It Happened One Season

by Stephanie Laurens

  Curiosity gleamed in her eyes. He looked down and watched her hesitantly glide her fingers over the head of his arousal.

  “You’re wet as well,” she said, dragging a single fingertip through the pearl of moisture leaking from the tip.

  He slammed his eyes shut and groaned. And even though he stood in grave danger of being a hell of a lot wetter, he grated out, “Again.”

  She stroked him again, then again, each pass of her fingers growing less hesitant, propelling him toward the brink of insanity. “That feels so incredibly … good.” Helpless to remain still, he rolled his hips and thrust into her hand. She wrapped her fingers around him and he knew he was done.

  He wordlessly grasped her wrist, eased her hand away, and settled himself between her splayed thighs. Supporting his weight on his forearms, he slowly eased inside her, watching every nuance of her expressions. Arousal. Need. Desire. But no fear. Thank God, because he wasn’t certain he was capable of calming her.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he ground out.

  She gripped his shoulders and undulated beneath him. “You’ll only do so if you stop.”

  Alec gritted his teeth and thrust. And sank deep into the tight, wet heaven of her body. Her eyes widened for a single heartbeat, then closed.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  Alec forced himself to remain still, to allow her to grow accustomed to him, but bloody hell, the effort nearly killed him. She was so tight and so hot … sweat broke out across his back and beaded on his forehead.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him with an expression of wonder that squeezed his heart as snugly as her body gripped his. “I feel so delightfully, deliciously … full,” she murmured. “Full of you. Is this as wondrous for you as it is for me?”

  Alec had to swallow to locate his voice. “I’ve never felt anything so incredible,” he said, meaning every word. He drew halfway out, then sank deep again, the slick friction dragging a groan from both of them.

  “Alec … I want you to do that again.”

  He obliged her, this time withdrawing nearly all the way from her body before taking the slow deep glide that buried him to the hilt. Her inner walls gripped him like a hot, wet fist and he clenched his jaw against the intense, blinding pleasure.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he demanded in a hoarse rasp.

  She instantly obeyed, and with his gaze locked on hers, he stroked inside her, each thrust increasing in speed and force. Her movements were awkward at first, but she quickly caught the rhythm. He was helpless to further delay the climax bearing down on him, and he knew he was only a few heartbeats away from exploding. Her fingers bit into his shoulders. “Alec,” she panted. “I feel so … ohhhh.”

  Her body clenched around him and with a groan that felt dragged from the depths of his soul, he crushed her to him. His release pounded through him, the intense shudders wracking his entire body. When they subsided he dropped his forehead against her shoulder and fought to catch his breath.

  God help him, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t so much as make a fist. He wasn’t certain how long he remained immobile, still buried inside her, before he garnered the strength to lift his head. She lay beneath him, her mussed hair spread around her in wild abandon, her skin stained with a delicate rosy glow, her parted, moist lips resembling plump, ripe cherries. His gaze slid down, noting the pale golden freckles that dotted her chest, an enticing trail that led to her soft breasts, topped with hard, coral nipples whose taste and texture lingered on his tongue.

  How in God’s name had she never had a suitor? He didn’t know—it defied logic—but by God he was glad for it. The thought of another man kissing her, touching her, making love to her filmed a red haze over his vision. He raised his gaze back to hers and saw she’d opened her eyes. And that they were wet with tears.

  Panic raced through him and he made to push off her. “I hurt you. I’m sorry—”

  His words cut off when she tightened her arms and legs around him and shook her head. “You didn’t hurt me at all. Indeed I’ve never felt so marvelous in my entire life.” A pair of fat tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  “Then why are you crying?” He brushed his thumbs over her temples, but that just seemed to bring more tears. “Bloody hell, please stop crying.”

  A noise that sounded like a half laugh, half sob escaped her. “I’m not crying.”

