He suckled.
Her insides loosened and tightened all at once. The flutters low in her belly became a demanding pulse of blood and bone.
She moaned with the ache of it, grinding her hips against his thigh without thought for decorum. His mouth, hot and wet, left one breast and attended to the other, driving her to a new height of distraction, even as he rose and covered her, settling between her parted legs, one hand between them, sliding a finger inside her. His stroking only intensified the ache of need for fulfilment.
Now he would take her, their flesh would join and she would be a woman, no longer an untried girl. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out her fear.
As if he sensed her disquiet, he lifted his head and kissed her lips. He raised himself on both hands as his mouth wooed hers, kissing and licking and nipping, until she kissed him back with all the hunger she felt deep inside.
“Sweet, sweet Dee,” he murmured against her mouth. “Relax. You are ready for me. The pain will be little more than a pinch.”
Trust filled her. She felt him guide himself to her entrance, felt the blunt head of that part of him she had only glimpsed for a second. He moved his hips, stroking her the way his hand had stroked and the sensation was lovely, pleasurable, loosening her insides.
He took her mouth in a hot wet kiss and thrust his hips forward.
Pain. Like the stab of a pin. He held still, only his mouth moving over hers as she became accustomed to this new sensation of his flesh deep inside her. Beside her shoulders, she felt his arms tremble, as if his weight had grown too heavy, yet she knew instinctively it had nothing to do with his strength and everything to do with her.
Experimentally she moved her hips.
Felt his hardness inside her, filling her, where before she had felt nothing. She tightened her muscles around the intrusion. Heard his gasp against her lips. Pleasure.
Mutual pleasure.
Giving and taking.
He slowly withdrew and, before she could protest, pressed forward. It felt good. Better than everything that had gone before. Which seemed impossible. Awe-inspiring. She grabbed his shoulders to press her breasts against his chest and nuzzle his neck and nibble on his ear, while their lower limbs tangled and he drove deeper insider her with each forward motion of his hips.
And she wanted him there. Deeper. Closer.
The hunger built. It raged through her veins. She bit and licked and sucked every inch of skin she could find. It was if she’d never eaten a meal in her life and now faced with this banquet she would gorge until she could consume no more.
And while he filled her over and over, his mouth worshipped at her breasts, her throat, her lips.
And it still wasn’t enough.
The hunger consumed.
It tore at her insides. It tore at something else, too. Something far stronger. The wall she had built around her heart seemed to crumble to dust. The world no longer seemed beyond her reach. She was once more a part of it. What was it about this man…?
He grasped her thigh and lifted, gently raising it to his hip. He penetrated her more deeply and a rush of heat suffused her skin. She wrapped her other leg around his waist and felt the power of his muscle beneath her heels.
Lovely man. Strong. Gloriously skilled in feeding her hunger, but where would it lead? There was something there, something just beyond her understanding, beckoning.
“Come with me, sweet lady,” he whispered in her ear.
Where was it he wanted to her go?
He thrust harder, his body pounding against hers, each drive forward a greater delight and a sharper twist to the tension holding her in thrall.
It was beginning to scare her, this strange driving force over which she had no control.
She tensed.
He made a sound like a laugh edged with pain and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Hold on, my darling.”
She gripped his shoulders, her hands curling like claws into his flesh.
He sucked in a breath and reached between them, touching her where they joined, finding something that caused an eruption of flame and heat and light. Like a volcano spilling over the side of a mountain. She rode the flare of heat into a valley where nothing existed but the sound of their heartbeats and lungs gasping for air.
Her body was lax. Delightfully so, but the recollection of the sudden explosion remained deep in her veins. It left her calm and empty.
Blissfully warm.
It felt like a long time before she could do more than breathe and sigh, while he stroked her arms and her breasts and pressed kisses all over her face.
She wanted to kiss him back, but she couldn’t move. Not yet. Moving would take her from the valley of fantasy back to reality.
If only she could stay here forever.
Chapter Three
James lay in the dark with his Diana in his arms and felt more contentment in that common-garden act than in any of the stupendous lovemaking of moments before. Though the lovemaking truly had been glorious.
He had given her the fantasy she longed for, and—he felt sure—broken the hold of a dead man. He would have to reveal his identity. Later. But before he proposed or after? He thought making love to her would make it simpler, but the woman in his arms was so sensual, so damned sexy, he half feared she might want to continue this exploration of the flesh. With the others on her list.
Anger flared at the thought. He drew in a deep calming breath. Anger would not win the day.
Hell, in spite of his misgivings, he’d enjoyed this little game as much as she had. He’d never been so aroused. As long as she only played it with him, all would be well.
If only he could be sure.
He kissed the top of her head where it nestled against his shoulder, her arm lax across his chest, her leg across his thigh, her sweet core hot and moist against his thigh where her leg tucked between his.
His member hardened.
He wanted her again. And again.
No doubt she’d be too sore, tonight. It was after all her first time. His heart swelled at the thought. His Dee.
She was worth the wait. She always had been.
He’d always admired her beauty and her wit. He honored her for her bravery in the face of Peter’s death, and had been glad to be her friend through these past years of further loss, when all the time he’d wanted to be so much more.
