Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Her hips were moving now, stirring, brushing against the tip of his erection through his trousers, but this time, she didn’t shy away. Wanting to see her face again, he lifted his head as his palm slid over her body, from her breast, down over her ribs and her stomach and even farther down, until his fingertips grazed the soft triangle of golden curls at the apex of her thighs. He eased his hand between her legs, and she gave a shuddering gasp. Her legs squeezed convulsively around his hand, as her eyes opened in shock. “Jack,” she whispered, and her hand closed over his wrist, trying to shove him away.

  “Don’t stop me,” he said, moving his fingers, pushing deeper between her thighs. “I’ve been dreaming of this,” he told her. “Let me touch you here.”

  “All right.” The whisper was so low, he almost didn’t hear it, but her hand fell away, and her legs opened a fraction, letting him ease his finger into the crease of her sex.

  She was wet, slick, and inviting, but he knew she wasn’t ready for what was to come, so he stroked her, gliding his finger back and forth along the seam of her sex, watching her face as her eyes closed, her breathing quickened, and her hips began to move against his caress. Words aroused her, he knew that now, and he used them.

  “Do you like this?” he murmured. “Do you?”

  Linnet heard his question, but she was too overwhelmed to reply. When he said he’d imagined touching her, she never thought he meant this. Her mind had never conceived any touching like this.

  “Do you like this? I want to please you. Does this please you?” When she still didn’t answer, he started to withdraw his hand.

  “No,” she protested, her hips arching up, her body following his withdrawal. “No, Jack.”

  “No?” he murmured, laughing under his breath, teasing her. “No, you don’t like it?”

  “I do like it.” She was panting now, a helpless victim to this tender teasing. “I do. I do.”

  Her hips were jerking now, her body moving against his hand of its own volition, the tip of his finger was sliding back and forth over her most intimate place, and each tiny move sent another throb of pleasure through her body. As he stroked her, the pace seemed to quicken until she was moving in frantic, helpless little jerks. The pleasure thickened within her, deepened, and she moaned. At once, his other hand came up to touch her face, his finger pressing her lips, and at last she understood what he’d meant about making noise.

  “Hush, love,” he said, even as his stroking fingers moved faster. “Hush.”

  She bit her lip, for the tension of keeping silent only seemed to heighten the anticipation building inside her, higher, hotter, and more intense with each stroke of his fingers. She felt as if her body needed something more than this, but she didn’t know what, and as the pleasure built within her, it became so acute she began to whimper, soft little sounds stifled by her teeth pressing against her lip.

  “That’s it, my love,” he murmured. “You’re nearly there. Come for me. Come.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, but somehow her body knew, for the low, thick coaxing of his voice seemed to enhance the pleasure of his touch, and suddenly, she felt a burst of sensation like she’d never felt before, an explosive rush of pleasure that arched her hips upward and tore a startled cry from her lips. He kissed her, catching the sound of her cry even as she made it, as her thighs clenched around his hand and ecstasy flowed through her again and again. His fingers continued to pleasure her, even as she collapsed, panting, against the mattress.

  “Linnet, it’s time.” His voice sounded harsher, more urgent than before. “I can’t wait much longer, so you have to listen to me.”

  He withdrew his hand and moved onto his back. She turned her head, and when she saw him unbuttoning his trousers, pulling them down, she remembered that part of him hard against her bottom yesterday, and the groan of his pleasure that had echoed through the woods, and she realized in sudden shocked insight what was going to happen.

  “Jack?” Her voice was a panicked squeak. “Jack?”

  The trousers went flying, then he was on top of her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling another jolt of panic at the weight of him, solid and heavy on top of her, and the hard, burning part of him that pressed between her legs.

  He stilled, and she felt his hands caressing her face. “Linnet, look at me.”

  She forced herself to open her eyes. His black eyes seemed to bore into hers, and she saw the desire there, burning for her. “Listen to me, Linnet,” he said, and his voice was strained now. “This will hurt. There’s no way to avoid it, but I promise . . .” He paused to kiss her. “I promise it won’t ever hurt like this again. Trust me?”

  She nodded, and sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

  “It’ll be all right,” he promised, kissing her. She felt his hand ease between their bodies, to caress her stomach, then move lower, over her hip and across her thigh. “Open your legs, love. Open for me. It’ll be all right.”

  His voice shook, and she realized the strain was from holding back for her sake, until she was ready. “Come to me,” she whispered, guided by instinct and love as she spread her legs wider apart, wanting to give him the same thing he’d already given her. “Come to me, Jack.”

  He moved his hips, and she felt the tip of his hardness brushing her opening. It was delicious, and she felt that excitement rising again as she had when his fingers had caressed her. “Take me in your hand,” he told her, and he was guiding her hand to wrap around his shaft. He was scorching hot, and it startled her. She’d have drawn back, but his hand was holding hers around him. “I want you to bring me inside you.”

  He showed her how, guiding her, but she felt terribly awkward, and when she felt him pushing deeper into her, she drew her hands out of the way, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned against her neck. And then, his hips surged, and he came fully into her.

