“You owe me, Mrs. Forbush,” he said against her lips. “And I want payment.”
“Your bet,” she acknowledged. “Then what is your bidding?”
“Do unto me as you would want me to do unto you.”
It took her barely more than a moment to understand that twist on the Golden Rule. Of all the possibilities she might have chosen, he was gratified when she kissed him, deeply and passionately, her tongue sliding across his. And he returned it, doing unto her…
She nibbled at his earlobe, her breath hot and moist in his ear, and he did the same to her. She moaned. He did not.
She pulled away from him, her eyelids heavy with desire. Taking his hand, she led him to the library door and up the stairs. She paused at her door, but he did not want to risk being interrupted by a nosy Mrs. Dewberry in the morning. He pulled her along the hallway to his door and kissed her again, waiting for her to make her wishes known. He’d have no questions this time. Tonight, Grace would indicate to him what she liked, what she wanted, in a way her words and modesty would have failed her.
She pushed his door open and stepped backward into the room, pulling him into the darkness after her. The moment the door closed, she pressed against him, her hands working at his cravat and shirt. He stood still, letting her undress him until she came to his waistband. By then he was so aroused that he was afraid the mere brush of her hand would bring him to climax. He’d had women in damned near every port, every capital of Europe, but he’d never had a woman who’d fired his blood like this woman before him now.
“My turn,” he whispered, kicking his boots off and walking her backward toward his bed. He found the fasteners of her gown and had it gone in minutes. He lifted her chemise over her head and tossed it aside. When she stood with nothing left but her garters, stockings and slippers, she stopped him and began her slow, sweetly inept, disrobing of him again. He’d already undone his breeches and she peeled them down his hips, kneeling to tug them over his feet.
She looked up at him and her eyes glittered in the moonlight filtering through his window. Her hands slid up his thighs and she came up on her knees to reach her arms behind her neck. Her bare breasts raised and firmed with that movement, the pale flesh gleaming in the moonlight. He wanted to take a tempting tip in his mouth, to feel the tender aureole beading against his tongue and hear her moaning with pleasure. But he steeled himself to stillness, wondering what she would do next.
A moment later she shook her head and the dark spun silk of her chignon fell around her shoulders and down her back in a riotous tumble. Again he thought of Ellie, the lost child that Grace had been and was becoming again. How could she know the things that would drive him wild with lust? The things she was doing now?
Her hands moved back to his hips and fumbled with the closure of his smallclothes. Oh, God! She was going to—
The cloth dropped away and his shaft sprang free. She sat back on her heels with an astonished expression. He would have laughed had he not been afraid she would flee. He had no false modesty but, with her limited experience, he could not imagine what she was thinking.
He held his hand out to her to bring her to her feet, but she shook her head and slipped her hand across his thighs to take him in her hand. Her touch was like velvet and he moaned, reaching down to bury his fingers in the lengths of her hair. He prayed she would satisfy her curiosity quickly, before he fell on her like a demon-possessed beast.
She stoked the length of his shaft and sighed when the foreskin slid back to reveal the sensitive head, then ran the tip of her fingernail around the rim. A small translucent drop appeared at the end and she kissed it away. She tilted her head to one side and ran her tongue up the underside and he knew he was lost. She looked up and smiled, and he realized she was finally aware of the power she held over him.
She parted her lips, ready to take him in, but he knew he didn’t possess the strength to hold himself in check. He would spend everything if he felt the caress of her tongue, the heat of her mouth. There would be time for this discovery later, but now he needed to bury himself inside her, to know that she was feeling the unbearable pleasure and deep satisfaction he was feeling—and experiencing it without the taint of virginal pain.
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. His need soared to new heights when he kissed her deeply, felt her naked flesh against his and tasted himself on her tongue. When he tightened his arms around her and straightened, her feet came off the floor. She wrapped those slender legs around him and he walked with her pressed against him, their mouths joined, to the bed. He placed her against the pillows and came down on top of her.
