by Julia Donner
“Eliza? M’dear, could you do all that thinking some other time?”
She gave her head a little shake. “I’m so sorry. Your sudden appearance has thrown me into a dither.”
His eyes burned into hers, stopping her mind again, while setting off a trembling. A tour? He wanted to see what she’d been doing while he’d been away. Was walking possible? How could she—how could he—wait until tonight to feed this rapacious need? There was a tightness around his mouth, a strain she thoroughly understood.
She’d have dinner moved up an hour. That might help. But it stayed lighter longer at this time of year. How was she going to wait until it got dark—as dark and secluded as the linen closet?
A tug on her hand made her blink and return to the present. “What?”
His expression had changed to a frowning smile. “Aren’t you forgetting something, m’dear?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. The tour. A great deal has been accomplished, but first, I’d like to show you what was discovered when the garden wall was being repaired.”
She led the way, desperately working to clear away the clutter inside her head. Her mind refused to cooperate. Remembered images merged and flared—the ardor they’d shared on their wedding night, the way he took her with what seemed like an insatiable hunger, his delight in her figure, his intimidating strength yet tender roughness, the way he now looked, as if he couldn’t wait to eat her alive. Over and over. She stumbled.
His firm grip steadied her when she tripped over nothing on the rolled turf. Memories and erotic yearnings made her clumsy. She was acting like a ridiculous schoolgirl. Again came the annoying question of how to wait until evening to quench the wantonness that had taken hold of her mind and body.
The stumble helped to reorient her befuddlement. Somehow she’d led them to the excavation at the east garden gate. She lifted the hem of her frock to step over stones and mounds of displaced soil. Boards had been laid down over areas denuded of turf. Four, flat stones made a crude set of steps up to a partially dismantled, low wall.
Elizabeth leaned against the stones, peering over the barrier and down into a hole. “They’ve uncovered what appears to be a Roman bath. Many of the tiles are in a condition good enough to make out the picture. One is a woman with a—”
He cut off her words when he came up behind her and pressed his length against hers. He leaned over her to briefly look down into the excavation, then lowered his head to bite the crest of her shoulder. Her legs melted when he pressed the hard evidence of his impatience into her bottom, pinning her hips against the wall.
He placed his gloved hands beside hers on the ledge, bracketing her with his arms and larger body. She could feel every inch of him imprinted against her back. The brush of his parted lips moved over her ear, slid down. Moist heat and his tongue grazed her neck. A soft groan brushed across her flesh. Sharp teeth gently bit. When she gasped, he swiftly turned her to face him.
Gripping her upper arms, he lifted her closer to his mouth. “This is what you forgot, love.”
He kissed her, delving deep. She sank into his embrace like a limp doll and soaked in the feel of his stroking tongue, the massaging press of his hips against hers, the wonderful lowness of his groan when she moved into his embrace. Something within him broke and released pent up restraint. He slid his mouth down her neck and lower, tenderly bit the nub poking against the front of her bodice. A sound from deep inside her rose up and out of her open mouth.
Her head rolled back. The sun glowed pink against her closed eyelids. His quick fingers began to unfasten buttons. When cool morning air kissed her bared skin, her eyes flew open. She looked up at a stranger.
Desire, raw and determined, rendered him almost unrecognizable, an honesty he swiftly readjusted when he discovered her eyes open. She wanted nothing hidden.
Desperation for what they both wanted made her bold. “Peregrine, I don’t think I can wait until tonight.”
Leaning back, he asked with gruff impatience. “Why would we?”
A rush of embarrassed chagrin seared her cheeks. She made a slight movement that told him to step back, which he immediately did.
The shawl had slipped from her shoulders and draped itself over the stone barrier in a crimson fall. She didn’t look at him as he arranged the silk over her shoulders. That would mean facing her own coarse behavior.
