Damon seemed to know her thoughts, and he sucked her tongue into his mouth greedily. His hips lifted and in one sure movement, Damon plunged into her.
A flash of hot, white pain pierced her, and a scream erupted from her without warning as her body clenched. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.
Damon looked down, worry and regret lacing his expression. “I am so sorry. I forgot I needed to be careful. I am so very sorry.”
Claire cut him off with a demanding kiss of her own. Yes, it had hurt. It still hurt, but she would not have him feeling remorse over something she had instigated.
Moving her hips in small, testing motions which seemed to come to her naturally, Claire was surprised and pleased to find the pain diminishing. Damon did not shift, though. His body was tense, and he groaned into her mouth as she stirred.
When the pain had all but left her and was replaced with a need to move in earnest, Claire dug her fingers into the firmness of his bottom again, demanding his participation. He growled before his body seemed to take over, pumping into her with a wild eagerness.
Claire broke their kiss, throwing her head back, arching her body against his. Pleasure, surpassing that which he had given her two days past, built rapidly. Before she could work out what was happening, it spilled over. Claire screamed again, this time as rapture rocked her body.
Damon let out a cry of his own while he pumped into her one final time before collapsing.
Claire wrapped her arms around him tightly as his heavy and welcome weight settled over her.
If this were what he was destined to experience as a married man, he would die a very happy death. Claire was a vixen, for sure, a woman who gave and took what he offered without apprehension or fear. She had actually surpassed every hope he’d had. She had held no reservations. She had not seemed to mind the hard vigour of his thrusts into her—in truth she had met him in every movement. Damon wondered what fantasies he and his soon-to-be bride could explore. He would wager she would be game to give each one a go. He was a lucky man. He had met a true woman of his heart. Finally.
He went to roll off her from where he had collapsed, yet her hands tightened around him.
“Do not leave,” she whispered.
“I will crush you.”
She shook her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. He would have been worried she was in pain, but the smile which graced her features told him otherwise.
“I am not a delicate flower.”
He nuzzled into her neck, resting most of his weight on his hands now. “You are a flower. You are my rose.”
She huffed a laugh. “Yes, thorns and all.”
He pushed up slightly to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, but the smile remained. Did she tease him? “You do not carry a single thorn.”
She opened one eye, studying him for a moment before she closed it again. “If you say so,” she said, but her voice no longer held conviction.
He glowered at her, though she did not notice.
Regretfully, he slipped his flaccid cock from her warmth, glancing down at her cunt, and was shocked to see the amount of blood which covered him. He had not taken her gently, but she had not seemed to mind apart from his initial entry.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, as he pushed a loose strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear.
“No,” she murmured.
“The blood tells a different story,” he drawled, unsurprised when her eyes popped open in shock.
“Blood?”
He nodded and gestured to her core.
Claire rose onto her elbows and gasped. “Is that normal?”
“I do not know. I have never bedded a maiden before,” he said. “Are you sure you do not hurt?”
She shrugged. “It hurt like the devil, but quickly turned into something wonderful. It is only when I squeeze the muscles inside, now, that it gives me discomfort.”
Damon nodded. “You should rest for a while—perhaps bathe before you return home?”
She nodded and stood, wincing slightly. Though she tried to cover it, Damon noticed. Shame at his animal-like tactics took hold of him. He did not regret taking her. How could he? But he did regret the pain he had caused. Next time, he would take her slowly. She needed to expand to house his girth. Then, later, he could act without restraint.
After helping her to disrobe completely, Damon assisted her into the water. He kissed her tenderly before he watched her wade into the shallows, where she started to bathe herself.
“Are you going to wash?” she asked as he re-buttoned his breeches, thankful no blood marred the fabric. He was still presentable.
“No, my rose. I need to speak with your father.”
She stood, shock covering her features. “Now? Wait—I will come too.”
“No,” Damon said simply. “I must do this alone.”
“Damon,” she started, but he shook his head.
“My rose, you said you trusted me and I ask you to do so at this moment. You will be my wife, and I am going to ensure that now. Do not rush, and take care whilst you ride. I do not want you to harm yourself further.”
As he turned and headed for his steed, Damon was not surprised to hear Claire voicing her disagreement. She was a feisty woman, and one he was proud to call his own.
Chapter Five
“Lord Belfort is here to see you, my Lord.”
The tone of the butler’s voice reeked of disapproval, and Damon could understand it. He would not have appreciated a lord barging into his home and refusing to wait before being announced, either.
Lord Killory looked up from his desk and frowned for a moment at seeing Damon standing behind his butler, though he quickly concealed it.
“Thank you, Hamish. Lord Belfort, please come in,” Killory said with an inquisitive smile. He indicated a chair that sat before his desk.
As Damon took the seat, Killory rose and poured brandy into two small glasses. He placed one in front of Damon and returned to his seat.
“I am surprised to see you, Lord Belfort. Normally I deal with your man of business on estate matters. My wife was quite pleased to see you in attendance last night. I must tell you I fear your appearance at our ball will be the leading gossip at her high teas for some time.”