She pulled her knees up to receive him but he wanted to be sure she was ready. Between her heated thighs, he moved downward, stopping to take one firmed nipple into his mouth. She bucked against him, exquisitely tender to his touch. When he moved to go lower, she grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled him up.
“No,” she gasped. “You would not let me, so you cannot.”
Yes, damn it. The Golden Rule. But he had to know. He ran a finger down her cleft to her passage and found it swollen with passion, wet and ready for him. He thought he would burst with his need and drew the moment out to regain an edge of his self-control. But when he rose to her, sliding against the length of her body, she pushed him sideways and rolled on top of him. Why had he made that bloody infernal wager? He wanted control, not to be at her mercy. But a bet was a bet, after all.
She straddled him, positioning herself above him. Leaning forward to brace her hands on either side of his head, her dark hair fell around them like the mantle of night itself. She hesitated.
“Adam?” she asked.
He helped her, guiding himself into her as she sank down on him, arching her throat as a shiver passed through her. Adam shivered, too, unable to comprehend how erotic she was. “Ellie,” he whispered. “Ellie, Ellie…”
And finally they were fully joined. Her muscles closed around him, quivering with her hunger. She moved experimentally, almost clumsily, lifting, sinking, lifting, sinking. As breathtakingly beautiful as she was straining above him, he knew what she needed—what they both needed—even if she did not.
He rolled over her, taking the superior position. She raised her knees and lifted to him, welcoming him deep inside. When he withdrew nearly to the very end, she rose to him again, and he knew she was near. He increased his pace and she wrapped her legs around him, whimpering his name.
“Adam…Adam…Adam,” she called into the night.
Her voice, her plea, pierced his heart and penetrated deep inside his soul. He answered with his body and finished with her in an explosion of kaleidoscopic movement, light and color. She was exquisitely beautiful in the throes of her passion, her eyes closed, her lips softly swollen from his kisses and parted in a sigh. She’d swooned in the grip of the petit mort, the little death, totally sated.
Unbidden, unwanted, words he’d never said before screamed through his mind as he gazed down on her. Illogically, impossibly, I love you, Ellie, he heard echoing in his head, and knew it was true. I love you…
How had he let that happen?
Chapter Seventeen
Grace ran her brush though the tangles of her hair and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She was beginning to feel like a woman wise in the ways of passion. She could not doubt that Adam had found her desirable last night, nor could she doubt that she had managed to surprise him. He always seemed to know what she wanted without her asking, and she had likewise tried to anticipate his desires.
And, oh, the sweet sensations he evoked in her! Last night there had been no aching, no burning, only bliss. She had felt like a flower opening to the sun. The fullness of her passion was yet to unfold, but she did not want to miss a moment of it. She was suddenly more sympathetic to women who changed their views on marriage and passion once they had been indoctrinated. How satisfying and luxuriant it would be not to hurry back to one’s own bed and waken alone.
La
st night she had been the one to rouse first. Adam had not even stirred when she rested her weight on one elbow to study his face. The thick fan of his dark lashes had fallen across his cheeks like dark crescents and she’d longed to kiss him awake to see the deep whiskey sparkle of his eyes. Exhaustion had flushed his tanned cheeks and his dark hair curved around his face in damp wisps. The muscles of his chest and shoulders were strongly defined and one hand, large and calloused, rested possessively on her hip. Her heart had swelled inside her and she’d realized she had crossed some invisible line from sublime self-possession to dreaded dependency. Yes, it was true. She’d grown to need Adam in her life. She’d come to love him.
And he loved Nokomis.
That realization sobered her and she’d slipped quietly from beneath his hand, evoking no more than an incoherent muttering. Gathering her clothes, she’d dashed down the darkened hall for her own room, where she’d fallen into bed feeling a little lost without him.
