Lydia heard the hurt in his words and wondered at them. “My best friend’s husband only bedded her when he was drunk and otherwise ignored her. Once your sister finally gave birth to two boys, Lord Craven spent his nights at gaming hells. Lord Pettigrew lets one of Norwick’s townhouses for a mistress he has kept since who-knows-when ...”
“Because they are fools,” Adonis interrupted. “They didn’t marry women for whom they felt affection. For whom they felt anything but contempt.” At her look of shock, he went on. “They probably had to marry. For money. Gamblers will do anything to gain an advantage. Or they did so because they were promised to someone they met when they were in their youth and had no idea how their life would be ruined by an arranged marriage. Or because they were greedy and thought to inherit the properties of their wife’s family.” He paused a moment, his attention on something not quite there. “Damn opportunists.” He rolled his eyes and took a breath. “I apologize for cursing, my lady,” he added in a hoarse whisper.
He paused a moment to allow silence to prevail, as if realizing his rant might make him sound more foolish than the men his complaints were about. “I am nothing like them, I assure you. When I marry—and I have decided I shall marry—it will be because I am truly, madly, deeply in love.”
Averting her eyes for a moment—there was something rather powerful in paying witness to a man speaking his convictions with such conviction—Lydia felt an inexplicable sting of hurt. His words made it sound as if he hadn’t yet found the woman with whom he was truly, madly, deeply in love, and yet he had admitted he loved her. Twice. Just hours ago, in fact.
Why, then, was he spending so much time in her company? Appearing in her bedchamber when he knew he had been absolved of his vow to do so? Bothering her in public when she had made it quite clear she wanted nothing to do with him? Or rather, pretended she didn’t?
But she did.
She couldn’t deny the excitement she felt when he was near. The shivers of delight she felt when his fingers barely touched her skin. The way her nipples puckered in anticipation of whatever his lips or tongue might do. The warmth that settled at the base of her spine when she imagined what he might do with his hands. The thrill of knowing he wanted her. The evidence was clear in how his manhood tented the bed linens just then. In the way his heavy-lidded eyes pinned her in place, as if he dared her to leave the bed.
Leave him.
“So you’ve not yet found your true love?” she ventured, her voice carefully neutral.
Adonis regarded her, his relentless gaze still holding her in place. “Haven’t I?” he countered.
Suddenly breathless, Lydia inhaled sharply. His lips were on hers in an instant, effectively cutting off any chance she had of responding, of replying to his question. How would she even reply if she could? The man had her so discombobulated she hardly knew if she had feelings for him or if she were merely attracted to him because he was so damned beautiful.
The quiet moan she allowed might have interrupted the kiss, but Adonis merely angled his head differently, never giving up his hold on her. One of his hands had moved to her shoulder to pull her closer, the thumb of his other brushing over her heated skin to caress the side of her breast. The dart of pleasure had her gasping against his lips, which broke the kiss but had his lips redirected to her jaw, to her earlobe, to the hollow of her throat.
She felt one of his fingers trail ever so lightly over her collarbones and then down to a breast and around an engorged nipple. When his lips replaced his finger, Lydia gasped again. If she didn’t stop him now, she never would. The rogue would once again claim her womanhood—claim her entire body—and she would be powerless to stop him. If she told him to stop now, she knew he would honor her wishes. He wasn’t a libertine. But if he stopped, she would probably hate him for it.
Decisions, decisions.
She gasped again as his lips moved to kiss the top of her other breast, his warm breaths washing over her skin to at once cool and then heat it. The edge of the bed linen passed over her shoulder and down one arm, his finger continuing to guide the fabric down until a breast was bared. His lips covered it even before the chilly air could reach it, the blade of his tongue laving over it once, twice, three times as his free hand took possession of her other breast. The nipple there, already hard and ready for his ministrations, poked into the fabric between his fingers, chafing the sensitive bud.
She inhaled sharply, thinking to tell him to stop. But why? Why make him stop what she had wanted him to do ever since that day he had interrupted her visit to the museum with his ridiculous comments? Why make him stop when she knew just how much he wanted her? Why make him stop when she already knew just how breathtaking his lovemaking could be?
She moved a hand to cover the one on her breast, sliding it and the fabric of the bed linen down her other arm. Cool air puckered her nipple even more, but it was his quick kiss and the sudden scraping of his whiskers against the side of her breast that had her nearly screaming his name.
“I apologize, my lady,” he murmured before returning his attention to the newly exposed breast.
Lydia managed a wan smile as she whispered, “You’re forgiven, I suppose.” One of her hands delved into his tousled hair, her fingernails scraping his scalp and eliciting a deep growl from him.
When one of his hands suddenly gripped the edge of the bed linen, she felt the cotton slide down the side of one leg, felt his knuckles slide along her hot skin, his thumb trailing behind. The space at the top of her thighs throbbed in anticipation. The moan she allowed seemed to spur him on, for his other hand pushed down the rest of the quilts. Just beneath the bed linen, his hand was about to slide between her thighs. She knew it and was about to put voice to a protest, but to deny him now would only leave them both frustrated and mayhap a bit angry. By sliding one leg apart from the other, she knew she was giving him an invitation he couldn’t deny.