He carefully knotted the cloth over the front of her dress but not before she glimpsed the shocking sight of the darkened, damp spot on the bodice. The physical memory of the ardent nip and tug on the painfully distended nipple made her quiver. She didn’t know what to say or do next.
“Eliza, look at me.”
When she forced herself to peer up at his stern expression, he continued. “Have I misinterpreted your response?”
She shook her head, a brief, tiny movement. His curved forefinger lifted her chin. “Eliza, I’m at a loss here. If I have hurt you…offended you in some way, please tell me how I can repair it. I’m only a man. Nothing special. I can’t help wanting you this way and have thought of little else all the while we’ve been apart.”
She allowed her gaze to slide away from his. How she longed to shout how special he was to her, how important and fascinating, especially the way he made her body come alive. His mere entering into a room set off an electric zing that fired her blood while lugging it down to sizzling lethargy.
“Eliza?”
She looked up into concerned hazel eyes and answered, “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s rather upsetting in its newness.”
“But m’dear, you were married. Previous relations between us have seemed satisfactory to you.”
Elizabeth almost let loose a nervous laugh. Satisfactory? She bubbled and burned inside every night she crawled in bed, where she retraced in detail how his lovemaking had changed her life. He’d awakened a starving monster inside that now threatened to go berserk if it didn’t get fed.
“Peregrine, I can’t claim innocence or complete ignorance, but I never thought such…things were meant for women…or for me. I’d been given Devon. That seemed like I’d been blessed with so much to deserve…more.”
He smoothed wisps of hair from her brow. “I’m not sure I understand you. What things, love?”
“Uhm…passion, I suppose. Don’t forget that we started this arrangement as one of convenience, and I do understand that men have an easier time with responding to any sort of woman—”
“Not always true, m’dear.”
“Oh? Well, I hadn’t thought anyone would ever feel so eager for me that it couldn’t wait until after dark.”
His lips tightened for a moment, then softened. “Elizabeth, the thought of enjoying that glorious body of yours in the sweet light of day is enough to take me to my knees.” He leaned down to whisper against her parted lips. “I’m asking, love. Let me see and have all of you now. Don’t make me wait.”
When she agreed with a smile, he grabbed her hand and started a striding pace toward the house that pulled her into a jog. She tugged on him to stop.
“Peregrine, not that way.”
When he glanced back at her, unfocused and dazed, she realized that he was already making love to her in his mind. She quickly explained, “I’ve been living at the dower cottage while the work is being done.”
He swiftly changed directions, pulling her at a near run toward the charming house farther down the road. He asked as he opened the front door, “Staff?”
“Only three. In the kitchen. Crimm and Wrightie stay up at the house.”
They flew through the door and up the stairs, him still hauling her along in a way that made her start to laugh, even though it was obviously no laughing matter to him.
“Which way?” he snapped out when they reached the landing.
“The room at the end, the yellow guest room.”
He swung her through the door. “Key?”
She flung the shawl at a chair. “On the side table. In the drawer.”
Mouth gone dry, she watched him yank open the drawer, retrieve the key, use it to lock the door, and shove it into his pocket. He advanced on her, tugging at his neckcloth. It and his coat were flung aside. He attached his mouth to hers and moaned, standing utterly still for a moment to savor the connection.
Elizabeth stepped back and turned around. “Finish the buttons.”
His fingers shook as he undid the long row down her spine. She began to quiver as she waited and worried about the damp perspiration that slicked her skin from the run to the dower house. He untied tapes and fastenings with an understanding of female undergarments that she didn’t want to think about right now. He pushed the bunched material down over her hips but stopped her from turning around.
His clothes felt oddly erotic against her bareness when he pressed against her back and cupped her breasts. “Leave on the stockings.”
The massaging of his hands roving over her front escalated the quivering to shudders. Without his support against her back, she would have fallen while kicking off slippers. Her mind began to fill with images of how she would look making love wearing only cream-colored stockings and garters embellished with pink silk roses. His searching fingers seared away all imagery. She couldn’t wait and staggered forward, heading for the bed.
