He slipped a knee between her parted thighs, then stiffened, a low groan that was more pain than pleasure rumbling from his chest. Abruptly, he pulled away from her and sprawled flat of his back once more, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Stunned by his sudden withdrawal, it took Demi several moments to recover enough to figure out what had happened. “My lord?”
He cursed beneath his breath. “My leg,” he said between clenched teeth.
Dismay filled her. She glanced down at his leg, discovering in the process that he’d thrown the covers off and he was completely bare. Protruding from a thatch of dark hair low on his belly was the member she’d felt before. It looked a great deal like a stallion’s member … and a great deal different. It was certainly not as large, which was a source of relief, but far larger than she’d realized it would be. Did she have an opening on her body large enough to accommodate that, she wondered?
The thought made her femininity clench, removing any doubt from her mind of what particular part of her body yearned to be filled with his engorged flesh. Tentatively, she reached down to touch it. As her fingers tentatively explored the heated length, it jerked, grew harder and broader and longer before her eyes. A wave of heat went through her, and wonder.
He caught her exploring hand. “As much as it grieves me to tease you and leave you in need--and myself for that matter--I’m afraid my damnable leg will not allow me to pleasure either of us,” he said roughly.
She glanced up at him, but even though her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, she could tell little about his features. Shadows lay across his face, but she could see the heated gleam in his eyes, and frustration. She lay her cheek over his pounding heart, then turned her head to place a kiss there. “Is there no way, my lord?”
He tipped her chin up, studying her a long moment, and pushed her skirts up. Catching one leg, he guided her until she was sitting astride him. She splayed her hands on his chest, looking down at him a little doubtfully. Reaching up, he hooked a hand behind her head and drew her down for a deep kiss. She felt his other hand moving between them, pushing the fabric of her pantalets aside. Something hard and rounded, nudged against her.
She tensed as she realized what it was, felt him stretching her as he slowly inserted it.
Her heart hammering in her chest with both fear and anticipation, she held herself perfectly still, waiting to see what he would do next. He grasped her hips, pressing her down and back in counter to the direction of his own hips. Her flesh resisted the intrusion but the pressure intensified and slowly but surely she felt him moving deeper and deeper inside of her.
He stopped finally, releasing her lips and panting raggedly.
This could not be all, she thought doubtfully, feeling as if she’d missed something very important.
He caught her face between his hands. “It will most likely hurt you when I breach your maiden head,” he said harshly.
She’d heard people speak of such, but she hadn’t realized there actually was a barrier inside of her. Fear touched her, but she nodded her understanding, bracing herself. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. “I should not take it.”
Warmth flowed through her that had nothing to do with the tension of desire he’d created in her. “It would mean more to me to give it to you than you could possibly know,” she whispered.
He kissed her, tenderly at first, and then with more fire, stoking the desire that had begun to wane. Stroking his hands along her back, he cupped her buttocks, shifting so that his engorged member slid back and forth inside of her, slowly, caressing the inner walls of her femininity. The tension of before built rapidly. Her muscles seemed to relax, cupping around his sex lovingly, but without the sense of being stretched almost beyond their limits.
He caught her hips, guiding her into the rhythm that complimented his own. As the tension of fear gave way to the tension of desire, he thrust upward suddenly, hard, ripping through the barrier and sinking so deeply inside of her that she could feel his member bumping against her womb, feel his belly grinding against her nether lips. The movement sent a wave of pain through her.
She cried out into his mouth, wrenching away from him. Ripples of fiery pain ran outward from the wound, but like the spirits that had seemed to burn her belly, the fire rapidly diminished into a throbbing heat.
A sense of euphoria washed over her with the realization that he had claimed her as no other man ever would, joined his body with her own in complete possession. Tentatively, she moved against him as he’d shown her before. Ripples of both pain and pleasure raked through her as she felt his swollen member slip along her tender passage. She concentrated on the pleasure, knowing from his ragged gasps that her movements pleased him. He caught her hips, urging her to move faster. She followed his silent instructions, focused her attention completely upon every faintest sign that a certain speed or movement increased his pleasure. She was hardly aware that her own pleasure kept pace, until she felt a burgeoning inside of her, as if something momentous was striving to break free.
As her arms tired, she pushed upward until she was sitting upright. The position drove him more deeply inside of her and she threw her head back, basking in the wealth of exquisite sensation that wrapped around and threaded through her, almost seeming to consume her, bouncing gently as she rose and fell. He grasped her hips, lifting to meet her with more and more desperation.
Abruptly, he grabbed her, pulling her down and capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking hard as he hove upward, driving deep. Something shattered blindingly inside of her, an explosion of such wonderful, powerful pleasure that she gasped as it thundered through her. Inside her, she felt his manhood jerk, felt a wash of heat as his seed spilled inside of her, coating her womb and her passage.
Weak in the aftermath, she collapsed against him, struggling to catch her breath. His arms tightened around her back and across her buttocks as he held her crushingly, arching his hips to thrust deeply inside of her again and again until the spasms ceased and he lay as limply as she did.