An invitation she couldn’t take back. And would always and forever offer.
He was suddenly atop her, pressing first one knee and then the other between hers. She had no choice but to spread her other leg wide. She nearly let out a yelp when his mouth suddenly left her breast and ended up just beneath her swollen breasts, suckling her belly. One of his hands moved to her quim, his fingers separating the damp curls to slide between the folds of her most private place.
This wasn’t at all what she expected. This was so different from how he had claimed her just a few hours ago. Nothing about last night could compare to what Adonis was doing to her with his lips and tongue and fingers and ...
“Oh!” The exclamation was out of her mouth before she realized how loud it would sound. The most exquisite pleasure had just taken hold beneath his questing thumb. She couldn’t help but cry out in surprise. Cry out as she completely succumbed to his ministrations.
A chuckling briefly erupted from his throat before his lips recaptured the tender skin of her inner thigh. Before she could even think of how he had managed to move his head that low, his tongue was suddenly on a quest to replace his thumb in providing a pleasure that was sharp and precise and exquisite. The rough texture of his tongue at once scraped and soothed as it flicked across her womanhood, lessening her hold on sanity at the very same time it tightened the coil of desire he had managed to instill in her.
Damn him.
Bless him.
When the coil gave way, she exhaled as sharply as the pleasure caught her. Her entire body seemed to bow back, her chest rising from the bed even as her bottom seemed to press more deeply into the mattress. The waves of pleasure, let loose and cascading through her, had her breathing in short gasps, her murmurs of ’yes’ repeating over and over until she had to pull away from him or risk fainting from the pleasure.
Adonis allowed her a moment of recovery while his lips merely trailed down the inside of her thighs. His arousal, a situation he had been able to ignore whilst he saw to her pleasure, could no longer be ignored. He wanted her. Had to have her
. Claim her and make her his once again. Once again and forever.
As to whether or not he would be as welcome in her body as he was atop it, Adonis had no idea at that moment. That is, until Lydia’s hands moved down his shoulders to grip him and pull him up her body. Her legs followed, wrapping about his hips until her ankles could interlock at the small of his back, essentially trapping him over her body.
She has done this before, he remembered. Perhaps not with someone who had been a considerate lover, for she obviously expected something different than he had done. But that difference might work in his favor. She’s giving herself to me, he realized with a good deal of relief, remembering that he hadn’t exactly given her the choice the first time they had made love—she had been the one to demand it of him. Even so, he was slow in how he finally claimed her. In how he pressed the length of his manhood along her honeyed folds. In how he simply rubbed himself between those same warm, wet folds until he could stand it no more and finally entered her.
He cursed his bad leg when he couldn’t move the way he remembered how it was supposed to be done. Cursed again as he took a breath and ceased his movements.
Well, he had warned her. Told her no woman in London would want him. Of course, he meant for his abilities between the sheets, but she had thought his beauty trumped all. He nearly pulled himself from her body but instead merely held her beneath him.
“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked between gasps for breath.
“I’m an old fogey, if you’ll recall,” he whispered, even as he reveled in being inside her, her tight sheath gripping him in response to his invasion.
Lydia considered his words before she realized what he meant. She lowered one of her legs to the bed and straightened it a bit before pushing him onto his side. She followed, adjusting her bent leg so it rested on his hip. “Is this better?” she asked, nearly frantic.
Inhaling sharply at what she had done, Adonis pressed his forehead against hers. “Bless you, my lady,” he whispered.
His first thrust had her entire body reacting as he might expect. In shock at the sudden invasion, her muscles clamped on him in an attempt to force his weapon from her body. But the second thrust had her welcoming him, her body opening to take the entire length of his manhood. It was his turn to express shock when his taut sac met her quim. To growl as his tumescence was gripped from all around, the tightness of the sheath at once pulling and pushing on him. He pulled himself out of her, nearly all the way before thrusting back into her wet, tight sheath. Her quim met the hilt of his sword, eliciting a gasp and a growl from them both before he repeated his movements. The pace of his thrusts increased until he feared he was pounding into her, even though she met each and every one with an equal counter thrust of her own.
The moment he knew he could no longer hold back his release, he paused to kiss Lydia on the lips. “My love,” he whispered before the extreme pleasure took hold and his seed spilled into her. Stars danced before his eyes, surrounded by an inky blackness. Another moment, and he slumped into the mattress, pulling Lydia hard against the front of his body. He passed out, his last thoughts of truly, madly, deeply.
Lydia felt the wash of warmth fill her lower body, the only familiar sensation of the times Jasper had bedded her. Never had there been the waves of incredible pleasure deep in her body. Never had there been murmurs of love and affection. Of forevers. Of truly, madly, deeply. Never had he held her as if she were the most important woman in the world.
She used all her strength to push Adonis so his back was in the mattress, and then she straddled him, careful to be sure he was still firmly inside her.
His groan and slight grin had her lowering her lips to his. After a quick kiss, she sighed. “Since it seems you can afford a rather generous donation to a charity ...”
