The Devilish Mr. Danvers

by Vivienne Lorret

  She let the gauzy cotton drop to the floor and stood before him, naked. His breathing was audible, his lips parted. The night air caused her nipples to draw tight. When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple rose and dipped in his throat. It was the same way her stomach felt, only hers settled much lower. She pressed a hand below her navel and took the remaining steps to the bed.

  She was taking all of this as a good sign. He hadn’t told her to leave. Not only that, but that glass was still paused halfway to his mouth. Reaching out, she covered his fingers with hers and drew the glass to her own lips.

  The sip was cool, but burned all the way down her throat, warming her stomach. She wondered if that was the reason he drank it—because he’d felt cold all the way to his marrow too. If so, then she sought to remedy that.

  When she released his hand, Rafe drank the last swallow before setting it down on the bedside table. The folded corner of the coverlet exposed the lean, sinewy length of his body, from his shoulder all the way to his knee. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

  She’d already seen him in nothing but his breeches. Now, she would see him without even those. A wanton thrill shot through her. “I’m going to make love to you,” she said as her fingers curled around the edge of the green velvet. “But first, I want to see you.”

  Rafe groaned in the same moment that she stripped away the bedclothes. Likely, she should lift her gaze to his face and inquire about the source of his groan. But at the moment, she couldn’t. He was put together in such a way that . . . well, she never would have expected a man to look so . . . so hard everywhere. The dark hair covering his chest and tapering down into a line along his abdomen did nothing to make him appear softer—even though she knew from experience that those hairs were soft. Yet they were deceptive, because his chest and abdomen were as hard as fieldstone.

  She imagined the same could be true of the thick shaft of flesh jutting up from the thatch of dark hair between his thighs and laying in column toward his navel. While she had seen his flesh exposed and in his grip—had even felt it prod against her—her attention had been more on the euphoria she’d experienced in the moments before, when his mouth had been on her.

  She let out a shuddered breath. Just the thought of it made her feel warm and damp. Raking her teeth over her lip, she slid her fingertips over the mattress, following the indentation of his body. Would he feel the same type of euphoria if she put her mouth on him? As if his thick flesh had heard her thought, it leapt up in a quick nod.

  Listening to what Rafe’s actions were saying, Hedley climbed onto the bed. On her knees, she faced him. His eyes were dark and intense, but she saw more than desire. She knew there was more between them.

  “I love you, no matter what you choose to believe,” she whispered. When he opened his mouth to respond, she silenced him with a kiss. A low sound rumbled in his throat. The warm caress of his lips beneath hers, the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her palms gave her the only answer she needed.

  His hands threaded through the waves of her unbound hair, holding her close. He breathed her in and welcomed her tongue past his lips. Falling against him, her breasts pressed against his chest as her hands splayed over the breadth of his shoulders. This was where she belonged, here with him. His kiss warmed her far more than any sip of whiskey could.

  She settled over him, half draping her body over his and half straddling him. The scorching length of that column pulsed against her stomach. This position reminded her of falling on him at Greyson Park that first day. Yet she far preferred having no ice beneath them and no clothes between them.

  Feeling his thigh shift between hers made her want to move even closer. Lifting her knee, she shifted and straddled him in earnest. He groaned anew.

  His hands found her hips and guided her to slide against him as he arched upward. The kiss altered, heated. Her stomach dipped low, throbbing insistently. He was as hot as a glassmaker’s furnace. When his hands cupped her breasts, and he rolled her taut nipples beneath his thumb and forefinger, she nearly convulsed as she had in the carriage. And she wanted to. But first, she wanted to taste him the way he’d tasted her.

  She broke from his lips and trailed kisses down his throat, dipping her tongue into the hollow. He let out a ragged breath. His chest hair was soft against her lips. She breathed in his scent as her fingertips floated down those hard ridges . . . until she held that hot, unyielding column in her grasp. His hips arched off the bed.