Tonight, he’d adored her, with his whole heart, body and soul.
After this, he would never go back to being just a friend. Whatever her decision, things between them could never go on as before. If she refused his offer of marriage, the fine thread connecting them would snap. A risk he had to take or lose his sanity.
She shifted. Tipped her head, looking up at him.
He would like to see her beautiful face without the mask. Take pride in the haze of passion in her lovely blue eyes and the smile of a woman well-pleasured.
In time. In good time. He’d been patient for years and would wait a little longer.
She sat bolt upright. “James? Is it you?”
He froze. She couldn’t possibly recognize him beneath the mask.
She fumbled with the sheet, pulling at it. “You called me ‘Dee.’ No one ever calls me that but you. It is you, James, isn’t it? How could you?”
The curses running through his head must not be uttered.
He pulled the counterpane from the bottom of the bed in a swift angry jerk and tossed it over her. “My lady—”
“I know it is you. Oh, my God, what have I done?”
He grabbed for his domino, flung it about his shoulders and rose from the bed. He didn’t know whether to be relieved the truth was out, or give vent to his anger at her obvious distress. He glared down at her. “Did you think I would let you make an assignation with some dissolute rakehell?” he said, unable to stop the fury of jealousy in his voice.
“I trusted you.” Her voice broke. “You were Peter’s—”
“No, dammit. Y
ou will not bring him into this room. He will not stand between us any longer.”
“Us?” she whispered.
“Oh, Dee, are you really so blind?” He ripped off the mask, furious with himself, and with her. He took the candelabra from the table to the fire and lit it. Lit every damned candle in the room until every shadow in the room was gone. But not the shadow of Peter. It was too long, too dark, even when the light revealed everything stark and bright; the luxurious carpet in jewel tones, the brocade curtains and white linen sheets, the marble fireplace and Chinese wallpaper with twining vines and bird of paradise. Her scarlet domino like a splash of blood across the floor.
And Diana in his bed. Or rather the bed he had rented.
Beautiful Diana, with tumbled golden hair and flushed face amid the rumpled sheets, her eyes wide behind the scrap of velvet.
She pulled at the ribbons holding the mask in place. It fell to the sheets. “Blind?” she asked, blinking against the dazzle. “Blind to what?”
“Blind to me.” He passed a hand over his face and leaned against the bedpost. “Blind to me as a man.”
“I thought you were a friend.” She closed her eyes. “Peter’s friend.”
Raged coursed through him, edged with the acid of guilt. “Peter was an idiot.”
She squeezed her eyes tight and opened them again, looking at him as if she no longer knew him, as if he really were a stranger. “He rode your horse at Newmarket. You wagered he would not dare.”
Rather than strike out at the feeling of a knife twisting in his chest, he folded his arms. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I go over that conversation day after day, wondering if I had walked away, refused to accept the bet, the result would have been different?”
Her gaze slid away from his, focused off in the distance. “Nothing stopped Peter from doing what he wanted.”
His mouth curled. “No. Nothing. Not even the thought of the beautiful woman waiting on the sidelines.”
She swallowed. A gulp that moved her throat as if she were swallowing tears.
Dammit all. He’d made her cry.
He swung away, crossed the room to the hearth to lean his arm on the mantel. Head on his forearm, he stared down into the flames.
If only he had the words of a poet on the tip of his tongue. The ready address of a courtier. One of the silver-tongued bastards, as Peter had mocked the males who preferred the ballroom to the hunt or the boxing ring. James’s strengths were never in that direction. His tongue was blunt and honest. He’d taken pride in the trust people placed in him. Too much pride. For he had let Diana trust him as a friend, stood by her, supported her, never taken advantage.
Until now. He’d gone from honorable friend to wicked rake. Would she now see him as less of a man?
Had he left it too late?
If it had ever been possible.
“James? About tonight.”
“I won’t apologize, Dee.” It felt good to use the childish sobriquet from their youth. “I’m not the slightest bit sorry for tonight.” He clenched his jaw, then spoke the words that would undo him. “Peter knew how I felt about you. Before he proposed. He knew.” James laughed. A harsh sound in the quiet room. “I introduced him to you, so he could see for himself what a wonderful girl I had chosen.”
He turned then. Squared his shoulders. “He was always so damned competitive. He wagered he’d win you. Like a fool I accepted the bet.” He shrugged. “We never backed out of a bet in those days. Horse races. Travel times to Brighton. Rounds with Gentleman Jackson. It was all the same.” He pressed his lips together. “The next day he proposed. What woman wouldn’t say yes to a duke’s son? I never even got off the starting line. One dance. We had one dance before you accepted his offer.”
“Oh, James. I had no idea.”
She actually sounded regretful. Didn’t she? Perhaps it was pity he heard. His back stiffened at the thought. “I watched the way he treated you. He never really wanted you. He just wanted to win. I wanted to kill him for his neglect, for the years he failed to come up to scratch. Then he was dead and you were grieving. And I—” he closed his eyes “—I was blaming myself. Did I make that final wager with him because I hoped he’d kill himself and leave the field clear for me?” He shook his head. “Not consciously. But I can’t pretend I didn’t have a feeling of gladness when they said his neck was broken and you wept on my shoulder.”
