by Alice Gaines
And yet, he’d been so careful with her. Bathing her and drying her. Then, denying her the invasion of his body into hers until he’d made her wild with wanting him. All that said something about his feelings, and she’d completely missed it at the time.
“I’ve said something wrong,” Millie said.
“No, really.”
“You look unhappy again, as if you’ll cry.”
“Don’t be silly.” Juliet forced a smile. “I just never imagined we’d be switching roles like this.”
Millie’s brows knitted. “Roles?”
“You’ve always mothered me, trying to make me see reason and behave myself.”
“Ha. I’ve never managed that very well,” Millie said.
“Still, I’ve loved you for it,” Juliet said. “Now, here I am playing mother and telling you what to expect from a husband.”
“I wish your mother had lived to do that for you.”
“I wish the same for you. We’ll have to muddle through as best we can.”
Millie threw her arms around Juliet, and the two women hugged. They’d done that often enough over the years, but this night was different. Until now, neither of them had grown into women, not fully. Now they had.
A soft sound came from the doorway. Footsteps moving away. Millie found him first. Derrington at the threshold, turning to leave.
“Lord Derrington, please don’t go,” Millie said.
“I only came to wish Miss Foster a good night,” he said.
“Millie’s innocent, but she’s not a fool,” Juliet said. “We all know why you’re here. You are here for that, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” He straightened and lifted his chin. “I’m here for immoral purposes.”
Millie giggled.
“Of course, if the lady in question would marry me, they wouldn’t be immoral,” he added.
“I’ll leave you to them, then.” Millie rose.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” he said. “I can come back later.”
“We’ve settled everything, haven’t we, Juliet?” Millie said.
“As much as we can in one night.”
Millie went to leave, but when she got to Derrington, she stopped and put her hand on his arm. As quick as the flutter of a hummingbird, she went up on tiptoe and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. Then she scurried from the room and closed the door behind here.
“I wonder what that was for,” he said.
“For being a nice man,” Juliet answered. “At least, she thinks you’re nice.”
“Ah, but we know better, don’t we?”
“You’re a seducer and a rake,” she said.
He approached the bed and sat next to her. “A brute and a cad.”
“The worst sort of profligate imaginable.”
He guided her onto her back and loomed over her. “The sort of bastard who skulks in a lady’s room and steals her innocence.”
He kissed her briefly, a soft tangling of lips and then smiled down at her. “I don’t know how I live with myself.”
She stroked the side of his face and gazed up at him.
“What were you two talking about when I came in?” he asked.
“What do women always talk about?” she said. “Men.”
“Wently’s declared himself, I gather.”
“Yes, and Millie will accept his proposal soon.”
His features grew serious. “I wish you’d do that for me.”
“You’ve already asked me to marry you today.”
“I’m not joking about it anymore, Juliet. I love your rebellious nature, but now, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Please, no more of the Winslow Curse and Lady Derrington getting what she wants.”
He took her chin in his hand, and held her face still so that she had to look into his eyes. Anger flashed there. Not the sort of display of a man who’d been thwarted, as she’d seen at the orchid greenhouse, but the honest expression of someone who’s had enough and won’t tolerate much more.
“I love you, damn it,” he said. “And you love me, too, even though you won’t admit it.”
“How do you know what’s in my heart?”
“Because your body tells me every time I touch you,” he said. “You’re being dishonest, and you’re better than that.”
“Are you going to spank me again?”
“Bloody hell.” He sat up abruptly and threw his legs over the side of the bed, turning his back to her.
She stared at him, the tension in his shoulders, the way he’d clenched his hands into fists against the mattress. She really had tried his patience. How many men would put up with proposing marriage over and over without getting a response?
She reached up to touch him. “I’m sorry. I’m really very sorry.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Juliet, something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”
“Nothing.”
“Stop denying it. There was a real sadness in the air between you and your friend.”
“Just wistfulness. Crying at weddings sort of thing.”
He lifted a brow and stared at her.
“I’m tired. A little out of sorts.” Fuzzy-minded. The cloud closed in around her brain again.
He sighed. “Take off your nightdress. I’ll give you a back rub.”
She scrambled out of the gown and tossed it onto the floor and then stretched out on her stomach. Her breasts pressed into the coverlet, feeling full and extra sensitive.
His hands went to her shoulders and massaged them, working out kinks she hadn’t realized were there. She stretched and groaned with pleasure. He moved lower, pressing his thumbs against her spine and kneading her flesh with strong fingers.
“Can I ask you something, David?” she said.
“Of course.”
“You remember that afternoon in the gazebo.”
He made a low noise of approval in his throat. “I’m not likely to forget that.”
“When you’d finished, I took your handkerchief and cleaned you up.”
“I’d spurted semen everywhere.”
“What did you do with the handkerchief?”
His hands paused. “Do?”
“You put it beside you on the bench, but when we left the gazebo, it was gone.”
