How long would it take for them to realize they were wasting their time?
By the end of the evening, Faith was exhausted. A long day, and a long night. They left the others to go on to another ball at another house. When they got home, Gerard left Faith in the care of Baker, who tenderly undressed her, unpicking all the stitches, and washed out all the powder from her hair, arraying her in a nightgown Faith didn’t really notice until Baker had left the room.
It wasn’t one of her voluminous, warm nightgowns, modestly trimmed with a narrow band or two of lace. This was an affair fashioned from fine lawn, a deep slash in front fastened by a very few pearl buttons, the neckline enhanced by a ruffled row of Brussels lace, the full sleeves decorated with a matching frill. The pin tucks decorating the front of the gown shaped it to her figure. A most seductive gown.
Faith fought to stay awake, but when Gerard entered, wearing the dressing gown she was now familiar with, she was almost past passion. Almost. He took off his robe, revealing the fact that he was naked underneath it, and slipped into bed next to her, drawing her close. “While I appreciate the effort, my love, it doesn’t take a mind reader to see how tired you are. Sleep, my sweet, and we’ll celebrate in the morning.”
The last thing Faith remembered was his arms, warm and protective around her, gently lulling her into a profound sleep.
When she woke, he was watching her, grey eyes contemplative. She lay within his arms, and when she moved she realized she must have been there a long time. She’d left a white mark on his shoulder. He grimaced and shook his hand. “Pins and needles.”
“Fool,” she gently chided him. “You should have lifted me away.”
“I didn’t want to. It was worth every pin.”
He clenched and unclenched his fist, the pillow above her head moving with him. She snuggled closer. “You’re spoiling me for sleeping on my own.”
“I hope you never have to.”
“What about when I—when I…” She broke off, laughing when she realized he was in her mind. Already it seemed natural to talk to him frankly.
He smiled gently, and she knew he had read her embarrassment. “I might allow a nightgown at certain times of the month. I want you with me, where you’re safe.”
A faint shadow of alarm entered her thoughts. “Am I in danger, then?”
“My father didn’t want this marriage. He is far more powerful than I ever imagined, and he won’t give in. I know that much about him.”
She moved her arm up the bed, coming into contact with his broad chest. The ring he’d placed on her finger the day before grazed his skin. She felt, as he did, the smoothness of the metal. They smiled and he drew her close for a gentle kiss.
When he released her, it was only to draw an inch away. “Where were we?”
He kissed her again, but lingered this time, and purred low in his throat when she gave her response. She opened her mouth for him. Pressed close she couldn’t help but feel his other response, the rising of soft, sleepy flesh into hardened, wicked desire. Not so wicked now. They were married. This was allowed.
It made no difference, Faith discovered. It was love. No golden band made a difference to that. They had begun their journey together several nights ago, when he’d first come into her room and they had made their first foray into physical intimacy. She relaxed into him, let him take control.
Then she backed off. No.
Their mouths parted and he frowned. “What is it, sweetheart? Why not?”
She drew away from him and sat. The bedclothes dropped away from her body and despite the chilly air outside, she allowed them to fall.
She hadn’t banked on him noticing her slight shiver. His worried gaze not leaving hers, he stretched one hand above the covers. Forked lightning shot from his outstretched finger and lit the fire laid ready in the grate. A red glow in the heart of the kindling burst into life, licking around the coals on top.
She kept her response deliberately cool. “A useful talent.”
“Very. I just think it.” He dismissed the talent. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She smiled and sent him reassurance, sensing his anxiety melt. “Nothing at all, my love. It’s my turn, that’s all.”
She lifted one leg, feeling the expensive starched linen move with her, sliding against her skin, and changed her balance, moving her leg across him. Rising, her gaze locked with his, she moved over him, settling at the top of his thighs, where he could feel her dampening sex. His need fed hers, but she didn’t want to rush. They had time now. He rose like a hero just in front of her body, shamelessly wanting, displaying his need as males had done from the beginning of time. She gloried in the power she had over his body, and the power he had over hers. Even seeing his eyes, needy and hungry for her, made her juices flow. His slow smile warmed her right through and when he lifted his hands, her nipples tightened in response.
She lifted her shoulders, pushing her breasts into his hands, opening her mind to him, feeling his in hers. The sensation came to her, the feeling of her nipples, hard in his palms. It felt good, from both sides. He cupped one breast, stroking his thumb across her nipple, and she looked down, loving the sight of him stretched out beneath her.
She took his shaft in her hand, curling her fingers around the thick base, pulling gently so the skin went taut. She heard his gasp, felt the slight alarm in his mind. Pressing against his hands she bent and let her mouth open ever so slightly, pausing just before she circled the tip with her mouth and caressed him with her tongue. He tasted good. Salty, musky. She wanted more.
His low groan corresponded with the involuntary jerk of his body, pushing himself further into her mouth. She obliged, knowing he watched her, feeling him adjust his hands so he could see. He still held her breasts, but, pressing gently, his head tilted, watching her. She saw herself in his mind, and cut the image off. It was too much. Perhaps one day, but not today.
