by London Casey
“Don’t…” Her voice was raspy, pleading. She stared at him, wide-eyed and still as if frozen in place.
He couldn’t help himself. He brought his mouth down on hers. Open, harsh, demanding.
Her lips trembled under his, closed, resisting.
He placed his hand at the angle of her jaw, pressing.
She opened her mouth and he thrust inside. The sweetness of her taste hit him like a force. Hunger for more swept through him. He groaned and deepened the kiss.
Her lush body melted against him. She moaned deep in her throat.
It was only a kiss. But he had longed for her every moment he’d been away. Now he couldn’t get enough of her.
Finally, the need to breathe broke them apart. She took gulps of air, her chest rising and falling against his, pressing her soft, full breasts into him. The feel of her feminine body moving against his sent a thrill through him. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck. “I love you Anne, God help me, I love you.”
She caught her breath, the little sound the only sign she’d heard him.
He raised his head and placed his hand at the base of her throat and tightened it, enjoying the feel of the delicate cords and her rapid pulse under his hand. Her very life under his hand, submissive and trusting as it always should be. “I’ll have my way in this, Anne. We shall be wed, and soon.”
Her throat moved under his hand as she swallowed deeply. Her eyes came open and the determination there sent a chill through his blood.
“I can’t think clearly, I don’t know what I think.” He heard the panic beneath her soft tone. “Please don’t press me on this.”
A vision of his grandfather bullying his grandmother, breaking down her resistance through the sheer force of his aggression, flashed into his mind. It had forced his grandmother to resort to devious means to regain her sense of selfhood. Was that what he wanted with Anne? Would their house become a battlefield, their children unwilling pawns in a never-ending power struggle? Nausea twisted his stomach.
Coldness settled over him and he let his hand slide away from her. “So that’s it then? You’re going to Ireland and shutting yourself off to everything else?”
She glanced off to the side. “I want my own life—I must stand on my own. You simply have to understand.”
“You demand so much understanding, Anne, yet you never give any in return. You make no attempt to understand others nor do you allow them any trust. You’ve called me a liar and I am expected to stand and take that and to understand you. Well, I do not understand and I do not choose to even try.” He shook his head. “You have wrung me out. I begin to see it’s better if we do part ways.”
“Enough. You should go now.”
Damn. Had his hearing betrayed him? How could she dismiss him so coolly? Then he noted how rigidly she held herself. He studied her intently. Something flickered in her gaze. Something vulnerable. Scared.
“Why won’t you trust me, Anne?” He touched her arm, gently grasped it.
She glanced down. “It’s not just you.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t trust myself either. I can’t…I can’t think through my own feelings. I need to understand them or else I am lost. I am not myself any longer.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of such confusion and pain, it put a pang in his chest. “If I am not myself, if I cannot understand myself, then I have nothing.”
“We all go through times when we don’t understand ourselves.”
“I can’t bear it. The highest activity a human being can attain is learning for understanding, because to understand is to be free. The greatest pride, or the greatest despondency, is the greatest ignorance of one’s self.” She was quoting Spinoza.
Spinoza. Christ. He was competing with an obscure philosopher who’d been dead for over a century.
“Anne, those are the words of a man who lived a hermit’s life.”
Her look grew wild. “I won’t give myself up to be yours.”
“Oh my love…” He reflexively tightened his grip.
“No, you can’t ask me to either, Jon!” She pulled against his grip.
He had underestimated the most vital thing about her. Her emotions and sexuality might be his to control. In that way, she was like almost all the other women he’d known.
However, in a very important way, Anne wasn’t like the others. Not even Maria. Anne was a creature of intellect. Not like Maria’s worldly, cunning intellect, but rather an abstract and pure sort of intellect.
Anne would have to come to an intellectual realisation of her feelings and settle them against all her internalised, quirky little theories before she would consider them valid. She had to do it in her own time. His pressure was only pushing her further away. He’d issued his command. Now he had to give her some breathing space to sort out what she wanted. And she might end up deciding that she didn’t want him.
He had to take that risk. To give her that freedom, else he would be disrespecting the very nature that set her apart from others. The very nature that made her so fascinating to him.
The very nature that made him love her so much. He hated his lack of control over the situation. It was his way to press his agenda until the other person relented. Backing off would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. However, she was a rare woman.
And rare, precious things did not come easily.
He released her.
He bent and picked up Tiberia’s leash. Then he walked to Anne and handed it to her. “If you need me, send for me. I shall always be a friend to you, my Lady Cranfield.”
He walked away, resisting the urge to turn back.
Chapter Twenty
Anne watched the endless miles of misty, rainy countryside pass by the window.
“Four hours now, my lady. Shouldn’t we stop for something to eat?”
“Our luncheon stop is coming up soon.”
Nellie nodded and returned to her sewing.
Though Anne’s nerves were stretched taut, she was enduring this. Surviving it.
This was her moment of personal victory.
And yet, she felt hollow inside.