How well he knew her! His wager, demanding that she do to him what she would want done to her was the perfect ploy, giving her responsibility for her own pleasure and permission to experiment with his. She glanced over her shoulder to the little book on her bedside table. Yes, that tome had given her courage in the belief that, in some things at least, men and women were not so very different. But affection made all the difference. She never could have done such things to Basil, nor—God forbid—to Barrington.
Mrs. Dewberry had told her that Adam had risen early and departed without a word. She wondered what business he had that kept him away from home so much. And then it occurred to her how little she actually knew about him. She wanted to know everything. Every little detail of his childhood, his rise in the Diplomatic Corps, the time he was missing in Canada and believed dead.
And why Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, had been left behind. He had loved her, his softly spoken words had made that clear, but did he love her still? Grace’s stomach clenched at the thought. Could he love Nokomis and love her, too?
Her clock chimed once, bringing her back to the present. She had risen too late for church and Laura Talbot would be here soon. She shook off her reflective thoughts and went to select a dress for the day, a soft pink muslin that mirrored her mood.
Feeling oddly at loose ends without Dianthe to anchor her day, Grace wandered down to the library. The sight of the deck of cards still on the tea table brought heat to her cheeks. She gathered them together and put them back in the cupboard. Would she and Adam play again? Oh, she hoped so—but not tonight! Time was growing short and nothing must be allowed to distract her now until she had settled matters for Miss Talbot. Tonight she would have to deal with Lord Geoffrey.
The front bell rang and she heard Mrs. Dewberry rushing to answer. A moment later the housekeeper ushered a flushed Miss Talbot in.
“Mrs. Dewberry, would you bring us tea, please?” she asked as she waved Miss Talbot to sit.
The moment the door closed, Miss Talbot blurted, “Do you have news, Mrs. Forbush? Have you found anything that can help me?”
Grace sat and took Miss Talbot’s hand. “I am sorry, but I fear the news is not good. I asked you here to discuss alternatives.”
“Alternatives? Does that mean you are giving up hope?”
Grace’s heart fell at the sight of Miss Talbot’s distress. “Never, Miss Talbot. But this is proving more difficult than we anticipated. I think we must be prepared for alternate solutions. I wanted to discuss the possibilities with you privately, as I would like you to speak frankly and honestly with me. You must be completely candid.”
The girl nodded, pulling her white gloves off and making a visible effort to compose herself. “With the wedding just six days away, I have been overset. Sitting in church today, when the banns were read again, it occurred to me that it could really happen. I could actually be married that odious man.”
“Not if the thought is truly abhorrent to you.”
“But, how can that be? If you fail to prove Lord Geoffrey is a cheat, how shall I refuse the debt?”
“By simply refusing the debt. You cannot be forced into saying vows, Miss Talbot. This is 1820, for heaven’s sake.”
“I—I cannot refuse,” she said, her eyes wide at Grace’s ignorance.
“What would be the consequences of that?”
“I…my brother would be made to look a fool. His honor would be sullied forever.”
Grace shrugged, wondering what honor there was in losing the family fortune and selling your sister into the bargain. “That is your brother’s honor, Miss Talbot. I asked what the consequences would be to you.”
Laura Talbot blinked her clear brown eyes. “Why, that my brother would punish me.”
Then it was as Grace had feared. “Physically, you mean?”
“Yes.” She began twisting a handkerchief in her lap, unable to meet Grace’s eyes in her distress.
“Does he do you damage, dear? Or lock you in your room? Or deny you food and water?”
“I will not have a room if I refuse to marry Lord Geoffrey. The house, the land, the bank accounts—all belong to him now, and once he takes possession, he can evict us. I have heard he is a very hard man and would not hesitate to do so.”
Yes, Grace believed that. She had just seen that side of him with worse consequences than looming poverty. Lord Grayson was dead, for heaven’s sake! “You will not go hungry, or without a place to stay, Miss Talbot. I shall see to that. I shall have a room prepared for you here. Do you have younger siblings?”
She shook her head. “I am the youngest, Mrs. Forbush. My two brothers are older.”