Her sense of self was slow in returning, awareness of her surroundings giving way little by little until her senses began to focus beyond her own pounding heart, the heat and dampness of his skin beneath her cheek, his ragged breath, slowly returning to normal. Reluctance shivered over her, but she realized that she had stayed far longer than she should have, knew Sarah must be wondering what was keeping her.
“I must go, my lord,” she whispered finally.
His arms tightened, as if he would refuse to release her. Finally, however, as if with great reluctance of his own, he loosened his hold. “Come to me tomorrow,” he said hoarsely.
She kissed him lightly on the shoulder. “Mr. Fitzhugh is bound to wonder why I’m so anxious to gather your laundry.”
He speared his fingers through her hair, dislodging her cap. “I’ll make certain he takes himself off.”
Chuckling, she dropped a light kiss to his shoulder and pulled away. He stopped her, catching her face between his palms and kissing her lingeringly. She was breathless by the time he released her and aware that his member, sated and limp only moments before, had come to attention once more. “I can only promise that I will try,” she said, straightening her cap and moving off of him, careful not to jar his injured leg. When she’d gained the floor once more, she gathered up the laundry.
He caught her skirt, halting her when she began to move away. “I should be horsewhipped for what I just did to you. I didn’t hurt you?”
She smiled, even though she doubted he could see it. “Don’t say that. You’re no more at fault than I am and … you gave me far more pleasure than pain, my lord.”
He shook his head. “I should not have asked that of you before. Don’t come. It’s too risky.”
Demi felt a sinking of dismay. “I….”
“You will regret this by morning … and most likely hate me.”
She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. �
�Never. Come what may.”
“Not even if you should find I have given you a child?”
It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might, but such joy washed through her on the instant that she knew she wanted that with absolute desperation. “Most especially not then.”
Disentangling her skirts from his fist, she moved across the room, opened the door and glanced down the hallway. Only one servant was in the hall now, and that one had slumped toward the floor and was sound asleep. Slipping out, she closed the door carefully behind her and rushed on tiptoe to her own room.
Sarah sat straight up in bed the moment she closed the door behind her. “I thought I would die of fright, Miss Demitria! Ye were gone so long I was certain ye’d been caught an’ expectin’ yer aunt to drag me from yer bed any moment!”
A blush climbed instantly into Demi’s cheeks. Fortunately, the room was quite dark and she knew Sarah could not see it. She looked down at the bundle in her arms, even though she knew Sarah would not be able to see her lie in her gaze. “He woke. We talked … and I lost track of the time. I’m sorry I worried you.”
Irritably, Sarah scrambled from the bed and began to strip off Demi’s night clothes. Settling the bundle of laundry, Demi followed suit, tossing Sarah’s clothes to her as she removed them.
Sarah sniffed suspiciously when she dragged the gown over her head and tightened the lacing in the front. “Seems to me ye might’ve done a sight more than talk, considering how long ye was gone. Don’t tell me ye weren’t kissin’ an’ lovin’ on him, for I can smell his after shave on me gown.”
Demi glanced at Sarah self-consciously. “It was only the one,” she lied.
Sarah didn’t look much as if she believed her, but it was obvious she was anxious to be gone. Sniffing irritably, she moved across the room and collected the laundry. “Ye’d best get in bed before yer aunt does decide to come check on ye.”
Nodding, Demi raced across the room and hopped into the bed, pulling the covers up. “The ‘guard’s’ asleep.”
Sarah eased the door open and peeked down the hallway. Nodding, she went out and closed the door.
Demi fell back onto her pillows, smiling up at the darkened ceiling. The blood still surged through her, making it difficult to compose herself for sleep. She knew very well that she should not feel so elated. She should feel shame. She should be worried, embarrassed, guilty. She had given herself to Garrett when she was already promised to another.
She would be damned to hell fire, condemned by everyone if it ever became known. Jonathan Flemming was going to fly into a tearing rage the moment he discovered his prize, his wife, had belonged to another before him.
She was fiercely glad of it.
She might not be able to prevent them from forcing her to marry him, but she had at least had the joy of giving herself to the man she wanted, and she had the added joy of knowing that there was some possibility that she might, even now, be carrying his child.
Chapter Ten
Far from discovering a wealth of regrets once the sun rose and spilled the unforgiving light of day into her room, Demi woke with a sense of well being that only increased when she felt the tenderness between her thighs that reminded her that Garrett had claimed her as his own.
He didn’t realize it of course. He’d thought she was one of the maids, and that knowledge was the only cloud on her horizon. Resolutely, she dismissed it. She might not have known what it was like to lay with a man before last night, but she was certainly not ignorant of the ways of men. Her aunt had lamented the tendency of men to yield to their baser instincts on more than one occasion, warning both Demi and Phoebe that it was a lady’s duty to hold them at bay.
Now that she’d experienced it, she understood perfectly why men had such difficulty denying the demands of their body. Anything that gave one so much pleasure would be very hard to resist indeed. Only thinking of the things he’d made her feel the night before, made her body hum to life and begin to yearn for more.