Not caring for small talk, Damon got straight to the point. “I am here today to discuss your daughter.”
The older man smirked. “Ah, I see. Yes, my Lizzy has already had several men come to seek my favour.”
“I do not refer to your youngest.”
A furrow creased the brow of Claire’s father. “Pardon? Who do you refer to?”
Damon could not understand the man’s naïvety. Was he daft? “Your eldest. Lady Claire.”
“Claire?” The man appeared shocked. “Really?”
“Yes. I have come to ask for her hand.”
If possible, the man appeared more dumbstruck than before. “Claire?”
“Yes,” Damon repeated with irritation.
Seeming to come out of his startled reverie, Lord Killory shook his head. “I did not realise you were in need of coin?”
Now it was Damon’s turn to be shocked. “I assure you, my Lord, my wealth surpasses your own and I do not seek your daughter’s hand to enrich my estate. I intend to take her as my wife for my pleasure, and not as a matter of business.”
Claire’s father raised an eyebrow, but did not move to comment as he sat in his chair. The older man studied Damon over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.
“I was not aware you and my Claire had met before last night. Are you telling me these feelings come from only your dance together?”
Damon’s teeth ground together. “We met two days past, while she was out riding.”
Lord Killory nodded, never taking his eyes off Damon. “So you are telling me Claire was the reason you attended our ball last night?”
Damon was not known to be social. In truth, he had not attended a ball in several years. “That, and my mother wishe
d to attend.”
“Claire is already promised to another.”
“I am aware of that,” he ground out.
Surprise lit Killory’s features. “How so? I have only send word to London this morning. I doubt it has been received yet.”
“Yes, and I have sent a man after your mail. He should reach it before it is delivered. It will be returned to you, unopened.”
Surprise quickly turned to rage. Killory slammed his fist down on his desk. “You had no right!”
“I have every right! She is mine!” Damon roared back.
The doors to the study banged open and Damon turned to see Claire rushing in. Her face was flushed, but her dress was not the same as the one he had seen her wearing by the river. She had changed. Most likely a good thing.
“Daughter, you do not enter here without my invitation!” her father bellowed, his anger seeming to increase.
Damon stood, clenching his fits at his side as he looked back to Killory. How dare this man yell at her for simply coming into a room? He was her father!
Tender hands touched his clenched fists, and Damon looked down to see her gazing up at him with concern. She laced her fingers with his. She worried for him, he realised. His heart swelled. Looking into her silver eyes, Damon could not help himself. Leaning forward, he let his lips fall on hers, which were already swollen from their earlier meeting. Claire kissed him back tenderly and without reservation.
Would he ever get enough of her?
A dull cough made them both stiffen. Damon lifted his mouth from hers and peered over her head into her father’s angry eyes.
Claire turned to face her father, though Damon did not release her. Instead, he positioned her in front of him to hide the bulge now forming within his breeches. Claire settled back against him. She showed no signs of surprise at his aroused state—in fact, she settled her plush bottom firmly into him. She flexed her bottom muscles, as if to tease him. Damon gritted his teeth, fighting back the impulse to groan.
“Have you ruined my daughter?” Killory asked, his expression screaming fury.
Ruined? “No,” Damon said with conviction. Claire stiffened against him. “I have made her mine.”
“There is no difference,” Killory snarled.
“You are wrong. Only you can ruin her, by sending her to a man who has no want for her other than the coin she brings.”
“The contract has been signed. There is nothing I can do to halt it.”
Claire sucked in a breath. Her father’s words held little conviction, but Damon knew why this man did not want to break the contract. There could only be one reason.
“I have no need for your coin. When Claire and I marry, you can forfeit the coin to Sir Gerald.”
The older lord hit the table with his fist again. “You think it is that easy? She is promised to another!”
“Sir Gerald will not want her any longer. Not least if you force me to write to him and inform him his betrothed could be carrying my heir.”
Clare sucked in another startled breath as she moved a shaking hand to her stomach. It was clear the thought had never occurred to her, though the look her father gave the motion spoke volumes.
“Daughter, I arrange a marriage for you and you go running to your lover for help?” he snarled.
Damon gave her no time to reply. “She did not come running to me. I was on my way here to see you when I found her in tears,” Damon said. His words held censure and conviction.
Claire turned in his arms. “You were coming to speak with Father before…?” At his nod, her eyes widened. “About what?”
“I was coming to ask for your hand.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. He stroked away the moisture with a finger as it spilled over her lids. He hated to see her in tears, even if they were from happiness.
“You have brought scandal on my family!” Killory bellowed, recapturing his attention.
Damon gazed at the older man and levelled him with a look that was not to be challenged.
