She licked dry lips and made her fingers stop smoothing her skirt. ‘Yes. Neither was easy.’
‘I can believe that.’ He moved closer until only the bench separated them. His eyes were dark, and there was a hint of shadow on his lean jaw.
She shivered. ‘I was, um, looking for you.’
He raised one brow. ‘In the garden?’
His attempt at humour eased some of her nerves. ‘Well, not here. I looked in the house earlier. I ended up here after being unable to find you.’
He gave her his devilish grin. ‘Shall we consider this arbour our trysting spot?’
She blinked. He had hit exactly on what she had tried to do. Did he know what she wanted? Keeping her voice light, when her emotions felt riotous, she said, ‘Perhaps we should. We seem to end up here enough.’
The smile dropped from his face, replaced by intent hunger as he took her hands and led her around the bench until she was standing next to him. ‘Yes, we do.’
She stared spellbound at him. The love she’d just realised mingled in her heart with the knowledge that when they left this house party they would likely never see each other again. Suddenly, Emma wanted more than the kisses they’d shared and the bickering to remember him by.
She wanted so much more. A thrill of danger, excitement, desire, raced through her.
‘Will you…’ Heat engulfed her, but she said the words, forcing them from a chest grown suddenly tight. ‘Will you make love to me? Please?’
His hands released her so he could wrap his arms around her and pull her flush to his body. But even as he held her, his face showed his astonishment. ‘Am I hearing right?’
She looked up at him. ‘I know I am not skilled, as Miss Wilson, but I will do my best.’ The temerity in her tone mortified her, but she refused to look away from the dark emotions reflected in his eyes. She wanted this one last memory of him to keep her the rest of her life.
‘I will teach you to please me.’
She gulped. ‘Then you will make love to me?’
‘Now.’ His voice was gruff and commanding.
She closed her eyes, wondering what he would do and being unable to watch him when he did it. His mouth took hers and she gasped, her lips opening. His tongue darted in and flicked at hers.
She tensed.
His hands moved to knead her shoulders, moving down her spine. He worked her tight muscles even as his mouth devoured her. She relaxed into him.
The buttons on his coat pressed into her breasts. The hard length of his loins pressed into the soft swell of her stomach. Moist warmth filled her as she realised he was aroused just by kissing her. A sense of power filled her and for the first time in her life, she felt giddy.
She pressed against him and moved her hips, enjoying the sensation of his maleness. He broke the kiss and pushed her away. She jumped, mortification staining her cheeks.
‘What did I do?’
He stared at her. ‘Where did you learn that?’
Confused, she frowned. ‘Learn what?’
‘To move like that?’
‘I…I just…It seemed right. Felt good,’ she whispered, wishing the ground would open and swallow her. ‘I shouldn’t have done anything.’
‘You did nothing wrong. You surprised me. I hadn’t expected you to be so passionate.’ He touched her mouth gently with one finger. ‘Your lips are swollen from my kiss.’
Triumph lit his face. She wondered how serious a mistake she was making. A warm breeze wafted through the wall of roses surrounding them. She shivered.
‘Tonight,’ he murmured. ‘I will come to you tonight.’
She nodded, unable to speak. Afraid of what might come out. She was scared and excited and eager to experience more of the sensual possibilities his kiss and caress had only hinted at.
‘Let me escort you back to the house.’
He held out his arm. Gingerly, wondering if she should change her mind and run before it was too late, she rested the tips of her fingers on him.
Never would she have imagined this.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma pressed her lips tightly together to stop them from trembling. The last thing she wanted was for Betty to question her. As it was, it took all her determination not to tell the old retainer to hurry undoing the hooks and tabs that held Emma’s evening dress on. An eternity passed before Betty eased the gown’s sleeves over Emma’s shoulders. The pale lavender silk fell to the floor and puddled like a rare orchid. Next was her light corset, followed by her chemise.
Emma wondered if she should leave her stockings on. Charles had seemed fascinated by them the one day she’d held him captive.
Betty bent to roll down the pink silk garters. Emma let her. If she kept the stockings on Betty would wonder, and the last thing Emma needed was for anyone—Betty included—to know Charles was coming tonight.
Heat pooled in Emma’s stomach at the thought, followed immediately by cold hands and fear that she would be inadequate. He was experienced in all things pertaining to a man and a woman. She was ignorant.
Moving like a wooden puppet, Emma lifted one foot and then the other as Betty took the stockings off. Unable to take more, Emma said, ‘Thank you, Betty. That will be all.’
Betty stood up, leaning backwards to knead the crick in the lower part of her spine. ‘But you aren’t dressed for bed.’
Emma suppressed a shiver of fear—anticipation? ‘I am perfectly capable of pulling my nightgown over my head. I am going to read.’
Betty cocked her head to one side, and Emma knew the servant sensed something was not right. All the maid said was, ‘Yes, miss.’
Emma stood as though rooted to the spot while Betty left. The faithful retainer closed the door softly. Emma closed her eyes and willed her body to stop shaking.
What was going to happen tonight would forever change who she was. No one but she and Charles would know about it—with luck—but that would not alter what their lovemaking would do to her.
