A Crown for a Lady

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  He hardened fully and his trousers grew tight as he watched her sleep. Her face was like that of an angel’s, her lashes long against pale cheeks. Her hair was free. He’d never seen it undone. Like dark silk, it spread across her breasts and spilled over the white sheets. Enthralled, he reached out and twirled a strand between his fingers, wondering if her mons would be so silky and soft.

  He wanted desperately to taste her.

  All he wanted was to give her pleasure.

  As though it had a will of its own, his hand reached out to cup one breast and she moaned at the touch, rising toward it instinctively.

  It was more than Ian could bear.

  He wasn’t strong enough to walk away—not tonight. And why should he? If she didn’t want him to love her, she could ask him to leave and he would go.

  Her nipple pebbled beneath his hand and he groaned, trying not to wake her. Not yet. Not quite yet.

  He loved every inch of her. Her skin, her body, her mouth, her hair… everything about her, including her incredible wit.

  “Claire,” he whispered, knowing he shouldn’t be touching her without permission, but afraid she would ask him to leave.

  She stirred, murmuring sleepily, and the sound made him throb.

  “Claire…”

  Claire awoke to the shocking weight of a hand resting upon her breast. He squeezed softly, sending lightning currents throughout her body, stirring something wicked deep inside her. His touch made her body convulse in places she’d never even known existed. Her breath quickened and she swallowed, afraid to protest lest he go, afraid not to protest lest he think her a wanton.

  “Claire,” he whispered again.

  Her heart tripped another beat, but she ignored him, not wanting him to realize she was awake.

  His hand paused over her heart, as though to measure its beat. And then again his hand squeezed her. Claire arched into his touch, desperate for something she couldn’t name.

  Without warning, his hand fluttered down to her belly, toward her most private place, and lower, to the hem of her night rail. He lifted her gown ever-so-slowly and Claire’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  Stop him, her conscience railed.

  Heaven help her, she didn’t want to.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as he lifted her gown, sliding it up her thigh until she was revealed to him. And then he descended upon her, his warm mouth embracing her in a shocking kiss that sent her pulse skittering. She cried out in shock as his tongue slid into her body, dancing within. Her body clenched about his velvety tongue as it swirled deeper, and instinctively, she leaned toward the caress, her leg shifting to give him better access.

  This was wicked… so very wicked… but so wonderful…

  Ian groaned with pleasure as she spread her legs for him, letting him feast upon her body.

  She was warm, sweet, silky, and he hardened fully as he pressed himself against the bed, trying to imagine what it would feel like to sheathe himself deep into her body.

  She was tight about his tongue and he nearly unmanned himself as he thought of sinking into the velvety depths of her. Her sweet, feminine perfume filled his nostrils and the taste of her dizzied him.

  “You are luscious,” he whispered, devouring her, his heart hammering fiercely. “Delicious!” he declared. And then he couldn’t speak any longer. He dove into the depths of her, lapping, sucking, tasting. He didn’t know how to say it, but he begged her to hear what his heart and his body were trying to tell her… that he cherished her.

  Reaching up, he kneaded her breasts while he buried his tongue deeper. She was wet and ready for him. When she didn’t resist and, instead, whimpered and arched into him, he pulled himself upward, needing to look into her stunning green eyes.

  They were wide and drunk with pleasure.

  Claire swallowed.

  She was thrilled by the desire so apparent on his handsome face, the glint in his blue eyes. His lips shone, wet from his kisses. The sight of it made her shiver painfully.

  “If you tell me to go,” he swore. “I will go.”

  She shook her head and he growled low in his throat, pulling her gown up over her head and stripping it off. “I want to see you,” he said.

  Claire couldn’t deny him.

  She didn’t want to deny herself.

  Something had begun to ache deep within, something she knew only he could assuage.

  “Do you understand what this means?”

  Claire nodded. She understood that she was giving him something precious and that after tonight, it would be gone and there would be consequences.

  He reached down and touched her where his mouth had caressed her and bent to whisper into her ear. “This is mine. Only mine. Do you understand?”

  Again, she nodded, her breath constricted within her breast. She couldn’t imagine giving herself to anyone else.

  “Say it,” he commanded her.

  “I am yours,” she swore.

  He rewarded her by slipping a finger inside her body, swirling it gently, and she whimpered with pleasure, throwing her head back. “Yes,” she cried softly. “Oh, Merrick… yes…”

  Ian was beside himself with lust. Even the sound of his brother’s name on her lips didn’t temper his desire.

  Damn his head and damn his conscience.

  Tomorrow, he would make everything right.

  Everything.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his boots.

  Tonight, he wanted only to bury himself inside her, feel her body tighten around his shaft. He wanted to spend himself into her womb, and revel in the thought of her conceiving.

  It was an ancient desire—one no less fervent for the many times wished.

  He undid his trousers, freeing himself, then pinned her hands above her head, kissing her breasts, her neck, nibbling at her flesh, undulating against her belly, letting her feel his arousal against her bare skin. He wanted to give her time… wanted her to fully comprehend what it was he was about to give her. If she wanted him to stop, now was the time to say so.