Despite the waves of pleasure surging through him, she heard his chuckle and soft whisper. “Still a little shy, my love.”
She pulled back, sitting once more, lifting her thighs to take him and opened her mind once more. His hands moved down to her waist, to grip and hold her steady. She leaned back, and put her hands on his thighs, moving down to meet his upward thrust.
They both gasped with the bliss of joining, becoming one body as well as one mind. His entrance felt right, stretching her, invading her with sweet pleasure. He seemed to be made for her, fitting inside her exactly, it seemed.
I am made for you. Only you.
She responded with waves of pleasure, sending him everything she had. Secure in their privacy now, after some practice building their mutual shields, Faith felt free to open her mind fully to him and share everything. She enjoyed his feeling of vulnerability, stretched under her. The pace was hers to set.
Faith took him at her leisure. She felt his responses, knew when he wanted to take control, but silently asked him to lie back, to allow her to take charge. “I’ve never controlled a god before.”
His responded with a shaky chuckle. She tightened her muscles, holding her breath to keep them firm, and was rewarded by his sigh of pleasure. “Not too much, my sweet. I don’t know how long I can stand that.”
Despite his words, he pushed suddenly, lifting her off the bed, all but her feet. Her cry ripped out. Throwing back her head, her hair flowing free to drape over his legs, she cried out again, and her contractions increased, spiralling through her until every nerve, every part of her body, engaged with him, not just at the point of joining.
“Give me your hands.”
Pressing against his thighs, Faith managed to sit and stretch her hands forward. He gripped them tight, folding them inside his big, capable ones, and then he thrust into her and pulled.
“Pull back.” he managed.
She obeyed, and he drove impossibly deep inside her. She hadn’t known there was so much of her body for him to invade.
“Oh God! Oh, Gerard.”
/> He drove deep, lifting her with each powerful stroke until she splintered, crying out, not caring who was there to listen and her climax exploded within her, engrossing her whole body and soul with his.
She came back to herself with a rush, felt him in her mind, encouraging, loving her response. Pushing her hair back behind her ears Faith smiled down at him, and released his hands. She stroked his broad chest. “I said it was my turn.”
He smiled at her. “Yes, you did. I’m all yours, love. Your slave.”
“Yes. You are.” She began to move again, now she had her senses back, swivelling her hips to move his hardness inside her. He held himself steady but didn’t push, allowing her to do as she wished. She wanted to give him what he had just given her, but, a novice at this still, needed to experiment to find the best way. Rising a little, she sank down and allowed her bottom to rest heavily on his hair-roughened thighs. He gave her his response in a deep groan, gripping the sheet under his hands to keep himself from taking over.
He liked that. She lifted a little further, pressing her knees into the bed and slowly sinking down again. He liked that even better. Leaning forward, she rested her hands on his shoulders and pushed, finding her motion easier, his hips thrust with the downward pressure of her hands.
He didn’t resist, but let her do to him whatever she liked. She liked to lift and sink down. The sensation of his shaft leaving and entering her body was exquisite. She felt it all the way down, all the way up again, and she tried to commit the sensation to memory, to lock it away for when she needed it. Flesh against flesh, hard, pulsing male and soft, yielding female. But she controlled this. She told him what to do, when to do it.
Faith lost herself in the rhythm, reached out and found him, his mind locked to hers, encouraging her. He murmured words aloud, but she didn’t hear them so much as feel them, lost in the ride.
When she felt him tighten under her bottom, his moment had come and, amazingly, felt her body respond with another surge of pure, steel-sharp pleasure. He seemed to drive through her whole body, invading it, bathing it with his love and his essence. Her cries were in harmony with his, her movements exactly what he needed, read from his mind and acted on.
Gerard linked his hands behind her back and pulled her forward to lie on him, full length, their bodies still joined. Faith let herself be cared for, shattered, helpless and as under his control as, a moment before, he was in hers. He drew the covers over them, and she sank instantly into profound slumber, hearing his rumble of contentment, feeling his lips at her temple.
Chapter Seventeen
Faith’s correspondence, brought to her at the breakfast table the following morning, was a mixture of invitations to important events and pleadings from various people, most of whom she didn’t know. Gerard frowned when he glanced from a letter to meet her eyes. “You look unhappy.”
“These people are in such sore straits. Most of these letters are from frauds. You can tell it is so. They spoon the misery on with a great ladle until you know they can’t be telling the truth.”
He leaned across the table and twitched the letter out of her hands, scanning it briefly. “Some are merely more subtle.” He shook the paper. “They say they have no money, yet they can buy decent writing paper and use good ink. You’d think they’d have more of a care for details.” He tossed the letter to the floor. “I’ll ask my father’s secretary if he will peruse our correspondence first, to weed these out. Better still, it’s time I employed one of my own. Choose a charity, a cause, and work for that. Don’t respond to these.”
Faith sighed. “You are probably right. But I can’t bear people unhappy when I’m so happy.”
His face lightened. “I’m glad to hear that, at least. That you’re happy, I mean. I’ll keep you so.”