She wished with all her being that Jon could have shared this moment with her. Teasing her. Bullying her. Seducing her into all sorts of distracting and pleasurable nonsense. Moreover, she wanted him by her side when she saw her little sister for the first time. Because…because she feared the child might not like her. That this sister would be disappointed by that mysterious thing within her that disappointed everyone. For a moment, shamefully, she wanted to tell the driver to turn the carriage back around. To have Nellie and her brother fetch the child. She wanted to protect herself against the rejection of a mere child.
Had the duke felt this way? Had fear of being scorned for something in his nature—the same kind of coldness and unyielding guardedness—kept him ensconced in his study, poring over his books and giving his affections only to his dogs?
Sudden pain wrenched her chest. Pity. For the duke. For herself.
“Oh, Papa.” She mouthed the words and gazed out of the window at the misting rain, knowing he would never, ever hear her now. Her understanding had come too late for him.
The only way she had ever disappointed others had been in holding herself back from them. And she had hurt Ruel with her will. Just as she had hurt William.
Yes, hurt.
Oh God…she closed her eyes at the realisation.
William had reached out to her in the only way he’d known. With his charm, his gentleness, his deference. His boyish face flashed into her mind with heart-stopping clarity. His beautiful green eyes imploring her to…
Her chest grew tight. She felt the sharp bite of her nails in her palms.
Oh God… She’d been so cold. Cruel.
She hadn’t known how to reach back—she’d been so consumed by her own self-protection—and he’d retreated. Sought solace with other women.
When they had wed, he’d really been the next thi
ng to a boy, tender-hearted—somewhat vain—but kind. The same age she was now…
She felt the release of anger within herself, the sudden lightening in an area of her heart that she hadn’t even realised had been oppressed.
William hadn’t possessed the wisdom and maturity to see beneath her prickly exterior. But that hadn’t been his fault, any more than it had been hers that she’d been too scared to risk making herself vulnerable to him.
However, Jon hadn’t given up so easily. Surely that counted for much. Far more than she’d been willing to place faith in, coward that she was.
Maybe it counted for everything. Maybe he would have grown bored with her in time. Left her alone on his estate while he chased muslin in London. Maybe she would never be able to give him all of herself and all of her trust as he wanted. However, she had thrown away a chance at having everything she’d ever wanted—and some things she’d wanted but had been unaware of, until he’d shown her. She’d given it up because she was afraid to trust. Most of all in herself, that she could fight to keep Ruel’s interest.
And his love.
A burning pain blossomed in her chest. She took a deep, hitching breath.
The person she had to learn to trust the most in this world was herself. And she’d come to the realisation too late. The burning sensation in her chest seemed to flame up into her throat, leaving a bitter, ashy taste. It gagged her. Choked her.
Too late.
Too damned late…
She bent her head into her hands and cried.
With Nellie in her wake, Anne walked through the inn’s public room, uncomfortable under staring male eyes. She looked forward to relaxing in her private dining room for an hour before they must get back on the road.
A tall gentleman approached. The lamplight shone on hair as blond as moonlight.
Her heart skipped a beat. Then fear tingled through her. She was losing her wits now. Seeing what she wanted to see.
She blinked. Hard. Then she refocused.
Jon’s azure gaze bore into her intently. Virile energy radiated from his powerfully built body.
Yet she couldn’t quite let herself believe… He advanced towards her. He stopped in front of her and took her gloved hand into his own large, leather-covered ones and he certainly felt real. “I have rented a chamber upstairs. You’ll be far more comfortable there.”
He had come for her. He had not given up on her.
Joy had locked Anne’s rational mind and what little wit remained could but cling to her plans as the only solid, dependable thing in a daydream. “But-but, we have to travel four more hours today.”
He pressed her hand between his and shook his head, his expression resolute. “It will not do for your first day. We shall overnight here and I shall be with you tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course you shall. But I need to keep travelling today.”
“You’re going with me upstairs and that’s all there is to it.” His expression turned resolute.
Her throat burned. He hadn’t let her push him away. He had come for her. Just as she had really wanted him to. Her heart overflowed into her throat, warm and melting, making speech too hard.
He had come for her.
“Well, Nan?” he asked.
“Is this gentleman bothering you, my lady?”
She glanced to her side and there stood a smartly-dressed older gentleman she’d seen earlier in the courtyard. His clothes and brisk, no-nonsense manner marked him as merchant class. Perhaps much like Mama’s Nabob.
Ruel tightened his hand on her arm as he fixed the man with a stern look.
“He’s my husband,” Anne hurried to say before Ruel could speak. What did a mere formality matter at this point? Any more than it mattered if she stopped here tonight or carried on. She had given herself a cushion of two days. She simply hadn’t felt like giving in right away.
The gentleman’s face relaxed and he smiled. “Well, I certainly shan’t interfere in a domestic matter.”
Upstairs, Ruel pulled her into their private chamber and closed the door. “Did you mean it, Nan? Are you finally and completely mine now?” He cupped her face. “I warn you, if you say yes, I shall never let you go.”