  When she didn’t protest, he shed his trousers and positioned himself lower, seeking entrance to her body. His shaft glistened with the evidence of his own desire. She lifted her hips, inviting him in and he groaned, shifting upward and thrusting inside.

  She cried out and he stilled, shuddering violently, his brain fogged with pleasure. Ignoring his own body’s demand to stroke himself between her sweet petals, he kissed her lips, her chin, her eyes, her throat, until he was certain her pain had eased.

  Claire’s fingers pulled at the soft curls on his chest, reveling in his bare male flesh.

  He had begun to fill her but then had stilled, teasing her with the promise of more.

  She clung to him, tears slipping from her eyes. And then, as quickly as the pain had appeared, it vanished, and she needed him deeper yet. She curved upward to tempt him, crying out when he answered her plea, plunging inside her.

  “Claire,” he rasped, and then slid his hands beneath her bottom, holding her still and thrusting harder and harder.

  It was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

  It was like nothing she had ever imagined.

  He drove inside her again and again, harder and harder, until his body reached its culmination and she could feel him pulse deep inside her.

  Crying out, she spread her legs wider, arching into him, needing her own release. A drop of sweat fell on her cheek as he continued, trying to please her, until finally, pleasure shattered within her. Her body convulsed. She clung to him, unable to speak, unable to stir. Tears streamed from her eyes. Without a word, he withdrew and rolled onto his back, groaning with satisfaction as he pulled her atop him.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll make this right,” he swore.

  Claire’s heart squeezed painfully, because tomorrow promised only pain. Still, tonight, she didn’t have to think about that. Tonight, she was still lying atop him and she wanted only to make believe the morning would never
come.

  She laid her head atop his chest, while he caressed her back, his hand combing through her hair. And she lay atop him so long that she felt him stir once more, growing hard between her thighs and her heart beat a little faster.

  “Can we do it again?” she asked a little timidly.

  He chuckled. “Again?” he asked.

  Claire lifted herself up and peered into his eyes, nodding.

  “I do believe I can accommodate you,” he said, grinning mischievously, and then he reached out and lifted her, settling her back down upon his hardened shaft, easing her down until he was once again, buried inside her.

  “Oh, my!” she exclaimed.

  She hadn’t thought she could feel him any deeper.

  “Ride me, Claire,” he commanded as he undulated gently beneath her. Claire answered his rhythm with her own, matching his deliberately slow strokes.

  “Oh, my,” she said again, and sat upright, arching backward to accept him more fully, the need for communion making her bold.

  “That’s a good lass,” he encouraged, reaching up to stroke her breasts.

  “I want to do this again!” she whispered. “And again!”

  He laughed and patted her on the bottom, grinning roguishly. “Patience, lass, we haven’t even finished this one yet. There will be many, many more opportunities.”

  He didn’t understand.

  There would be no more opportunities.

  Claire wanted to tell him. But she closed her eyes and refused to be saddened. She had this moment, here and now, and memories of this bittersweet union would carry her through a lifetime.

  Chapter 25

  “You can’t hold me,” Ben shouted, rattling the cell bars in desperation. He hadn’t had a bloody bath in nearly two months and his own stench was beginning to rival the stink of the prison. The pungent scent of urine filled his nostrils and the squeak of rats screeched in his ears until he thought he might go mad. God’s truth, he’d never realized people could live, and die, in such squalor. Only yesterday, a man was discovered lying dead in his own feces.

  “How many times ha’ ye been told?” a cellmate called out. “This is Fleet, boy. They can do what the hell they want. Get some sleep, will ye? Ye’re keeping the lot of us awake.”

  Ben reared back and rammed the cell door with his entire body, screaming out in frustration.

  Damn it.

  The worst of it was that he didn’t even know how he’d ended up here. He’d been engaged in a card game—and he’d won, damn it all! After a long losing streak, where he’d nearly lost everything, he’d won. He’d won!

  He banged the cell door again, the sound of it reverberating throughout the prison.

  “Shaddap, ya bleedin’ infant!” demanded another cellmate, from somewhere down the dark, rank corridor.

  “Take your lumps like a bloo’y man,” shouted another. “No one is comin’ for ya, can’t ye see, blockhead?”

  Disheartened, weary and famished despite the slop they’d provided him for the day, Ben collapsed on the floor near the wall. A rat shrieked out of his way, scurrying toward the shelter of his bed. He didn’t bloody care if he flattened the vermin. Every day, it lay in wait, ready to snatch his food whenever he wasn’t looking.

  Sweat ran down his brow, mingling with silent tears he refused to acknowledge.

  He’d been drugged. There was no other explanation for it.

  He tried to remember.

  Who attended the game?

  The usual cast and crew, Lord Huntington included. Huntington had introduced him to the entire bunch, warning him that he would be no match for their practiced skills. Huntington himself had lost his money early on and had departed the game to save what was left of his pride as well as his pocket. Ben had remained because he was winning. He pulled his hair, trying to remember, as though the effort would extract some clue from his fogged brain.

  How long had he been confined here now?