  “Well then you’re doing a damn fine imitation of it.” He reached between them and managed to wrestle his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, then gently dabbed her eyes. “Tell me why you’re crying,” he said quietly.

  “That was just so … you were just so …” She heaved an unsteady breath. “Incredible. Lovely. I always wondered what it would be like, but never thought I’d know. And now I do.” She reached up and lightly traced the scar that bisected his eyebrow. “Thank you, Alec.”

  Something shifted in his chest, as if whatever anchored his heart and lungs in place broke loose of its moorings. How could he explain that while he’d believed he’d known what passion felt like, the last half hour had proved him utterly wrong? “You were incredible and lovely. Beautiful.” He skimmed his fingertips over the blush staining her cheeks. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  She appeared about to argue and he silenced her with a kiss. When he raised his head he said, “Since you cannot see yourself and I can, you are absolutely not allowed to gainsay me on that point.”

  “Very well. But then you cannot object to me saying the same thing to you.”

  “Thank you—which, for future reference, is the proper way to acknowledge a compliment. Although I believe men are normally referred to as handsome rather than beautiful.”

  She framed his face in her hands and, with her tear-dampened eyes steady on his, whispered, “Some men are handsome, but others—and they are very rare—are beautiful. And you, Captain Trentwell, are beautiful.”

  Bloody hell, he felt … undone. Humbled. And wracked with guilt. She wouldn’t think you so bloody beautiful if she knew the truth.

  He shoved the thought back into the crypt from which it had slithered and touched his forehead to hers. “It is I who should be thanking you,” he said quietly. “I’d forgotten how it felt to touch someone. To be touched in return.”

  “You’ve been alone for a long time.”

  His damn throat swelled shut and all he could do was nod.

  Her hands gently stroked his hair. “You’re not alone anymore, Alec.”

  A sense of relief washed over him, like a cleansing spring rain, bathing him with a calm he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He lifted his head and brushed his lips over hers, then looked into her eyes. “Neither of us is alone anymore, Penelope.”

  A slow grin curved her lips, spreading until it lit her entire face. It was impossible to resist and he felt his own mouth stretch into an answering smile. Outlining his lips with her fingertips, she said, “You should smile more often.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll be doing so with ridiculous frequency.”

  Her own smile widened. “I believe our marriage is off to a very good start, Captain Trentwell.”

  “I agree, Mrs. Trentwell.”

  He just prayed she would continue to think so after he told her the truth.

  Chapter Nine

  Bloody hell, Penelope, this is pure torture.”

  “Perhaps, but you promised.” Penelope bit back a smile as she dipped her paintbrush into the flesh-tone color she’d mixed by blending several oils together. It perfectly matched Alec’s skin tone, lending the painting a realism that made it seem as if his naked body leapt off the canvas. Of course, she’d hidden his identity by disguising him as the Greek god Adonis. No point in bringing more scandal down upon her and the Trentwell name.

  Not that she wouldn’t deserve it this time. Before Alec, she’d drawn the naked form—and attempted that one sculpture in Italy—purely from an artistic standpoint so as to develop her talent. However, now that she’d
been married to such a perfect male specimen for the past two months, she had to confess, she painted him nude solely because of how their sessions … came to an end.

  “You realize you’ll be repaid for this,” he said.

  His low, hoarse voice, coupled with the scorching heat sizzling from his blue gaze tingled anticipation down her spine. “Is that a threat?”

  “Threat, promise, vow—call it whatever you wish. Just be assured that the torture you give, you shall receive in return.”

  “You’d best be careful, sir. With a single stroke I can change your nose so that it resembles that of Cyrano de Bergerac.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, it isn’t my nose that has grown.”