She nodded, moving towards him, needing to be close to his hard-muscled body.
“Wait,” he said, touching the frogging on her pelisse. “Go and wait by the fire.”
She went to the hearth, where a cheery fire blazed, and watched him shed his greatcoat. Then he went to the sideboard and poured them both a glass of claret. He came to her and handed her the glass. She took it but then pressed her face into his hand, kissing his palm.
“I love you, I love you.” The words poured from her. She couldn’t hold them back.
The skin around his eyes crinkled. “I love you too, wench.”
She didn’t want to drink. She wanted to connect with him. To please him. She licked his palm, hungry for the taste of him.
“Drink first,” he said, touching her face.
She tried to obey but ardent desire made her throat tight, making it hard to swallow. Finally, he took her half-finished glass away.
She dropped to her knees and began working the buttons on his fall. He pushed her hands away and tackled the buttons himself.
She kissed his cock’s tip, savouring the salty taste of his excitement. Then, unable to wait, she opened her mouth wide and the silken head slid over her tongue. She moaned with satisfaction and greedily swallowed him completely.
His deep groan echoed in her ears as he grasped her hair and held her head, causing her heart to race. She’d known nothing sweeter than his familiar smell and taste.
His grip suddenly tightened on her hair. “That’s enough, wench.”
She relaxed her jaw and he popped from her mouth.
Shortly thereafter, a servant came and served them a light meal of fresh bread, cheese and apples and then left. They sat at the small table in the corner of the chamber and ate it. He asked her questions about her journey and she answered in near one-syllable replies.
There seemed to be some tension between them, intruding on the joy of their reunion. Something nagged at her mind.
“You know what it will mean, us being married? You know what I expect from you?” He asked the question so calmly for such a sudden, serious turn of subject.
She dropped her gaze and nodded slowly.
“I want to hear you say yes, Nan.”
Apprehension tingled through her and her mouth dried. “Yes, Jon, I understand. I wouldn’t have come to this chamber with you, if I did not accept it.”
“Before we were parted, you disobeyed me.”
The four cups of punch at the party. How could she have forgotten? Shame swept over her.
“Yes, I did,” she said, hugging her shoulders.
He went behind her. “I want you to undress and I will have bath water sent up. You are to bathe and then wait for me without getting dressed.” The tugging motions told her he was unlacing her gown. “And leave your hair down.”
He had her gown removed in short order. Then he pulled her shift up.
“What do you intend to do?”
He showed her his hand. Silver glittered in his palm. Those hateful little weighted balls. “I can’t let you escape your punishment. Do you understand why, Nan?”
“Because I agreed to obey you?”
“Yes. I can’t let things like this go between us.”
An odd sense of relief swept over her, as if she had been waiting for this. Hoping for it. Her sex pulsed, her inner folds swelling, growing moist. He slid his hand up her thigh, slowly. He ran his fingertip over the crease between her thigh and her outer lips. “You’re getting wet for me?”
At his words, a sudden gush flooded between her legs. She bit her lip and nodded.
He touched her wetness, slipping his thumb over the erect little nub.
She gasped and a shudder of hunger raced through her.
“It was hard to be p
arted, wasn’t it?” He entered her with two fingers.
She moaned and nodded.
“Yes, it was hard for me too, love. I don’t think we should make a practice of it, do you?”
“No…” She caught her breath as he pushed the first cold, silver ball into her. Her cunt throbbed while dread twisted through her. She had hated those things before. She didn’t think she was going to like them much this time, either. He’d said this was punishment.
He pressed the next one into her then moved his fingers, propelling the balls as deeply into her as they would go.
In the next moment, he knelt in front of her. The wet warmth of his tongue touched her nub, licking, flicking, circling. It rose more erect, more swollen. She moaned and entwined her fingers in his silken, pale-blond hair. He drew it into his mouth and sucked, forcing her right up to the point of straining for release. He nipped her.
Delicious shivers raced over her, she cried out sharply and closed her eyes. The first tingle overcame her.
But he stopped and moved away from her. “Don’t remove them. I will let Nellie come to you and assist you with your bath. And you’ll act normally while she’s here. I’ll come to you when I am ready. Remain unclothed and after she leaves, do not touch yourself.”
She lingered in the tub, thinking the warm water would soothe the unbearable ache. But it didn’t. She watched Nellie leave with profound relief that she could stop moving around, acting as if she weren’t in total sensual agony.
She lay on the bed and tried not to move but her cunt kept clenching, knocking those terrible little balls together and sending renewed surges of hunger through her.
Sweat drenched her body; wetness soaked the sheets beneath her. And the little clock seemed to tick off the moments with interminable slowness.
Finally, she heard his boots in the hall. She jolted to a sitting position. Painful desire jarred through her. She moaned and put a hand over her pelvic bone.
Jon’s voice carried through the door; he was speaking with Toby or maybe Nellie. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. Just wanted him to come in.