  Eager, she moved lower and wrapped her lips around the broad, fleshy tip. A low guttural groan tore from his throat. She took that as a good sign. He tasted slightly of salt and radiated heat. Against her tongue, smooth veins and ridges intrigued her, bidding her continued study down the length as far as she could go. Mouth watering, she swallowed, suckling him in the process. That earned her another groan. Tingling with pleasure, she hummed in response and repeated her actions.

  Rafe’s hands brushed the fall of hair away from her face. When she looked up at him and sucked harder, his hips rocked. Then, without warning, he lifted her away. Hauling her up his chest, he kissed her, breathing hard and heavy. “Hedley, I—”

  She put her finger against his lips. “No words.”

  A devilish gleam lit his eyes as he grinned at her.

  Slowly, deliberately, as if she’d issued some sort of challenge, he drew her finger into his mouth. A gasp escaped her when his tongue glided over her finger. She felt the sensation at the apex of her thighs.

  Taking her hand, he sucked on each one of her fingers until she was panting and restless. She wanted to move her hips over him, but he held her still. Then, he lowered his mouth to her breast and did something with his tongue that made her body clench and quiver. She clutched his head. “Oh, Rafe—”

  “No words,” he said against her nipple and blew on it before he moved on to the other. At the same time, his hands shifted. Fingers on her hips, his thumbs slid between her thighs and stroked between her folds. The quivering that pulsed deep within her now centered on the mesmeric sweeping motions. She felt as if she were filled with molten glass. The heat inside her expanded and contracted, threatening to fracture. The pleasure overwhelmed her. Her head fell back. Her hips bucked, sliding against the length of him—

  She shattered. Completely. Disobeying her own rule, she cried out his name over and over again as the euphoria washed through her.

  And when at last she caught her breath, she was beneath him. Rafe gazed down at her with that dark fierceness she’d grown to love. Tenderly, he brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her. She felt every word he wasn’t saying, and she believe them more than ever before.

  He loved her.

  This time when she felt the heat of him nudge the entrance of her body, she knew it wouldn’t end abruptly. He wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, he guided her knees up, one and then the other, and slowly wedged inside her.

  The unexpected pain shocked her. Her breath caught. Her body tensed. All she knew of intimacies were the bawdy words she’d overheard from the servant girls in the kitchen at Sinclair House. She didn’t recall any of them mentioning pain.

  Rafe let out a staggered breath and went still, her pain mirrored in his gaze.

  “It won’t hurt anymore,” he promised with another kiss, coaxing her to return to the fervor of a moment ago. But even if it remained painful, she would do it all over again, simply to feel him deep inside of her, filling and stretching her. They were one person now. Making love. Creating love. Breathing love with each breath they shared.

  Gradually, he moved within her, withdrawing and then edging inside. The pain disappeared, leaving only the craving to have him fill her body again each time he withdrew. As if he knew, he began to thrust faster, plunging deeper until neither of them could catch their breath. Their mouths broke apart. Above her, Rafe held her gaze. She tried to hold his, but as the sensations grew stronger, she arched her neck, pressing her breasts against him and tilting her hips.

  This t
ime she was eager for the euphoria to wash through her. She craved it. Seeking it, she pressed her heels into the mattress and met his thrusts until she shattered once again. Rafe moved faster, drawing out her shudders, until his hips jerked hard. He went still, releasing a low guttural groan as a flood of heat filled her body.

  He held her tightly, his cheek damp against hers. “No words,” he breathed.

  She smiled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Words weren’t needed between them. He’d already told her everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The sound of the wind woke Hedley from a contented sleep. Lying in Rafe’s arms was far better than any feather pillow or mattress. She could stay here, like this, forever. Closing her eyes to do just that, she sighed in utter bliss. His deep, rhythmic breaths stirred the hair on top of her head. And the hair on his chest tickled her nose.

