But she was also a woman and women conceived children.
‘We are close, are we not?’ she said. ‘Why can we not be close in—in a physical way, as well?’
‘There are risks, Daphne.’
‘No one will know.’ Her voice rose. ‘Except the servants, of course. Monette and Carter would never gossip, I can assure you, and we’ll be leaving the others. They will not care what we do.’ She put her hands on his bare shoulders.
His resolve could stand only so much. ‘There are other risks, as you well know.’
‘I do not care.’ Her fingers played in the hair at the nape of his neck. ‘Please, Hugh? We have only one week. Can we not spend it truly together?’
One week. Or perhaps one night. Maybe he could risk one night. He could still leave for London in the morning. One chance to love her. Could he turn it down?
Her hands slipped down to his chest. ‘After one week you will be off on your travels and I will return to my home.’
‘Or I’ll be blind,’ he said.
She threw her arms around him and pressed herself close to him. ‘Do not say you will be blind. You will see. You must see. You must do all those things that make you happy at last. Life cannot be that unfair to you.’
She could not be wearing anything but a nightdress. One thin piece of fabric between them. He was aroused, painfully so.
‘I can feel that you want me, Hugh,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me.’
He could not refuse.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He knew just how many steps it took to reach it. ‘Are you certain, Daphne?’
She reached for him, clasping his arm as if she had the strength to pull him onto the bed. ‘I am very certain.’
* * *
Daphne’s heart beat so rapidly she thought her chest would burst. She had brazenly offered seduction to Xavier more than once, but this was different and she did not know why. She only knew that she’d break into a million shards if she did not soon feel Hugh’s hands upon her skin.
He stood at the side of the bed, removing his drawers while she pulled her nightdress over her head. When she tossed it aside, it brushed against his arm.
He caught it and held the fabric in his hand. ‘I wish I could see you.’
‘I just want you to touch me.’ She reached for him, impatient to have him next to her on the bed. On top of her. Inside her. ‘Look at me with your hands.’
He climbed on the bed, kneeling over her, her legs between his. His hands touched her lightly, making their way to her head. His fingers ran through her loose hair, like one might run hands through cool water. He combed through the length of it, reaching its ends and exploring the feel of it.
‘Your hair is longer than I thought,’ he said. ‘With some curl. What colour is it?’
She hesitated to say. He could not possibly identify her by hair colour alone, could he? Many women had her hair colour. ‘Blonde.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It is blonde.’
‘As I imagined it to be.’ He played with her hair, twisting it around his hands, threading it through his fingers, creating sensation that flooded through her.
He explored her face, as he’d done once before, but this time his fingers were reverent, stroking each contour as if he were sculpting her himself out of pliant clay. Could he feel what other men saw with their eyes? Would her face matter to him? She did not want it to matter to him. Or perhaps she did. She wanted him to admire her, did she not?
Tears of confusion sprang to her eyes. Oh, dear! How would she explain tears at such a moment? How could she tell him she did not wish to be beautiful for him, merely loved?
Luckily his hands moved to stroke her neck and trace the contours of her ears. She blinked away the tears and savoured the lovely sensations his fingers created. He slid his hands down farther, reaching her breasts, stroking, tracing around her nipples. Her back arched in response. His hands had been gentle in their exploration, but now she felt their strength as he pressed her flesh more firmly, again taking possession as he’d done with the kiss.
She flared with need. A moan escaped her lips and her body ached for him. Her hands grasped him, kneading his skin, not so much exploring him as urging him to keep touching her, to keep filling her with need.
His hands slid farther, pressing against her rib cage, reaching her waist and spanning it with his fingers as if measuring. Yes, she knew her breasts were full, her waist narrow, and her bottom fleshy enough to please a man. How often had she been told of it?
‘Does it matter to you, how I am shaped?’ she asked, her voice tinged with both annoyance and gratification.
‘Matter?’ He swept his hands up and down her torso. ‘This is the only way I can see you.’
She did care how he perceived her, she realised. ‘Do—do I please you?’
He leaned down and possessed her lips, his kiss long and dizzying. Her muscles melted like butter left too close to the oven.
‘You please me very much, Daphne,’ he murmured, still touching his lips to hers. ‘You have pleased me since the moment I first woke in this room.’
Her spirits soared. He could not have known anything of her appearance then, not even by touch, and still she pleased him. A memory flashed. Of her husband undressing her like a doll and looking at her, admiration glowing in his eyes.
No. She did not want to think of her husband at this moment. She wanted to think only of this night, of this man. Of Hugh. She could seek happiness for a week, could she not? A week with Hugh should be enough to last a lifetime.
He splayed his fingers over her abdomen. She slid hers down his back. Everywhere she touched was firm muscle. How thrilling to think of that masculine power beneath his skin. The light in the room was dim, a mere glow from the fireplace, but it was enough to reveal his magnificence. She could not help but compare him with Xavier, who she’d imagined to be at the peak of masculine perfection. Hugh was not perfection, but there was glory in his rough-edged manliness.
