by Lily Dalton
He had always initiated the kissing before, letting her know that he found her desirable. This time, she wanted to be the one to communicate the same.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked raggedly, against her lips.
“For being you. A hero. Not just to me. To Kate, to my mother. To your dear sister.”
She held his face in her hands, and pressed butterfly-soft kisses across his nose and cheeks and eyelids, as he whispered her name. His hands gripped her arms, as if he intended to stop her…but he didn’t.
*
With a sigh, she explored lower, parting the linen at his throat, and pressing a trail of kisses down the center of his chest. An odd, strangled sound burst from deep in his throat, one that pleased her.
“Daphne, no.” His entire body quaked. “You’re confused. You just survived a terrifying ordeal.”
“It’s just kissing—”
“No, it’s not just kissing.” He gripped her by the arms, and gave her a solid shake, his gaze burning into hers. He was trying to be noble, which only made her want him more. “You are innocent, and you can’t know what you do to me with just a kiss. A look. With just a toss of your hair.”
“Cormack, I know what I said at the Monument this afternoon, that I couldn’t go any further, because I wouldn’t be able to let you go when the time came. But tonight, out there under the lanterns, under the stars, I realized that neither can I let you go now.”
“I can’t marry you, and if I can’t marry you, this will not occur.” He shook her again.
“I don’t want you to marry me. I just want to be close to you, whatever that means, even if it’s just for tonight.”
“What are you saying?” His gaze flared with heat.
“That I want you, Cormack,” she said unsteadily, terrified of speaking the words aloud, yet knowing they had to be said. “That I want us, right now. I know what I mean by that. I may be inexperienced, but I’m not misinformed.”
Suddenly he was gone from her arms, and she was left with an empty bench. She twisted round to find him in the distant corner, arms outstretched along the walls and his long legs bent at the knees, staring at her through glassy eyes. “Don’t do this to me.”
He looked so tall, and handsome and tortured, that she almost laughed.
“I made the decision never to marry, Cormack. That doesn’t mean I intended to die a virgin.”
He closed his eyes and cursed. “You don’t know what you are saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” She crossed the space between them, sinking between his knees, and closing her hands over his. “One day I fully intend to be everyone’s favorite old maiden aunt, one with a beautiful secret.” She smiled, her countenance flushed and bright. “Please give me this memory. I want it to be you.”
“Old maiden aunt, my eye,” he answered vehemently, his gaze moving over her face, then lower to her breasts, which rested between his open thighs. Fully aware that her torn gown gaped, she held still, allowing him to take his fill of the view. “You ought to find someone special and marry. This memory you ask for should belong to him.”
“There’s not going to be a husband. I belong only to me,” she answered fiercely, squeezing his hands. “And I want to share this with you.”
“I’ve no right—”
“But I have every right,” she whispered, running her hands up the tops of his muscled thighs…over his pelvis…and up his rigid stomach, allowing her curiosity to lead her. Feeling the powerful flex and seize of his muscles beneath her palms, her mouth went dry with what she knew to be desire.
His hands came to either side of her face, suddenly and fiercely, his expression a portrait of torment. “Daphne.”
She leapt against him, crying out in pleasure as his arms closed around her. She couldn’t get close enough, and as if he couldn’t, either, he shoved her skirts up to her hips and brought her legs, bent at the knees, around his waist. With one hand at the center of her buttocks, and the other splayed wide at her back, he seized her against him, and thrust his hips upward and off the seat so fiercely, his cheek turned against her breasts, that she felt the sudden invasion of his arousal into the swollen place between her legs. She moaned, as the most wonderful, but elusive, sensation fluttered through her legs, and up her spine. There, everything went hot and damp and needful. Instinctively she tilted her hips, wanting more. As if in answer, he moved, the heels of his boots sliding heavily against the floor of the carriage, replicating the same sensation as before, only this time deeper and more satisfying.
“Daphne,” he repeated raggedly, still clenching her against him as if they were in a raging flood and she, at any moment, might be torn from his grasp. And yet she sensed the tremble in his arms, and the control that held him rigidly taut.
“You’re hesitating,” she murmured, bending…twisting…to kiss his lips. “Don’t. I won’t change my mind.”
The carriage lurched to a halt, but started again, rocking them against one another, but he held her so tight she did not fear toppling to the floor.
“You foolish girl.” He exhaled, and for a moment he did not move, but then his face turned, so that his nose and mouth found the channel between her breasts, and he groaned against her skin. “What man could refuse you?”
“I don’t care,” Daphne whispered. “I only want you.”
He cursed. “I have, from the first moment, and every moment on, wanted you.”
Strong hands pressed up her back, their fingertips firm against her skin, one moving higher to twist in her hair. Slowly…gently, he pulled, tilting her head back, exposing her neck and the upper swells of her breasts to his mouth. Daphne closed her eyes, abandoning herself to a thousand unfamiliar sensations, all pleasurable, and waiting in a half-delirious state for whatever would come next.