  It wasn’t until she heard the growl of thunder that a sense of alarm grew within her. During the last storm, she hadn’t heard it while inside Fallow Hall. This manor was quite sound and sturdy. Only within her beloved but ramshackle Greyson Park had she heard every breeze blowing through the windows and walls.

  The windows. Instantly, she thought of Rafe’s legacy.

  No. Hedley had removed the boards from the windows. For all she knew, it was their only protection. Now, they were at risk of being destroyed by the wind—or worse.

  “I will rebuild it brick by brick . . . ”

  But he wouldn’t be able to replace his legacy. She had to do something.

  She nudged Rafe. He didn’t stir. Her second, third, and fourth attempts didn’t wake him either. In fact, he was sleeping quite soundly.

  Slipping out of bed, she found her night rail on the floor. However, seeing the parcel on a chair nearby, she decided it would be better to wear actual clothes, in case she encountered one of the servants.

  Untying the strings, she dressed and then crossed the room once more to press a kiss to his mouth. Rafe slept on without a care. A flash of lightning revealed a devilish grin on his lips. She hoped he was dreaming of her.

  Rafe was in the middle of a rather erotic dream of Hedley’s berry-stained lips when a loud crash of thunder woke him. However, when he reached out to pull her to him, he found the bed empty.

  Sitting up, the blankets fell to his lap, revealing the state the dream had put him in. Even so, the dream was nothing compared to the full sensual reality of Hedley. She loved him with a fierceness that rivaled his own. She held nothing back.

  Looking around the room, he found it empty as well. There was no reason for alarm, he told himself. Likely she’d returned to her chamber in order to keep their secret from being discovered. But it wouldn’t be a secret for long. He grinned. Peeling away the bedclothes, he decided that now was the perfect time to ask her—

  Lightning flashed, illuminating a puddle of white on the floor. Her night rail . . . His pulse quickened. His gaze drifted to the chair to see the open parcel of clothes.

  A rumble of thunder rattled the windows. Suddenly, he knew she wasn’t in her chamber either.

  Rafe tore out of bed, yanking on a shirt and breeches as he headed out. Down the hall and around the corner, he charged into her room.

  She wasn’t here. To be certain, he searched behind the dressing screen and the window alcove and—

  Lightning flashed again, drawing his gaze out the window. Through the slashes of horizontal rain on the glass, he saw a shape moving across the lawn toward Greyson Park.

  Hedley broke through the path between the trees. Wind and rain plastered her hair to her face. She was soaked, drenched to the soles of the red shoes. She’d donned them before leaving Fallow Hall. And now, they were in tatters, hanging off her feet, tripping her. She would have to leave them behind.

  Lifting one foot and then the other was all it took to slip out of them. Her red shoes had been through so much with her. However, now they were beyond mending. Not only that, but she no longer needed them to feel visible. She knew who she was.

  Looking straight ahead, she saw Greyson Park. The wind howled around her. Lightning illuminated the façade, revealing a broken parlor window with the brick casing crumbling around it. The house had shifted in the storm. A terrible groaning of timber roared from within it.

  If she didn’t hurry, she would be too late. Yet even now, she didn’t know if she could save the windows in the attic. If Rafe hadn’t been able to remove them without damaging them, then how could she?

  Yet her inner drive and determination would not allow her to give up. If she had to, she would return to Fallow Hall for help.

  “Hedley!”

  She whipped around to see Rafe rushing up behind her. His shirt was transparent and molded to his body. He raked a hand through his hair, revealing the furrows on his brow. “What are you doing? You can’t possibly go inside. Look at it.”

  “I have to, Rafe.” She had to shout over the wind. When he started to shake his head, she lifted her hand to his face, brushing her fingertips over his cheek. “You don’t understand. I removed the boards from the windows. Your treasure—your legacy—it isn’t safe.”

  There wasn’t time to argue. She turned to go, only to have him block her path again.

