by Anna Bennett
“The male form is widely portrayed in classical art, and therefore, you could be forgiven for thinking you have seen it all. But until you have … you have not.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Nash had never been so happy to see the inside of a hackney cab. From the moment he and Caroline had become separated, his heart had been pounding. First from stark fear that something terrible had happened to her, and then from their sprint through the streets of London.
But now Caroline was leaning into his side, talking about belonging, her brilliant green eyes gazing up at him like he was some sort of hero. Which he wasn’t. Still, sitting there, basking in her radiant glow, he could almost believe he was.
“I wish tonight hadn’t been a disappointment for you,” he said. But perhaps a small part of him was glad that her memory hadn’t come rushing back at the sight of the tavern. Because when she discovered her identity, she would have to go home.
“How could it be a disappointment?” Caroline asked. “I dressed as a boy, drank ale in a tavern, and—with a little help—outran a couple of drunken thugs.”
“And you lived to tell the tale,” Nash teased.
She chuckled. “I’m not certain it’s a story I shall pass down to my grandchildren, but yes—I survived.”
“I would never have let anything happen to you.”
She slipped her hand into his. “I know.”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. But whenever he squeezed her hand, she smiled dreamily. When he traced circles on her palm with his thumb, her lips would part. And each time she pressed her trouser-clad thigh against his, he instantly grew hard.
The cab rolled to a stop at the corner Nash had specified—a block from his town house. In case the driver noticed anything unusual about his two roughly dressed passengers, Nash didn’t want him connecting their activities to the Duke of Stonebridge.
He and Caroline hopped out onto the deserted street, stretching the tightness out of their legs. “You might be sore tomorrow,” he said.
“It will have been worth it,” she said confidently. “To feel the thundering of my heart and the burn in my muscles. To feel … alive.”
“I think I know what you mean,” he said. But the truth was, he felt alive whenever he was with her. Even if they were simply eating breakfast.
He led her to the back of his house, pausing just outside the garden gate. “If anyone encounters us, our disguises would be hard to explain,” he whispered.
“Then we should take care to avoid detection.” Grinning, she leaned against the exterior wall and pulled off one boot, then the other.
He took them from her, tucked them under an arm, and led her into the house, up the back staircase. He held his breath as they slunk down the corridor to his bedchamber and didn’t release it till Caroline was safely inside.
The moment the door closed behind them, he dropped the boots and Caroline flew into his arms. Her hands clung to his shoulders. Her hips rocked against his. Their mouths crashed in a kiss that was primal and fierce. He lifted her, and she wound her legs around his waist as she speared her fingers through his hair and let her tongue tangle with his.
“Caroline,” he murmured against her mouth. “We shouldn’t become too carried away.”
She broke off their kiss and looked directly into his eyes. “I want to become carried away. With you. I know this isn’t permanent—it can’t be. But if our days together are numbered, I don’t want to waste them.”
Holy hell, she was difficult to resist. He let her slide slowly down his body, placing her gently on her stockinged feet. “How carried away do you wish to be?” he asked.
She leaned into him and skimmed a fingertip over his lower lip. “I want to see your body and feel your skin against mine. I want to experience passion and … pleasure.”
He swallowed, humbled by the trust she was placing in him. “You’re sure about this? Even though you still don’t have your memory?”
“I know enough about me. And I know enough about you.” She placed a palm on his chest and searched his face. “I can’t explain exactly what’s happening between us, but I need this. I think you do too.”
“Maybe I do.” Nash’s blood heated. He did need Caroline—in more ways than he wanted to admit.
* * *
Caroline drank in the sight of Nash’s handsome face, thrilled at the heat in his gaze. “We’re going to need to remove our clothes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“We will.” His chuckle vibrated through her, wickedly deep and promising. “But there’s no hurry.”
“There isn’t?” she asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism. Her whole body pulsed with need.
“Trust me.” He shot her an amused smile and turned her so that her back pressed against the wall of his chest. As he tugged the tails of her shirt out of her waistband, he trailed kisses down the side of her neck, the scruff of his beard scraping lightly over her skin.
His large, warm hands found their way under her shirt and up her torso, caressing the sensitive skin of her belly and cruising over the bands of silk that bound her breasts.
She wanted to tear off the binding and his clothes—to remove every barrier between them. But he wanted to go slowly. And so she would, despite the temptation to rush to the best parts.
She melted into him, sighing as he inched the hem of her shirt up past her navel, past her breasts, and over her head. He tossed it aside with a satisfied growl and spun her around to face him. Everywhere he looked—her lips, her shoulders, her hips—heated under his blatantly appreciative gaze.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said, sliding her hand over the hard planes of his chest and under the collar of his jacket. With deliberate slowness, she pushed the jacket off his broad shoulders, molding her palms to his muscles and flesh. Coyly, she circled behind him, nipping at his neck while she tugged the coat off his arms.
When she would have removed his shirt, he lightly grasped her wrists. “Your trousers are next.”