At first his lips only teased the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck, while the fingertips of his other hand tested the tops of her breasts. But with a sudden jerk to her bodice and her stays beneath, her breasts sprang free into the cool night air, and with a guttural sound, his mouth closed on her nipple.
“Cormack!” she cried, squeezing her thighs and pressing against him, a movement that caused the satin thread of pleasure that ran along the center of her body to pull exquisitely tight and dangerously close to breaking.
He hissed. “You can’t know what that does to me.”
Voices shouted outside the carriage, but faded quickly with the clatter of horses’ hooves. The knowledge that others passed so close by, without knowing the goings-on inside Cormack’s carriage, only heightened Daphne’s excitement in the moment.
“Then show me,” she dared to whisper.
His white collar framed his tanned throat, just below his handsome face. He gripped her arms just below the shoulders and she allowed him complete control, looking down into the shadows between them to watch as his tongue laved her sensitive peak, his tongue making circles until at last he sucked the rigid tip, grunting hoarsely before paying the same courtesy to the other. She writhed, but he held her in place, while her hips instinctively moved against the growing ridge in his trousers, bringing her a more profound satisfaction.
“Minx,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.
Reality fell way, leaving only a frenzy of touch and sensation. His mouth on hers. The feel of his skin and hair beneath her fingertips. And pleasure. One kiss wasn’t enough. She could barely inhale for breath before demanding another.
Her passion flamed higher with each slant of his lips, each touch of his hand, until with a sudden movement, he twisted, and she found herself on her back staring up at the painted ceiling of the coach and Cormack’s face, him sprawled above her. Gray eyes flashed into hers before moving hungrily over breasts still bared for his view. “You are a fantasy come to life.”
Daphne could not remember a time when she had ever felt more beautiful. Propped on one elbow, he raked her skirts up her thighs.
Cool ni
ght air bathed her bare skin and her passion-drenched flesh. Staring down at her, his eyes went to blazes, and his cheeks went ruddy.
“You’re beautiful,” he said reverently.
“You are beautiful,” she replied.
He groaned, spreading over her, kissing her, pressing his hands along the length of her bare thighs.
Suddenly, he lifted his head and turned it as if listening. Twisting to sit, he seized her up from the bench.
“We’re just going to stop?” she asked, bewildered and dazed. “Just like that?”
He tugged up her corset and straightened her skirts.
“Yes, just like that, unless you want an audience. Jackson knocked, didn’t you hear?”
No, she hadn’t. Only then did she realize the carriage had completely stopped, and that she no longer heard the sounds of horses and other carriages on the road around them.
Oh no. Her hair was everywhere. She set about doing her best to straighten its pins. Her mother or even George the groom might very well be standing right outside the door.
Tilting the bench cushion, Cormack produced a folded wool blanket, which he hastily shook out.
“Put this around your shoulders and try not to look as if you’ve been ravished.” His lips set forth a strained laugh.
Only then did he hurl himself onto the opposite bench, and let out an uneasy breath.
A rap came upon the door, a second before it swung open.
*
To Cormack’s surprise, he looked out at his own terrace house. “Jackson, why are we stopped here when I specified Wolverton’s residence?”
He had actually hoped they would be returned to the earl’s residence, so that Daphne would be forced to sleep another night on her decision.
“One of the horses has gone lame. We simply couldn’t push him any further.”
Cormack moved to the front of the carriage to inspect the injured animal, and gave instructions to the driver.
“The earl’s residence is just two streets over. I will walk Miss Bevington home.”
“I’d take the footpath, sir, so as not to risk being trampled by some drunken driver.”
Just over his shoulder, the street remained jammed with carriages, a common sight when the season was in full swing, but even more so tonight with the flux of revelers simultaneously returning from Vauxhall.
“Thank you, Jackson.” Daphne emerged from the interior, Cormack’s carriage blanket arranged like an elegant hood over her hair and body. Nothing about her demeanor suggested the scandalous activities in which they’d indulged just moments before.
Once she stood beside him, the carriage departed in the direction of the mews, minus one horse from its harnesses, while Jackson followed, gently leading the lame animal in the same direction.
“Very nice,” Daphne said, gazing at the front of the house.
“Would you like to…see the inside?” He stared at her, knowing she saw the fire in his eyes.
“I would.” A flush rose into her cheeks.
“Then we had best make haste, before anyone sees.”
Together they rushed down the walkway and up the stairs. With a turn of the key in the lock, he pushed the door open. A vestibule cloaked in shadows welcomed them, as well as two mastiffs who excitedly circled them, panting and growling happy greetings low in their throats.
“Their names?” She rubbed their heads, which elicited their immediate adoration.
“Hugin and Munin.”
“They are very handsome, and I like them very much. But no butler, or footman?” She moved through the cavernous entrance hall.
“It’s just me here, and I require very little attention. I told them not to wait up.”
“Where are your chambers?” Daphne inquired in a hushed voice, already ascending the marble stairway.
Anticipation quickened his breath. “Why don’t you find them? I will follow.”
He quickly guided the dogs by their collars into a side room and closed the door, leaving them to whine from the other side.
