swelled with pride, and he did something wicked with the tips of his fingers. “Sweetheart…so soft, so perfect.”
She tried to turn toward him and he stopped her. “No, don’t move. I’ve missed you, and after everything I’ve done—after everything that’s happened, Grace, for once, I need to do something right, something for you.”
She bowed her head forward.
“Will you allow me, darling?”
Her throat was too constricted to be able to speak. Instead, she nodded and he exhaled roughly, and eased away the last remaining barrier between them, her chemise, and then pulled her back against his chest.
She watched his hands move up the sides of her body and curl protectively around her breasts. Her breathing hitched.
Pleasure-pain rocketed to her womb when he gently pinched the tips.
She felt his fingers trace the edges of the recent scar. “Does this still hurt you?”
“No, not really,” she whispered.
“God, you smell so good. Like woman, and fragrant flowers in the spring rain. You know I have a shawl you left behind.” Through half-closed eyes, she watched his hands find the mound of pearls in front of her. “I’m afraid I hadn’t the heart to return it to you.”
He grasped the ends and drew the pebbled strands across her breasts, teasing them. “Do you like that?” His deep voice rumbled from his chest.
How could he talk so rationally when she couldn’t form another word to save her life? Her breath came in tatters.
“I thought you would. Perhaps, darling,” he murmured, “you’ll like this too.”
He wound the many str
ands around his fists and drew them lower, until she nearly choked in embarrassment. She jerked the slotted ends of her soft pantalets closed and Michael chuckled, ignoring her shy protestation. He then dared to do something unspeakably wicked, rocking the pearls against her veiled flesh until she teetered on a pinnacle of pure pleasure. When her breath caught, he stilled and immense waves of pleasure crashed all around her.
When she could think coherently, she asked softly, “Michael?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“That was…well, unbearably pleasurable.”
“Yes, but? I sense a but…”
“It’s just that I prefer when I can please you, too.”
He stilled, and then groaned.
She eased herself from the chaise and turned to nod toward her bedchamber beyond the connecting door. He muffled an exclamation and then lifted her to carry her beyond.
It had always been her favorite room in the townhouse. Pink and white toile covered the walls and the window coverings, while pillows and downy bed-covering lay piled on her bed. It was clearly a lady’s domain.
Michael deposited her in the center of the bed and removed the last of his clothing and hers before joining her in the soft jumble. “Mmmm…this is just far too tempting,” he said with a growl.
She’d never really seen his length so clearly, and it was a little unnerving. His desire for her was beautiful, yet she was glad she had not seen it so vividly the first time. She might have lost her nerve. “What do you mean?”
“This opulent, soft life of yours. Almost makes me want to be tamed…will you insist on a jewel-encrusted collar?”
She threw a pillow at his head and he dodged it before wrestling her back against the bed.
God, what a vision she was…her golden hair haloed about her head, mirth dancing in her bonny eyes, a sweet, innocent smile gracing her lips.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. It had taken his every last shred of control not to lever her onto his arousal when they had been sitting on that blasted chaise.
He released her arms and she drew her soft hands to his face and then allowed them to fall, ever so slowly down the hills and valleys of his chest and abdomen. Her fingers were so pale and slim against his coarseness. She used both hands to fully encircle him and he started to shake with the effort to bring himself under control.
He uttered a curse and stayed her hands with his own. “No, sweetheart. I’m sorry, but I can’t be counted on to go slowly if you do that.”
She smiled, her obvious pride and happiness in bloom. “Do most gentlemen talk so much when they are in a lady’s bed?”
He rumbled with mirth. “This man does. Is that a problem for you?”
“No,” she said in a whisper.
“Lie back,” he commanded, and then stared at her with such a pure ache of happiness. “You know, if we are to go away together, I’m thinking it might be a good idea if…”
“Yes?”
“Well, all this soft living…all this feminine opulence. Perhaps in our new bedchamber we could consider a billiards table to offset some of the frippery.” Before she finished laughing, he continued, “But, I suppose we’ll just have to make do for now.” He looped his arms under her slender limbs and gently eased her open to him. The vision nearly made him explode.
He dragged his length along her slick folds and hesitated but a moment. Pulsing against her, he finally allowed the engorged end of himself to enter her.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. She was so tight, and so hot. He’d forgotten. He heard her deep sigh of passion and it urged him to test her. With care he eased farther inside of her. His taut shoulders ached with tension, his muscles completely fatigued.
He pulled back to see her face, flushed with desire, and then felt her hands move to clutch him closer. “Yes, my darling,” he murmured, and then edged in and out of her just the slightest bit.
And then she said something that nearly made him lose all control.
“I want to be on top.”
“What did you just say?”
“I want to be on top. It’s only fair. You said this was all for me, didn’t you?”
His arms shook from the tension of desire and his pent-up laughter came in short gusts. “That was before. And you were supposed to be so lost to pleasure now that you wouldn’t question what I did to you.”
“Yes, well…I’m almost lost, but not far enough along to not know what I want.”
