Lady of Desire

by Gaelen Foley

  He stared at her, thunderstruck. “You—love me?”

  She gave a fervent nod, a blush stealing into her cheeks.

  “You’ll marry me? Truly, Jacinda?” He gripped her shoulders. “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything my whole life.”

  With a shout of amazed laughter, he tumbled her onto her back on the cushioned squab and eased down atop her with a playful growl. “So, you’ll wed me at last, will you, you little sharpshooter?”

  “I will.”

  “To honor?”

  “Completely.”

  “Cherish?”

  “Forever.”

  “Obey?” he asked skeptically.

  She narrowed her eyes with an arch smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  He laughed softly, but his stare turned wistful. He wound a length of her hair around his finger. “Are you real? Is this happening? Because if it is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

  “It’s real.” She stroked his cheek, searching his eyes. “I love you, Billy. Nothing will ever change that and wherever you go, I will be there, looking after you, whether you like it or not.”

  He took her hand and pressed her palm to his chest, staring soulfully at her. “My lady,” he whispered, “you have my heart.”

  “I will take good care of it.” She closed her eyes and kissed his brow, right on his scraggly star-shaped scar. When she moved back, his eyes were dark as pine forests, solemn. She laid her hand tenderly on his cheek. “What is it, my darling?” she asked gently.

  “It’s just—you could have anyone. I can’t think what you see in me.”

  “I see my dear friend Rackford; my heathen Blade—the man I adore. The man I desire. Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He did, gathering her gently in his arms. She parted his shirt as she savored the warm, masculine taste of him.

  “Your father’s gone to Cornwall?” she murmured between kisses.

  “Aye.”

  “Your mother, too?”

  “Mm-hmm,” he purred, languidly kissing her throat. His hands wandered down over her body. “I’ve got the house…all to myself.”

  She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “Let me stay with you tonight.”

  He shivered with desire at her whisper, but captured her face gently between his hands and searched her eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

  She nodded slowly, her longing for him betrayed by her blushing gaze and racing pulse.

  His green eyes smoldered at her silent answer. “Well, then, my lady,” he whispered. “Consider it an invitation.”

  By the time they reached his father’s house, they were hot and trembling with impatience. His lips were swollen from her kisses, his hair tousled from her caresses. The moment the hackney rolled to a halt, Rackford jumped out into the moonlit darkness and turned back to lift her off the metal step. He carried her toward the house in his arms, kissing her all the while.

  “The gate,” he whispered raggedly between kisses as the coachman drove off down the avenue. His horses’ clip-clopping hoofbeats resounded in the stillness of the street. Jacinda fumbled with the wrought-iron latch. She had only just gotten it undone when the Bow Street runners posted outside his house approached.

  “Lord Rackford?”

  “Sir? We were not aware you had gone out.”

  “I went out the back,” he said readily. “A man’s got to find himself a bit o’ muslin every now and then, don’t he?”

  The officers exchanged an amused glance. Jacinda huffed as she realized he was attempting to pass her off as a prostitute.

  “Now, now,” the shorter of the two men chided harmlessly, “Your Lordship’s not to be leavin’ for any reason without lettin’ us know about it. Those are Sir Anthony’s rules.”

  “Come, fellows. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man, not a saint.”

  They laughed. “Very well. Fine choice, my lord.”

  “How much does she charge?” the other jested.

  “Trust me, you can’t afford her,” he replied with a chuckle, laughing harder when Jacinda flicked him indignantly in the side of the head.

  He soothed her with a kiss that grew more urgent by the second. Neither she nor Rackford spared a glance for anyone else whom they passed on their way to his bedchamber, neither the butler who opened the front door, nor the scandalized housekeeper who gaped as His Lordship carried her up the wide, sweeping staircase.

