Heart's Desire (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  She might have been soaring to the heavens, as if she might never come down. From far off, a person cried out, and vaguely she recognized that it was her own voice, that she was shouting out with a feral kind of joy.

  She wondered if it might go on forever, if it might never stop, but eventually she reached a sort of peak and tumbled down. When she crashed at the bottom, she was in his arms. He was smiling, laughing, preening.

  “My goodness,” she mumbled when she could speak again. “What was that?”

  “That was female lust—and a spectacular example of it too.”

  “How did it happen to me?” she asked.

  “You have a very sexual nature. I suspected it. With all that temper and sass, I figured you’d be a fiery wench.”

  “Me? A fiery wench? You have me confused with someone else.”

  “No,” he firmly insisted. “I know exactly what I’m getting with you, and I’m thrilled to have been proved right—and on the first try too. I’m a lucky dog.”

  “Can it happen more than once?”

  “Yes, it can happen over and over. It’s one of the secrets of the marital bed.”

  “It was astonishing. Why keep it a secret?”

  “I’ve never fathomed why, but it’s probably because—if you maidens discovered how much fun it is—you’d never remain chaste for your husbands.”

  “Am I…I…still a…”

  She’d never uttered the word virgin aloud in her life, and she couldn’t utter it now. He saved her.

  “Yes, you’re still a virgin, but we’ll rectify that situation shortly.”

  Their banter dwindled, and there was a new gleam in his eye. He appeared more determined than normal, if that was possible. He also looked distressed, as if bodily tension was overwhelming him. Had she aroused him? She hoped she had. She hoped she’d lit a fire in him that could never be extinguished.

  “Let’s finish this,” he said.

  “Yes, let’s do.”

  The initial part had been remarkable, and she was eager to learn the rest. He started kissing her again, while down below, he was unbuttoning his trousers, tugging them down to his flanks. He spread her thighs so she was splayed wide, and she suffered a twinge of alarm and nearly protested, but he slid a finger into her womanly sheath, and the move was so odd and so enthralling that any thought of complaint was instantly forgotten.

  He glided the finger in and out, in and out, and after a bit, he added a second one. He was stretching her, relaxing her. Her loins was electrified again, desire bubbling up. Finally he touched that sensitive nub, and another wave of glorious pleasure whipped through her.

  As the bliss waned, as she spiraled down, he’d replaced his fingers with something else, something larger and harder. He’d wedged the tip inside, and it felt peculiar and dangerous. She shifted about, suddenly anxious to escape.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “We’re built differently in our private parts,” he explained.

  “I’d heard that we are, but I don’t understand what it means.”

  “I’ll join my body to yours.”

  “I don’t understand,” she repeated.

  “It’s easier if I show you. Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yes, hold me tight. Don’t let go.”

  Their kissing commenced again, but this time, as his hips rocked with hers, the motion was no longer slow or gentle. He was pushing into her and pushing into her, and there was a tear, a quick, sharp ache, and he was fully impaled.

  He gazed down at her, his expression desperate and…pained. It was the only way to describe it.

  “Are you all right?” he inquired.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

  “We’re almost done. Just keep holding me.”

  “I will.”

  He moved with her, their hips working together, and at first it was awkward, stranger than she could have imagined. But gradually it began to feel more interesting.

  She met him thrust for thrust, and just as she was getting the hang of it, he shoved in very far, groaned, and was very still. For a prolonged interval they were frozen, then he shuddered and collapsed onto her, his heavy weight pressing her into the mattress.

  Then he drew away and rolled her so she was facing him. They were nose to nose, grinning like halfwits.

  “Did you survive it?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m really and truly not a…a…”

  “No, your virginity is gone once and for all. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No.”

  “It gets better with practice.”

  “It was quite exciting this time.” To her horror, tears welled into her eyes.

  “What’s this? You’re not crying. You can’t be sad.”

  “No, I’m not sad. I’m overwhelmed.”

  “Of course you are. I’m an overwhelming fellow.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “Is there ever a minute when you’re serious?”

  “I’m serious as an apoplexy. I’m very overwhelming.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You like me. Admit it.”

  “I might like you. But just a little.”

  He kissed one eyelid, then the other. It was such a sweet gesture, and a few bricks in her wall of reserve tumbled down.

  “Don’t you dare be sad,” he murmured.

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re mine forever. What do you think of that?”

  “You’re mine forever too,” she countered. “What do you think of it?”

  He pondered her question, then he smiled. “I think it’s very grand, Clarissa. How about you?”

  “I think it’s grand too, Captain.”

  “Matthew, remember?”

  “Yes, Matthew, I remember.”

  He pulled her nearer so she was draped over his chest. They were quiet, and she thought it was the best part of the whole encounter, this tender intimacy where they held one another. She’d heard many rumors about husbands and wives, about the marital act and how it was performed, but she’d never heard talk of this delicious moment where emotions were so potent that she could have wept—but with joy, not with sorrow.

  “I always wanted to wed,” he claimed.

  “You did not. You were a confirmed bachelor.”