She sat on the nearby chair, thankful it was close. Her legs felt like jelly, and she did not think she could walk if she had to. Naked, since she did not wear the pantaloons favoured by the faster set, she leaned back into the soft embrace of the chintz-covered cushions.
What would it feel like to have a man kiss her and…do other things? Her skin flushed. A light sheen of moisture covered her body.
It was an effort of will to stand up and retrieve her stockings and garters. Careful not to puncture the finely woven stockings, she pulled each one up her calves and over her knees then secured them with the pink satin garters with their lavender rosettes. The garters had come from Mama.
Mama.
Emma pushed that thought from her mind. Mama would not approve of what she intended to do. But Mama was gone, and she wanted more from her life than the loneliness that lay ahead. She intended to store Charles’s lovemaking in her heart and take the memory out when the future nights were cold and bereft. It wasn’t much, but it would be hers.
Emma went to the bed where her lawn and lace nightgown lay. She took a deep breath and pulled the delicate garment over her head. She felt as though by donning the nearly transparent gown, she had committed herself to this choice.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung to the small of her back, the red highlights nearly golden in the candle light. With her breasts pushing against the light fabric and the V of her thighs visible, she looked wanton.
Her expression, however, was that of a schoolgirl caught doing something wrong. She felt like one, too.
Suddenly overwhelmed with heat, she moved to the window and threw open the glass barriers to let in the cool evening air. The soft caress of breeze eased some of her warmth but created a sense of being intimately touched as the wind penetrated the thin material of her gown.
Her breasts ached and her nipples tightened. Her stomach clenched in pleasure as the secret, moist area of her womanhood readied itself for Charles’s touch.
Confused
and aroused simultaneously, Emma turned back to her room and flung herself across her bed. She didn’t know who she was anymore or what she wanted.
Perhaps it was the extra wine she had drank at dinner, the wine Charles had encouraged her to consume. Perhaps it was her sensuality finally asserting itself. Or both.
A soft knock on the door made her bolt upright like a rabbit caught in the sights of a poacher. Her breathing turned shallow. Her heart pounded.
On legs that threatened to buckle beneath her, she moved as though in a dream to the door. She twisted the handle and inched the heavy wooden barrier open.
He stood in the light of the hall candles, fully clothed and looking as he had when she’d left the party nearly an hour ago. Slowly, wondering if she would have the strength to go through with what they intended, she pulled the heavy wooden barrier open.
He slipped inside. She closed the door.
His smile was lopsided, almost shy. But his gaze was bold and hot as he looked her over. He reached out and ran one palm down the length of her hair, pulling her closer so he could skim the silken strands to their end where they curled over her bottom. He kept his hand on her, cupping her and pulling her toward him.
‘Emma,’ he murmured seconds before his lips touched hers.
She leaned into him, all else forgotten but the feel of his flesh on hers. She might be naked for what little barrier her gown provided. Her nipples rubbed against the stiffness of his evening jacket, and her stomach pressed into one of the buttons that kept him clothed. His palm was hot on her flesh as he cupped her against his loins.
And his mouth.
His lips moved over hers like a virtuoso on a rare instrument. His tongue tempted and retreated, inviting her to greater pleasure—but at her pace, not his.
Her entire body felt alive like never before.
She opened her lips to him. He entered. She melted against him, no longer thinking of anything but the sensations he created in her.
He pulled away, and she swallowed the whimper in her throat caused by the separation. ‘Emma,’ he said, his voice low and hoarse. ‘Emma.’
She stared up at him through eyes that seemed to see nothing but him. It was as though he had drugged her with his touch and with his kiss.
Slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, he bent down and caught her gown. He gave her a chance to tell him no. When she said nothing he gently lifted the filmy garment from her and let it fall.
She stood before him, naked except for her stockings.
He gulped, his attention moving over her, stroking every portion of her into a blaze. He stopped at her thighs where the garters held her stockings.
In a voice so husky it was barely understandable, he said, ‘I have dreamt of this.’
Power such as she had never felt flowed over her. To be able to arouse a man such as him with nothing but the sight of her body. Some of her fear dissipated as she basked in his admiration.
‘Emma.’ He whispered her name once more, making it sound like a promise as he bent down and swept her into his arms. In three swift strides he was at the bed and laying her gently onto the coverlet.
Eyes wide, body aching, she watched him study her as she lay nearly naked, more vulnerable than she had ever been in her life. His eyes were dark and hungry, yet there was a gentle tenderness on his face that she had never seen before. That expression eased the tension that had held her in a vise since asking to make love with him. She finally relaxed and held her arms up to him.
Charles looked down at Emma Stockton as she lay on her bed, her lovely body no longer hidden by clothing. Just the sight of her stocking legs made him so hard he knew that if he didn’t have her tonight he would hurt later. The soft swell of her breast and the hard peach peaks of her nipples increased his ache. He wanted her like he had never wanted another woman. Ever.
‘Charles?’ Emma watched him study her body and knew her skin was as red as her hair. She had not thought he would examine her. Apprehension and a dash of irritation mixed with the desire raging through her. ‘Are you looking at me for a reason?’