He stopped her, ordering in a voice hoarse and unrecognizable. “Not the bed, Eliza. The chaise.”
She stood rooted to the carpet, shivering now that his scorching heat no longer warmed her back. Perspiration dried on her chilling skin while she watched him yank off scuffed boots and the rest of his clothes. The cool air did nothing to calm the fire writhing inside.
He grabbed a lap robe from a side chair and flung it over the chaise and held her back when she started to sit down. He sat first, leaning back. The padded backrest disappeared behind the breadth of his shoulders. The fact that he’d lost weight emphasized the muscles of his arms and torso. She avoided looking at his intimidating erection and focused on the whorls of light brown hair that covered his chest and belly.
Elizabeth grasped the support of his upraised hand. He answered her questioning frown with the same exciting and disturbing, low voice, “You’re going to ride me, love. Ever thought about doing it this way?”
She managed to reply with a small shake of her head. He wrapped his fingers around her waist to assist her to swing her leg over and lower her body. He whispered, “Slow and easy. For now. That’s my girl. Damn, you’re—”
Elizabeth gasped when fully seated. “Peregrine, this is so…much!”
“Yes. Don’t move for a moment.”
She braced her hands on his shoulders and pressed her brow to his. “It’s all I want to do. Must do. You’re so hard, Peregrine.”
He laughed and she squeaked at the sensations it created. “I said to not move, Eliza. And no sex talk either.”
Lifting her head, she tried to scowl at him but couldn’t. “I meant your shoulders.”
“Ah, then, I suppose I should take this to the next progression. Do you trust me, Eliza?”
His question and the tender look in his eyes made her inner muscles relax, lessening the sexual ache and stress. Sandy-brown curls tumbled over his brow. His hair needed cutting. Odd, noticing that now, when they were so intimately connected, so much a part of one another.
Brushing back the curls, she nuzzled her nose in his hair, loving his scent. “Of course. I will always trust you, Peregrine.”
“Good to know. A fine thing in a wife. Now, lean forward a bit. Put your feet on the floor.”
He removed his hands from her waist and tucked them under her knees. Shifting her slightly, he took her weight on his forearms. Her feet left the floor and she slid into the crook of his elbows. With a slight lift, he aligned her bosom with his mouth.
She grasped the back of the chaise. “So that’s what you were after.” A few minutes later, she said around panting breaths. “This is not fair. You have all the control. I can’t…move.”
He smiled up at her, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Can’t have you wriggling around yet. But you’ve been such a good girl, you deserve a reward.”
His palms gripped her bottom. He pushed up and carefully lowered her until she tensed. “Oh, that’s…”
His low laugh set off a string of thrills sharp enough to curl her toes. “I thought you’d like that.”
“Uhmm.” Preoccupied on the pleasing sting that made her feel filled all the way up to her throat, she concentrated on trying to move, but he held her fast, making her wait and increasingly frantic. Since she couldn’t wriggle outside, she clenched her muscles inside, stopping when his head fell back with a sound that sounded like a growl.
Lifting his head, he smiled. “Lady Asterly, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You’re so damned delicious.”
She no longer cared how she looked. “More, Peregrine. Please. I can’t wait.”
Clarity replaced his drugged expression. He hissed through clenched teeth as he lowered her into a deeper penetration. She felt the imprint, the rough pad of each fingertip into her flesh as he guided her hips and began a slow, torturous, rhythm.
She dug her fingernails into the upholstery, unable to tell if the sounds and words she muttered were praise or rebuke. The world fell away, leaving only darkness and rippling pleasure that turned desperate. She tried to relax into the increasing tension, the coiling, straining reach for completion. His grip tightened, pulling her harder, thrusts that finally broke through the ache. She heard his outcry merge with her own and collapsed into waiting arms and whispered praise.