  She gasped, her body arching, the pain like a cruel pinch deep inside. He kissed her mouth as his body stilled.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was a harsh whisper. “God, Linnet, are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I . . . I think so.” She wriggled her hips, and grimaced, for it still hurt a little.

  But then, he began to move within her, and as he did, the pain seemed to ease a little more with each stroke, and she became aware of the pleasure, too, for there was pleasure in this—the hard, thick fullness of him inside her, the way he moved, like a caress from the inside. His pace began to quicken, and he thrust a little harder each time, a little deeper. She began to move with him, and the pleasure increased even more, and, without warning, those ecstatic waves came over her again, even more intense this time with him inside her, and she wrapped her legs around him, clenching tighter, then tighter still.

  He made a rough sound against her mouth, then his arms were sliding beneath her back, seeming to want her even closer than she already was. Holding her in this tight embrace, he thrust into her again, then again, and yet again. At last, a shudder rocked him, and it was his turn to cry out, a full-throated groan buried against her neck. He thrust twice more, his body shuddering with what she knew to be similar sensations to those she had felt. At last, his body sank down on hers, his arms wrapped tight around her, his breathing warm and labored against her hair.

  Linnet stared up at the ceiling in wonder, her palms stroking the smooth, hard muscles of his back and shoulders. This strange and wondrous coupling, she now knew, was what brought the giggles and knowing smiles to the faces of her married friends when they talked about married life and sleeping with their husbands. This was what Jack had imagined with his talk of caressing her naked skin and lying with her and bedding her. This was making love.

  Linnet felt dazed and awed. The pain she’d felt earlier seemed inconsequential now; she hardly felt it at all. Instead, with his strong body heavy and solid on top of hers, his masculine invasion still within her, and his strong arms tight around her, all she felt was
a sweet, aching joy and an overwhelming tenderness. She loved him, and she wanted to marry him, and when she did, she knew there would be many sweet, tender moments like this.

  He stirred on top of her. “Still all right?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her hair before he lifted his head to look into her face. “Does it . . .” He paused, grimacing. “Does it still hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” He kissed her mouth. “It won’t hurt like that again.”

  She was rather relieved about that. “I love you.”

  That pleased him. A smile creased the edges of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “Well, I should hope so, after the merry hell you’ve been putting me through.”

  She made a face. “You poor, poor man,” she replied with mock sympathy. “You’ve suffered so much.”

  His smile became a grin. “It was worth it.” He kissed her, and his hand slid between their bodies to cup her breast. “Worth every torturous moment.”

  She could feel heat flooding her, quick as that, a blush that spread through her body.

  He saw it, too, the wretched man. “I’d like to,” he murmured, palming and shaping her breast in his hand, playing with her nipple as he’d done before, stirring arousal in her just like before. “But we can’t.” His hand slid away and he kissed her nose. “Not until the wedding.”

  “Oh, you are such a tease, Jack Featherstone!” She pressed a hand to his shoulder and gave him a push.

  “You think this is a tease?” His grin became downright wicked. “Just wait until I’m sneaking kisses from you behind the rose arbor. Then you’ll know what teasing is, Miss Holland.”

  He stirred again, as if to roll off her, but she tightened her legs around him, reluctant to move. She felt blissful, lethargic, and all she wanted was to sink into sleep. He seemed to realize it, for he lifted his head and smiled, and took her mouth in a soft and tender kiss.

  “As much as I’d love to lie here with you all night and all day, too,” he murmured, “we can’t. You have to go back to your own room now, while it’s still pitch-black. Scullery maids will be up to build the fires in a couple of hours, and we can’t risk anyone’s seeing you.”

  She nodded, knowing he was right. Her legs relaxed, opened, and he lifted his hips, slipping free of her. She grimaced, feeling a hint of soreness and what seemed an abundant amount of moisture between her legs.

  “We’ll discuss wedding plans after breakfast,” he told her, then he kissed her one more time, rolled off the bed, and stood up, holding out his hands to her.

  She rose, and as she did, he held her hands in his. Smiling, he looked at her, his gaze drifting down over her naked body. No one but her maid and her mother had ever seen her unclothed before, and she felt shy and flustered, and yet, rather wonderful, too, standing naked before his heated gaze.

  “You’re so lovely,” he muttered, reaching up to tuck a tendril of her loosened hair behind her ear. “So, so lovely.”

  She couldn’t quite enjoy the compliment at this moment. “I’d feel lovelier if I could wash a bit before I go,” she said with a grimace.

  “You can. We have a bit of time. I’ll fetch you some fresh water.”

  He bent to reach for his discarded trousers, and as he slipped them on, she took a peek at his body, at the part of him that had been so intimately joined with her moments ago. It was only the barest glimpse, for he was buttoning the trousers before she could manage a better look, but what she saw was enough to surprise her. That part of him seemed to have been tamed by their coupling.

  What extraordinary creatures men were, she thought, smiling a little.

  His hands stilled at his waistband, and she looked up to find he was smiling, too. “After the wedding,” he told her firmly.