His fingers dug into her ribs as he continued soothing her tense muscles. “I slipped it into my pocket while you weren’t watching.”
“Did you give it to your valet to be washed?”
“No,” he said. “I tucked it in a drawer. I still have it.”
“That seems like an odd keepsake.”
“It’s hard to explain.” His hands released her, and the bed moved as he sat back on his haunches. “You were so precious that day. So curious. You worked so hard to please me.”
“It wasn’t hard,” she said. “I wanted to satisfy you.”
“I won’t lie about my history. I’ve known many women. Some have even done that for me. None ever took as much innocent pride in doing it.”
“Oh, God, I’ve been such an ass.”
“Juliet?” He scrambled onto his side next to her and lifted her chin so she had to look at him. Somehow after she’d stretched out and before he’d started the massage, he’d gotten out of his robe and nightshirt, so the two of them lay naked only inches apart.
“What’s wrong, darling?” he said.
“The first time we made love, you took such pains to make things perfect for me, and I wasn’t even paying attention,” she said.
“Oh, you were paying attention, I guarantee you that. In the bathtub and the bed and the next morning. I had your full attention, all right.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She thumped a fist against his chest. Her eyes grew moist, and her vision blurred. Curse it all, the stupid tears had come back. “It was my first time, and I treated it like a game.”
“You’re crying.” He brushed wetness from her cheek. “It’s not like you to cry.”
“I felt so
smug about winning something from you, I didn’t realize what was happening. There were feelings involved, and I didn’t care.”
“Of course, there were feelings involved, at least on my end,” he said. “That’s no reason to torment yourself.”
“Did you…” Her voice broke on a sob. She took a shuddering breath and tried again. “Did you love me that first time?”
“We’ve been through this before,” he said. “I loved you, yes, but not as much as later.”
“When did you fall in love with me?” she said. “Tell me honestly.”
“That night, when you fell asleep in my arms.”
“You see?” she wailed. “I’m an ass.”
“Juliet, darling, hush. I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“I’ll stop. I promise.” She did manage to stifle the sobs, but her eyes took that as their clue to pick up their own contribution to this ridiculous state of affairs. What in hell did she have to be unhappy about? She had half the money in the world and the most romantic man in all creation demanding that she marry him. In fact, she had him naked in her bed—the place where she discovered more delights in his arms than any woman had a right to aspire to. Still, she couldn’t stop the tears.
“I think I know what will make you feel better,” he said, as he parted her legs and took his position between them. The darling man had managed to get hard, despite her waterworks, and the head of his cock slid between her pussy lips, begging for entrance.
“Oh, yes, please,” she said.
He entered her in one smooth thrust until she’d taken all of him, right to the base of his member. A gasp escaped her at the discovery—once again—of how he filled her so perfectly. As he began a slow rocking motion into her, out, and back in again, he covered her face with kisses, drinking up her tears.
“Don’t ever cry again, Juliet,” he said. “It tears my heart out.”
“Never. Not with you inside me.”
She wrapped her legs around him, holding him close. He could fix everything by making love to her. Here, in this private universe he’d created for the two of them, no doubts could enter. Here, in this divine intersection of space and time, he loved her and would always love her and would never turn away.
He gazed down into her face as his hardness stroked the inner walls of her sex. “Look at me.”
“I am.”
“No, really, look at me.”
“I see you, David.”
He groaned, and his eyes nearly closed as an expression of intense pleasure washed over his features. Then, he was staring at her again, the heat of his need burning in his gaze.
“I love you, Juliet,” he said.
“I know.”
“You love me, too.”
“I know that, too.” She did love him. How could she not? Even if her head denied it, her body told the truth. Her heart soared free at the confession, no longer constricted by trying to hide what it had known since the first time she’d taken his body into hers. He’d claimed it that first night, right here in this bed. She should have admitted the truth to him long before. Thank heaven, he’d waited for her.
“Say it,” he whispered.
“I love you, David.”
He moved faster, plunging into her in the way he knew would strike the spark that would send her up in flames. “Say it again.”
“I love you, David Winslow.”
“Again.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“Thank God!” he cried. “Finally.”
The currents swirled deep inside her, tossing her up toward the crest.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped.
“Never,” he answered as he plunged into her.
She hung onto his shoulders and kept her legs tight around him as she moved to meet his thrusts. So close. So close. “Now. I’m going to spend.”
“Look into my face as you do. Tell me you love me.”
“Yes,” she shouted as the climax hit. “I love you…oh!”
Then, she could only cry out as the spasms wracked her, stealing her reason. Nothing existed but the pounding of his cock inside her while her pussy grasped and grasped at its length.
He shouted, too—a cry of victory and male possession—as he spilled his seed into her. The two of them clutched at each other as they shared each other’s joy.
When it had ended, and they drifted to quieter waters, he rolled off her onto his side, still inside her to retain the connection.