Chapter 34
Morning’s golden light drenched the bedroom. Amazement interwoven with desire—a condition Elizabeth recognized whenever she came near or looked at Asterly—kept her standing at the foot of the bed. After yesterday morning, part of the afternoon, and half of last night, she could add lassitude and total satiation. Her body felt as if she’d been boiled up in a pot until limp, while more secret areas pleasantly ached.
She leaned against the bedpost, feeling a soft smile curve her lips. She’d been watching Asterly sleep since dawn. Sprawled on his stomach with an arm draped over the side of the bed, he slept the deep rest of someone finally succumbing to exhaustion. Yesterday, his eyes had been smudged with weariness. That hadn’t stopped him from keeping her up in this room, having his wonderful, wicked way with her again and again.
Embarrassment heated her face, spreading down her neck and over her collarbones, a blush so violent she actually felt its passage, but didn’t mind. Now that she recalled all they’d done, the memories of some of the things they did together were worthy of a little—or perhaps a great deal—of embarrassment.
Her skirts swished when she moved around the foot of the bed to his side. Ridges of muscle supported his spine, dipping at the base to curve up over the mounds of buttocks, then down again to long legs, heavy thighs and strong calves, a rider’s physique. Feasting on the sight of him renewed the pleasant stirring of desire.
Before Asterly, she had no experience of male nudity, other than statuary. Devon had loved her in the dark and never removed his nightshirt. Asterly thought nothing of walking around naked. He had no sense of physical modesty. The display of his muscles and prowling grace created a form of enchantment that left her ready and wanting.
Another surprise. She’d never imagined she harbored a lascivious bent. Asterly uncovered a suppressed wildness so vibrant it washed away all traces of reticence. In his arms, guided by his touch, she’d been willing to do anything. Everything. She swiftly cupped her hand over her mouth to smother a laugh.
In punishment, she bit her lower lip to keep quiet. The oddly pleasant hurt evoked another memory—of a kind of love play she’d never imagined. What they’d done was certainly nothing she would allow with any other man. Her husband’s earthy enjoyment of his own sexuality broke down all of her walls of reserve. She still had trouble believing this thrilling, virile man considered her interesting and attractive.
&nb
sp; She’d hoped to find out more about him by being at Marshfield but had neither found, nor heard, anything that she didn’t already know. Some people were that simplistic and had no ulterior or hidden motives. On the surface, Asterly seemed too complicated to fit that type of personality. He had too many faces and nuances. So much about him remained a mystery.
Her gaze lifted from his fascinating nudity to the items scattered across the top of the bureau, the contents of his clothes she’d removed before handing them over to Crimm for cleaning.
Some of the items resting on the glossy surface were nothing unusual, bank notes, coins, a comb, handkerchief, and such. The sealed letter with no name would most likely be the missive she was meant to deliver. Then there was the slender stiletto she removed from his right boot; an odd set of four, metal rings attached together from his left pocket; a vial she feared opening. She hadn’t found his signet ring, and now that she considered the items, she realized he carried nothing to identify himself as Asterly.
She looked down at his sleep-relaxed face, the beard bristle that early this morning abraded her neck, torso and inner thighs. Just because she could, and since he was hers, she slid her fingers into his mussed, wavy hair, and let out a squeak of surprise when he roughly grabbed her wrist in a brutal grip. He swiftly sat up and she encountered a face she’d never seen before—that of a man ready to kill.
Asterly instantly released her, wiping away the frightening mask by easing into a sleepy grin. “Eliza. Sorry. I was dreaming about bad men. What time is it?”
She tucked her wrist behind her back the instant he let go. “Eight, just as you asked. Perhaps I should have called you awake and not touched you.”
He speared his fingers through his hair. “No more talk of that, my girl. I want you touching me as much as possible, whenever possible.”
When she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he pulled her hand from behind her back. “Let’s see that. Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so dreadfully sorry. I’m afraid I’ve bruised your pretty skin.