She supposed, given her new insight, she should make the effort to forgive Jonathan Flemming’s trespass, but she found she was still revolted at the thought. She had not wanted him. She made it abundantly clear that it gave her no pleasure at all to have him maul her in that way, and he had completely ignored her. Not for one moment did she believe that he had ‘lost his head’. He’d simply not considered her feelings on the matter of any importance.
He would not, she knew, once he had made her his wife, but that didn’t bear thinking of.
Dismissing it with an effort, she climbed from the bed and moved to the washstand. It was then that she discovered the evidence of Garrett’s possession of her body. She stared down at the cloth in dismay, wondering worriedly if she’d soiled Sarah’s gown, as well.
Sarah would know instantly what the blood meant. Her menses were not due for another week, at least, and Sarah knew her cycle as well as she did.
Cringing at the thought of discovery, she slipped her pantalets off and washed the stains out of the fabric the best she could. She was not in the habit of doing her own laundry, however, and didn’t know what to do with the pantalets when she’d finished. Turning, she studied the room for a hiding place and finally moved to the bed and stuffed the evidence beneath the mattress.
Doubt seized her almost at once. What if one of the maids dragged them out when she changed the bedding?
They wouldn’t have to see the telltale stains that remained to realize she would not have tried to hide them if she wasn’t guilty of something. Feeling under the mattress, she dragged the damp pantalets out again and rushed over to the armoire, wadding them into a tight little ball and piling everything in the bottom of the armoire on top of them.
The door opened just as she finished and she jerked guiltily. Straightening, she slammed the door of the armoire and glanced quickly toward her bedroom door. Sarah was studying her with a mixture of suspicion and surprise. “What’re ye up to now, Miss?”
Demi blushed, but let out a gusty breath of relief. “Nothing. I just thought you were Aunt Alma.”
Sarah nodded, but the suspicion didn’t completely disappear from her eyes. “I’ve brought ye something to break yer fast. Lady Moreland’s decided to be pleased with yer performance last eve. She says if ye can comport yerself like a lady, yer allowed to come downstairs again today.”
Demi bit her lip at the comment, blushing harder as it instantly connected in her mind to wonder if Garrett had been pleased with her ‘performance’. She rather thought he had been and the thought brought a smile to her lips.
Sarah sniffed irritably, and Demi subdued the smile, following her back across the room and climbing into the bed. Sarah settled the tray carefully across her lap. “Ye might want to consider stayin’ in yer room after all.”
Demi glanced at her curiously. “Why?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s as plain as the nose on yer face that ye were up to a bit more than cuddlin’ an’ kissin’ last night. I’ve never seen a maid who looked more thoroughly bedded, or more pleased about it.”
Demi looked at her self-consciously, trying to think of something to say.
Sarah held her hand up. “Ye needn’t waste yer breath. Ye’ll not convince me, nor nobody else if yer gonna be goin’ around with that sappy look on yer face.”
Demi chuckled uneasily. “I’m not going to fall for it, so you may as well stop fishing.”
“I ain’t fishin’. I’m just sayin’ you needn’t go to a lot of trouble thinkin’ up a good tale on my account. I won’t believe it, an’ I’m not the one ye have to convince anyways.”
Demi ate thoughtfully after Sarah had left, wondering if Sarah really could tell, or if she was just trying to trip her up. She finally decided, maybe, that Sarah could tell. She felt different. She supposed it was because she was truly happy for the first time in longer than she could remember.
Her aunt might not be suspicious if she seemed resigned, but she would certainly think Demi was up to
something if she seemed happy.
She would also be suspicious, however, if Demi remained in her room, or think that Demi was still sulking, in which case she might devise another punishment. Demi finally decided it would be best to go downstairs, regardless of what Sarah had said. She needn’t spend a great deal of time in her aunt’s company, or her cousins’ for that matter. Phoebe and Geoffrey both had their own friends and their own interests.
She discovered when she went downstairs that she was wrong on all counts. Her aunt had planned a small party for the ‘young people’, an excursion to the lake for a picnic--the same lake Jonathan Flemming had taken her to. Demi was immediately sorry she’d decided to go downstairs at all. She could have flat refused to go, of course, but she knew what the end result of that would be--three more days of being locked in her room, with no chance of seeing Lord Wyndham, whom she learned would be leaving at the end of the week.
Dejection instantly washed away the last of the glow that had lingered from their night together. With the ordeal of the ‘promised treat’ on top of that announcement, Demi had no trouble at all behaving as if she was subdued. She was.
It was a testament to just how much she adored Garrett that she did not immediately return to her room. Phoebe and her aunt were going. Jonathan and Esmeralda, and Mr. Collins and his sister, Miss Elizabeth Collins, would also be joining the expedition, but Demi didn’t trust either her aunt or Jonathan Flemming. Despite her aunt’s assertion that the primary goal of the picnic was to dampen the possible gossip stemming from Demi’s hastily put together marriage, she had the uneasy feeling that she would be thrust into yet another compromising situation with Flemming.
There was no need for such a thing, of course. She had been so thoroughly compromised now it would be difficult to further damage her reputation, and they must be as aware as she was that the well witnessed aftermath of the incident had thoroughly trapped her.
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