Enough exploring, she wanted to scream. Take me now.
She arched her back and pulled one of his hands down to where she ached for him.
Pleasure me, she wanted to say, but she’d never before spoken such wanton words.
She did not have to tell him. His fingers touched her with exquisite intimacy, exciting her even more acutely. Fevered cries escaped her lips, and she writhed in the glory of his touching, stroking, building need and pushing it to the breaking point.
She could keep silent no longer. ‘Please, now, Hugh. Now.’ She pressed his buttocks and scraped lightly with her fingernails. ‘Now, Hugh.’
But first he leaned down and kissed her again, moving his tongue until her mouth opened to him. His tongue was warm and wet and tasted of brandy. When he broke the kiss, he thrust into her and her exhilaration flared. She liked that he was not gentle, not careful. He was assured, skilled. He knew her body was slick and ready for him.
He moved with equal skill and control, just the right cadence to calm her need, but to allow it to rebuild slowly, like an avalanche she’d witnessed once when visiting the mountains in Switzerland. It started slow, building and building until everything in its path was consumed by it and swept along.
She was swept along, almost giddy at the wonder of the journey.
When his control broke, she was enveloped by the wildness of it, his animal growls, his abandon, until the pleasure burst inside her and he thrust one final, frenzied time. He’d spilled his seed inside her, his gift, the part of him that was now part of her.
He exhaled a long breath, and his weight grew heavy on top of her for a moment before he rolled to her side and nestled her against him. ‘Daphne,’ he murmured.
Words swirled inside her, words of wonder and thanks and joy, but she could not speak them. She kissed
him instead, a long, lingering, tender kiss into which she put all she could not say.
They made love again. And again. Until finally sated and satisfied, she lay next to him, bare skin to bare skin, enjoying the mere fact of his breathing, the soft sound of his heartbeat.
* * *
Hugh felt as if his bones had melted like candle wax. Not an essence of tension remained inside him. He was where he most wished to be.
Next to her.
‘Daphne, Daphne,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing could ever be better than that.’
‘Mmm,’ she said, which he took as agreement.
He knew she’d experienced as much passion as he. He knew she relished it equally as much, but before he could help it, the past crept in. Had it been that magnificent with her husband? If so, what a lucky man. Had it been like that with other men?
She sighed, a contented, satisfied sound. ‘I always had the sense there was more.’ She snuggled closer to him. ‘Now I know for certain.’
Was she reading his thoughts now? ‘Do not tell me you have never experienced the like of this with a man before?’
‘Like this?’ She laughed a soft, near-silent laugh. ‘No.’
It made no sense. She’d been created for lovemaking. How could he believe that no man had ever discovered that before? Had her husband been a fool? The other men, as well?
‘My husband was the only other man I’ve bedded.’
Were their thoughts joined as well as their bodies and souls? Even after making love to her once, Hugh felt a part of her and she, a part of him.
Hugh stroked her glorious hair. The finest silk threads could never feel as luxurious. ‘Your husband—?’ he began to ask. He’d all but promised he would not ask about her husband again, but he’d also assumed there had been someone else. If she had not gone to Switzerland to wait out a pregnancy and to give up a baby, then why had she gone?
‘My husband was older,’ she went on. ‘Twice my age and more. A vital man, even so. I was very young when he married me. Barely seventeen. It was a very advantageous match for me. He was wealthy and of greater status. His—his lovemaking was—’ she paused ‘—different.’
He frowned. ‘Were you unhappy?’ Was that the unhappiness he sensed in her?
‘Unhappy?’ She seemed to consider this. ‘No, not unhappy. Just young and foolish and filled with silly ideas.’
He thought her so serious a person. ‘Silly ideas? I do not believe you.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her tone turned sad. ‘I had very foolish notions.’
He rose up on one elbow, wishing he could look down on her. ‘What sort of foolish notions?’
She paused again before finally saying, ‘I was quite indulged, but I wanted what I could not and should not have. It took me a long while to accept that I should be content with what I have been given.’
There had been another man; he knew it. ‘Was it another man, then?’
Again she paused. ‘Yes. Once, but not really. I mean, nothing came of it.’
Hugh wanted to know everything. He wanted to put it all right somehow.
‘What about children?’ he could not help but ask.
‘I was not blessed with children.’ She sounded sad, but not unduly so. ‘Perhaps that was best.’
No children? He’d been wrong, indeed. ‘Why best?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I would not have made a good mother.’
He lay back down again and hugged her to him. ‘Of course you would have made a good mother. Think what a good nurse you have been for me.’
He felt her shrug. ‘Well, not then, at least.’
He kissed her temple. ‘Tell me about then.’ He wanted to understand. To soothe whatever pain she’d endured.
She moved from his grasp and sat up. ‘Oh, I do not wish to think of the past. I only want to think about now.’
He reached for her, found her and lifted her on top of him. Straddling him, she leaned down to kiss him, a long impassioned kiss that aroused him once more.
