by Olivia Drake
He nuzzled her hair, his breath warm against her ear. He kept his hand in place, circling slowly against her. Then, in a move that stunned her, he stroked her inner folds. “So soft you are,” he whispered. “If I’d known how willing you’d be, I’d not have waited so long.”
His touch was so intimate, so extraordinary, she turned her face into his shirt and moaned. She forgot all else as he worked his sorcery, caressing her with a familiarity she had never dreamed possible. She arched against him, the need inside her sharpening, intensifying until she quivered in his arms and clutched handfuls of his shirt, her legs opening fully to him. She felt dizzy and aching as if she hovered on the brink of a world too marvelous to behold.
“Let go,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”
“Fall?” she asked, mystified, yet trusting him utterly, ready to do whatever he willed. In the next moment, all her questions were answered as she tumbled into paradise, her body pulsing with rapture.
Wonderfully sated, she drifted back to awareness to see him sitting up, shucking his shirt and breeches. There was a wildness in his dark eyes, a heaviness to his breathing. The firelight made his skin glow like bronze, and her mouth went dry at the magnificence of him. She had not known the male member could be so … impressive.
She shivered as he settled down onto her, solid and real and warm. How amazing to be here with him like this, both of them naked. She had begged to be seduced by a scoundrel, the most notorious rake in society. But it didn’t feel like a sin. It felt gloriously right, a blessing from heaven.
She kissed his smooth-shaven cheek. “I love what you did to me.”
“That was only the beginning.”
“What more—”
Before she could finish, he brought his mouth down onto hers. The kiss went on and on, and she grew aware of his maleness, burning into her thigh. Intensely curious about their physical differences, she wondered how he would reach his pleasure. Was she supposed to touch him … there?
The moment she thought it, she wanted to do so. The need throbbed inside her, a reprise of the sensations he had aroused in her already. Her skin felt dewy and warm. Succumbing to wicked impulse, she slid her hands down his tautly muscled body. But their hips were tightly locked. She was wondering how to get him to give her access when he shifted position, kissing her throat and breasts.
Her heart racing, she closed her fingers around him. How hot he was, thick and hard and velvety. As she explored him, he sucked in a hissing breath.
She snatched back her hand. “Am I hurting you?”
His tortured laugh rumbled against her breasts. “Only if you stop.”
He took her hand and cupped it around him again, guiding her up and down. Then he dipped his finger inside her. She gasped as he circled and skirmished, then slipped in deeper, his strokes slow and sure, driving her mad. She knew now the ecstasy that awaited her, and she strained toward it. But just as she reached the precipice, he withdrew his hand.
“Please…” she moaned.
Breathing unevenly, he nipped her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what.”
“I wonder,” he muttered, sounding smug and secretive, “if you do.”
In lieu of explanation, he settled himself between her thighs, large and heavy, a welcome weight. She felt a touch at her most private place, mistook it for his hand and eagerly pressed toward it. In that instant, she realized how the act was accomplished. The knowledge seized her in a thrill of awe and fierce longing, and she wriggled against him.
His dark eyes gleamed down at her. “Patience. There’s no need to rush.”
He resumed his dallying, fondling her breasts, smoothing his hands along her body, kissing her all over. Except for a sheen of sweat on his chest and the tension she felt in his muscles, he looked in control, focused on her pleasure before his.
How could he torture her like this? She wanted to hurry. His slow hands stirred her anticipation to an agonizing pitch. She tried to press down on him again, but he shifted himself lower, out of her reach. She was about to protest when his lips kissed the place his hand had just been.
The heat of his breath startled a gasp from her. “Ohh.” She could utter no more as the wicked work of his mouth sent fire over her skin and through her body. Closing her eyes, she fell straight into bliss.
As she lay relaxed and dazed, he brought himself over her again. This time, he entered her in a smooth thrust. There was a flash of pain, enough to make her stiffen, her nails raking down his back. He held himself still, his arms trembling ever so slightly around her.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. Then he gave a shaky laugh. “Hell no, don’t forgive me. You feel too damned good.”
He filled her, hard and deep, linking them in a way she had never imagined possible in all her dreams of making love with him. The pain melted into a feeling of utter completeness as if she had lived all her life for this one precious moment. They were one, truly one. Tears of joy stung her eyes, and she arched up and kissed his throat.
“Ethan … oh, Ethan, I love you.”
He went still and searched her face. “Don’t delude yourself,” he said in a rough undertone. “This is what you love. This.”
He moved inside her, slow and deliberate, arousing her to panting heights. She absorbed the pounding of his heart against her breasts. Need washed through her, tantalizing and wanton, urging her to join his rhythm. But tender understanding held her back, and she seized hold of his shoulders. “No … I won’t let you deny it. I love you, Ethan. You.”
His eyes darkened with an unguarded yearning. Then his gaze went unfocused, feral in its intensity. He pressed harder inside her, frantically, as if he could no longer contain himself. His breath came fast and furious; his movements became jerky and agitated. But she wasn’t afraid. Locking her ankles around his calves, she embraced his wildness with a vigor of her own. Each thrust brought them closer to the light, higher and brighter, until she lost herself in the radiance, aware only of him burying his face in her hair, his body shuddering.