  Penelope pushed up her spectacles. “Oh, I’ve noticed.” Given how her hard nipples pressed against the thin silk of her dressing gown, her own arousal was impossible to miss. Which meant it was time for this session to conclude. She glanced at her painting and sighed at her dismal progress. At this rate it would take her a year or two to complete. Oh well …

  Setting aside her palette, she dragged her gaze from her husband—no easy task—and picked up a clean brush. Putting a deliberate sway in her hips, she approached him slowly and said, “Due to your persistent lack of cooperation by growing, I’m not sure I’ve captured you accurately. Therefore, I need for you to remain very still so I can make certain I have the correct feel of things.”

  She stopped directly in front of him, and with her gaze locked on his, trailed the brush down the length of his jutting arousal.

  He hissed in a sharp breath. “Penelope.”

  That single word, ground out through his clenched jaw, rippled a dark thrill straight to her core.

  “Yes?” She trailed the paintbrush over his erection again, this time finishing with a slow swirl around the engorged tip.

  For an answer he yanked her against him and crushed her lips beneath his. His tongue invaded her mouth as his impatient hands jerked her robe down her arms. The garment pooled at her feet, leaving her as naked as he. Without breaking their frantic kiss, he hoisted her up and moved forward, until her shoulders hit the wall.

  “You’re going to want to hang on,” he warned. Penelope wrapped her arms and legs around him, then gasped when he entered her in a single deep, hard thrust. Her pleasure-filled moans mingled with his choppy breaths as he relentlessly stroked her. Her climax screamed through her, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he followed her over the edge into release.

  Thank goodness his strong arms remained wrapped around her, otherwise she’d have slithered to the floor in a boneless heap. Gathering her close, peppering her face with kisses, he carried her to their bedchamber where he deposited her on the bed with a gentle bounce. He disappeared for several minutes, and when he returned he carried the paintbrush she’d teased him with—and a jar of honey.

  “You’re about to learn that you are not the only member of this household who can wield a paintbrush,” he said with a wicked smile.

  To her delight, he proved he was indeed an accomplished artist, painting an intricate swirling design that curled from the base of her throat all the way to her toes, a work of art he then licked away with long, leisurely laps of his very talented tongue. Penelope returned the favor, reveling in his every groan, and deep shudders of his release.

  The following morning, she awoke and indulged in a leisurely, full-body stretch, savoring the feel of the soft sheets against her naked skin. What would she and Alec do today? Make love after a rousing game of backgammon? Or perhaps steal away to the warm springs at the edge of the property and enjoy a long soak, followed by a repeat of last night’s sensual activities? Or perhaps a picnic in the garden? He’d so far kept the promise he’d made on their wedding day, and they’d made love every day. Several times. At least.

  With a soft sigh of utter contentment, she reached out a languid hand for Alec. When her fingers encountered his empty pillow, she opened her eyes and discovered she was alone.

  Concern flooded her. Had he suffered a nightmare after she’d fallen asleep? She prayed not, but given that today marked the one year anniversary of Waterloo, it wouldn’t surprise her if he had.

  Indeed his nightmares were the only shadow over their lives. As the anniversary of the battle neared, the horrible dreams grew worse and she was at a loss as how to help him. She knew they stemmed from his war experiences, but the few times she’d broached the subject, he’d immediately spoken of something else. While she felt profound sadness about losing her brother to the battle, her heart broke for Alec, who had survived and still bore the internal scars of that day. The pain in his eyes ate at her, but without his cooperation, all she could do was try to soothe him, hold him, when he thrashed in the night and awoke shaking and bathed in sweat.

  Before arising, she rolled over onto his side of the bed and buried her face in his linen pillowcase and breathed deep. The material was cool, indicating he’d been gone for a while, yet it still bore a slight trace of woodsy sandalwood mixed with that elusive scent that belonged to Alec alone.

  Determined to see if he was all right, she slipped from the covers and began her morning ritual. As she washed and dressed in a simple day gown, her mind remained filled with her husband. Her husband, who, for the past two months, had pleased her just as much outside the bedchamber as in it.

