Once and Forever

by Mary Blayney

  The taste of ale filled her mouth. Normally it was not a flavor she favored, but mixed with that faint spice that was all him it delighted her. She wanted more — and more.

  Her tongue flicked and danced, seeking and revealing. Her whole being was held in that meeting of mouths.

  But, no. That wasn’t right. She felt more, much more.

  Everywhere their bodies touched she could feel desire growing. Her nipples peaked, pressing tight against him, and she rubbed back and forth, heightening sensations she had never before experienced. Her belly was soft and welcoming against his hardness. She fisted her hands briefly, then moved them up to his hair, reveling in it’s satin curl — and resisting the urge to cup that other part of him, to explore those parts of his body that she had never seen, would never see.

  Why did that last wound her? Of course, she would never see them. She was far too intelligent to allow any such thing to happen.

  His hands cupped her behind, moving her so tightly against him that breathing grew difficult. At least, she could claim that was why air would not enter her lungs in anything but the smallest gasps of pleasure.

  He squeezed her further — and then suddenly, with a great gasp of air pushed her away.

  “God, woman, you undo me. You should flee back to your guarded chamber before we both live to regret this night.”

  Her body ached. Her mind cried for more.

  Yes. It was not just her body that wanted him. She wanted him. Wanted to understand the mystery that hovered just beyond her reach.

  He was hers.

  She was his.

  What mattered but this moment?

  No, stop thinking like that. No matter how every bit of her being cried to be in his arms again, she must not be foolish. Far too often she had seen what came of foolish women.

  “You are right,” she said the words despite the protest that filled her. “I cannot risk more.”

  “And neither can I,” he replied. “I have no desire to be honorable.”

  Molly wasn’t sure whether he meant now or later should disaster fall, but what did it matter. They had stopped. They had done the right thing.

  Her eyes met his, only a reflection of longing in the dim moonlight. Without thought she raised a hand and brushed it over his swollen lips.

  And then she was in his arms again and it was as if they’d never stopped.

  Their beings were as fused as they could be while clothing separated them. His every breath filled her and she him.

  Nothing mattered but now, this moment, this second.

  The years to come did not matter. The potential for disaster and disruption did not matter.

  The years she had worked to perfect the life she had were meaningless. There was only him, only the delight of his lips upon hers, pressing, needing — only the wonder of his fingers roaming over her body, arousing feelings she had never dared dream.

  The first cold gust of air hit her breast and she gasped. She knew it was not cold, only she was so hot — but it caused her to pull back, caused the barest glimmer of reason to penetrate the cloud of desire.

  “What?” The word sneaked through her lips.

  “Let me see you. I need to see you, to feel you,” he growled as he nuzzled against the curve of her throat.

  Why not? What would it hurt? Who would ever know?”

  “I can’t,” she answered.

  “Yes, you can.”

  Her thoughts whirled in a jumble. Desire and need fighting with all she’d always believed.

  She didn’t even like him. She didn’t.

  Only she did. He might drive her crazy, represent everything she disdained, but she could not deny the joy she felt in his presence.

  Shaking her head, she tried to clear it. Her feet moved back, taking her from him, from all that she desired, needed.

  “What exactly do you want?” She forced herself to say the words that must be said.

  “You. This night,” he answered.

  “And then?” Her words trailed off into the dark.

  He was quiet, but she could feel his gaze upon her, upon her face, her lips, her partially bared breasts. She did not look down, but she knew that he saw far more than any but her nanny and her maid had ever seen before.

  Lips pressed tight, he did not answer, but only stared.

  “And then? What happens in the morning? What happens when the dawn light grows and we must face what we have done?” No matter what her whole being cried for, she could not afford to be mistaken in this.

  “Then we will have had a magical night.”

  “It is not as simple as that — and you know it.” She tried to make her voice cold, but she knew her longing leaked through, knew that he could hear her desire to be persuaded.

  He took his own step back and turned away from her, gazing out over the night gardens. After a moment he spoke, “I know that you are correct, but I find that in this moment I do not care. I want you. I want this as I have never wanted anything else.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I have heard many stories of men and their honeyed words. You have known many women. Why should I be special?”

  “Damned if I know.” He laughed, but not with pleasure. “If I knew that perhaps I could resist you, but I cannot. I believe that at this moment I would rather die than give up the magic we have between us.”

  “I notice you do not say you don’t want to give me up.”

  “I do not understand what you mean.”

  She thought that he did, that he was trying to evade the question that he knew this moment must bring. She could not allow that to happen. “I mean that you do not propose. No matter what happens this is only a moment of enchantment for you, but for me it could mean my whole life.” And it was true. She must remain grounded by that fact.

  “It is true I do not wish marriage. You know that. And I don’t think you wish it either. What would you say if I did ask? Do you truly wish to be my duchess?”