  Taking her by the shoulders, Rafe hauled her to him. He pressed his lips against her temple. “Don’t you know by now that you are my treasure, Hedley? Our children will be my legacy.” Then he took her face in his hands, the rain peppering down on her cheeks. “I love you.”

  He didn’t smile at all when he said it. Instead, his expression was fierce and raw. Hedley forgot about the rain, the wind, the treasure, and Greyson Park.

  “You love me.” Had she heard him correctly? But she knew she had. Still, she had to make sure. “What about the wager?”

  “Devil take the wager.”

  She smiled. “But I’m supposed to marry Montwood.”

  “No.” That fierceness of his grew even more intense. “You’re supposed to marry me.”

  “Am I?”

  Instead of answering, Rafe claimed her mouth in a kiss.

  EPILOGUE

  One month later

  Hedley pressed her cheek against the cool windowpane in her bedchamber at Fallow Hall. She felt hot and shivery at the same time, and her stomach churned most unpleasantly. “I do wish this travel sickness would end.”

  It wasn’t fair that she was still feeling ill. They’d returned from London a few days ago.

  “For your sake, I do too,” Calliope said, rubbing small, comforting circles between her shoulders. “No bride wants to be ill during her own wedding breakfast. Of course, I was rather late arriving at mine. Everhart had the driver take us on a detour through the park.”

  At the wistful sound in her friend’s voice, Hedley turned to catch Calliope blushing. “It must have been a lovely detour.”

  “It was, indeed.” Her friend beamed and settled her hand over her middle, where a nearly imperceptible bulge resided. “Though we did marry in haste, and for good reason, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

  “I wish Rafe and I had married in haste. Waiting for the bans to be read for three Sundays felt like an eternity.” Hedley said the words with such exasperation that she felt her stomach roll over. She turned her face back to the windowpane. “Ugh.”

  They’d spent more than two weeks in town, staying with Rafe’s parents. And during that time, it had been impossible to find any time alone together.

  At last, their separation was at an end. They were married in the village this morning. And if not for her queasiness, she would have sprinted down the aisle to him. He’d seemed just as eager when he’d taken her hand.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he’d whispered.

  She never would have let him stand at that altar alone. “Did you doubt it?”

  “Not for a single instant.”

  Hedley smiled at the lovely memory.

  Right now, Rafe was below stairs with their guests—a small party th
at included his parents, Calliope’s family, and Mr. Tims. Unfortunately, Montwood had had urgent business to attend, which kept him in London, but he sent his “many felicitations” in a missive, in addition to a gift for Hedley. Inside a slender box, a single white taper lay with a note that read:

  So that you will never endure the dark again.

  Your friend forever and always,

  M

  It was a tender gesture, from a man she thought of as more brother than a mere friend, even in the short time of their acquaintance. While Rafe might feign jealousy and tease about being eager to have Montwood marry, Hedley knew her husband wanted Montwood’s happiness just as much as she.

  Calliope returned to rubbing her back in small circles. “You know, I’ve been thinking. When we first went to London, I don’t recall you suffering from travel sickness. In fact, it started while we were already there.”

  At first, Hedley had imagined that it came from the lingering effects of her fears. But in truth, she no longer thought about that day in a way that seized her with panic. It was a memory now. A heartbreaking memory but nothing more.

  “Likely because I was not used to the odors of London.” Even thinking about the sewage and horse manure in the streets made her feel a bit green. She was certain her coloring in this moment did not complement her lovely pink satin gown. “If it wasn’t for the many shops and shoes, I don’t believe I’d want to return.”

  Hedley now possessed a great deal of shoes, and they all fit her perfectly. They came in an assortment of styles, from slippers to half boots, in a myriad of colors.

  While they were away, they’d accomplished far more than shopping. Now that Greyson Park was in ruins, Mother no longer desired to have it as part of the Sinclair estate and had had the solicitor amend the stipulations of Hedley’s inheritance. It was the most generous thing Mother had ever done for her.