She looked down, blushing, for they weren’t alone. His valet was attending them, and a maid. Soon Faith would go into the room she must learn to call her own, that slightly intimidating, expensively furnished showpiece, and dress as a countess. It was part of her penance. She loved the beautiful clothes and the finished result but resented the time spent adorning herself. She owed it to Gerard and his name, if not to his father, so she would dress as her station commanded. Perhaps she could simplify her appearance without a loss of dignity. Already she had her own ideas.
A half-smothered exclamation interrupted her thoughts. She looked to see her husband’s shocked countenance and realized it had nothing to do with the letter he held in his hand. He stared at her, a calculating expression entering his wide-open eyes.
What is it?
He stood, the remainder of his breakfast discarded on his plate. Go and dress. Be quick. I’ll come to you when I can and tell you then.
Why not now?
I want to verify what Stretton has just told me.
Faith pushed back her chair, not waiting to have it held for her, and left the room, crossing the bedroom, where the maid was busy changing the sheets. She entered her own chamber through the private door. Her mind whirled with speculation, but she trusted him enough to keep nothing from him. She kept her mind open, not only to Gerard but to all the communicants in the household. Deborah was characteristically silent, and Stretton uncharacteristically so. Although she sensed the other presence, d’Argento, who had come over the previous night and stayed, he was silent too. Why weren’t they speaking to her? She saw the closed doors in her mind, knew they were communicating with each other but not with her. It must be—oh heavens!
She glanced at the gown on the bed. Plain enough, a pretty garment of flowered silk. The hoop set out to go with it was the smaller, more fashionable kind. “I must dress quickly,” she informed Baker. “If it is needed, I’ll come back for a more elaborate toilette later, but make haste now.”
Baker was not only cognizant of the latest trends, she was very deft at her job. She had Faith’s gleaming locks, still a little damp from her bath, twisted into a neat bun at the back of her head quicker than Faith could have done it herself. When she would have teased a few curls free, Faith stopped her. “No time for that now.”
Nodding, Baker turned to the bed and picked up the petticoat.
An under petticoat, the hoop, her pockets, a stomacher, an over petticoat and her gown were donned in record time, all neat and carefully arranged. Fine silk stockings were gartered and satin slippers put on her feet. Faith wasn’t sure about the slippers. She might have to go out, and these shoes were not street wear. As soon as Baker had tucked a fichu into the neck of the gown she left the room, grabbing her handkerchief, necessaire and fan, stuffing the first two into her pockets as she went.
She tried to contact Gerard and found his mental door closed. She stopped in her headlong rush, shocked by the loss of contact.
Her anxiety rose until she felt almost sick with worry. Trying not to speculate had kept her going while she’d dressed, but now, standing in an elegant corridor in one of the grandest private residences in London, she felt uncertain and alone. Totally alone. Lost.
The sensation only lasted a few seconds, but eternity passed for Faith until she felt him in her mind. We’re in the small salon downstairs. At the same time, a maid appeared at the top of the stairs and dropped a startled curtsey. Faith gave a gracious nod and passed her to descend the staircase.
She knew her way around this house now. It was her home, so long as Gerard resided here. She would have called the attic room in Vinegar Yard home, had he been there to keep her warm. Faith lifted her chin to stop it trembling and walked across the marble hall to the door at the back. The footman in the hall rushed to her aid, so she wouldn’t have the exertion of turning the knob for herself.
The sound inside the room abruptly ceased. The first person she saw, the first person she ever saw, was Gerard, simply but resplendently dressed in dark blue. Stretton and d’Argento also stood in the room, but no one else. Gerard stood and crossed the room, taking her hand. The sound of coaches passing in the busy square outside was louder than she’d ev
er remembered it.
“They have George,” Gerard said quietly.
She shot a startled look at him, gripping his hand. “Who has him?”
“My father and his colleagues, whoever they are.”
“Why? I thought they wanted George’s vote in Parliament. Surely they won’t hurt him?”
Stretton exchanged a glance with d’Argento. “They want to exert pressure on us.”
“What can they do now? We’re married, aren’t we?” Faith stretched her newfound senses, trying to find her brother.
“We’ve tried to contact him mentally,” Stretton said gloomily.
“Let her.” The quicksilver voice of the Italian came glittering to her senses. “She has a blood tie. She may succeed where we have failed.”
Feeling Gerard’s hand firm in hers, Faith felt safe to let herself go. She closed her eyes and only dimly felt him draw her close, put his other hand against the small of her back to steady her. She leaned her forehead against his chest and concentrated, knowing that time was everything, that they must discover where George was before they rendered him unconscious or too terrified to make any sense.
“They’ve not gone far,” she heard herself say, as though someone else was speaking. “They’re still in London.”
She lifted her head. “I can’t get any closer.” Drawing away, she faced the other two men. Stretton’s face was drawn, anxious, but d’Argento looked calm, quizzical even. “Can you help?”
“Perhaps in a while, mi tesoro. We must consider what has transpired. If they have not left the city, there may be a hope of our catching up with them.”
“Tell me.” Faith crossed to a sofa with Gerard, sat with him, her hand still in his for strength.
Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1 Page 22