  Her mind stilled. Did she? She’d been so busy allowing the thoughts of pregnancy and desertion to leak at the corners of her thoughts she had not even considered the alternative.

  To be his duchess? She didn’t even want to be a lady, how could she want to be a duchess? To live here. To become a woman like his grandmother. How could she want that? She’d avoided being a lady because she knew deep in heart that she did not belong in society, would always be accepted only the edges. How much worse to be forced to the center with everybody knowing she did not fit? Deep in heart she knew all her avoidance of her birthright was based on this fear, this knowledge.

  But to be his? Was that not everything she could want? Her body, her heart — even most of her mind — cried that was exactly what she wanted. But was it? She’d never wanted to be anybody’s but her own.

  “I would say no.” The words wanted to slip back into her mouth, to be swallowed away, but she held firm. The words were true and could not be changed.

  He laughed again — and this time with humor. “Perhaps that is what is different about you. I do not know another unmarried woman between twelve and eighty who would turn me down — and I am not quite sure about the rest of them. You are unique, Molly.”

  The way his deep voice curled about her name made her want to throw herself back into his arms, to deny the truth that lay between them.

  “I do not know about that. I am quite sure that I’ve met more than one woman who would never seek marriage — not even with you, your grace.” She let his title hang in the air, separating them. “But I do know that a grand house and a title have never been what I sought. I see the burden not the prize.”

  “You do constantly surprise me. You are correct about the burden, but I think the prize may be more than you realize. It is not always what one would think, but there can be great joy in it.”

  Was he talking about being a duke or something else? It was hard to tell. The possibility existed that even he did not know.

  His gaze swept over her again and t
he air began to sizzle and steam. Whatever else might be true, the connection between them could not be denied.

  “You know there are many things that we could still do?” he said, his voice husky with want. “It is not actually an all or nothing proposition.”

  Chapter Seven

  No, she didn’t actually know what he meant. Not quite. She’d certainly heard some hints and could have pretended far greater knowledge than she had. Lips and hands could be used in many ways — she just wasn’t sure exactly what they were. How wonderful it would be to find out — and to find out with him. She could see in his stance that he knew them all — and would be happy to share.

  Her eyes drifted closed and she let her mind take them deeper into the garden, to the center of the maze, their bodies drifting closer, then pressing, tightening, needing. His lips were upon hers again, holding her, opening new worlds before her, drifting down her chin, her neck, the upper swells of her bosom. The wondrous tightening of her nipples that she’d felt before, growing unbearable as his lips grew closer. The first flick of fire as his lips closed about her, his hands caressing, kneading, squeezing.

  Her thighs clamped shut, sensations burning at her very core, her need growing, despite all she could do, all her efforts.

  His fingers drifted lower, his hands pushing at her dress, her chemise, baring her to the night air — to him.

  She was his goddess — and he her god.

  They were made for each other, completed each other.

  Nothing would ever be as good as …

  Her core throbbed with need. How he would fill her, fulfill her — complete her.

  Opening her eyes, she looked across at her man, her god.

  Radford could be her everything.

  She could have this night and no consequences. He had said there was never a moment that it could not be stopped.

  They could do this.

  She stepped toward him, her gown slipping lower at the movement.

  Her hands ran up her body, until they cupped her breasts in offering. The nipples puckered in the night air — and under his hungry gaze.

  Another step.

  It was so easy. She did trust him. She even trusted herself.

  They could do this.

  Only …

  There was always a price.

  Her hands dropped — and then pulled her dress back up.

  The loud sigh he released echoed about the garden. “Why?” he asked.

  “Because it is not simple. I want it to be simple, but it is not.”

  “No, it is not simple, but, surely, it is worth it.”

  Biting on her lower lip, she hesitated. “I don’t know. I think it is, but what if it is not? Can one night of pleasure be worth the risks?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound so sure, but you know better. You say that you do not wish marriage — and I have said that I do not, but what if someone found out?”

  “How would anybody find out? You are being foolish.” He took a step before her, his gaze dropping to her breasts.

  “How do people find out anything? All I know is that they do.”

  “I am willing to take that risk.” He sounded so sure.

  “And what if I am different in the morning?” That was the heart of her true fear. She would be different, she could not deny that to herself. If they did this, it would change her.

  “Different how?”

  “What if I woke in the morning and I wanted marriage?”

  He stopped. “I do not believe that would happen.”

  “What if you did? And do not laugh, you have already admitted to not understanding this thing between us.”

  “I do not see it as possible, but neither do I find it humorous.”

  Now she turned from him. It was her turn to stare out over star swept gardens, over a fairy’s realm. “And what if nothing is different? I think that might actually be the worst. What if I risk all for a few moments pleasure and find that it wasn’t worth it?”