  “No, I assumed it would…I don’t know…make me happy, I suppose.”

  She peeked up at him. “Have you been unhappy in your life?”

  “Not usually. I simply felt like something important was missing, something that I’d lost and couldn’t get back.”

  “You believe marriage will help you find it?”

  “I hope so—or at least that I’ll be more contented in the future.”

  “I’m sure you will be.”

  “How about you?” he asked. “Will you be more contented?”

  She chuckled. “I imagine you’ll drive me mad with your arrogance and temper.”

  “You’ll figure out how to manage me.”

  “Yes, I probably will, and then I’ll be contented too.”

  “See? It’s working out already.”

  “Yes, it seems to be.”

  She sighed, and he snuggled her down, the intimacy growing again. Fatigue was creeping in, their physical endeavors having left her weary. The day had been fraught with tension too. She was exhausted and drained, and she let out a very unladylike yawn.

  “What happens now?”

  She prayed he wasn’t about to jump up and return to his own bedchamber. After such a breathtakingly splendid joining, she didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to lie in the dark, reflecting on what had occurred. She wanted his large, warm torso nestled to her own, and it dawned on her that—if he tried to depart—she’d try to dissuade him and if she couldn’t, she’d miss him very much.

  “Now,” he said, “we rest, and then we do it again.”

  She raised up and grinned at him. “Again?”

  “If you’re not to
o sore.”

  “I’m not too sore.”

  “Doze for a bit then, Mrs. Harlow.”

  “Will you doze too? You won’t…leave, will you?”

  She waited, on tenterhooks, anxious to hear his reply. He shook his head. “No, Clarissa, I won’t leave. Even if you kicked me out, I wouldn’t go.”

  “I won’t kick you out, Matthew. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rafe sat in his bedroom, watching the door, expecting Edwina to sneak in.

  He should have put his foot down with her, but he’d never had any sense, as his brutal father had constantly told him and had tried to imprint into his mind with a whip. Matthew was the only one who’d ever been able to tell Rafe anything, and if Matthew was aware of Rafe’s current misbehavior, he’d be angry and disappointed.

  But Matthew was busy with his new bride, and so long as Rafe didn’t plant a babe in Edwina’s belly, she’d be all right. Rafe considered he was doing her a favor. When she eventually married, she’d jump into matrimony with a bit of information. It wouldn’t be a scary mystery.

  Rafe would be helping her to become a woman, and he wasn’t bothered by any misconceptions she might have. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t shackle himself to her, and she was dallying with him at her own peril.

  In a few weeks, he and Matthew were heading to Spain, and what Eddie thought after that, it hardly mattered. She’d get over him fast enough, and before he departed he’d have a word with Clarissa, would advise Clarissa that Eddie should visit London for some husband hunting. That’s what the girl needed, and she’d be fine once she had a ring on her finger. It wouldn’t be his ring, but no doubt some other fellow would gladly take Rafe’s place.

  He heard her approaching, and she knocked then slipped inside. As always, she was merry and smiling, and he smiled too.

  “I nearly ran into a footman,” she breathlessly said as she spun the key in the lock.

  “Did he see you?”

  “No, but there are servants wandering about. I suppose in case Matthew and Clarissa require assistance.”

  Rafe snorted. “My brother won’t be summoning the servants. I’m certain he’s much too busy.”

  “Is he a great Romeo?”

  Rafe pondered his response as she came over and snuggled herself onto his lap. She was such a romantic at heart. Every time she prattled on it made him disgusted with himself.

  “He’s not a Romeo. He’s more of a cad and libertine.”

  “That’s because he was a bachelor. He’s married now so he won’t have any need for loose women.”

  Rafe almost swallowed his tongue, struggling not to laugh at her naïveté.

  Penelope Bernard was waiting like a vulture for Matthew in London. His marriage to Clarissa had occurred so quickly, and Rafe had tried in vain to talk Matthew out of it. Rafe liked Clarissa, but felt Matthew should have delayed his decision. With his recent notoriety, he might have snagged a duke’s daughter for his bride, but he wasn’t the type who wished to be elevated above everybody else.

  Rafe had asked him what he intended with Penelope—now that he was wed—but Matthew hadn’t answered. The annoying seductress was proprietary and very jealous, and she had big plans for Matthew.

  How the shrew would react when she discovered Matthew’s betrayal, Rafe couldn’t guess, but he figured the entire debacle would blow up into a huge mess, and Clarissa would be swept into the deluge.

  Clarissa was a very nice person, but she’d be out of her league in dealing with Penelope. Matthew was very smart and very shrewd, but sometimes he could really be an idiot.

  Rafe couldn’t confide any of that to Edwina though, so he lied. “Yes, his philandering days are probably at an end.”

  “Of course they are. He’s married.”

  She said it as if wedding vows could make a man behave, and Rafe wasn’t about to have that discussion. He’d spent much of his life in army camps where husbands were away from their wives for lengthy periods and whores were anxious for business profit. As far as he could see, matrimony changed nothing.

  “What happens in the marital bed?” she inquired.

