A Gentleman Never Surrenders

by Lauren Smith

  “Care for some sloe gin?” He waved the bottle in invitation.

  “Sloe gin?” She’d never heard of such a drink.

  “Yes.” His lips twitched. “It’s made from the fruit of black thorn trees. It’s a little sour but you harvest the fruit in early autumn.” He poured her a small glass and she took it, studying it curiously.

  “I’ve never had gin before.” She grinned despite herself and took a sip. She gasped as the taste hit her hard.

  Owen lunged for her, smacking a palm on her back as she coughed.

  “Take it easy,” he chuckled. “The next sip will go down easier, I promise.” He nudged the glass in her hand with his fingertip.

  She hesitated, eyeing the red liquid with more respect than curiosity as she took a sip again. It burned, but in a pleasant way now as it coated her tongue and throat. This time she tasted the tart fruit and a hint of sugar.

  Owen leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her. The amused expression on his face softened his handsome features, and that little traitorous part of her that desired him beyond good sense and reason flared to life. The light-headedness from the gin didn’t help either.

  “This is very strong.” She noted, then giggled.

  Owen poured himself a glass and consumed it in one long gulp. “My family has been making sloe gin for generations. It’s a tradition here, and helps keep us warm in the winter.”

  “Hmm.” She took another sip and giggled again as the room spun slightly.

  “Oh dear, you don’t last long in your cups, do you? Better eat something.” He tilted his head at her plate and she ate heartily. The ache in her belly from hunger abated with each bite and she even did the most unladylike thing, licking the crumbs of soda bread from her fingers.

  They dined in silence, with the crackle of the fire lulling Milly into a bit of warmth and comfort. She still felt off balance in her new surroundings, and she hated that. Control was paramount; control was safe. But she could control so little of what was happening now. She felt like the kitten she and her mother had once found caught outside in the gardens during a thunderstorm. They’d rescued it and brought it inside. Its tiny little body, shaking and wet, had clung to her skirts with its last bit of strength. She was clinging to Owen like that little cat, exhausted, terrified, and afraid to let go. It was a sad bit of irony that the very man who’d caused her to be in this situation was now the only person, aside from Constance, she felt safe with and on steady ground.

  “Milly.” Owen set his plate down and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression serious.

  “Yes?” She curled her legs up under her on the chair but winced at the stab of pain from rubbing against her blisters.

  “You’re hurt?” He moved too fast, standing and towering over her in an instant as he bent to reach for her legs.

  “I’m fine,” she protested, trying to avoid his touch, but he trapped her in the chair and she couldn’t escape. He knelt in front of her, lifted her skirts, and examined her feet. When he removed one of the slippers, he tensed and raised his head to look up at her. His eyes were dark and warm, tinged with anger, too.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  She shrugged. “And have you carry me for seven miles? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and frowned, his lips parted as though he planned to speak but he clamped them shut, still scowling.

  “What were you going to say?” she prodded.

  He still held her one bare foot in his hand and he rubbed soothing small circles on the arch. She wiggled her toes when he still refused to answer.

  “When I made plans for you to live here, I selected your chambers down the hall. I assumed that you would wish to have separate rooms away from mine. But I don’t want that, not anymore.” He resumed his caressing of her foot, then slid his hand to her ankle, shaping her bare calf.

  “I don’t understand.” It was hard to formulate thoughts, let alone words when he was rubbing her very exposed skin.

  “I would like for you to consider sharing my bed tonight. The room you’re in now is in the cold part of the house, and until we’ve fixed up Wesden a bit, I’d much rather know you were warm and comfortable. Here. With me. If you decide you still don’t like me after your rooms have been more fortified, you may move permanently into them. But for now, I’d like you to be with me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat and the gin made her feel…happy. She shouldn’t want to sleep in his bed with him, not when she had vowed to keep herself distant.

  “You won’t argue with me, will you?” He shifted closer on his knees, raising her skirts to her lower thighs before he removed her second slipper and worked his magical fingertips along her other foot, massaging away the aches and pains. A fuzzy, warm feeling cloaked her and it wasn’t just from the gin any longer.

  “Not tonight.” She leaned back in her chair and let him continue to rub her feet.

  “Very well.” His laugh was soft and rich, burning her inside like the gin.

  Owen stood and with deft hands, swung her up into his arms and walked the few feet to the bed and set her down.

  “Stay here while I find you a nightdress.” He exited his chamber.

  While he was gone, she unbound her hair and combed her fingers through the long strands, detangling small knots. Then she peeled back the covers of the bed and slipped beneath them. His bed was warm, and the fire heated the room much better than her chamber down the hall.

  The walls of Owen’s room were a buttery yellow with portraits of his ancestors hanging there. She saw a slight resemblance, mainly about the mouth and eyes. Owen’s lips were seductive, full and soft. She’d studied them often enough over the last few days that they’d become a part of her waking fantasy. She leaned over the edge of the bed to see past the canopy hangings and took in the sight of the elegant plasterwork ceiling. Tree branches and vines with flowers created a forest above her head. Wesden Heath may be old and in much need of care, but what was here was elegant, beautiful. It would be easy to come to love this house as much as she did Pepperwirth Vale.