She released the blanket from her shoulders, discarding it to the stairs, and half-turned to smile at him. Moonlight bathed her gown, defining every rise and swell of her body for his hungry gaze. He followed her the rest of the way up, admiring the gentle sway of her hips as she climbed.
When he reached the landing, she was already halfway down the corridor. He followed slowly, watching as she pushed open a door.
“Are these rooms your chambers?” she asked, her voice a soft, velvet tease. “No, I think not. The furnishings aren’t fine enough for an earl.” She proceeded to the next. “What about…this one? No again. I can’t see you sleeping in a room done up in lilac and pink.”
He overtook her suddenly, unable to contain his passion a moment more. He caught her from behind, pressing her to the wall, his mouth against her neck. Her back arched in ecstasy and her hands spread wide against the scarlet wallpaper as his hands descended the length of her body, caressing her breasts until she moaned, then moving lower, across her belly.
“I want you here,” he rasped against her neck. “But I won’t make love to you for the first time against a wall.”
In one swift move he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the end of the hall. “It’s not too late to turn back. Tell me now, and I’ll take you home.”
She encircled her arms round him and pressed her face to his neck. “I don’t want to go home.”
With a thrust of his boot, the doors swung open to reveal an enormous state bed, draped in curtains and tassels, illuminated in the moonlight coming in through the window. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s perfectly pretentious,” she murmured, as he crossed the floor. “Just right for an earl.”
An earl. He still had trouble thinking of himself in that way. The title remained simply a means by which to advance his search for Laura’s seducer, and when alone he tended not even to think of it, or how the inheritance would affect his future. One day, he supposed, he would be a marquess and his eldest son, should he be so blessed with one, would be the earl—
But he didn’t want to think of that faraway future now, not here alone in the shadows with Daphne, when that future could not include her.
He fell over her, onto a silken paradise, kissing her face, neck, and shoulders, and heard her slippers fall, thud…thunk…to the floor.
But something whispered in his mind that he could not ignore. “Something changed your mind tonight, something that upset you, and I want to know what it is.”
“The riot—” she murmured dreamily, reaching for his shirt and tugging it free of his breeches. “You saved me. I want to be with you.”
“Not that.” He kissed her eyelids, and her cheeks. She sighed and embraced him, raising her arms to encircle his neck. “Something else.”
“I saw you go with that woman into the forest, and it made me realize—”
“You aren’t the jealous sort. That isn’t why you are here with me tonight.” He stared down at her face, that looked just like Daphne…but so like someone else, a fantasy painted in shadows, lush and eager to share his bed.
She remained silent for a long while. “Tell me.”
“I saw my mother kissing Mr. Birch.”
He smoothed a tendril of her goddess-hair from where it had caught between her shoulder and the coverlet. “How did that make you feel?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”
“Which is why you should.”
“It made me feel happy for her.”
“And?”
“Sad for me.” Her eyes closed.
He lowered to kiss them again, and like magic, they fluttered open. “You’ve sworn that you won’t marry.”
“I won’t. Even if…she and Mr. Birch…marry, but I realize I want something for myself. This. You.” Her voice thickened. With a sudden frown, she shoved him off her, and rolled away from him, onto her stomach. “You’ve ruined things now by being so serious. On
purpose, I think, so you wouldn’t have to make love to me.”
Cormack smiled, staring at her rounded buttocks beneath the blue silk. “On the contrary.” He touched her ankle, which was covered in the sheerest silken stocking, and traced his finger…up… “If you don’t allow me to make love to you, I’ll tell everyone I saw Daphne Bevington—”
…up her calf…and circled his thumb behind her knee.
She shifted and sighed and, reaching for the pillow, gave up a little gasp. “What?”
“—dancing on the stage of the Blue Swan.”
She rolled again, smiling, and threw the pillow at his face. “Scoundrel! So you think to resume your blackmail of me, do you?”
“I do indeed.” He climbed over her, straddling her waist, easily pinning her by the wrists so she could not move, something she allowed without struggle.
Bending low, he caught the upper edge of her bodice with his teeth and dragged the silk low. Still finding her completely concealed by her corset, he growled in complaint and did the same with her corset, managing to reveal, with some effort, one perfectly round breast.
The moment his mouth closed on her nipple, she arched and twisted, breaking free of his grasp, only to hold his face, and rake her fingers through his hair. “Oh…Cormack.”
He lifted himself off her enough to pull her skirts up over her thighs.
“Wait!” she said.
Wait, she said. But her eyes did not say stop. She stared up at him, her breast exposed, and the smooth skin of her thigh gleaming in the moonlight.
“Yes?”
“If you wish to make love to me—” She pushed him onto his back, and half-rolled to splay atop him, her breast puddled against his chest and her thigh across his hips, as if she instinctively knew how to torture him. But her expression was one of innocence, her first time playing this game. “You must tell me a secret that I may hold in confidence against you.”
The front of his breeches caught her eye, and the swollen ridge that had become apparent there. She rested her hand on his hip, just inches beside him.
“May I?” she said in a soft voice.
“Of course.” He held rigid.