  In moments, they were in his room. By the dim glow of the light-box shining atop the parquetry table next to the door, her brief glance swept the opulent suite, taking in the lustrous silk-hung panels, the heavy blue velvet draperies, and the rich Persian carpet underfoot. Smart, spare, parcel-gilt furniture in the latest Roman style was grouped in the sitting room, but she forgot all that as he led her into the adjoining bedchamber.

  She paused at the moonlit threshold, staring at his massive four-poster beyond. The bed, she thought, glancing from it to him and back again with an anticipatory shiver, where she would lose her virginity.

  It was a bed fit for an emperor, the towering canopy draped with cascades of blue velvet that matched the curtains. Intricate roundels depicting Roman gods adorned the dark rosewood headboard. He lit a candle; she took off her cloak.

  He turned to her and smiled fondly at her somber, wide-eyed stare. He touched her cheek in soft reassurance; then his gaze traveled down over her body. She followed his stare, glancing down at herself, simply clad in her sprigged cotton round gown. Smoothing her skirts, she looked at him again in rather hapless uncertainty. It was surely the simplest frock she had ever worn in his presence. If she had known she was truly going to be deflowered tonight, she thought in nervous irony, she would have worn her finest. White silk and jewels—

  Rackford gave her chin a gentle tweak. “You look beautiful,” he soothed, reading her thoughts, as he was wont to do.

  She smiled ruefully at him.

  “In fact…I like you even better like this. You intimidate a man when you’re dressed like a goddess.”

  “Do I?” she asked, pleased.

  He tossed her a lazy grin and turned away, taking off his jacket. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  Scoffing, she kicked off her half boots as he went to the washstand in the corner. He poured some water into the basin, then tugged his shirt off over his head.

  Biting her lip as she gazed at him, Jacinda had no intention of resisting the temptation of his fascinating body tonight, so big and hard and lean, tanned and tattooed.

  She joined him as he leaned over the basin of water, quickly splashing his face and washing up after his violent fight. Standing beside him, she ran her hand down the sinuous curve of his back, then traced the outline of the phoenix tattoo outspread between his shoulders. His skin was warm and smooth; she could sense his pleasure at her simple touch.

  Making herself useful, she picked up the washcloth that lay atop the stand and wetted it in the basin. The water was cool in the heat of the summer night. She squeezed out the excess water as he straightened up and turned to her. Leaning his hips back against the dressing table behind him, he watched her as she slowly wiped his chest, neck, and chiseled abdomen with the wet washcloth, bathing his skin. She trailed it over his muscled shoulders and down his powerful arms. A leonine glow kindled, gathering power in the depths of his green eyes.

  She could feel his stare burning into her as she turned away to freshen the washcloth, but before she could return, he was behind her, closing the distance between them. He buried his face in her hair, capturing her around her waist. When his other hand curled around her neck, she laid her head back weakly on his shoulder and tilted her head to receive his urgent kiss.

  He swept her long hair forward over her shoulder; then his deft, thief’s fingers unfastened her gown, making short work of the row of copper hooks and eyes down her back. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered as he slipped her bodice down off her shoulders,
kissing the crook of her neck.

  Her heart pounded as her gown dropped to the floor. She stepped out of it and backed slowly toward his bed, luring him to her, taking off her thin white chemise. His eyes smoldered fiercely as he unfastened his dark trousers.

  Wearing nothing but her ribbon garters and white silk stockings, she sat down on his bed, staring with an eager blush as he freed his rigid member, showing it to her. Thrilled and awed by his primal, barbaric beauty, she lifted her hand and touched him, caressing the smooth, steely length of him with her fingertips.

  He flinched with pleasure, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. He backed away just a few inches to finish undressing. Easing down onto her side on his bed, she propped her cheek on her hand and watched his every movement as he pulled off his boots, then peeled off his drill trousers. Magnificent in his nudity, he joined her in his bed, gently easing atop her. The first contact of their naked bodies stole her breath, skin to skin, his hard chest pressed to her bare breasts. She could feel his heart thundering within him.