“Very well.” She looked directly into his golden eyes as she unbuckled her belt and slid it off. Removing the trousers took a bit more of her attention, but she managed to undo the buttons and shimmy the waistband over her hips while stealing glances at Nash. The rough fabric grazed her thighs and knees, then puddled around her ankles. Smiling shyly, she stepped out of the trousers and was rewarded with a molten kiss.
At last, she lifted his shirt, admiring every inch of skin she exposed. The fuzzy, taut flesh above his waistband. The contoured muscles of his abdomen. The smooth planes of his chest, and his dark, flat nipples. She discarded his shirt and traced the ridges of his torso with her fingers, tasted his salty skin with her tongue.
Meanwhile, Nash pulled the pins from her hair, letting it cascade over her bare shoulders and arms. She couldn’t wait to lie with him on the bed, to tangle her legs with his, but he sat on a chair and pulled her close, so that she stood between his thighs.
He reached behind her and pulled the end of her binding free. “I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” he whispered, with something akin to awe. Slowly, he tugged on the silk strip, winding the fabric around his fist as he unwrapped her—like she was a rare and special gift. She spun before him, feeling the cool air and his hot gaze on her increasingly naked skin. With every turn, the binding grew looser, and her breasts felt fuller … till the last bit of silk fell away.
“You are gorgeous, Caroline.” Nash’s face was level with her breasts, and he greedily took the tip of one into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her steady despite her wobbly knees.
Her hair fell in a dark curtain around them, and the rest of the world faded away. All that remained were their almost-naked bodies, their fast-beating hearts, and the glorious feelings they stirred in each other. Every time he drew her nipple in his mouth, she arched toward him, wanting more.
As if he felt the same, he effortlessly scooped her into his arms and carried her to his massive bed. They sprawled
across it, and he propped his head on an elbow, gazing down at her. “There’s no need to rush into anything. We could just lie here, together, for a while.”
“We could.” She imagined him holding her, kissing her, and playing with her hair. She’d derive hours of enjoyment from that—and from the magnificent view of his handsome face and sculpted torso. “But one thing I’ve learned from my injury is that we never know what the next day may bring. If you’re always waiting on the future, it’s easy to miss the joy of the present. I hope that we shall have a few more nights together, but I don’t want to waste a single one.”
To further argue her point, she arched her breasts to his chest and captured his mouth in a kiss. He growled and flipped onto his back, deftly rolling her on top of him. Her thighs straddled his hips, and even though he still wore his trousers, she felt the hard length of him between her legs. Once she recovered from the shock of sitting astride him, she found it deliciously empowering. And arousing.
He seemed to drink in the sight of her, his languorous gaze lingering on her breasts. With a wicked smile, he grasped her hips and showed her how to move against him, stoking her desire every time she rocked. The fabric of his trousers teased her wet, swollen flesh, increasing the ache in her core. She tried moving slowly, then faster, till she found the rhythm that felt best.
Nash’s low moans spurred her on. Neither of them spoke, but their eyes met and locked as their hips moved together. Her hair fell softly around her, tickling her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. He brushed away the long curls and cupped the mounds in his hands, his palms grazing her nipples every time she rocked.
When the pleasure became almost too much to bear, he gently rolled her onto the bed. While she tried to catch her breath, he kissed a path down the side of her neck to the sensitive undersides of her breasts. With his tongue, he traced spirals around the taut peaks, closer and closer, till, at last, he took one nipple in his mouth. He lightly pinched the other, driving her mad with desire.
“Nash,” she murmured, desperate to ease the ache inside her. As she ran her fingers through his impossibly thick hair, he moved lower, kissing her belly and circling her navel with his tongue. He settled his body between her thighs, nudging them farther apart. Warm, sure fingers touched her entrance and parted the folds, making way for his mouth.
She gasped at the first pressure of his tongue, sighed with every seductive stroke. She’d never even dreamt that Nash might kiss her there, and shocking as it was, she gave herself up to the pleasure, thrilled that he seemed to enjoy it almost as much as she did.
His low moans vibrated through her in the most delicious way. His fingers filled her as his mouth tasted and teased the spot that seemed to be at the very center of her need. Her thighs clenched, and her body arched as though it were reaching for something very sweet. Something very close.
Suddenly, the pulsing in her core grew stronger and faster, tipping her over the edge of a beautiful precipice. She bit the back of her hand to muffle her cries and surrendered to the inevitable power of it—from the first glorious contractions to the last blissful echoes.
Nash held her tightly through it all. Telling her how lovely she was. Soothing her with warm kisses on the insides of her thighs.
Afterward, he smiled a bit smugly. With his sandy hair adorably disheveled and the stubble on his jaw broodingly dark, he looked every inch the charming rake. And for tonight, he was hers.
He peeled back the counterpane and tenderly lifted her, placing her head on a pillow and tucking her under the blanket—as if he knew that her limbs were loose and heavy. But she was not ready for bed. Or rather, she was not ready for sleeping.
“Will you join me?” she said, surprised by the purr-like quality of her voice.
He grinned and started to slip between the covers. “Of course.”
“Wait,” she said, frowning slightly. “You’re still wearing your trousers.”