  Days? Weeks? Months?

  He had won, blast it all!

  He’d won!

  Who put him here?

  Who?

  He smacked his head in frustration, trying to recall.

  Claire must be beside herself with worry by now. She probably thought him dead. He’d merely wanted to set them both free of their debts. Instead, look what he’d done. He’d made a bloody mess of everything—everything.

  The very last thing he remembered about that night was taking a victory shot of rotgut whiskey. The next thing he recalled was waking up in debtor’s prison.

  No chance to pay back funds, no holding cell, nothing. Only darkness and stink and slop for dinner.

  But he had won. Why should he be here at all?

  He heard footsteps approaching down the hall, but didn’t bother to crawl into his flea-infested bed. Instead, he curled into a ball, burying his head in his arms.

  Let them harangue him for keeping the other prisoners awake. Let them bring him before the constable—anyone who could give him answers.

  The footsteps halted at his cell. “Highbury?”

  Ben didn’t answer. Let them come in after him so he could plant his fist against the bugger’s windpipe.

  “You have a visitor,” the guard announced, and walked away.

  Ben raised his head, squinting to see through the filthy darkness. His lids were heavy with exhaustion.

  “Tsk-tsk. What a mess you seem to be in,” a familiar voice remarked.

  Recognizing the voice, Ben bounded to his feet and sprang to the cell door. “Thank God, man,” he exclaimed. “Huntington! I thought I’d rot here with no one the wiser.”

  “That’s entirely possible.”

  Ben’s brows drew together in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

  “You lost your arse in a card game.”

  Ben shook his head. “But I didn’t—I won. I won!”

  Huntington’s expression was smug. “That rather depends on how you look at it, doesn’t it?”

  Ben swallowed the knot that tightened in his throat. “I don’t understand,” he said again.

  Huntington tapped the cell bars. “Well, you’re in gaol,” he said, pointing out the obvious, as though he were an eegit.

  “But you don’t understand. There was no formal accusal. I wasn’t given the opportunity to pay anything back. I don’t owe anything! I simply awoke on a bed of filth, surrounded by men who’d rather foul their trousers than ruffle feathers.”

  Huntington peered into the cell, sounding amused. “You have feathers in there?”

  “What the hell do you think?”

  “Oh, what a relief! One would wonder about the justice system if they provided such plush accommodations to common thieves and debtors. But, at any rate, I am quite certain that, in time, you’ll come to feel the same as the rest of these chaps. It’s always best not to rouse the dust, lest one find himself eating it.”

  Ben stepped away from the cell door, appalled. “So, you didn’t come to free me?”

  Huntington shrugged. “That depends on you,” he answered in a voice that was a little too self-satisfied for Ben’s liking, and understanding came to Ben in a flash.

  “You put me here.”

  Huntington was silent, neither denying nor confessing to the charge.

  Ben seized the bars, enraged. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Come now, let us not jump to hasty conclusions. I came to offer you a bargain, Ben.”

  Ben clenched his teeth. “What sort of bargain?” he asked, enunciating every word.

  “I believe I know someone who might be persuaded to release you, if you will agree to a simple exchange.”

  “Exchange?”

  “Did you know Claire is soon to be wed?” Huntington asked, changing the subject.

  “What the devil you are talking about?”

  “She had to raise the funds for your ransom somehow, Ben. Unfortunately, my little plan backfired. She didn’t appreciate my offer and went elsew
here. But it doesn’t matter. What I want is for you to put an end to the wedding and to convince your stubborn sister to be with me instead.”

  “You can’t marry Claire,” Ben argued, confused. “Have you forgotten you’re already married? I think your wife might take exception to you installing another woman in her bed.”

  He swept his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Lady Huntington is of no consequence. We keep separate residences and, I assure you, my wife could care less who I install in my bed. At any rate, you mistake my meaning,” Huntington clarified. “I don’t intend to marry Claire. I only want her available whenever I wish.”

  Ben stepped away from the bars, disgusted—shocked by what Huntington saying. “You’ve got maggots in your head,” he suggested, disbelieving his ears. He and Claire had viewed this man in much the same light as they had their own father. The man had stood by their side and comforted the both of them while they buried the late earl. “My sister would never agree to such an arrangement,” he assured Huntington. “She has far more sense than that. She’s not a Haymarket ware.”

  “Humph! You could have fooled me. You should see the way she clings to that cocksure fiancé of hers. He rams his tongue down her throat every opportunity he gets and Claire simply allows it. She’s nothing more than a trollop.”

  “You’re a bastard!” Ben told him with conviction. “I won’t help you. If my sister has, indeed, found herself a man she’s willing to wed, she has my blessing. You can go to the devil!”

  “Then you’ll rot here, after all. Guard!” Huntington called without hesitation. “I’m ready to leave now.”

  The door at the end of the corridor opened, letting in the only light Ben had seen in days. Huntington spun on his heels and strode toward it, and Ben shouted at his back, cursing him, trying to convince the guard while he had the man’s ear that he didn’t belong in this place, but the guard simply cackled and slammed the door behind Huntington, casting him once again into darkness.