‘Well, I am quite pleased with right now,’ he told her. ‘And I will be more pleased if you consent to make love with me one more time.’
She laughed. He wanted to hear her laugh for ever. ‘I shall do as you command.’
‘As I ask,’ he corrected. ‘I do not command.’ He positioned her on top of him and slid inside her.
She moved, as perfectly as he could wish, in a rhythm that matched him as if they were created for each other. Only one thing could make the moment better. If he could see her. Gaze upon her, feast his eyes. God knew his eyes were hungry for the sight of her.
She moved faster, more urgently, seeking her own pleasure at the exact moment his need increased. That she became so easily aroused by him aroused him further, until sensation and need overtook him.
She cried out and at the moment of her release, his came, an explosion of sensation equal to the pleasure they’d already shared.
She collapsed on top of him, as he’d done, only her weight was a trifle. He held her there, moving his hands over her skin, enjoying the smooth, slightly damp contours of her body.
‘I stand corrected,’ he murmured, his lips touching her hair. ‘I said nothing could be better than the last time, but this was equal to it. Better, even.’ He ran his fingers through her hair. ‘Nothing quite matches making love to you, Daphne.’
She released a satisfied breath. ‘I thought you would have shared such pleasure with many women.’
It was his turn to laugh. ‘Not as many as you would expect. Never as gratifying.’
She nestled by his side again and was silent for so long he thought her asleep. He felt himself drifting towards that state, as well.
‘Did you ever think yourself in love, Hugh?’ she asked.
‘No.’ He’d experienced a youthful infatuation or two, but never as a man. ‘I was too busy, I suppose. Being an officer and then tending to family matters.’ That was the easy answer. He suspected his choices had been affected by his mother’s unhappiness and the fact that his father had been a thorough reprobate.
‘I dare say many officers found reasons to marry in that period of time.’ Her voice turned sad. ‘And afterwards you could have married for money.’
It was what she had done, was it not? He could not imagine himself doing the same.
‘Enough of this topic.’ The last thing he wanted was to make her sad. ‘We all do what seems best at the time. Is that not correct?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said uncertainly.
‘I know so.’
He held her beside him and gradually felt her muscles relax and her breathing turn even. What could be more pleasant than this, feeling the warmth of her skin against his?
When she woke in the morning, would she regret this intimacy? Would he? There was no one to be hurt in it, was there? Especially now he knew there had been no child.
Would she ever tell him the true reason she had been in Switzerland? It did not matter. Nothing mattered except loving her. Making love to her had changed everything. He no longer planned on having Carter arrange a carriage ride home for him. He planned on enjoying this week with her. He wanted to spend every week with her in such enjoyment.
The thought surprised him. He did not wish to settle down, to stay in one place, to be beholden to another person, but what better adventure could there be than spending each day with her, forging a life together? Maybe they could travel together. He could think of no travelling companion he could desire more. Even more than travel, though, he wanted merely to be with her. He was certain of it. He’d actually mused that he’d enjoyed his recuperation because of her. When his bandages came off and he became whole again, think how much better being with her could be.
If his eyes healed, that was. That was the larger question. He might
end this week blind. Could he really ask her to spend her life with him, if he was permanently impaired and dependent? She would do it, he’d wager. She had gone to all this trouble for him when he was a stranger to her. She would do even more for a lover.
Or a husband.
Hugh tried to imagine living in endless darkness as an invalid. What kind of man, or part man, would blindness make him? He’d have nothing to offer her. He’d merely take, take, take.
In a week, he would know. What was a week to wait? One thing was certain, he would spend this week loving her and enjoying their time together to the full. If luck would truly be with him, the bandages would come off and he’d open his eyes to the sight of her face.
Then his future would be certain. He’d ask her to share it with him and he was certain she’d say yes.
Chapter Eleven
The next week proved to be the most beautiful week of Daphne’s life, but finally it was at an end. Today was her last day with Hugh. The knowledge that this was her last day with him was like walking around with a dagger in her heart, a dagger she could neither remove nor reveal.
The week had been extraordinarily wonderful and acutely agonising.
Their lovemaking had shredded any barriers between them. She’d never felt as close to anyone in her life as she felt to Hugh. He was a part of her now. He would always be a part of her.
But in a short time she would leave him.
It was all arranged.
Monette, Carter and Smith the coachman were in her confidence, but Carter pursed his lips whenever she mentioned her plan and Monette looked mournful. She’d also told Toller, because she needed his assistance and she wanted someone familiar to Hugh to remain with him when the bandages came off. Toller was also tasked with handing Hugh—or reading to him—her letter of farewell.
She’d arranged for Mr Wynne to call after breakfast, although Hugh thought it would be in the afternoon.
After dressing, Daphne came down to the dining room and waited for Hugh. She stared at the buffet table without appetite. She would have to force food down when Hugh sat with her, or he would notice and wonder why she was not eating.
A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) Page 12