He smiled, his rakish, devil-may-care smile that turned her knees to molasses. ‘I’m memorising you. You’re beautiful.’
She blushed in earnest. Her fingers plucked at the coverlet beneath her. The coverlet didn’t budge. In spite of his compliment or because of it, she found herself wanting to cover up. She closed her eyes for a second, telling herself to be bold.
‘Are you joining me?’ she finally said, looking at him. She ran her gaze down his body as she had so often wanted to but not done because a lady didn’t look at a gentleman in that way.
His smile intensified. ‘Yes.’
Slowly, carefully, as though he thought she might take a fright, he shrugged out of his jacket and carelessly tossed it in the direction of the chair. Next he untied his cravat. His attention never left her.
Emma shivered in anticipation as his fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt. When he pulled his arms out of the shirt and threw it on the coat, she took a deep breath. His chest was broad and muscular. Black hairs spread from one nipple to the next before arrowing to the band of his pantaloons. A bulge showed beneath the fine ebony material and she was woman enough to know he wanted her.
He fumbled undoing his pantaloons and his mouth twisted into a wry grin. ‘I’m thinking of other things to do with my fingers besides undress.’
His bold words excited her even as they heightened her embarrassment. When he finally stood naked before her, she licked suddenly dry lips. He was magnificent.
The firelight limned the strong lines of his hips and thighs and threw his shoulders into stark relief.
‘Emma,’ he breathed her name before lying beside her.
He was fire and ice to her where they touched. Instinctively she moved closer so that her breasts pressed his chest and her stomach pressed the length of his arousal. She closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to engulf her.
He chuckled at her wanton pleasure. ‘I knew you would be like this.’
His fingers stroked her neck, down her shoulder and along her ribs. Her breathing matched his caresses. When his rough palm cupped her breast, she felt as though her insides melted.
Then he kissed her and stole her breath away. His tongue slid between her teeth and her mind swirled away into a haze of passion.
Her fingers found his shoulders and kneaded the muscles, her nails digging into his skin. Her hips moved against the hard length of his arousal and she heard him gasp. A smile of satisfaction parted her lips, allowing him better access to her.
When his hand slipped away from her breast, she whimpered in protest only to change to a moan of surprise and delight as his fingers slid along the skin of her inner thigh. He nudged a knee between her legs, parting her to slip a finger along her soft folds.
Shock and pleasure held her motionless as he teased her. Emma had never felt anything like this; had never imagined feelings like this existed. Never in her life had she thought a man would touch a woman the way he touched her now.
Fierce gladness pierced her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered when his lips lifted from hers. ‘Thank you, Charles Hawthorne, for giving me this.’
He lifted onto one elbow and looked down at her in the dim, golden light provided by the fire. ‘Thank you, Emma, for giving yourself to me.’
Shyness moved over her at the intimacy in his gaze. For some reason, having him look into her eyes as though he could see to her very soul was more revealing than anything he could see of her body. Not even his fingers moving rhythmically inside her dispelled her sense that his gaze was more penetrating than any body part could ever be.
He shifted her to her back and moved over her. ‘Open for me,’ he murmured against the warm skin of her neck.
Gazing into his eyes, she parted her legs and felt him settle so that his loins met hers. His manhood pressed the moist folds of her skin and slowly entered. A brief pain shocked her and she gasped, but it was qu
ickly gone in his suddenly fierce thrust.
She felt full to bursting.
Instinctively her hips moved to match his rhythm. It was as though they were meant to be lovers so easily did they meld.
Whimpers of delight fell from her lips until he bent his head to catch her pleasure with his mouth. He plundered her in all the ways possible as he took her to climax.
Emma’s world shattered as her body pulsated in a pattern as old as the world. She thought she would splinter apart.
His moans of release told her she wasn’t alone.
Long minutes later, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her on the chin, the nose, the mouth, as he slid from the slick tightness of her body. Emma let her head fall to rest on his shoulder as she enjoyed the gentle smoothing of his palm along the ridge of her back and flank.
‘Thank you, Emma.’ He stroked her thick red hair back from the heat of her forehead. ‘I have never had such pleasure.’
She smiled sleepily, taking immense satisfaction in the feel of him against her and the meaning of his words. ‘I am glad you gave me this gift,’ she murmured.
He laughed gently. ‘Silly, Emma. It is the man who is always glad the woman allows him to make love to her.’
She kissed the damp skin of his chest, delighting in the taste of salt and the smell of musk. ‘I will treasure this memory for the rest of my life.’
He stiffened as though her words had upset him. She lifted her head and gazed at him. His eyes were slumbering and heavy-lidded. His mouth was full and wickedly curved, but he didn’t smile.
‘Have I said something wrong?’ she finally asked when he didn’t speak.
‘No.’ He disengaged himself from her arms and set her aside. ‘No, you said nothing wrong, Emma. But the night grows shorter and it is best that no one know what we have done.’
She nodded, knowing he was right. But when he shifted from the bed, she felt cold and bereft. She clamped her lips shut to keep from begging him to return to her side. He would not appreciate her clinging to him, particularly now.
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