He exhaled, his voice nearly gone. “I suppose I should have known what life would be like with a wench from the frozen regions.” With wrenching effort he disengaged himself and rolled to his side before pulling her on top of him. His beautiful miracle now sat astride his thighs with a comical, uncertain expression on her face.
“I suppose you need a bit of help? Guidance?”
“No, I’m perfectly fine.”
He chuckled. “You know every time you say that, I know you are perfectly not. Darling, let me show you.” He encircled her tiny waist with his hands. “Now, try to control this. Be careful. I won’t let you hurt yourself,” he insisted.
Her eyes wide, she slid down slowly to take half of him before she stiffened.
“That’s it. Now ease up.”
She set a tempo, and he kept his hands on her waist to not let her eagerness get her in trouble. But then she grasped his hands and placed them over his head; a siren intent on having her way, and God help him, but he let her.
Looking at the incandescent wonder of the woman he wanted to give the world to, his arousal abruptly thickened, his release poised in the heavy shaft. “Grace…wait. No—”
She bent forward and kissed him, his words lost in a vortex of potent desire and longing. And suddenly she slid down in an inexorable long motion and he felt her fully seated. She had dared to take all of him inside of her and her face radiated ecstasy as she cried out with pleasure. The excruciating sensation broke his every last restraint, and he couldn’t stop the great pulsing waves from breaking inside of her. And he didn’t want to.
For he had found safe haven at last. Once and forever.
It had taken a strength of will that he hadn’t known he possessed to tear himself from her arms after she fell fast asleep. He scratched out a few words to her—words telling her to rest and a promise to send word to her at first light on how they were to proceed. And he had signed it…Mr. Roijen.
His heart lighter than it had been for years, he carefully peered from the upper-story windows to look for signs of potential trouble. He had calculated that it could be as soon as an hour before Manning might hear of his reappearance. Why, two or three of the carriages waiting in the huddle outside of Helston House had borne the Manning colors.
Michael slipped out of one of the ground-floor side windows, dropping the last few feet into a crouch.
He regained his footing, but the crunch of many footsteps on pea gravel surrounded him and he knew with sickening finality that his meager reserves of luck had finally run out.
Chapter 17
Grace was so happy riding Sioux over the cobblestones of the small village toward Ivy cottage. Her heart swelled when she looked down to find Lara Peabody, from the foundling home, riding a pony beside her and wearing Grace’s pink gloves, which were too large for her small fingers.
The sound of the two animals’ hooves echoed sharply until Grace finally woke from the surreal dream to find that the sound was instead someone insistently rapping on her bedchamber door.
She sat up and turned sharply to find herself alone in the vast bed.
He was gone…
But a note on her table next to the bed caught her eye. Grace clutched the bed coverings closer and cleared her throat. “Come…Come in.” She hid the note in her hand.
Sally entered, red-faced, and bobbed a curtsy. “Pardon me, Lady Sheffield, but I can’t put them off any longer. The dowager duchess and her friends are belowstairs and threatening to, uh, disturb you.”
“Help me then, please, Sally?”
The little maid rushed forward with two morning gowns.
“Yes, the dotted silk…” As Sally set aside the other gown, Grace hurriedly read the note he had left for her, and she allowed a smile to blossom on her face.
“Where are your pearls, Lady Sheffield?”
Grace could feel a mottled flush rise from her neck as she hastened to retrieve them. “I have them.” Fastening them behind her neck, Grace stepped behind a screen and onto thick toweling to splash soap and water over as much of her person as possible, while Sally set out her articles of dress.
The maid murmured, “I shall see to your tea as soon as I take my leave, my lady.”
But before Sally could do up the last of the gown’s buttons Ata’s tiny wizened face peered around her door.
“Ah, you are here. Thank heaven.”
Rosamunde rushed past Ata along with Georgiana, Sarah, and Elizabeth.
“And why wouldn’t I be here?” Grace said, trying to push her usual mantle of complacency into place. “Thank you, Sally.” Her sweet maid disappeared.
Rosamunde’s face was ashen as she placed the Morning Post into Grace’s hands. She glanced at the folded section, the familiar swagged “Fashionable World” column exposed. The first words jumped out at her…
Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Helston entertained a party of fashionables last eve, for the annual celebration of the Devilish Duke’s Bad Luck Birthday. In keeping with the theme, an earl long lost was found only to be lost yet again! Ah, but the mysterious Lord W’s gigantesque figure should not be hard to find for the Countess of H insists she spied him entering a townhouse with Lady S, she of the recent spate of ruptured matrimonial engagements. La! What a to-do in Portman Square…
Grace lowered herself onto a chair Elizabeth had hastily brought behind her. With no emotion, she stared sightlessly out the window to see a pattern Jack Frost had etched on the panes.
“Is he here?” Rosamunde asked cautiously.
“Of course not,” Grace replied.
In the silence, Sally hurried in bearing a tea tray with an array of biscuits, buttered toast, and apricot preserves.