by Olivia Drake
Miles stopped abruptly as if he’d been sucked into the vortex of memory. A minute ticked by as Bella waited for him to finish. The rigidity in his stance gave testament to his inner tension.
She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What happened?”
He stood in the gloom, his face averted from her. “Aylwin said…” The words surfaced from him slowly, as if dredged from a deep, dark place. “He said he was angry enough to throttle me. Then he stormed out of the tent. It was dark already, but he took a lamp and … he went alone to the excavation site.” Miles paused before adding in a heavy tone, “That was the last time I ever saw him alive.”
Bella put her hand to her mouth to stop a gasp. The source of his torment was now clear to her. The quarrel had transpired on the night of the attack. And Miles blamed himself for the death of his father.
She could see exactly how he’d arrived at that conclusion. If not for that quarrel, his father would never have left the camp. He would never have died at the hands of grave robbers.
Hardly conscious of moving, she went straight to Miles. She slid her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, aware of only the need to give him comfort. No wonder he’d come back from Egypt inexorably changed from the sunny boy he’d once been. All these years, he had borne an awful weight of guilt. Alone. Without ever confiding in anyone. Remorse over his father’s death had eaten away at him, making him irascible and hostile toward others.
And perhaps as a form of reparation, he had devoted himself to the preservation of his father’s legacy. He had buried himself in this great mausoleum of a house and spent all of his time studying the artifacts that his father had excavated from the tombs of ancient pharaohs.
His warm breath stirred her hair. Miles had wrapped his arms around her, too, and held tightly so that the heat of his body intermingled with hers. Nothing had ever felt more right than this embrace. Bella felt stunned and grateful that he’d let down his guard with her. Perhaps the confession might ease his long-held pain.
But first he had to realize that the burden he’d shouldered all these years was wrong. So very wrong.
She drew back slightly to tilt her head up at him, and the faint candlelight played upon a certain wariness in his expression. Did he fear she might denounce him for his self-imposed sin?
She kept her arms firmly around his waist, her hands tracing patterns over his broad back. “Oh, Miles. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known that brigands would attack that night.”
He gave an impatient shake of his head. “That doesn’t matter. I’m still responsible for his death.”
“Bah! You were only thirteen. Your father was the adult. One could just as easily claim that he chose his own fate.”
“The devil you say—”
He made as if to draw away, but she took hold of his upper arms to stop him, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Listen to me. Aylwin didn’t have to quarrel with you. He could have heeded your objections and spoken rationally. He didn’t have to storm out, either. He could have stayed and discussed the matter. But instead, he chose to go to the work site at night. He alone was accountable for his actions.”
Miles stared at her, his face fierce with resistance. “You don’t understand. I provoked him. I should have been a dutiful son as I’d always been.”
Bella understood more than he could imagine. She had struggled with Cyrus asserting himself. Her brother was impatient to procure a job and provide for the family instead of tending to his schoolwork.
“By standing up for yourself, you were learning how to be a man,” she said, willing Miles to see the truth in that. “It’s a natural step for a boy of thirteen. Your father should have realized that and reasoned with you, instead of attempting to impose his iron will.”
Miles glanced away before returning his moody gaze to her. “My behavior was unconscionable. I don’t see how you can excuse it.”
She reached up and stroked his cheek, and his skin felt as bristly as his temperament. “I see a man who has suffered from guilt for so long that he’s become a hermit, shunning all others from his life. Yes, your father’s death was a terrible event. But you can’t punish yourself forever. It’s time to banish this incident to the past, where it belongs.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were looking inward, grappling with the hardened beliefs of a lifetime. She didn’t expect he could change his way of thinking with the snap of a finger. But perhaps she’d given him a fresh perspective to ponder. Perhaps if he could overcome his stubborn view of that long-ago event, he could eventually make his peace with it. He could cease insulating himself against the outside world. He could find happiness with other people again. He might even fall in love and marry …
The notion caused a wrench in Bella’s breast. She didn’t like to think of him with another woman. A woman suitable to his high rank. A young, biddable debutante who would bear him children and stay out of his way and who would never draw a knife on him when he kissed her.
She let her hand drop to his broad shoulder. Of course, she herself would be long gone from his life by then. Soon they would go their separate ways, and he would never know of the wildly improper passion that burned inside of her …
She noticed Miles was gazing down at her with a gleam in his dark eyes. One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-smile. “So I’m a hermit, am I? I never realized that hermits were allowed to hold a beautiful woman in their arms.”
Bella knew herself to be merely ordinary in appearance. But his compliment caused a rush of pleasure nonetheless. They were still locked in a close embrace, her hips pressed to his, her breasts joined to his solid chest. His open palm rested at the small of her back as if prepared to stop her from any attempt at escape.
Little did he realize, she had no wish to leave. It felt perfectly right and natural to be held by him. As if somehow he was her other half.
Yet she wasn’t foolish enough to succumb to flattery. Despite his often surly manner, Miles knew well how to employ flirtatiousness to his advantage. At the moment, he was merely using her as a distraction to forget that he’d just bared his soul to her.
