“I love you so much.” That revelation was simply there, its truth resonant and clear. She loved Clary to the depth of her soul. He loved her back.
She forgot about the world outside the library—outside the house. All she saw, felt, and heard was that he wanted her—now!
And she wanted him—now!
Helen acted on it, yanking the halves of his waistcoat apart, stretching to slip it from his broad shoulders. Impatiently he pulled his shirt over his head, and finally she had her hands on hot, rough skin. She ran her fingers over his chest and stomach, careful of the scab beginning to form from his injury, the muscles beneath rigid and locked. She leaned into him and licked. He tasted divine, addictive.
He pulled her to sit up next to him so that he could once more plunder her mouth, his hands closing about, and then provocatively kneading, the globes of her bottom. The long muscles framing his back flexed like steel beneath her wandering hands. She ran her fingers down his back, counting the ribs as she traced the muscles leading her down his sides and back to his waist, to caress the rippling bands across his abdomen. They flickered at each touch.
Her fingers quested lower. He sucked in a breath and held it as she lightly traced the prominent line of his erection through his breeches. He stilled, his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, when she reached for the placket of his breeches. As she undid the flap, he groaned into her mouth. She wanted him so bad, almost as much as he wanted her—more perhaps. This was still so new to her.
She hurriedly undid the rest and slid one hand inside the opened flap, and found the rigid length of him. He was hot, with skin so very soft and smooth…
He was under her spell, entirely focused on her hand and what she was doing. Her fingers explored freely, and traced the size and shape of him. She shivered remembering how good he felt deep inside her.
He was getting harder still, more than filling her hand. Growing bolder, she closed her fingers round him, circling him, and this time his groan was accompanied by a shudder.
She loved playing with fire. Loved to see how much she could make him burn, but she took her time, fondling his sac, desire blooming as it tightened in her hand. She could feel the surge of heated need rising through him, provoked by her play, and it rose in her body in kind. She throbbed and grew damp between her thighs.
His mouth finally left hers, but he didn’t stop her games. He truly was a saint because he let her play. She could see the tension in his neck, the cords tight as a bow.
* * *
—
Clary clenched his jaw and endured her touch, when all he wanted was to throw her on the rug and sink into the heaven between her thighs. He wanted to bury himself so deep and let her wrap those gazelle-like legs round him. Each time she caressed him he could feel himself heal, and his past didn’t fill him with self-loathing.
Her touch was pure heaven, her instincts sound. He watched the wonderment in her smile and another surge of heat, of pure unadulterated desire rose, hardening and lengthening the part of his anatomy that was currently the determined focus of her being. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself in check.
Not long, as it turned out. He made the mistake of looking down as she sent her thumb stroking over the aching head of his shaft and found a latent drop. She looked deep into his eyes, brought her thumb to her lips, and tasted, murmuring approval.
“I loved pleasuring you with my mouth. Can I do it again?” and she made to bend to take him in her mouth.
Control slipped. It would be over too soon if those luscious lips touched him there. He caught his breath, nudged her face up and found her lips again, drawing her into a kiss, and ruthlessly, deliberately, took over. He didn’t hold back. He seized and devoured, claiming her mouth, her lips, with a promise of a night of pleasure she would never forget.
He would dictate the pace. He impatiently drew her hand away and efficiently divested himself of the rest of his clothes.
* * *
—
He looked magnificent. An Adonis in the flesh. She took in the sight, drank in the glory.
He drew her close, then closer until there was not even air between them. Silken skin caressing his chest, his arms, his erection, cradled in her softness, while he plundered her mouth, holding her, and her senses, captive.
Helen tried to move closer, tried to merge herself with him. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in her life. Wanted him to be her husband, to share herself with him from now until eternity.
Far from resisting, she sank into his arms, gave herself up to his commanding kiss, surrendered and waited, nerves tight with anticipation.
Without breaking their kiss, he rolled her beneath him. The heat from the fire causing a sheen of sweat on their skin.
Helen let out a cry of disappointment when his lips left hers, only to moan in relief as his mouth found one tight, furled nipple.
His hot mouth suckled and savored; her gasp shivered through the room. He feasted, taking his fill of all she offered him. He laved her breasts, suckled, nipped—sending arrows of heat to her core. His hot mouth gave such pleasure she prayed he never stopped. Her hands closed onto his head, holding him to her; she was never letting go. His mouth was heaven on her flesh.
She rode the waves of delight he evoked. His hands roamed her curves while his mouth devoured her breasts. A wild wantonness erupted within and she reached for him. She gloried in the feel of his hard body, the evidence of his desire never more real. Helen stroked his cock once, and he growled deep in his chest. Her skin was flaming, her body melting, all her senses heightened and in scattered disarray.
Helen almost couldn’t breathe when his muscled thigh, raspy with masculine hair, rode against her dampness, but his groan of admiration saw her glory in wanton excitement. He deliberately shifted, pressing against the most sensitive spot, knowingly winding her tight…Her breath tangled in her throat.