He huffed out a breath. “And my shoulder has been there ever since, like that of a bloody brother. You’ve said so, often enough.”
“Oh, James, I…”
He cut her off with a chop of his hand. His lip curled. “So I waited. First for you to recover from Peter’s death. Then from the deaths of your parents. All I could do through that time was be there, hoping you would see me as more than a friend, but unable to speak, fearing you’d think me an absolute bounder. When Lizzie arrived and took over your life, I almost walked away. It seemed you would never be free.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I saw it as my duty.”
“Duty. We both know the meaning of the word and the burden it carries. But surely there has to be more to life? When I heard Lizzie was returning home, I knew my time had arrived.” Another bitter laugh escaped him. “On the day I decided I would be brother no longer, Kate informed me of your plan to engage the services of some dissipated wastrel. God! Do you know how that made me feel?”
“How would I know how you felt?” she said. “You never once gave me any hint. Indeed, yesterday you said…it seemed as if…well as if you didn’t care.”
A curse rose to his lips. He bit it back and strode for the bed. Looking down into her amazingly blue eyes, he saw a softness in their depths. Or was it the mist of tears?
“I know what I said.” He scrubbed his hand over his hair. “Because I want you to be happy. I thought if I could break the chains holding you to the past, I would have a chance to be part of your future, but I damned well wasn’t going to let some other man put his hands on you.”
A small sound came from her throat. A sort of sob or a choked-off laugh.
Startled, he stared at her.
“All this time,” she said. “You were so gentlemanly, so coolly reserved, I thought you felt obliged to befriend me. For Peter’s sake. A sort of gentlemanly code. I had no idea.” She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling with some emotion he could not fathom. Was she laughing? At him?
She breathed in deeply through her nose. “I can’t believe you actually did this.” She gave a vague wave of her hand to encompass the room.
He shot her a disgruntled glare and sat on the edge of the bed. “I can hardly believe it myself,” he said. “Kate said it would make you happy. I want you to be happy. It is why I never interfered with you and Peter. I thought you loved him.”
She let her head fall back against the headboard. “I loved the idea of him. Of me, capturing the season’s most eligible bachelor. The sporting duke’s son, who until he offered for me, had never shown the slightest interest in a woman. At least not with regard to marriage. And he kept me dangling like a puppet year after year, occasionally remembering me between one sporting event and the next, when he displayed me like a bauble on his arm. He was in love with horse racing, hunting, boxing matches and games of faro. You know, I often wondered why he offered for me for me in the first place.” She sighed. “Apparently it was a game of chance, too.” A smile twisted her lips. “His friends were the same. Including you.”
The pain in her voice cut through his misery and caused a deeper ache in his heart for her hurt. “I thought you content to wait. Over and over, I told him to tie the knot. He said he wasn’t ready. I’m so sorry, Dee.”
Her fingers played with the counterpane. “I accepted his offer in the euphoria of the moment, in the glow of my parents’ pleasure at such a good offer. A triumph, according to my mother. After all, I would be a duchess.” Her fingers twisted the fabric. “I was blinded to his faults by my
parents’ ambition. And my own.” She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I was so angry when he died. He risked his life without one thought for me. I heard the snap of his bones.” She shuddered. “Over and over I hear that sound. That and the screams of the watchers. I didn’t scream, James. I cried. I cried for myself. In that moment I hated him for abandoning me. How selfish. How utterly shallow of me, thinking of myself at such a moment. Afterward, I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t face anyone.”
“That is why you hid yourself from society after his death?”
She nodded. “I felt so disloyal. I saw my parents’ illnesses as a kind of retribution, I think.”
Shock froze his blood. Not at her words, or her sentiment. He’d been furious at Peter, too. And felt guilty about the wager. He was shocked and horrified by all the wasted time.
“Oh, Dee. Dearest Diana.”
She leaned toward him. He needed no further encouragement. He pulled her into his arms and held her small fragile body against his chest and let her sob. Until his chest began to feel damp, then he put a hand under her jaw. “Dear Dee,” he whispered. “Can you forgive my clumsy mistake tonight?”
A long sigh wafted against his cheek. Her eyelashes fell, masking her thoughts.
His gut clenched at the thought he’d lost her entirely.
He was wrong about not wanting to be her friend. He would take it, if it were all she had to offer. “If I can’t have your love, I would not be happy if I lost our friendship. I want you to always count on me the way you have in the past.”
A small hand came up to rest on his chest. “I never want to lose your friendship. You have been my castle, my strength, my comfort all these years.”
His heart sank like a rock, hard and cold, to unfathomable depths. He took in a deep breath. He’d gambled and lost. He, a man who never gambled anymore, had lost the one thing he felt most precious.
He stroked her jaw with his thumb, knowing it was probably the last time he would touch her in such an intimate way. “I will never let you down,” he said softly.
Unmasking Lady Innocent Page 4