“I am one of the wealthiest lords in England and have asked for your daughter’s hand with no expectation of dowry for it. Scandal will not be brought upon her as my wife, whereas the marriage to a gambler and well-known vagabond, which you have proposed, would far increase the chance of shame being brought onto your family—more than if she remained unmarried. I will have her, Killory, mark my words. I hold more power than you in the House of Lords and instead of having me in your court, you should think about what it will mean to have me as an enemy.”
“Are you threatening me?” her father asked, and for the first time Damon saw the man’s uncertainty.
“No, merely warning you. I am more use to you as a friend—and son—than as a foe.”
Killory said nothing for a time, and Damon could sense victory.
“I will take her to Gretna Green if you do not consent,” Damon added.
“No,” Killory said as he sat back down in his chair. “I will have the banns read and the wedding will take place here in a month. I trust the babe, if there is one, will not be due for some time, daughter?”
Claire shook in Damon’s arms as she nodded.
Her father took a deep breath and picked up his drink. “Well, it is done. I will send word to Sir Gerald and the paper. The notice will be published in the next issue.”
They were dismissed. Killory turned his chair away from them and looked out of the wide window lining the back of his study, his drink in hand.
Damon took her arm and led her to the door. Though Damon began to walk towards the foyer, Claire grasped his hand and led him in the other direction, pulling him though a small archway into a demure sitting room.
“You are sure you wish to marry me?” Claire asked, looking up at him with worry.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are having second thoughts?”
She shook her head almost violently. “No. Not at all. I just do not want you to regret it later.”
Damon wrapped his arms around her as she rested against his chest. “Why would I regret marrying you?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, but Damon sensed she did.
“My rose, tell me what worries you.”
“D-do you love me, Damon, or is it only desire you feel for me?”
Damon closed his eyes for a moment before he nuzzled into the softness of her hair.
“The love I hold for you, my rose, is so great that I worry I will perish if I am not with you.”
She gasped and pulled back to look at him, tears again in her eyes.
“Why must you cry? It pains me so to see you this way.”
“I love you too, Damon. More than anything. You make me feel beautiful and cherished. I have never felt like that before.”
Damon moved his hands to her face as he held her gaze. “You are beautiful and most definitely cherished. You are mine. Know it, and know every day how much I love you. In fact,” he said with a devilish smile, “let me show you.” He held her close, his lips claiming hers with hungry need.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Lady Lovett’s Little Dilemma
Beverley Oakley
Excerpt
Chapter One
“The Earl of Lovett has taken a mistress?”
The breathy shock of pretty newlywed Mrs Rupert Browne sliced through the buzz of conversation, lancing its unsuspecting target three feet away and causing a deaf colonel to solicitously ask the Duchess if she required a glass of water.
Still choking on her champagne, Cressida, Lady Lovett, strained to hear the response of her cousin, Catherine, who had obviously disseminated this latest shocking on dit, smilingly assuring deaf Colonel Horvitt she was quite all right, as if her happiness were not suddenly hanging by a gossamer thread.
She strained to hear more.
“Surely not?” gasped the generally well-intentioned but oblivious Mrs Browne to Cousin Catherine’s whispered reply. “But the Earl made a love match. Mama told me he scan
dalised society by marrying a nobody.”
Cressida had to use two hands to keep her champagne coupe steady. The indignity of being described as a ‘nobody’ was nothing compared with the pain of hearing her husband’s amours—real or otherwise—discussed in the middle of a ballroom. She forced her trembling mouth into her best attempt at a smile as the Colonel leant forward and wagged his finger at her, his stentorian tone precluding further eavesdropping. “Your husband ruffled more than a few feathers with his speech in the House of Lords last night, Lady Lovett.”
Cressida had once giggled with her ferociously forceful cousin Catherine that the Colonel used his deafness as an excuse to peer down the cleavage of every pretty lady he addressed. She was in no mood for giggling now. Clearly, Cousin Catherine was disclosing details about the state of Cressida’s marriage of which Cressida, apparently, was the last to know. She straightened and pushed her shoulders back, suddenly self-conscious of appearing the sagging, lacking creature the several hundred guests crowded into Lady Belton’s newly renovated ballroom must imagine her, if they were already privy to what she was hearing for the first time. Before her last sip of champagne she’d considered herself happily married. It was all she could do to remain standing and dry-eyed.
Adjusting the lace of her masquerade costume she managed, faintly, “Ah, Colonel, you know Lord Lovett and his good causes.” She tried to make it sound like an endearment, but the axis of her world had become centred on ascertaining what other titbits about her marriage Catherine was divulging to Mrs Browne.
The music swelled to a crashing crescendo, the end of which was punctuated by Mrs Browne’s shocked squeak, “Madame Zirelli? Was she not once Lord Grainger’s mistress? No! His wife? He divorced her? And now she and Lord Lovett—?”
Cressida hadn’t wanted to come to Lady Belton’s masquerade. Little Thomas was teething, but Justin had been especially persuasive, reminding her that it had been a long time since they’d been out in public, and that, yes, he knew Thomas was cutting a tooth but there was nothing Cressida could do that Nurse Flora couldn’t, just for a few hours that evening.
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