She busied herself with straightening his collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she countered. “I’m perfectly mindful that the bloom of my youth has faded.”
A slight frown furrowed his brow, and he brought his hand up to caress her cheek. “You truly don’t see yourself as beautiful?”
“Of course not,” she said on a feigned laugh. “I’m hardly a girl anymore. At nine-and-twenty, I’m a well-established spinster.”
“It’s a bit premature to consign yourself to a rocking chair.” He bent his face closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. “When I look at you, I see lovely blue eyes that sparkle with life. Soft skin that turns pink when you blush. And the prettiest lips I’ve ever kissed.” His gaze dipped to her mouth and just as her heart fluttered with forbidden longing, he straightened up and gave her a sardonic look. “But I suppose you’ll accuse me of being a liar if I dare to go on.”
Her legs felt unsteady from the melting heat of desire. She ought to step away, but lacked the willpower to do so. “Yes, do stop, Your Grace. You’re being quite outrageous.”
“Miles,” he corrected. “I’ve noticed you only address me formally when you’re trying to hold me at arm’s length.”
“Bosh. I’m in your arms right now.”
“So you are,” he said, his hands drifting idly over her waist and hips as if to familiarize himself with her feminine curves. His eyelids lowered slightly in a hooded look, he went on, “Now is when you should order me to depart your bedchamber. If I stay any longer, you’ll be in danger of having your reputation tarnished.”
The prospect of his departure pained Bella. Despite all logic and reason, she couldn’t bear to end their closeness. Miles had awakened her to the intense pleasure of a man’s kiss. Yet she’d only enjoyed a small taste of forbidden fruit, just enough
to stir a riotous curiosity inside her. There was so much more that he could teach her of passion. She might never have another chance like this—and if she turned coward now, she surely would regret it for the rest of her life.
She looped her arms around his neck and refused to think beyond the moment. “Don’t go,” she murmured in his ear. “I should very much like for you to tarnish my reputation.”
He drew back to frown at her. “What?”
“The other day,” she murmured, “you told me that if ever I wanted you, I would have to do … something. You never finished saying what it was.”
“I was teasing you.” He fixed her with the Ducal Stare. “As you’re teasing me right now.”
“Am I?” she asked with a coy smile. “I’ve given considerable thought to what you meant to say, Miles. I believe that you meant for me to initiate our next kiss.” To make her shameless desires clear, she went on, “And after I do so, I would like for you to come to my bed.”
* * *
Miles gripped her slender waist as she traced his lips with her finger. He could scarcely believe that Bella was seducing him. Only a short while ago, he’d feared he had destroyed her goodwill forever. Nothing else could have induced him to spill his guts to her. He’d been desperate to convince her that the darkness in him hadn’t been caused just by her father.
Afterward, awash in a disquieting relief, he had craved her smile and the reassurance that he could still arouse her desires. But he hadn’t been angling for an invitation to initiate her in bodily pleasures. He had come to think too highly of Bella to despoil her like one of his whores.
Now, however, she had yanked the rug out from under him. Although he’d fantasized about this moment—far too often over the past few days—he had never expected her to yield in actuality. Especially not after their quarrel and then the exposure of his black-hearted secret.
Yes, he was black-hearted, no matter what she said to the contrary. Black-hearted enough to take the pleasure she offered.
She arched up on tiptoes, her curvaceous body sliding against him and igniting a blaze in his groin. Her eyelids drifted shut, and the warmth of her breath bathed his lips in the moment before she touched her mouth to his.
That light, virginal kiss nearly undid him. He tightened his arms around her, running his hands up and down her womanly form. He needed to touch her to ground himself in reality, for she was a dream come true. But he held himself in check, allowing her to explore him at her leisure. She sipped at his mouth in tender little pecks before the tip of her tongue slipped out to trace the seam of his lips.
A groan emanated from deep in his chest. Craving a deeper drink of her sweetness, he splayed his fingers across the back of her head and proceeded to plunder her mouth with ravenous purpose. His tongue found hers waiting to parry with him, and her mouth tasted of dark secrets and decadent promises. He burned to brand Bella as his own, to awaken the fullness of her passion, to make her need him as desperately as he needed her.
When they were both panting with arousal, he drew back slightly to catch his breath. “Tell me this isn’t some trick,” he muttered against her brow. “Where is that blasted dagger, anyway?”
“In my pocket.” She rubbed her cheek against his, and he could feel her smile. “But it would be out of my reach if you were to divest me of my gown.”
A gravelly chuckle rose in his throat. Ah, Bella. She was hardly the dried-up spinster of her imagination. She was a mature woman ripe for a night of pleasure. He craved to make her realize just how beautiful she was inside and out.
He turned her around to release the buttons down the back of her gown. First one, then another and another. Each loosening exposed a bit more warm flesh for him to taste with his tongue. As he lowered the top half of her gown, Bella rolled her shoulders to slide her arms out of the long tight sleeves. He had undressed many other women, but never one all trussed up in spinster garb. Odd how this unveiling felt far more titillating than any disrobing performed by a skilled courtesan.