  “I believe I should take offense at those words.” Pricked pride sounded in his voice.

  “I do not mean that, only that I like the wonder and the magic. I do not wish to risk losing them.”

  “Life is about risk.”

  “But there is risk either way and I will choose my own path. I will live in wonder and with the sweet memory of a night that could have been.” She did not look back as she began to walk from the garden. Cords of silk and desire held her back, but she moved forward, away, unwilling to risk a lifetime of being for a single night.

  It was better this way.

  She was right. Molly was right. Radford said the words to himself again and again as he watched her leave. They did not belong together. It was better this way. He did not want to marry her. Hell, he didn’t want to marry anyone. And he didn’t have sex with virgins. He might be a rake, but he was a gentleman. There were rules and he’d always followed them.

  “Stop,” he cried to her.

  She took another step — and then another.

  “Please, just listen to me.”

  One more step — but then she hesitated and stilled.

  He didn’t know what to say. Always he had words, but now they deserted him.

  Was she starting to move again? He had to say something.

  What if I did want to marry you? The words were almost out before he swallowed them back. They were not what he meant. They could not be.

  Of all the women in the world, she was not the one he would choose. She could not be.

  She was moving again.

  “What about tomorrow night? Will you meet me again?” he gasped, trying to still her footsteps.

  She quit moving, but she did not turn — or answer.

  “Think about it. I will not demand an answer now, but think about it.”

  “No. I cannot afford to think about it. Nothing can change.”

  “Things can always change.” He kept his voice calm, refused to let his emotions show.

  Then she did turn, the moonlight falling to reveal her features to him. He could see her anguish and her determination.

  “They will not change by tomorrow night.”

  “Then you do not say never?”

  “Never is a very long time.”

  “As is forever.” He did not know why the words came, but they did. “I think I would wait for this night forever.”

  She took a step toward him and he could see indecision mark her features. “Do you know I am not sure of your first name? I mean, I know the long chain of names that you were christened with — Andrew William Masterson Blake Towson — but I’ve never heard you called anything but Radford. I do not see you as an Andrew.”

  “I barely remember another name. I know I answered to another title in my childhood, but it seems so long ago,” He was not sure how the conversation had shifted, but somehow it was right. “My nanny called me Wills.”

  “Molly and Wills. That seems almost possible.” A light smile touched her lips.

  “Then you have changed your mind?”

  “No, I will not be your mistress — not even for one night. And His Grace of Radford and Miss Watson do not belong together.”

  “I think you are wrong about that. Radford has very definite designs upon Lady Mary.”

  She laughed lightly, but no hope sounded. “But it is Miss Watson who will rise in the morning — and the morning after and then go back to the city, back to my agency, back to my life. And Miss Watson will only see His Grace when he needs a new companion for his mother.”

  “You do realize that you are dooming a bevy of women to very short employment if that is the only way I can see you.”

  “I do hope you will not be so unfair.”

  “It is my prerogative, but no. I will just have to find more positions that need to be filled.”

  “You will cause talk, hiring all those young ladies. People will only think one thing.”

  “Let them talk.”

  She turned sole
mn then, her features growing quiet. “I will remember this night and what could have been.”

  “Forever?” He let his earlier word echo about them.

  “Yes, forever.” She turned and began to walk away.

  He wanted to call her back, but his lips made no sound.

  There truly was nothing to say. She had made up her mind.

  And then his lips curled up.

  He was a persuasive man, a very persuasive man — and forever truly was a very long time.

  The End

  Do you wonder what happened to Miss DuPere? Why was Molly forced to fill in for her? She has vanished—but where has she gone? And why?

  The Duke’s Disobedient Mistress– Summer 2014

  And look forward to another exiting novella featuring Molly and Radford as Never comes closer to being Forever.

  Author Bio

  Lavinia Kent never knew that most people don't make up stories in their heads to pass the time. She still has a hard time understanding how those who don't make up stories in their heads survive the doctor's waiting room or a grocery store line.

  Growing up in New York state and Wisconsin, Lavinia graduated from Wellesley College and holds an MBA from Georgetown University. Lavinia has remained in Washington, D.C. ever since.

  She lives under the gracious (and usually benign) rule of Erzsebet, the cat, along with her husband, three children, one cockatiel, and Erzsebet’s younger, subordinate tomcat, otherwise known as The Golden Snitch.

  As the mother of three, Lavinia finds "leisure time" to be ever–elusive, but when she is not reading romance novels, she watches far too much HBO and reality television. It must also be noted that she has an encyclopedic knowledge of all things Buffy and the new Doctor Who.

  Lavinia is the author of seven Regency Historical Romances and five novellas. She is currently working hard at creating a new Regency world and perhaps a Steampunk one.

  Email Lavinia

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  Also by Lavinia Kent

  Hint of Desire

  Price of Desire