“Jane. My God … Jane.”
Consciousness returned to Ethan by degrees, the whispering of the fire, the fragrance of her skin, a sense of wellbeing. Rain drummed on the roof, and lightning flashed in the window. How fitting that the storm had broken, he mused. Jane lay relaxed beneath him, her arms around him, and tender torment tightened his chest.
He had ruined her. Yet no woman had ever felt so good. No woman had ever sounded so sincere in her declaration of love.
She was deluding herself, of course. Having been brought up with strict morals, Jane wouldn’t have given away her virginity without convincing herself she was in love. He must not allow her to deceive herself.
Reluctantly, he started to lift himself from her. And then a second shock wave resonated through him.
He had not withdrawn.
Closing his eyes, he groaned in disbelief and horror. He rolled onto his back and plunged his fingers through his hair. He had spilled his seed inside her. God help him, he had not been so reckless since his first time, when a randy widow had taught him that trick of contraception.
“Ethan? Is something the matter?”
He opened his eyes to see her lying on her side gazing at him, an earnest little pucker on her brow. She was the picture of sensual perfection. Tendrils of dark hair, tinted with copper highlights, curled down around her breasts. One nipple peeked out, and he felt the untimely urge to kiss it.
She had caused him to lose control. Why Jane, of all women? He’d kept his head with more experienced, more inventive partners. Had it been his irrational reaction to her misguided words of love? Or the fact that she knew his secret?
“Get dressed,” he muttered, sitting up and tossing the chemise at her.
The scrap of linen landed across her hips, and she clutched at it, bunching it in her fingers. Fingers that had caressed him only moments ago. She scooted into a sitting position. “Get dr
essed?” she asked in a voice so low he had to strain to hear over the beating rain. “Is that how this ends?”
He stepped into his breeches. “It’s time you returned to your bedchamber.”
“Are you always so cold … to your other women?”
The bewildered pain in her voice pulled at him. She stared up, her chin raised, both fists clenching the chemise to her bosom. The knowledge that he had wronged her struck him anew.
Hunkering down, he brushed a lock of hair from her brow. “Forgive me. I should never have made love to you. Pray God nothing comes of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jane. I could have made you pregnant.”
Her hand stole over her belly. A faraway look entered her eyes, as if she were imagining herself fertile with his baby. He had the sudden fantasy of her smiling at him, her hands on her rounded abdomen.
He shouldn’t want that. One natural child was enough to complicate his life.
“Merciful God,” she whispered. “But you’ve done this many times before and there is only Marianne. I assumed you knew … some way to prevent conception.”
It galled him to admit that he had lost control. “I do. But I erred just now. I released my seed inside you.”
“You don’t always do so?”
He shook his head. “Never—almost never. Though admittedly, the method is not foolproof.”
“Then why with me?”
“It was … just a mistake.” When Jane frowned and opened her mouth to question him further, he caught her by the bare shoulders. “Should you discover you’re pregnant, I wish to know immediately. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes were large and luminous, the eyes of a woman well pleasured. “Do you mean … you would marry me?”
A cold sweat chilled his body. His throat closed tightly, and he looked away from her, no longer able to meet her gaze. “Let’s not worry about that yet. We’ll deal with the situation if it arises.”
“Not worry?” She scrambled to her feet, arms crossed over her bosom, the chemise tucked to her chin. “Ethan, we have to talk about this. I don’t even know how to tell if I’m … pregnant.”
“You would cease your monthly flow. When did you last bleed?”
A blush tinted her cheeks, but her gaze remained steady. “A few days ago.”
He breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief. “Good,” he said, pulling on his shirt. “We’re likely safe, then.”
“How can you be sure? I won’t know for weeks if you’re right. And in the meantime…”
“In the meantime, you’re returning to your chamber. God forbid someone should discover you here. Your reputation would be ruined.”
“Not if we were to wed.”
His blood ran cold. “That happened to me once. Believe me, I don’t intend for it to happen ever again.”
“Then you’d let me be ruined.”
He didn’t know what the hell he’d do. His palms damp, all he could think of was to get her away safely and forget his mistake. “It won’t happen,” he repeated. “With luck, no one will ever know I seduced you.”
She stared at him another moment; then she frowned down at the rug. Her lips were pressed tightly together, lips that had been soft and moist, whispering her love for him.… He wished to God he knew what she was thinking now. Was she sorry she’d given herself to him?
Abruptly she rose to her feet. She slipped the chemise over her head and the fabric slithered downward to her knees. Her movements graceful, she reached for her corset. “Now that we have that settled, I must leave,” she said, her voice cool and composed, Jane-like again.
So why did he sense that nothing was settled? That he had destroyed their friendship and deepened the chasm between them?
He donned his shirt, watching as she bent her head to retie the ribbons of her corset and then step into her gown. The turquoise silk grazed her slender form, and when he noticed her struggling to button the back, he stepped behind her to help. As his fingers brushed the creamy skin of her upper back, she stiffened ever so slightly.