  From the moment his lips descended upon hers, there was no turning back even if she had wanted to. His kiss overwhelmed her with its drugging depth; his hands beguiled her, caressing her hair and running in sure, smooth warmth all over her body. Dear heaven, this was what she had longed for, dreamed of—this wild and sweet abandon in his arms.

  He moved back and stared at her breasts as he played with them, kneading them. She smiled languidly as he bent his head and kissed them. Petting his hair, she watched him hungrily sucking her nipple; then his kisses moved lower, and his hand ventured between her thighs.

  Shivering with pleasure, she reached for him as well, and commenced experimenting with light and firmer touches as she stroked him. With a groan, he stopped her, pressing her down onto the mattress on her back.

  “Are you ready for me, sweeting?”

  Her eyes flickered with wild desire as he covered her body with his own. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Rackford,” she panted.

  “And I you, my lady.”

  She could feel his erection pulsating against her as he lay between her legs. His lips hovered inches from her own.

  “Jacinda,” he whispered slowly, as though her name could work magic. “I love you, angel. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

  As he guided his hard, smooth flesh to stroke the outer folds of her virgin passage, she arched her body in hot impatience, trembling for him in frantic yearning. She had never needed anything more desperately than this man inside of her now. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her. Cradling her body to him, he pressed a fevered kiss to her brow and took her, thrusting in deep to the core of her body; she cried out softly, throwing her head back against his pillow as he shattered her maidenhead. At last, they were one, and it hurt, and she felt a belated surge of fear, wondering if this was wise—if she had made a mistake, if he indeed loved her as much as she hoped—but in moments, he soothed her fears away.

  His anxiously whispered apologies for the momentary pain filled up the compass of her dazed awareness. He petted her hair, murmuring love words. “I will always cherish you, Jacinda. You know that, surely, don’t you? I’ll never leave you, never abandon you.” His breathing was ragged; every word seemed dragged from his most secret soul. “You’re the only one I trust. You’ve helped me. You’ve cared for me. You could have thrown me to the wolves, but you saved me, didn’t you? My angel, my golden goddess. I need you so much, Jacinda. I love you. Never leave me. I love you.”

  His words wound around her like silken threads binding her to him, bringing tears to her eyes as he told her of her beauty and played with her hair, waiting for her body to accept him. He whispered to her of how good she tasted, and how he loved the smell of her skin, and her walk, and her laugh, and her eyes that were sweeter and darker, he said, than pure chocolate.

  Gradually, his skilled seduction eased the discomfort. She turned to him in silence, met his gaze, then brushed his lips with her own, a hesitant invitation. He returned her kiss with light leisurely slowness and took her hand, linking his fingers through hers. Cautiously, with her other hand, she touched him, running her right palm slowly up and down his side, exploring the lean, muscled curve of his hip and buttock.

  As his kiss ended, she looked up into his eyes, ready, restless, and wanting. She knew so little of yielding, but he kissed her again more deeply, gently schooling her in how she should open to him. Tentatively, she obeyed, parting her lips widely, letting him thrust his tongue into her mouth until she could barely breathe with the overwhelming pleasure of being filled. Never had she imagined there was such intoxicating pleasure to be had from surrendering utterly, letting her man have his way with her.

  He grasped her thighs, guiding her to wrap her legs around him. His low groan of pleasure sent a thrill racing through her body. She clasped her hands behind his neck and watched him in fascination as he rose up on his hands over her and began making love to her in earnest.

  His dark gold hair was tousled; stormy passion lit the bright chips in the shadowy depths of his eyes, so that they glowed. His sculpted body shimmered with a light sheen of sweat. The candle-lit room was filled with the sound of their panting and low moans and the creaking of the unfamiliar bed. He reached down between their bodies, rubbing his middle fingertip in circles over her pleasure center even as he made love to her. His efforts transported her to new heights. When she dragged her eyes open and looked up at him again, his beautiful face was rapt with bliss, his eyes closed with exquisite pleasure. She let her gaze drift down to the sight of his stomach, every muscle perfectly carved and gleaming with the exertion of each thrust into her body, hungrily joining them.