  “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  “I can do without that sort of surprise. Clarissa asked me, but I had no idea what to tell her.”

  Eddie stared at him, hoping he’d explain, and he couldn’t imagine verbally providing any details. It was difficult to accurately describe, and she wouldn’t believe him anyway. Perhaps it was best to show her some of it.

  He stood her on her feet, and he stood too.

  “Let’s lie down,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “You want to learn what happens, so I’ll give you a demonstration.”

  She didn’t hesitate, but sashayed into the other room and climbed onto the mattress. She flopped onto her back, giggling and waving for him to hurry.

  “I’d hate to ever arrive at the spot where Clarissa is right about now.”

  “Clarissa will be fine. Matthew isn’t an animal.”

  Eddie scowled. “What are you saying? Can it be rough and horrid?”

  “Yes, with a man who doesn’t know what he’s about, but Matthew definitely knows. She’ll like it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Matthew’s a lusty fellow, and he’ll drag her into their bedchamber often enough. If he hadn’t thought she’d get the hang of it, he never would have picked her.”

  “That better be true. For most of my life, she’s been my only friend. If Captain Harlow is awful to her, I’ll wring his neck.”

  “I’ll tell him for you.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes, humored by such female foolishness. As if a woman could tell Matthew anything. As if Matthew would listen.

  Rafe tugged off his shirt and tossed it on the floor, liking how avidly she observed him, how curious and amusing she was. There were never any virginal theatrics with her. She simply told him what she wanted, and she went after it with a careless aplomb. It was reckless and insane for her to act that way, but he wouldn’t try to convince her she shouldn’t.

  “Am I disrobing too?” she asked.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “I will if you’d like me to.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  He was afraid, should she remove her clothes, he’d commit sins he oughtn’t. If she kept her gown on, it would be a barrier to wrongful conduct. Not much of a barrier, but a small one might make all the difference.

  “I’ve never seen a man’s bare chest before,” she said. “Yours is the first, so I didn’t realize it could be so…stirring.”

  “Stirring?”

  “Yes.”

  She patted the spot next to her on the mattress, and he joined her and stretched out.

  “I don’t usually allow women to view my chest.”

  “Why not? Aren’t you a libertine?”

  “I don’t like to have to explain about my scars.”

  “So…when you showed them to me, it was a private moment?”

  “Very private.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Please don’t touch them or fuss. I don’t like to be reminded they’re there.”

  “I won’t utter a single remark.”

  She grinned, looking impish and happy, but it might be dangerous to trust her. Once he left England—and left her behind—she might be angry, might wish to get even. It would be easy to denigrate him, and he didn’t want people discussing his scars, for he never wanted anyone thinking about his father. Matthew had rectified the situation, and it was over. There was no point in dredging up ancient history.

  He pulled her close and kissed her. She eagerly participated, caressing him in ways he liked very much. She was more than a handful of girl, and down below, his cock was hard as a poker. He probably should have gone to the tavern in the village to seek out the doxy who worked there, but he hadn’t, so Eddie would have to supply what relief could
be attained.

  Though he grasped that he shouldn’t, he was gradually unbuttoning her gown, untying the laces, pushing down the fabric. Much too soon, she was bared from the waist up, just as he was.

  He rolled onto his back and drew her on top of him so he could nurse at her breasts. They were full and round, with taut nipples that drove him wild. He suckled for an eternity, his arousal spiking with each flick of his tongue, and he was growing alarmed, fretting over how he’d get her out of his room before any true damage was inflicted.

  He abandoned her bosom and shifted her so they were facing each other.

  “Why are we stopping?” she asked.

  “I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

  “By me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect, but we simply kissed—as we have previously. We should try something new, and you promised to teach me what Captain Harlow is doing to Clarissa.”

  “I’m not sure I should.”

  “Why? Are you scared?”

  “Damn straight. There’s no wedding in my future, so I’m not about to deflower you.”

  “What does deflower mean? I’ve always wondered.”

  “It’s for your husband to explain.”

  “With how my luck’s been running, I’ll never have a husband, and I can’t abide that I might never learn the facts. Can’t you at least give me a hint?”

  He glared at her, his best and worst tendencies at war. Before she’d arrived, hadn’t he thought it best to proceed? Or was he merely thinking with his cock? Matthew often accused him of behaving that way.

  When his phallus was hard, Rafe made very bad choices.

  “Have you heard,” he inquired, “that men and women are built differently?”

  “Yes, in our private parts. But why?”

  “It’s for mating.” He placed her hand on the front of his trousers, where his phallus was about to burst out of the fabric. “I’ve got a big rod stuffed in there.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “It fits inside you.”

  “Where?”

  “Between your legs.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, “now I understand.”

  He didn’t imagine she actually did. No virgin could truly know.

  He lifted the hem of her skirt and slipped a finger into her drawers, wedging it into her sheath. He hadn’t asked if he could, hadn’t given her a moment to think about it. He pushed in and out a few times to provide a sense of what transpired, and her hips instinctively flexed against his palm.