She snuggled against him, struggling to catch her breath. She’d done it now. She’d admitted that she loved him, not only to him but also to herself. No turning back now.
He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. “Thank you.”
“Thank you. It was wonderful. As always.”
“No, I meant thank you for your honesty,” he said. “Finally.”
That had such an odd ring to it. Not at all the murmured sweetness after all the other times they’d fallen asleep together. Of course, they weren’t even under the covers, and she could still curl up in his arms before sleep claimed her.
She rested her head on his shoulder and ran her palm over his chest. “I meant to tell you all along. I was afraid.”
“What could frighten you about love?”
“It’s a big step. I think more so for a woman than a man.”
They lay in silence for a while until the candle beside the bed flickered and then burned out.
“We’d better get under the covers, don’t you think?” she said.
He didn’t answer.
“David?”
This time, she got a response. A soft snort that snuffled out to even breathing. He’d fallen asleep on top of the coverlet.
“David?” she said again.
He rolled onto his other side, presenting his back. She shook his shoulder, and all he did was grunt.
Oh, well, he’d have to sleep there. She’d tried to rouse him, and he was far too big for her to try to wrest the covers out from under him. Instead, she got up, pulled down the bedclothes on her side, and slipped between the sheets. He kept slumbering on as if she weren’t there.
***
“My, you certainly like that chutney, Miss Foster,” Lady Derrington said.
Juliet chewed and swallowed the tangy combination of fruit and spices. She set her fork aside and picked up the hand of cards Derrington had just dealt. “I can’t seem to stop eating it. What did you say was in it again?”
“Pears, vinegar, pickling spices of various kinds,” Lady Derrington replied. “Do you know, Mr. Carter?”
Jack, who’d been arranging his cards, looked across the table at his partner. “No idea, Lady D. What say we visit India on our honeymoon and find out?”
Lady Derrington humphed just as she always did at Jack’s protestations of love. And her eyes twinkled as they always did. “I thought you knew everything, you scoundrel.”
“Everything except how to scale the wall around your heart,” he said. “But, sadly, India is one place I’ve never visited.”
“Are we going to play whist or not?” Derrington said.
Jack stared at his cards. “Someone’s grumpy.”
“I’m not used to losing so badly,” Derrington answered.
“If your team’s behind, it must be your fault, old man,” Jack said. “Juliet and I trounced everyone we played in New York.”
“Perhaps she remembered to draw trumps in New York,” Derrington said.
“I forgot,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“You’d think he had the entire estate bet on the game,” Lady Derrington said. “We’re only playing for fun, Bump.”
“Then, let’s play.”
Bids went around the table while, at the other end of the room, Millie sat at the piano playing something by Mozart. The vicar sat beside her on the bench, turning pages and stealing adoring glances at her as her fingers worked the keys. She pretended not to notice, keeping her gaze fixed on the sheet music, but occasional
ly, she’d peak at him out of the corner of her eye and smile.
“Your play, Miss Foster.”
At Derrington’s voice, she snapped back to the others around the table. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
“I won the bid,” Derrington said. “Spades are trump.”
“Thank you.” She glanced down at the two cards on the table. “And that’s your ace?”
His brow went up. “It is.”
She followed suit, adding the deuce to the pile.
“They belong together, don’t they?” Lady Derrington said. “We should have dual marriage announcements soon.”
“Then, you will be my wife, Lady Derrington,” Jack declared. “Hallelujah!”
Lady Derrington threw back her head and laughed. “Carter, you’re a perfect fool.”
“Everyone has to be good at something,” he answered.
“I meant my grandson and Miss Foster, of course,” Lady Derrington said.
That lump formed in Juliet’s stomach again. He still told her every morning and night that he loved her, but he’d stopped asking her to marry him with that twinkle in his eye every day. She’d avoided agreeing to be his wife so long, she ought to be relieved. But it seemed as if she’d lost something. She could take him aside and tell him she’d changed her mind and she’d happily become Lady Derrington. But if she did that, and he’d changed his mind, too, she would join the ranks of all his former lovers.
“Juliet,” he prompted. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She glanced around. Three pairs of eyes studied her, and three cards lay on the table. It must be her play, but suddenly, the symbols didn’t make sense. She’d played whist since she was a young girl, but now, the rules of the game had disappeared from her mind.
Diamonds. The trick was diamonds. She had the seven in her hand, so she added it.
“May we have your attention?” Derrington said.
“Now I remember why I stopped playing cards with you, Bump,” Lady Derrington said. “You’re too competitive.”
“Trust women to stick up for each other,” he answered.
“Don’t tolerate this when you’re married to him, Miss Foster,” Lady Derrington said.
Derrington looked as if he’d bit into something bitter. She’d never seen that expression on his face before. Somehow before, his anger had always seemed appealing—a sign that she’d bested him at something and could expect some mischief in response. The sinking feeling in her belly made her want to crawl into her lover’s arms, only he was sitting across the table, scowling.