Sheltering a man who would abuse a woman was out of the question, and to do so would draw Leland’s comments, as well. “They will get on well enough, Miss Talbot.”
“They are counting on me to save the family honor. And my brother has suggested that, once I am wed to Lord Geoffrey, if I—” she paused and a deep blush stole over her cheeks “—if I behave in certain pleasing ways, I could have access to his wealth and use it to restore their fortunes.”
Grace sighed. There was little she could do if Miss Talbot insisted upon taking responsibility for her brother’s irresponsibility. She would have to try another tack.
“I have come to know Lord Geoffrey over the past week and a half. You are right about him being a hard man. And he does seem uncompromising. But marriage to such a man might actually liberate you from your brother’s yoke. I do not think he would hurt you. Rather, I suspect you would be alone most nights.” She thought of her own marriage to Mr. Forbush and said, “The worst you would suffer would be indifference.”
“But I do not even know him!”
“He is really quite attractive,” Grace said as persuasively as she could. “And I think he would not be unkind. I gather, by his success in gambling, that he could provide for you quite comfortably and—”
Laura Talbot looked at her, a horrified expression twisting her features. “But I do not know him! How can I submit to intimacies with a virtual stranger?”
The memory of being barely eighteen and standing before Mr. Forbush on their wedding night in a transparent nightgown rose to her mind. That night had been a nightmare of humiliation for her. She’d known so little of what a man and woman did together, but she knew she had failed him in some way. It had been years before she realized the failure was Basil’s, not hers. Oh, but even that had been infinitely kinder than her brother!
“Consider it, Miss Talbot. In the best of circumstances, you would not have married for love, but for advantage. Lord Geoffrey could be an advantage in protecting you from your brother’s cruelty and—”
“I cannot conceive that you would try to make me think such a thing would be acceptable! I have so come to depend upon you, Mrs. Forbush, and to rely upon your reassurances. Everything within your power, you told me. I cannot contemplate what losing that assurance would mean.”
Yes, she had reassured the girl. But she had not anticipated the difficu
lty of proving the man a cheat. What if he wasn’t? Or worse, what if he was but she could never prove it? How would she keep her promise then?
“There is a possibility that Lord Geoffrey is not a cheat, and that is an entirely different matter. If he is not, or we cannot prove he is, we cannot bring him down simply to negate your brother’s debt. I was clear from the beginning that the Wednesday League obtains justice. Not revenge.”
She stood and began pacing as Mrs. Dewberry brought the tea tray in and placed it on the table. When the library door closed again, she poured the girl a cup of tea and tried again. She thought back to the way Lord Geoffrey had stood in her defense when Lord Barrington had handled her so roughly and opted for bluntness. “Furthermore, I have reason to believe that Lord Geoffrey would be kinder than your brother.”
Her eyes widened. “But I do not love him!”
A suspicion took root. “Miss Talbot, do you have…a suitor? Come clean now, or I cannot know how to help you.”
The girl dropped her gaze to her teacup. “I feared you would not help if you knew I had not been completely truthful.”
Truthful? There was that word again. “Do not be absurd,” she said, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. Oh, if she’d only known this in the beginning! “Run away with your young man, Miss Talbot. I shall give you the money for a dash to Gretna Green. Say your vows and have your husband protect you from the consequences.”
The girl began weeping. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes and sniffed delicately. “I cannot, Mrs. Forbush. He…he is honorable and does not want to win me in such a manner. I had hoped there would be time to persuade my brother, but…”
“You may need to compromise, Miss Talbot.”
“I—I still could not marry Lord Geoffrey. Dianthe has told me that she met him and thinks he is a dreadful man.”
Oh, Dianthe! She had made Grace’s job more difficult without even realizing what she’d done! But in the end, it did not matter. She would continue to help Miss Talbot because of Adam. She could not imagine marrying Mr. Forbush and submitting to his intimacies now that she’d known Adam’s touch.
The Missing Heir Page 21