  “You like it?” Owen’s voice made her tense, then relax. He’d snuck back into the room without her noticing. A nightdress hung over one of his arms.

  “It’s beautiful,” she agreed, nodding at the ceiling.

  “It was inspired by the Vine Room at Kellie Castle.” He walked around the bed to stand in front of her.

  “I’ve been to Kellie Castle.” She smiled. “I thought this looked familiar but couldn’t quite place it.” She looked up at him, feeling the height difference much more acutely because he stood over her while she sat upon his bed. A little shiver wracked her at the thought of being so much smaller than him. She hadn’t thought she’d ever like feeling smaller, but with Owen, it didn’t seem frightening; rather it felt exciting. Every time he was close to her and she felt the heat of his body and the size of him compared to her, it made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat.

  “Would you like my assistance in helping you change?” He held up the nightdress.

  “What?” Her voice came out high-pitched and breathless.

  “Would you like me to help you out of those clothes?” His reply was low and soft as he grasped her hands and lifted her out of the bed to stand on her feet.

  When she turned her back to him, he began undoing the hooks of her navy skirt. The pressure of his hands was hot against her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse and chemise. Cold air kissed the backs of her legs as her skirt fell into a pool on the floor. Before she could turn or speak, his hands were coming around the front of her to unbutton her blouse. His body was so warm behind her that she couldn’t resist the temptation to lean back against him as he parted her shirt. He gently pushed her forward a few inches so her shirt could slide off her body. A shiver wracked her as she stood there, wearing nothing but her chemise.

  Practically naked. Her shoulders were
bare since the chemise had slender lacy straps, rather than sleeves. Owen stroked one hand up her right arm to her shoulder, then across her collarbone and down to the valley of her breasts. Her breathing quickened and she panted softly as he pressed his hand above her heart.

  “It’s beating so fast,” he whispered. The featherlight touch of his lips against the shell of her ear sent a bolt of heat to that secret spot between her thighs.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he coaxed. “I would never hurt you.” He curled one arm around her waist, keeping her pressed back against him. His other hand began to lift the edge of her chemise up, inch by inch. Her knees locked together, but he continued to glide his hand up her thigh, sliding his fingers over to fall between her legs. As he did, his mouth pressed lingering, soft kisses on her ear, her jaw, the nape of her neck. The delicate flick of his tongue in her ear was enough to make her gasp and jerk against him as her body hummed to life.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged moments before his hand reached the juncture of her thighs. He cupped her mound, gently rubbing. His other hand on her waist moved up to grip her throat, and she arched her back. He seduced ruthlessly, his kisses perfectly placed on her throat to make her purr and moan. It was overwhelming, the feel of him possessively cupping her sex, putting pressure on an area she didn’t know would respond with such a potent touch. When his teeth lightly raked her skin and he nipped her earlobe, she thought she was going to die with the building tension and pleasure. Wriggling her bottom against his groin, she tried to get him to do something, anything to ease the ache in her womb.

  Owen parted the slick folds of her sex, exploring her with one fingertip, the sensation so shocking she hissed out a breath.

  “Owen, what are you doing?” she demanded, breathless and scandalized.

  His rough chuckle against her neck made her belly quiver.

  “I’m learning your body, sweetheart. What touches, what strokes, drive you to sweet madness.”

  Sweet madness? She was certain she was already there. His intimate touch would have made her blush and shy away from him if she hadn’t already been flushed and caught in his embrace. They moved two steps forward, until the front of her knees and lower thighs hit the bed. He used his own body to trap her against the mattress.

  “God, Milly,” he groaned against her neck, and that ragged exhalation of her name sent her spiraling into a frightening, yet exciting place within herself she’d never experienced.

  “How does it feel?” he asked, his finger drawing teasing patterns in the most sensitive part of her.

  “Good…” She hesitated and then tensed and grasped his wrist, but didn’t pull his hand away from between her thighs.

  “Please don’t tell me to stop.” It was the closest thing she’d heard to begging from him.

  Could she let him do this? Push her past a boundary of intimacy she’d never thought she’d give any man?

  “Let me show you how good it can be.” His fingers nudged her entrance and the strangled little sound of shock and his heavy breathing were the only sounds in the room besides the fire.

  “Owen!” She clung to his arm that still held her by the throat, keeping her against him as he thrust one finger inside her. The feeling of that small penetration into her swollen channel made her instinctively clench around him. He rocked his hips against her from behind and the hard press of his arousal in the cleft of her buttocks built a new wave of heat inside her.

  “Just tell me one little word, Milly. Yes. That’s all I need to hear.”

  Chapter 9

  One word. Milly could tell Owen yes…and he’d make love to me tonight.

  If she said yes, everything would change between them. She was scared of change, but she also knew that this was inevitable, not because he was her husband, but because she wanted to be with him.

  To bloody hell with silly schoolgirl reservations. She was going to do it.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God.” He spun her around in his arms and kissed her a second later. She heard the sound of fabric ripping and then her chemise fluttered to the ground in a heap of crumbled silk. She was completely naked.