She traced the rock-hard muscles in his arms as he braced himself over her, his other knee joining the first, pushing her legs apart, spreading her thighs so he could settle between them.
Their eyes locked and silently communicated. He looked down her bare torso to where their bodies would join, and the set of his face told her all she needed to know. The angles and planes were sharp with desire—sharp with love.
He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips as he shifted between her thighs. The hardness she’d been caressing probed her slick entrance and she watched fascinated as the broad, blunt head and its inherent strength inched slowly within her.
“So tight. My God if you only knew how this feels…” and he groaned.
He flexed his hips and pressed farther in. She felt every inch of his hardness, stretching and filling her.
“Oh, I know how it feels,” and she drew her knees up to his hips, opening herself wider so he could fill her completely.
He repeated the process several times, both of them mesmerized watching his thick cock move in and out of her. Each stroke enough to tantalize, to drive her insane. She moaned his name.
He covered her lips, took her mouth, adding to her screaming senses. She was combusting from the inside. Soon she was lifting her hips, writhing, urging him for more, her body aching, wanting…
He continued teasing her, only just entering her and then withdrawing, until she was wet and open and almost delirious with desire. Moving in a rhythm that was as ancient as time.
She lifted her head and found his lips. He took her mouth, his tongue mimicking his delicious torture below. He slid deeper, and his tongue plundered, ruthlessly. He settled more heavily between her legs, and she felt the power and strength of him.
He began to thrust faster, more powerfully. He didn’t stop but drove on, all the way in, steadily pushing deep, stretching her, impaling her. She tried to remember to breathe as the sensation of him, hard and strong, overwhelmed her.
He rose up on his forearms and his eyes, coal black under his lashes, glinted down
at her, the weight of his lower body holding her immobile as he looked down and watched as he withdrew and slowly, even more powerfully, entered her.
“Is it always like this?” She looked at him with such love in her eyes.
“Only with you. Only with you.”
He continued to move above her, and her body wound itself as tight as a drawn bow. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to passion’s power. The intimacy of the moment sharpened as he slid deep and she felt the first stirrings of overwhelming passion.
She sent her hands sliding over his shoulders, running them over his back until she found his buttocks. She held on as they flexed. He began to move more forcibly than before, her hips lifted to match his rhythm the friction of their bodies sending spiraling pleasure to her very core.
“Oh. My. God…”
The restless flames of desire erupted within her.
Erupted into a firestorm.
At her first scream, he took her mouth. Their lips melded, tongues tangled, hands gripping, their bodies merging in a frantic and driving need.
He thrust harder, faster, and ever more powerfully. She gave herself over to him, sinking her nails into his buttocks, pulling him close, urging him deeper, wild to provoke him further.
They were desperate for each other. Neither trying to dominate, both wanting to take this journey together. Sharing, loving, being one. Their senses held, locked, overwhelmed by the slickness, the heat, the gasping urgency of their loving.
He drove her on, leading her on the road to their release. He thrust deeper yet and her body gathered him close, holding him, tightening around him, and suddenly she was floating, riding a wave of joyous and consuming pleasure. Her body imploded in heat and glory and satisfaction. Sensations rioted down every nerve, drowning her in pleasure. The waves continued, no longer gigantic, but ripples of contentment. She clung to him, felt him thrust deep and roar against her mouth, the sound flowing into her, as did his seed. They lay still, panting, soaking in the glory of their union as the waves slowly ebbed.
Clary fought to regain his senses. Eyes closed tight as he felt the last spasm fade. A tsunami of feelings rioted within his chest.
There was no turning back. He’d left his seed deep within her.
He rolled off her. He slumped exhausted, wrung out beside her, pulling her hard against him into the cradle of his arms.
Peace flowed over him and through him, the crackle of the fire the only sound other than their ragged breathing. He’d never felt anything like it in his life, and he just wanted to lie here and revel in the joy of it.
The joy of her.
They lay wrapped together, too drained to stir, and very content.
* * *
—
Sated, languid, and barely able to move from the thorough lovemaking she’d just received, Helen lay nestled in Clary’s arms by the fire, which he had just fed. She’d never known such contentment.
He’d not pulled out of her body when he’d reached his climax. That told her all she needed to know. He was hers forever.
She traced his handsome face with her finger, tenderly moving over the bump where Sebastian had broken his nose.
“Your brother throws a mighty punch. Perhaps when I ask for your hand tomorrow, if I give him this side of my face, he’ll knock my nose back into place.”
“He won’t punch you, that I promise,” she murmured.
“That’s easy for you to say but he is very protective of you.”
“He loves me. He’s agreed to give me his blessing when you ask.”
“You are so beautiful and clever. I’m scared to go to sleep in case I wake up in the morning and find this was just a dream.”
She pinched his bottom. “Does that feel like a dream?”
She released a squeal as he rolled her on top of him, his hands sweeping over her bare back, down to cup her buttocks. She could feel him hardening again. “You are very beautiful. When I first saw you the day your sister was brought home after her accident, I thought you were an angel. So fair, so pure, so absolutely perfect.”