  With that, he turned away and walked to the washstand, where he picked up the basin. He left the bedroom to get water for her spit bath, but she didn’t like the sticky residue on her legs, and she turned, remembering the towel he’d laid on the bed earlier. But her hand stilled as she reached for it, seeing the red smears that marked the white cotton. She’d bled? Another surprise in a night full of surprises.

  She picked up the towel, folded it again, and used it to wipe the wetness from her legs. As she straightened, her attention was caught by the slip of paper on the desk beside the bed where she stood. A telegram, she realized, and thought at once of bad news.

  It wasn’t her business, though, and she started to turn away, but not before she saw the initials at the bottom.

  ERH.

  She froze, and the floor seemed to rock beneath her feet. Without even taking time to think, she lifted her gaze to the top of the missive, ignored any inconvenient pricks of her conscience, and read every word.

  ARRIVING SEPT 26 STOP HOPE ENGAGEMENT YOU AND LINNET CONFIRMED STOP WILL GIVE YOUR SHARE OF FUNDS FOR OUR INVESTMENT WITH MARGRAVE RIGHT AFTER WEDDING STOP EXPECT OUR DEAL WILL MAKE US MILLIONS STOP ERH

  She stared at the words, dumbfounded, numb, and disbelieving.

  Deal? What deal? Jack and her father. A business deal made over her.

  You have to marry me now.

  Of course she did. She and his father had a deal. Lots of money to be made. Of course.

  Pain shimmered through her, the pain of betrayal, a pain with which she was becoming quite familiar. Tears stung her eyes. With every man in her life, it always came down to the money.

  His footstep sounded, a soft creak on ancient floorboards, and she jerked, moving away from the desk and back toward the bed just as he reentered the room. She tried to hide her shock, her pain, but some of it must have shown in her face, for he frowned as he kicked the door gently closed behind him.

  “Linnet?” He came toward her, the basin of water and a fresh towel in his hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She wanted to confront him, throw the telegram and his deals with her father in his face, but she couldn’t, not now, not when she still had the result of their pleasure between her legs, and shock, rage, and pain were erupting inside her, and her pride and her innocence were as ruined as her reputation. She tried to paste on a smile. “Nothing.”

  She must not have sounded convincing, for the frown on his face deepened. But the towel in his hand reminded her of the one in hers, and she seized on it as an excuse.

  “Now I see what this was for,” she murmured, looking down, her face puckering as the stains of her lost virtue blurred before her eyes, and she fought to keep tears back.

  He set the basin on the floor, dropped the fresh towel beside it, and pulled the stained one from her grasp. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll wash it myself in the bath. The servants won’t know.”

  She nodded, and when he cupped her cheek, she endured it. When he guided her to sit on the bed, she complied, and when he dipped the fresh towel in the water and washed the traces of what they’d done away from her thighs, she gritted her teeth and stared at the ceiling in order to bear the tender, solicitous sham of it.

  You liar, she wanted to shout, her heart breaking. You manipulative, fortune-hunting bastard.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” he asked.

  The tenderness in his voice was almost her undoing, and she wondered how a man could be so tender and also be such a scoundrel.

  You and my father made a business deal over me. A business deal.

  Linnet curled her fingers into the rumpled sheets on either side of her hips, steeled herself, and lifted her head, but she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Of course. I’m tired, and . . .” She had to pause for a deep breath. “It’s been quite an evening.”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward to kiss her, but she jerked back, unable to bear it.

  “Jack, I have to go.”

  “Of course.” He sat back on his heels as she rose, and though she saw there was still a tiny frown between his brows, she knew she wasn’t a good enough actress to stay here any longer and keep pretending everything was fine. All she
wanted was to get away and go back to her own room before she debased herself further.

  He set the towel in the basin, then stood up, stepping back so she could move past him. She walked to where her nightgown and robe lay on the floor, picked up the former, and slipped into it, and forced away recollections of how tenderly he’d removed it from her body such a short time ago. She started to do up the buttons, but she couldn’t, for her hands were shaking.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, coming to help her.

  “No.” Once again, she jerked away. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just put my robe over it anyway.”

  He scooped the robe up from the floor and held it open for her so that she could slip it on.

  “Can you find your way alone in the dark?” he asked, following her to the door.

  “Of course,” she whispered, opening it before he could. “I got here that way, didn’t I?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she started down the dark corridor and didn’t look back. Instead, she navigated her way through the silent house, blinking to keep tears at bay until she could get to her room. Once there, she’d let the tears fall. She’d cry all night, until every bit of the pain she felt at his betrayal was out of her. The rage, though, was different. She intended to hang on to that, because tomorrow, she was going to kill him. And when her father arrived, she’d kill him, too.

  Chapter 17

  Jack frowned as he watched Linnet’s white-sheathed form slip away down the dark corridor like a ghost, shimmers of disquiet rippling through him. Something was very wrong.

  She’d seemed well enough until she saw the stained towel, and he prayed she wasn’t feeling regret. The consequences of what they’d done were enormous, of course. Even now, he wasn’t certain she understood just what the result of tonight could be. But as he’d told her, there was no undoing it now.

  The white glimmers of her nightdress vanished as she rounded the corner and disappeared, and he stepped back into his room to fetch the basin.