“That’s easily remedied.” He quickly unbuttoned them and took them off, revealing narrow hips, tight buttocks, muscular legs—and the hard length of his arousal.
She sat up and met him on the edge of the bed, eager to touch him and give him the pleasure he’d given her. “You’re magnificent,” she murmured, savoring the sight of him standing naked before her. “May I touch you?”
“Anywhere you like,” he growled. “Anytime you like.”
She ran her hands over the sculpted contours of his buttocks. Glided her palms over the rock-hard muscles of his thighs. Trailed her fingertips over the ridges of his abdomen. His body was so different from her own. Pure power. Coiled strength.
Tentatively, she curled her fingers around his shaft and glided her palm down, over its smooth, hard length. She paid close attention to the signals Nash gave her. Low groans in his throat. Eyes closed in ecstasy. Involuntary thrusts of his hips.
Confident she was on the right track, she stroked faster, with the pressure and rhythm he seemed to like best—and was rewarded with a muffled curse. “Caroline,” he said raggedly. “That feels … too good.”
Encouraged, she lowered her head and slowly licked the top of his shaft. Took him into her mouth.
“Jesus, Caroline.” He moaned and gently caressed her scalp as she tasted him, alternately licking and sucking till she discovered what pleased him most. “You are incredible,” he said, gasping. “But you don’t have to do this.”
Of course she didn’t—but she wanted to. And she didn’t stop. Not when she heard him utter an oath. Not when she felt his body tremble on the edge of release. And not when he cried out in pleasure.
Spent, Nash climbed into bed, curled his body around hers, and pulled the covers over them. He planted tender kisses along her neck and across her shoulder, sending delicious shivers down her spine. Tucked in their own intimate cocoon, they held each other as their eyelids grew heavy and their breathing slowed.
He’d warned her he was incapable of a deep and abiding love. But this … this felt awfully close.
Tomorrow she’d go back to wondering and worrying.
He’d go back to sparring and avoiding.
But tonight, everything had felt true and perfect and right. And Caroline wouldn’t ever forget it.
Chapter 14
“If you truly care for him, you will notice more than his broad shoulders and handsome visage. For few qualities are more desirable in a partner than a beautiful mind.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Nash stretched and rolled over, reaching for Caroline. The mattress beside him was still warm, and her sweet scent still lingered on the sheets. But she was gone.
Holy hell—he’d slept too long. He’d planned to wake in the wee hours of the morning and carry her back to her bed. Instead, he’d slept the deep, blissful sleep of a child on a long coach ride.
He wished that Caroline had woken him before leaving his bed. So that he could have given her a kiss—a kiss to say everything he couldn’t.
That last night had meant something to him.
She meant something to him.
And though he could never be the man she deserved, or love her the way she needed him to, they had something special. Maybe her memory would return; maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, surely some sort of future was possible for them.
He bounded out of bed, scooped up both their disguises from the chair where he’d left them, and wadded everything into a ball which he stuffed into the bottom drawer of his bureau. Eager to shave and dress, he rang for his valet. Hopefully he’d see Caroline at breakfast before he set out for the day—and he was already mentally making plans to meet her again tonight. Secrecy was a necessity, unfortunately, but he was determined to win her over.
And find a way they could be together.
A half hour later, he walked into the breakfast room where Delilah sat, eating alone. “Good morning,” he said, taking a seat and pouring himself coffee. He took a bracing gulp of the hot, bitter brew and gestured toward the empty chair at the table.
“Where’s Caroline?”
“Still abed,” Delilah said brightly. “I’m glad she’s resting so well. Sleep is surely the best thing for her.”
“No doubt,” he said, tamping down a niggle of guilt. He and Caroline had been awake till the wee hours of the morning, but at least she was resting now. “I’m glad to have you to myself this morning. I’ve been wanting to talk with you.”
“Really? About what?” She tossed several ringlets of blond hair behind her shoulder, signaling she was already on her guard.
“About my tendency to be protective of you.” Delilah arched an expressive brow at that, and he smiled. “Very well. My tendency to be overly protective,” he corrected.
She set down her fork and looked at him earnestly. “You were eighteen years of age when you became responsible for me—barely an adult yourself. And I was a girl in the schoolroom. In many ways, you’ve been more of a father to me than our father ever was.”
Nash pressed his lips together. Their father had been controlling but aloof. Never talking or laughing or hugging. Chances were, Nash would turn out the same way. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but all I’ve ever wanted was to keep you safe and make you happy. After we lost Emily and Father, moving away from town seemed like the best option. We needed that time—to grieve and gather ourselves together without being under the scrutiny of the ton.”
“Yes,” Delilah agreed. “That makes perfect sense.”
“But the longer we stayed away, the less I wanted to return. This house is so full of memories. I climb the stairs and see Emily sliding down the banister. I walk through the garden and hear her laughter.” He shrugged helplessly. “So I avoided coming back—and that wasn’t fair to you.”
Delilah’s blue eyes shone with understanding. “Well, we’re here now. That’s the important thing. All I ask is that you allow me to make my own decisions—and not just about my reading material or the style of my gowns,” she added. “I deserve to spend time with the gentleman of my choosing.”