It was happening already, so soon. She despised him. He couldn’t blame her, only himself. She had not considered the aftermath, when she faced the realization that she’d given her purity to a cad. But he had known from the start that lovemaking would change their relationship forever. He had known that once her passions cooled, she would no longer view him in a romantic haze. He had known, and yet he had been unable to resist what she offered to him.
He slipped another dainty gold button through its loop. He had performed this service a hundred times for women, acting the abigail after a satisfying frolic. But never before had he felt so full of regrets.
Or so ready to do it all again.
“Jane,” he murmured.
When he bent his head to kiss the tender nape of her neck, she spun away, crouching to gather the tortoiseshell pins that had fallen from her hair. “There,” she said. “I’ve found all of them. I’m ready to go.”
She didn’t look ready. Her hair drooped over her shoulders and down to her bodice. Her lips were reddened from his kisses. But she marched briskly past the cluttered desk to the garden door.
He went after her and caught her arm, smooth and warm to his touch. Like the rest of her. “You’ll have to leave by the other stairs. It’s raining.”
“So it is.”
Surprise made her voice breathy, as if she hadn’t noticed until now the lashing of raindrops against the window or the rumbling of thunder. It would have been less risky to leave by way of the garden, but it was so late, he doubted anyone was still awake, anyway.
He was tempted to linger with her, to somehow bridge the rift between them, but she veered away from him, heading toward the staircase that led down to his chambers. Her willowy form disappeared through the opposite doorway, and he hastened in her wake.
A candle in a wall sconce cast a flickering light over the narrow, curving stairs. The tower room had been used for storage in his father’s day, crammed with chairs and trunks and miscellaneous castoffs. One of Ethan’s first acts as the new earl had been to order the door unsealed and the junk banished to the attic. Since then, he had gone up and down these steps a thousand times, taking refuge to write.
Jane knew his secret now.
The thought disturbed him in an elemental way. Although he trusted her not to betray him, he still felt uneasy that she had seen into his soul. He preferred to keep his relations with women light and amusing, inconsequential.
Instead, he had lost his head over a virgin. And not just any virgin. Jane Mayhew, his prickly nemesis. His not-so-sour spinster.
She hesitated in the doorway and looked at him questioningly. “Your valet?”
“He’s retired for the night.”
She nodded and went into the bedchamber, hurrying as if she feared he might entice her into the four-poster and have his way with her again. He burned to do just that, though he’d never brought a woman here. He always met his lovers elsewhere, at their homes or at a discreet town house he owned in Haymarket.
But Jane deserved better than a clandestine affair. Tonight had been an aberration, a terrible lapse in judgment. He should not wish to repeat it. He should not remember how perfect she had felt beneath him.
Or that he didn’t want her to walk out and never return.
His chest tight, he stopped her just as she opened the door to the outer corridor: He placed his hands around her slim waist and spoke without thinking. “Jane, don’t go.”
The flickering candlelight from a wall sconce played on her strong, feminine features as she met his gaze squarely. “I’ve stayed too long already. You said so yourself.”
“I know, but—” He bit off his words, frustrated by his powerful need to keep her close, to know that she did not despise him. He swore under his breath, pulled her to him, and kissed her.
She stiffened, but only for a moment. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him back, her body arching against him, a moan
vibrating in her throat. The knowledge that she still desired him filled Ethan with immense gratification and reckless lust. Intending to draw her back into his bedchamber, he broke the kiss and lifted his head.
And then the worst possible event happened.
He looked over her shoulder to see three people walking down the shadowed passageway. Two women and a man.
His mother. Aunt Wilhelmina. And the furious Duke of Kellisham.
Chapter 18
The tension in Ethan penetrated the haze of desire surrounding Jane. Weak-kneed, she clung to him, not ready to let go. She caressed his cheek, but he caught her wrist and pushed it down. Confused and hurt, she turned her head to see what had distracted him.
And gasped. “Aunt Willy!”
A cold knot tightening inside her, Jane jerked her arms to her sides and watched the trio approach. How much of that steamy kiss had they witnessed? And why did she feel so mortified? Being discovered together would suit her plan. Or at least it would have before Ethan had made it clear he would never marry her.
The Duke of Kellisham stopped in front of them, his gaze flicking over her in a way that made Jane aware of her dishabille, the loose hair that hung down to her waist. In her hand, she clutched the pins that she had gathered from the rug in the tower room. The pins that had fallen free while Ethan had made love to her.
“What is the meaning of this, Chasebourne?” the duke demanded.
Ethan kept his hand lightly at the back of her waist. With a level gaze, he met the duke’s rage. “The meaning? I’m sure my mother can tell you all about it. After all, she had the foresight to bring you here.”
He glowered at Lady Rosalind. She stared regally back, one fair eyebrow arched.
“I was showing His Grace and Wilhelmina the family portraits along this passageway,” the countess said. “I never dreamed I would reveal a family scandal.”