She gently kissed his broken nose. “Nobody is perfect, Clary. I have learned that, and you know that. But when you love someone you love them imperfections and all.”
“Perhaps. But I hope our children turn out to be as perfect as you.”
She smiled as she sat up and guided him into her. “That’s funny, because I was hoping for a little boy with black ringlets and silver gray eyes, a boy who will know so much love, love that as a child his father was denied. That would make me complete.”
As she began to ride him slowly, feeling him fill her completely, she bent and whispered in his ear, “To the children we were.”
“To the adults we’ve become,” he replied before he kissed her.
Epilogue
LONDON, ONE YEAR LATER
Clary kept staring across the room at Simon, letting his brother’s reassuring smile stop him from fainting. He expected to wake up at any moment from this dream. With his wife, Helen, standing by his side, her family and friends behind them, he was about to be presented to King George IV who was bestowing him with a patent for services to king and country.
He was being made a baron—Baron Haxby.
Maitland and Sebastian, on Marisa’s urging, had approached the king shortly after Clary’s marriage to Helen and explained that he had thwarted an evil villain using Marisa’s orphanages to sell children—English children to foreign enemies—and in doing so had also saved the lives of both Lady Marisa and Lady Helen, the wife of the Duke of Lyttleton and the sister of the Marquis of Coldhurst.
The fact that the king was godfather to Sebastian’s newborn son, Jeremy, and that Maitland pointed out it would be wonderful to announce a new title in his first year of being king, saw His Majesty agreeing readily. In fact, he’d been quite generous with titles this year.
The only downside was Clary had to agree to become a Tory to get the prime minister on their side. But it was a small price to pay for Helen’s happiness.
Maitland’s backstory about Simon and Clary’s place of birth and upbringing had never been questioned, and he’d wisely chosen a name from the Yorkshire area for his title—Haxby.
His marriage to Helen, even though he was to be given a title, was still considered to be well beneath her, and some in society rarely invited them to their homes. But at least when they visited London, away from their big house in York gifted to them by Sebastian upon their marriage, she could move about freely with her sisters and friends. The expense of one hundred and fifty pounds Clary had to pay to the House of Peers was worth the cost.
He could feel the sweat running down his back under his shirt. He’d never been in front of so many important people before—the king for goodness’ sake, and he wanted to do his wife and her family proud. She must have sensed his unease for she squeezed his hand. “It will be over in a minute. Everyone will be focused on the Duke of Wellington,” who had been given his patent before him.
Finally his name was called, Clarence Homeward, Baron Haxby. On shaking legs he walked forward and bowed to the king as he’d been instructed. He got down on bended knee and received his patent.
The king merely said, “Jolly good show, my boy.”
Clary stood to polite applause, and this flimsy piece of parchment now meant he had a hereditary peerage.
He smiled across at his wife, who only this morning told him she was carrying their first child, and as he stood, his first thought was that if she bore him a son, he would finally have something of value to give his child—the title of baron—when Clary left this world. His son would never be looked down upon.
He walked back to his wife, and she slipped her arm through his and they left the banquet hall together.
“Thanks to your family, our son will have something that no one can take from him.”
She smiled up at him and patted her stomach. “He will always have something that no one can take from him, but it’s not a ti
tle. He will have love. Lots and lots of love from us and our extended family.”
Then Simon arrived and bowed deep before standing and saying with a grin as wide as the Thames, “Congratulations, my lord.”
“Stop it.”
His brother patted him on the back. “You best get used to it. Your world has changed but I hope you will still have time for your lowly brother.”
A bit of his joy left him. “Never use that word to describe yourself. Look every man in the eye for you are the equal of any man. And you will soon be a fine solicitor who works exclusively for Baron Haxby.”
“Only if Baron Haxby lets me do work for his orphanages as well. I thought I could turn my back on where I had come from but you showed me that we can make a difference. I want to be involved in helping orphaned children.”
His heart flooded with pride at Simon’s words. “We can use all the help we can get for I am determined not to stop until all the Glovers of this world are driven out of London—no, England.”
Sebastian arrived at his side and shook his hand. “The next ceremony is your introduction to the House of Lords in a fortnight.”
He looked at his wife.
“Anne and Claire will keep the children in order until we get back to Yorkshire,” she was smiling as she said it as if to say, You have no excuse to run home.
They had moved Anne and Claire to Yorkshire with them to oversee the training and boarders in their home.
“This title is going to be the death of me, but thank you,” he said to his brother-in-law. “Thank you for what you did for Helen, this means so much to her.”
Sebastian laughed. “It only means so much to her because she wanted something good for you. She couldn’t give a tuppence about society.”
He stood stock-still. “For me. Something good for me.” He turned to his wife. “You are the something good for me. My life could be so different, filled with loneliness and regret. But I found you. You are my life. You by my side is all I’ll ever need.”
A Dream of Redemption Page 20