  “So beautiful. Do you know how beautiful you are?” Owen’s rough voice made every part of her lower body burn. She attempted to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrists, holding them away from her body. Milly was afraid to look up at him, afraid to believe his words weren’t true.

  “Look at me, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, coaxing, and she couldn’t resist. When their gazes met, she held her breath, startled to see stark hunger and appreciation gleaming in his eyes. He really did think she was beautiful.

  “I won’t lie to you, ever,” he vowed. “Now, lie back and let me enjoy you, wife.” That flirtatious smile on his face was sharp with desire and a new flutter of nerves stirred in her belly.

  “What about your clothes?” She sat on the edge of the bed, secretly delighting in the sinful sensation of her bare bottom on the sheets.

  “What?” He chuckled, his gaze raking down her body, clearly not paying attention to what she’d asked him.

  “Your clothes, husband. Off. Now.” She pointed a finger at his chest, waving it up and down to indicate he shrug out of his clothes. “I’m not going to be the only naked person in this bed. We ought to be even.” She waited, raising her chin in a way that would make her appear imperious and convey that she must be obeyed. But she had to bite her lip to hide a smile. It also helped to mask the shyness she was feeling of being completely bare and in his bed.

  “Very well, you demanding little creature. She who must be obeyed.” He winked as he shrugged out of his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers.

  He’d somehow removed his boots without her noticing earlier, which would make it easier for him to shuck off his trousers. That was the last barrier between them, she knew. Once he removed his pants, this thing would happen between them. Knowing that sent little tremors of excitement and anticipation through her.

  When he started to tug his trousers down, Milly was distracted by the fascinating V-shaped muscles of his lower belly that carved an obvious path down to his groin. His hands paused and she glanced up at his face to find him watching her.

  “Have you ever seen a man…” He shook his head. “No, of course you haven’t.”

  “Seen what? A naked man?” It was easy enough to guess his thoughts.

  “You haven’t, have you?” His eyes narrowed slightly in mild suspicion.

  This time she smiled. “Of course I have.” She leaned back on the bed, propping herself up on the pillow like a sultana.

  His dark eyes lingered on the tips of her breasts, the way her small nipples pebbled in the cold air. She sensed he was figuring out her secret, that she’d never seen a living man naked.

  “You are too cunning, wife. I believe you have seen statues, but no men of flesh and blood.”

  With a final knowing glance at her, he dropped his trousers and smallclothes, stepping out of the mess of fabric to stand proudly at the foot of the bed, a grin raking over his suddenly wolfish features. Her curious gaze dropped to his groin and she tensed, every bone and muscle inside her clenching painfully together. The man would have shamed a stallion.

  “That”—she cleared her throat—“that will not fit. You’re far too large.”

  Again, he laughed, the rich sound only upsetting her this time.

  “What’s so amusing?” she demanded. He walked to the side of the bed, nearest her.

  He cupped her chin and met her gaze. “It will fit. It will likely hurt a little at first, but you will stretch to accommodate me. I will do my best to ease the initial pain.” Bending over, he brushed a kiss over her lips and then indicated that she scoot over on the bed to allow him to lie beside her.

  “Why don’t we get under the covers,” he suggested.

  Milly swallowed hard and nodded, pulling the covers up to her waist as she moved back to give him room. He joined her and before she had the chance to
think twice or change her mind, he curled his body around hers, kissing her. The friction of her breasts rubbing against his chest and his left thigh nudging hers apart was exotic, strange, and left her breathless with a whisper of a thrill. His hands stroked her, tracing her hip and cupping her buttocks. He clenched one globe, the hard grasp creating a delicious tingle within her. Sparks flared in the little bundle of nerves and deep within her abdomen. His erection bobbed against her stomach and she curled her fingers around it, squeezing lightly. She was still a little frightened at his size, but she was too aroused to resist the urge to touch him. Owen hissed and rocked his hips.

  “Christ, woman, you know how to set a man aflame.” His throaty, half-laughing response made her smile nervously back at him.

  “Am I doing something wrong?” She started to let go, but his hand came down over hers, keeping her fingers around his shaft.

  “Stroke me, love, slow and gentle, and I’ll stroke you.” He slid his hand between her thighs and penetrated her with a finger, probing, then thrusting. Milly had to concentrate on touching him back, but it was so difficult when his finger inside her made her want to squirm, to arch her back, to claw at him for something else she wasn’t sure she could handle.

  “Owen, I feel a little strange,” she breathed in between kisses. He smiled against her mouth, continuing to rub a spot inside her that made her jerk and made pleasure/pain zing straight to her breasts.

  “Strange how?” he asked.

  “Heavy and yet fluttery inside at the same time. Is that possible?”

  He feathered a kiss across her lips before withdrawing his hand.

  “Lie on your back, sweetheart.” He helped her to lie flat and she tensed when he nudged her knees apart.

  “Trust me, Milly. Trust me.” He caged her beneath him, settling his hips between her thighs. She stiffened, terrified of what would happen next.