  His hard male beauty took her breath away. She pulled him down in trembling urgency to kiss her as she felt the galloping approach of her release.

  “Billy,” she gasped against his mouth as it overwhelmed her in drowning pleasure. “Oh, God, darling, don’t stop.”

  He didn’t, riding deep between her thighs. He gave and gave with determined vigor as her spirit hurtled through a dark heaven of sensations that exploded through her, one brilliant star-burst after another. He moaned loudly and gasped her name; then he went rigid above her, every sinewy inch of him straining and throbbing with release. She felt each pulsation of his hardness, swollen to an even greater size within her as his climax seized him, wringing and wrenching each spurt of his seed into her womb.

  She was already sore by the time he collapsed on her, panting with a look of astonishment.

  “I love you,” he whispered, then kissed her cheek with boyish sweetness and laid his head on her chest, spent, sweaty, and trembling.

  She held him in her arms, a dreaming Adonis in all his pagan splendor. His heavy head cradled on her bosom, she stared up at the ceiling in lingering amazement at the glory of their joining. She had never experienced anything like the tangible bond their lovemaking had wrought, so warm and strong between them. Had there been a life before this? Before him? In giving herself to him she felt reborn.

  His hand caressed her everywhere, as though to reassert his possessive entitlement to every inch of the woman he had so thoroughly ravished.

  She felt so…claimed. And much to her surprise, it felt wonderful.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rackford awoke the next morning in a state of luxurious bliss. His body felt heavy and sated, wonderfully rested. For several minutes, he was too comfortable to move. Between the linen sheets, he was warm, but the air drifted coolly over his bare shoulders and arms.

  A soft rain was falling. His eyes still closed, he listened to the music of its gentle drizzling patter. The fresh, clean smell of the raindrops falling on the broad green across the street floated in through the slightly open window not far from his bed, along with the silvery, tumbling arias of the birds’ morning song. He purred and stretched slightly, nestling against his pillow. He was in love, and all was well with the world.

 
He reached across the rumpled bed to see if Jacinda was really here or if it had all been a voluptuous dream. He stared. Wonder of wonders, she was there, dozing beside him, her nymphlike body as bare as the day she was born, her resplendent golden corkscrew curls spilling across his pillow. Her dark, thick lashes fanned across her sweet apple-cheeks as she slept. He stole a long moment of simply admiring her dainty profile and the delicate rose shade of her lips.

  A burst of crazed joy exploded inside him as he remembered anew that she had told him last night that she loved him. Had agreed to marry him, by Jove!

  He moved closer to her with reverent tenderness. Jacinda sighed as he gathered her up in his arms and held her.

  As he inhaled the strawberry-jasmine scent of her golden curls, he knew that the peace of that moment would never leave him; it ran deep like a subterranean spring—as if all the tears he had never shed had been transformed into life-giving water, crystalline, fresh, bubbling up from the core of his spirit, all purified and new.

  He felt Jacinda respond, shifting subtly under his stroking hand. He kissed her ear, caressing the elegant curve of her hip. She arched her back slightly; the soft roundness of her derriere brushed his stirring member. He could not seem to help himself.

  “Oh, Rackford,” she scolded with a seductive laugh, though her eyes were still closed.

  “Good morning,” he murmured in a wicked singsong. “What would you like for breakfast, my lady?”

  “What are you offering me? Sausage?”

  He laughed aloud at her bawdy jest. “God, I love this woman.”

  “Who, me?” she asked innocently as she rolled onto her back.

  “Yes, you.” He lowered his head and kissed the tip of her nose.

  She smiled, twining a length of her hair around her finger, as he withdrew a small space. With unmistakable intent, he walked his fingers slowly, deliberately down her body.