Adonis nodded. “I can, indeed,” he agreed with a nod in the pillow, his eyelids growing heavy.
Lydia was about to say something else, but angled her head at his acknowledgement. “How, pray tell?”
A grin widened on Adonis’ face, but his eyes remained closed. “I come by my wealth the old-fashioned way,” he whispered.
An eyebrow arched up on Lydia’s forehead. “You inherited it?” she guessed, rather surprised to learn he might be a man of some means. He did dress well, and he carried a silver-topped cane, but he had worked for the Foreign Service—not exactly a source for a large paycheck.
“I did,” he admitted, his eyes still closed. “But don’t tell my sister. She thinks me a pauper.”
Lydia considered the edict and then the comment. “I rather doubt that,” she murmured, thinking Lady Craven must have had some idea of her late father’s wealth, and therefore, her brother’s.
Adonis shook his head in the pillow. “She thinks I gambled it all away or spent it on whores,” he whispered. After a pause, he added, “But then, I never set her straight on the matter.” He opened one eye. “I learned a long time ago never to cross my older sister.”
Allowing a sigh—Lydia couldn’t decide if she agreed with his tendency to allow Persephone to believe what she did—Lydia decided Adonis probably had his reasons. And if he didn’t cross his older sister, he probably wouldn’t cross her, either.
“You shall go to the Archdeacon’s office in Doctors Commons on the morrow and secure a special license,” Lydia whispered.
“Oh?” he replied, his eyes finally opening.
“If you wish to do this with me again ...”
“I do.”
“Then we will be married.”
Adonis allowed a slow, wide smile to appear. “I thought you would never ask,” he murmured playfully.
“It will be very difficult for me to be with you anywhere in public when I know all the debutantes are going to be tripping over themselves for a moment of your time and attention,” she countered.
Adonis blinked. “Debutantes?” What the hell is she talking about?
Lydia giggled and lowered her head to his. “You bounder.”
“Never!” he replied with a slight shake of his head. He frowned suddenly. “Unless I need to be for you.”
Sobering, Lydia pressed her forehead into his. “Only for me,” she replied before bestowing him with a kiss.
“Always for you,” Adonis replied.
Lydia straightened her legs and settled her body atop his, her head ending up in the small of his shoulder.
Not the least bit tempted to retreat into his head, Adonis pulled the bed linens up and over their interlocked bodies. When he was sure Lydia was asleep, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, imagining Lydia in a wedding gown and then in nothing at all.
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Exactly one year later
Lady Lydia Grandby Barrymore Truscott awakened to the sound of a baby giggling. She couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. The musical sound was a bit unexpected given how cranky that same baby had been in the middle of the night. She almost regretted having turned down the offer of another nurse when the boy was born, given the first nurse required two days off a week to tend to an aging parent.
Turning in bed so she faced the Greek lounging chair, she watched as Jasper Grandby Truscott, wrapped in a red woolen scarf, bounced on the crook of his father’s boot, his tiny hands gripping Adonis’ forefingers. When he appeared about to tilt off to one side or the other, Adonis lowered his foot until the babe’s two feet touched the floor, eliciting a combination of complaint and giggles from the three-month old. Once he was safely back on board the boot, though, the foot bounced again, leveraged with the help of a bent leg over the opposite knee.
“I can’t imagine your leg appreciates that particular exercise,” Lydia remarked from where she watched.
Adonis stopped in mid-bounce, his son hoisted nearly a foot above the Aubusson carpet. “This leg doesn’t mind a bit, actually,” he replied happily. “Except your son, whom I found in bed with us this morning, seems to have gained a good deal of weight. This pony
won’t work for much longer.”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Jasper gurgled and attempted to turn in her direction.
“Your son was in bed with us because he refused to go back to sleep at three o’clock in the morning,” Lydia countered, suppressing a yawn as she put voice to her gentle complaint.
Adonis plucked the boy from his perch on his boot and lifted him over his head, sending the boy into another fit of giggles. “I rather adore that sound, don’t you?” Adonis asked as he slowly lowered the babe and then sent him back up again to giggle some more.
Lydia nodded. “I do,” she agreed with a grin. “Are you two going to keep each other company whilst I go to Whitehall today?” she asked as she stepped out of the bed to join the men in her life on the lounging chair.
“We are. It will be warm enough for a walk, don’t you suppose?”
“Finally,” Lydia agreed. “What in the world do you have him wearing?” she asked as she plucked at the scarf.
“My scarf. I bought it two days before I met you,” Adonis replied. “May eleventh.” He didn’t add that he could hardly remember much of anything else that had happened that day, but he could certainly remember everything since the day he had met Lydia.
She stared at her husband for a moment. “You wore it to the theatre,” she remembered.
“Hmm,” he agreed. “Almost as warm as you, which is why I thought it might keep him cozy until we could get him into a proper gown and a blanket,” he murmured as he gave up his hold on the babe when Jasper insisted he wanted to be on his mother’s lap.
“What are your plans today?” Lydia asked as she positioned Jasper in her arms. The babe promptly used a chubby fist to pull down the neckline of her nightrail and latched onto a breast.
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