  She simply loved living with him, loved the experience of discovering something new about him every day. He enjoyed reading, especially with his head resting in her lap while she stroked his hair—which she didn’t mind at all as she sought any excuse to touch him. He adored blueberries, hated broccoli, possessed uncanny luck at card games, and was completely unbeatable at chess. He enjoyed long walks in the woods, and was patient to a fault, proven when he taught her to ride his horse Apollo, helped her plant flowers, and searched for hours for a perfect skipping stone so she could cross those items off her wish list.

  He claimed to enjoy her efforts at the pianoforte, to which Penelope could only conclude he was either the politest man in the world or utterly tone deaf for she was an abysmal pianist. Still, he’d sit for an entire afternoon listening to her as if she were a virtuoso while she butchered song after song, and each time she looked up from the music she’d find his heated gaze resting on her—and soon afterward, much to her delight, his heated hands.

  He was keenly intelligent, could discuss any subject, never tired of hearing the stories of her life, and told entertaining tales of his childhood. He frequently asked for her opinion, especially with regards to an addition he wished to add to the cottage. And as the weeks flew past, she was gratified to note that his formerly rare smiles appeared much more frequently, each one feeling like a gift, and they were usually accompanied by a rumble of deep, rich laughter. She enjoyed the sound so much she’d made it her private mission to see to it that he laughed every day.

  After donning her gown, she pulled her hair back into a simple chignon and decided that as soon as she found Alec she would tell him the two pieces of news she carried in her heart, the first of which she’d held there for weeks—while she’d already liked and admired him when they married, those seeds had taken root over these past two months spent in his exclusive company, days and nights filled with discovery and intimacy, and had bloomed into a deep, abiding respect. And, to love.

  She’d fallen in love with her husband.

  She’d been initially reluctant to examine her deepening feelings too closely, to acknowledge them, even to herself. After all, Alec hadn’t married her for love. But with each passing day her feelings had grown until ignoring them was impossible, as was pretending they were merely admiration and respect.

  For weeks now the words I love you had ached in her throat, yearning to be said, but as Alec had never broached the subject of love, she’d remained silent, although it had grown increasingly difficult to do so—and after last night, after the profound passion they’d shared, she simply couldn’t do so any longer. And it seemed somehow f
itting that she do so today, on the anniversary of the battle that haunted him. She prayed that knowing he was loved would help chase away the ghosts. And that her other news would make for happy memories of this day to help temper those that plagued him—the news that she was certain she was with child.

  She settled her hands on her abdomen, envisioning the life she knew in her heart was growing there. Her monthly courses hadn’t appeared since her marriage and up until then they’d always occurred regularly. In her mind’s eye she imagined the scenario that was her fondest wish—Alec looking at her through love-filled eyes, cradling his newborn son.

  With that picture embedded in her mind, Penelope quit the bedchamber and went in search of Alec, determined to tell him of his impending fatherhood as well as her love for him—one bit of news he’d been waiting to hear, and one she prayed he’d be happy to hear.

  Chapter Ten

  Alec paced the length of the library. Damn it, he couldn’t put it off any longer—he had to tell Penelope the truth. Today. His conscience, which had been eating him alive for weeks, could no longer be bludgeoned into submission. Especially not today, a day he’d been dreading more and more as it slithered inexorably nearer. The day that marked one year since Waterloo. One year since Edward’s death.

  He paused his restless strides at the sound of a floorboard creaking overhead, announcing Penelope had arisen. An image of her slipping from beneath the covers, hair tousled, eyes sleepy flashed in his mind. He’d wanted nothing more than to remain in bed with her this morning, holding her against him, breathing her in, but she needed her rest and he’d needed time alone to gather his thoughts.

  He dragged his hands down his face and cursed himself for allowing two months to pass without telling her. Especially as the delay was the result of pure selfishness on his part—a trait he disliked in others, yet had managed to rationalize in himself. All because he’d been so damn happy. Bloody hell, he hadn’t expected that. Any more than he’d expected to fall in love with his wife.