Letting the bodice fall just to her waist, he untied her corset strings and then slid his hands inside her linen chemise to cup her bare breasts. She leaned back against him, tilting her head onto his shoulder, breathing his name in a ragged sigh. Her eyes were drowsy with pleasure as he weighed the perfect globes in his palms. The tips beaded at a stroke of his thumbs and she moved her hips, her bottom brushing his hardness.
He gritted his teeth to keep from taking her right there on the floor. Bella was too naïve to realize how her instinctive movements affected him. In an effort to control himself, he drew his hands from the warm delights of her bosom and turned her to face him again. He intended to do this slowly, so she could revel in every moment of her deflowering.
As she murmured a protest, he soothed her with a tender kiss. “There’s no need to hurry. You’ll like it better if I linger.”
“All right, but I want to learn everything … quickly.”
A chuckle surprised him. When was the last time he’d laughed during sex? Never. Bella had a way of making him view things in a new and unexpected manner.
He dropped to one knee before her. Working her dress downward over the curve of her hips, he spied the charred spot at her hem where she had smothered the burning letters. Miles knew he ought to be sorry, for he had hurt Bella. But his angry action also had propelled them to this point—though he didn’t quite understand how they could be at each other’s throats one moment, and kissing madly the next.
He had considered himself well versed in the art of lovemaking. But he was fast learning that seducing Bella was outside the realm of his experience. Being accustomed to light-skirts trained to please a man, he had never bedded a respectable woman. A woman who shared his passion for ancient civilizations, who bedeviled him at every turn, who thought nothing of challenging his long-held beliefs.
A woman who drove him wild with desire.
As the gown slithered to the floor, he lent Bella a hand to help her step out of it and her petticoat. She tugged off the loosened corset and dropped it onto the heap of her gown. “Englishwomen should rebel against such a contraption,” she said with a wry grimace. “I daresay a man invented that whalebone cage.”
Still on one knee, Miles could only stare up at her in mesmerized attention. The chemise skimmed her feminine form, and he feasted his eyes on the jut of her breasts and the dark shadow at the apex of her thighs. He struggled to keep his mind on her words. “You … didn’t wear corsets in Persia?”
“No, I dressed in the traditional costume of the women, a belted robe and jacket.” She sighed. “Now, there is something that I do miss.”
With that allusion to their dinner conversation, she gracefully lifted her arms to pluck the pins from her prudish bun. Then she shook her head and the luxurious brown locks cascaded around her shoulders and rippled down to her hips. The natural sensuality of her movements held him transfixed. So did the curls that fell around her breasts, where the strands played peek-a-boo with her nipples.
Her gaze flitted to him and a charming blush pinked her cheeks. She smiled, a warm yet uncertain look. “I’ll just … put these pins away. In the dressing room.”
Even as she turned to go, Miles leaped to his feet. “Permit me.” He emptied the pins from her hand into his. Then he put his arm around her slender waist, walked her to the four-poster, and dropped the pins onto the bedside table.
Maybe it was irrational, but he didn’t want to let Bella out of his sight. Despite her boldness, she had to be feeling somewhat skittish. She might yet change her mind and retract the decision to give herself to a ne’er-do-well with a dark sin staining his soul.
He mustn’t allow her time to think.
Drawing her flush against him, he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, caressing her bosom until she was melting in his arms again. He loved the way she responded to him with zeal and fire. He loved her lips, rosy and soft. He loved her full breasts and her slim legs and her rounded bottom.
Not love in the sense of poetry and forever. That road had no place in the life he had chosen for himself long ago.
No, what he felt was merely infatuation, a fascination with the novelty of Bella Jones. She had offered him the gift of her virtue, and in return he hungered to make her happy. To erase the memory of seeing her teary-eyed over the half-burned letters and her distraught voice crying out, What are you doing?
That had been the moment when he’d recognized that the malice inside himself had the power to hurt her deeply. The moment when he’d known he would do anything necessary to restore the closeness that had sprung up between them so swiftly and unexpectedly. The moment when he’d decided to confess all.
He had never expected to be rewarded like this.
Miles lowered her to the bed. Rather than lie down, she perched on the edge, drew the wealth of her hair over one shoulder, and combed her fingers through the long strands. He remained standing a moment to strip off his shirt. After drawing it over his head, he noticed by her deft movements that she was braiding her hair.
He flung away the shirt, sat down beside her, and caught hold of her wrists. “Don’t.”
Those candid blue eyes widened on him. “I always plait my hair at night. Otherwise it becomes tangled.”
“I like it free. It’s too beautiful to hide.”
She arched an eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth curved up, as well. “On the day I arrived here, you scorned it as a middling brown.”
Miles caught a lock of her hair, letting the soft strands sift through his fingers. Gold glinted like filaments of fire hidden among the darker tresses. “I hadn’t seen it in the candlelight. Nor had I seen it loose, spilling around your shoulders, framing your bosom.”
He slipped his fingers beneath the curtain of hair to stroke her breasts over the chemise. Bella’s eyes went hazy. Abandoning the braid, she angled herself toward him, put her arms around his neck, and tucked her head into the lee of his shoulder. The soft, swift exhalations of her breath against his skin fed his passions.